The air in the private wing of the Bo manor was thick, not with the scent of the expensive sandalwood incense burning in the corner, but with a toxic mixture of desperation and lethal intent. Her trusted maid, a woman who had seen the rise and fall of concubines and heirs alike, leaned in closer to Xia Meiqing. Her voice was a low, jagged whisper that barely stirred the air: “If the Old Lady (the matriarch and highest authority of the household, holding the power of life and death over family matters) follows through with this, you and Bo Zhen will be left with nothing but scraps. Yu Yunfei won’t move against her—she’s too busy playing the dutiful daughter-in-law. So why don’t we… take matters into our own hands? We can do the deed and frame Yu Yunfei. It would be killing two birds with one stone.”
Xia Meiqing narrowed her eyes, her long, manicured nails digging into the silk of her qipao (a traditional body-hugging Chinese dress). She was known throughout the household for being arrogant and domineering—a true shrew who made the servants tremble—but she was no fool. She knew that in a family like the Bo clan, a single misstep meant being cast into the cold. “It’s a tempting plan,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the mirror. “But the Old Lady is as sharp as a fox. There are still risks for this paln . We wait. I’m betting Yu Yunfei’s patience is thinner than she lets on. Let her be the one to break first.”
Across the sprawling estate, in a room that felt more like a gilded cage, Yu Yunfei sat in her private chambers. Her fingers, adorned with heavy jade rings, dug into the soft white fur of the cat in her lap. The animal let out a soft protest, but she didn’t notice. Her expression was a mask of cold, calculated fury. “Gong Zihua is a useless piece of trash,” she hissed, the words tasting like venom. “I sent her to dismantle Lu Zhiling, to drag that girl through the mud until she was unrecognizable, and she couldn’t even cause a ripple. Instead, she fell into her own trap and let that girl perform so ‘wildly’ in front of the Old Master and Old Lady.”
It was clear to Yu Yunfei that Lu Zhiling was trying to climb the social ladder (a term for someone from a lower or disgraced background striving for elite status through marriage or favor). The thought of a disgraced daughter like Lu Zhiling sitting at the same table as her was an insult to her very blood.
“What is our next move, Madam?” her maid asked, her brow furrowed with anxiety. “If the Old Lady formally announces the old rules of succession (traditional family laws where the eldest or most capable heir inherits the bulk of the estate and the ‘Family Head’ title), it will be too late for us to act without looking suspicious. The eyes of the entire clan will be on us.”
“We cannot let blood get on our hands directly,” Yu Yunfei replied, her voice dropping to a temperature that would freeze tea. She had survived in the Bo family for decades by walking on thin ice (acting with extreme caution, knowing one mistake leads to ruin). “Stir the waters between Lu Zhiling and Xia Meiqing again. Xia Meiqing is a caged tigress with more temper than brains; it is better for her to strike and fail than for us to risk our standing.”
On the other hand after leaving the Wutong Courtyard, Lu Zhiling felt a heavy stone of unease settled in her chest. The night air was cool, but it didn’t soothe the heat of the humiliation she felt radiating from the main house. She trailed behind Bo Wang, keeping a respectful distance, her mind a whirlwind of survival strategies. She intended to wander the grounds to help her digestion— as the rich, heavy oils of the food sat poorly in her stomach—once she returned to the sanctuary of the main building.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the sudden halt of the man in front of her.
Thump. She collided with a wall of hard, warm muscle. The scent of expensive tobacco and a hint of something metallic—the smell of power—washed over her.
“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” Bo Wang turned, his glare sharp enough to draw blood. He looked down at her with a mixture of disdain and a dark, repressed curiosity.
“I…” Lu Zhiling rubbed her forehead, her skin stinging from the impact. “I never look where I’m going. My apologies, Second Young Master.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re blind,” Bo Wang said, his tone casual yet biting, like a whip. He stepped closer, invading her personal space until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He stared at her intently, searching those vacant, beautiful eyes. “Sometimes, I feel like you see more than a normal person ever could. You navigate these halls with too much grace for a woman in the dark.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. Ever since she had secretly regained her sight, every day was a performance, a high-stakes masquerade. She looked up, offering him a bitter, hollow smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Really? Perhaps the blind develop a sense for the monsters in the room. Besides, I’ve almost forgotten what ‘normal’ is supposed to look like. Darkness is my only companion.”
The moonlight swept across the mountains and the surrounding ancient forests, bathing the world in a silver glow. The chirping of insects was the only bridge between the heavy silence of the two figures. In front of the majestic, Western-style main building, their shadows stretched across the white bricks, overlapping and intertwining. To anyone watching from a distance, they looked like lovers locked in a phantom embrace.
Bo Wang picked up his discarded suit jacket, leaning against a cold marble pillar. He lit a cigarette, the orange cherry glowing in the dark. “You went blind five years ago?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes drifting toward the sky. It was the fifteenth of the lunar month—the night of the full moon. “The moon is so round tonight, isn’t it? It feels so close you could touch it.”
Bo Wang followed her gaze, blowing a cloud of smoke into the night air. “It’s alright. Just a rock in the sky.”
“My grandmother used to treat the fifteenth of every month like the Mid-Autumn Festival (one of the most important Chinese holidays, centered on the ‘Reunion Dinner’ and moon worship). She said a full moon meant the family should be whole, no matter how far they wandered. We would sit in the courtyard, eating mooncakes and drinking osmanthus wine.” Her voice trembled slightly. She had eaten so many of those reunion dinners, thinking they would never end. But she hadn’t sat at a family table in five long, cold years.
“Eating alone isn’t eating? That’s pretentious,” Bo Wang dismissed, though his eyes lingered on the line of her neck.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a way to feel less alone in a house this big.” Lu Zhiling reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. As she did, two fine strands escaped her fingers, fluttering down like silk feathers.
Bo Wang reached out with lightning speed, catching the hair in his palm. It was fine, delicate, and soft—exactly like the woman standing before him. He pulled her closer, his hand tangling in the rest of her tresses, forcing her to look up at him.
“Lu Zhiling,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made her toes curl.
“Hmm?” She turned her gaze back to him. Her lips were parted, a soft, pale pink in the moonlight, looking like a petal waiting to be crushed. A stray breeze blew the hem of her light skirt, brushing the fabric against his heavy suit trousers in a rhythmic, teasing friction that sent a jolt of electricity through both of them.
Bo Wang’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He could smell the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her skin. The air between them turned electric, thick with a sudden, predatory heat that was purely sexual in its intensity. He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, his lips grazing the sensitive skin. “If you won’t let me sleep with you, then don’t fucking flirt with me! I’m not a man of infinite patience, and if I decide to take what you’re offering, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.”
He shoved her back slightly, turned on his heel, and vanished into the shadows of the manor, leaving her trembling and breathless. Flirting? When did I ever flirt? She stood there, her heart racing, the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin.
The weeks that followed were unexpectedly peaceful. Bo Wang vanished from the Shenshan estate, presumably busy with the family’s shadowy corporate dealings or perhaps indulging in the vices that men of his status were afforded. Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing continued their dance of shadows, trying to sow discord and bait Lu Zhiling into a trap, but she remained untouchable. She adhered to the principle of “retreat to advance,” staying within the sanctuary of her teahouse.
The teahouse’s business flourished. Thanks to her previously accumulated reputation as a woman of taste and the quiet support of the Ji Family Auction House (a powerful institution in the art world), Lu Zhiling began to amass a considerable fortune. Money, in her world, was the only true weapon.
With her pockets full, she began the painful process of hunting for the remnants of her lost life—the Lu family heirlooms that had been scattered like dust after their bankruptcy. Specifically, she set her sights on her eldest brother’s motorcycle.
Lu Jingcheng had been the most stable, brilliant member of the Lu family. He had passed away at only twenty-five, leaving a void that could never be filled. To the world, he was a mature businessman, but Lu Zhiling remembered his rebellious phase. He had used his first earnings from university to buy a heavy, modified motorcycle. He cherished it like a living being, secretly renting a small house to keep it safe from the disapproval of the family elders. He had even nicknamed it his “Wife.” When the Lu family fell, he had sacrificed his “Wife” to pay off a fraction of their debts.
Lu Zhiling tracked the bike to a remote motorcycle exhibition hall near the Qingjiang River.
“Young Madam, this place is really out of the way,” Uncle Zhang, the driver, noted as he navigated the winding roads. On the map, the hall was isolated, surrounded by vast stretches of farmland and the dark, rushing waters of the river.
“Yeah, who would even come here? Only hardcore enthusiasts or people with something to hide,” Jiang Fusheng, her assistant, added while happily eating a cup of ice cream.
Lu Zhiling smiled, leaning her head against the cool glass of the car window. “That’s why it’s perfect. No one will bother us.”
The car finally stopped in front of a building decorated in a heavy industrial style—exposed steel, dark concrete, and a metal staircase clinging to the exterior. It felt cold and imposing.
“Let’s get out,” Jiang Fusheng said, hopping out to open the door for her.
Just as Lu Zhiling stepped out, Uncle Zhang turned around, shaking his empty thermos. “Young Madam, my throat is like parchment. Mind if I come in with you for a drink? My throat is so dry I can barely swallow.”
“Of course, Uncle Zhang. Thank you for the long drive.”
Uncle Zhang was the best-tempered of all the Bo family drivers. While others grumbled about serving a “reputation-less” young mistress, he always had a smile. He followed them inside, his eyes scanning the industrial interior.
The receptionist led them to a lounge on the second floor, a space filled with the smell of motor oil and expensive leather. “Excuse me, we usually only display these, we don’t sell,” the receptionist said politely.
“I am prepared to pay three times the market value,” Lu Zhiling said, her voice firm. “Please contact the boss.”
“I see… please wait. Our boss is currently receiving a VIP on the east side.”
Lu Zhiling stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, her eyes searching the floor below. There it was. The gray-blue heavy motorcycle. Her brother’s pride. She remembered how his eyes would shine when he talked about the engine’s roar. To her, that bike wasn’t metal; it was a piece of his soul.
Behind her, Jiang Fusheng was distracted by a tray of small cakes. “Uncle Zhang, you should try these. They’re actually good!”
“Okay,” Uncle Zhang replied. But his voice sounded different—hollow, strained. He took a cake, his hand trembling. He looked at Jiang Fusheng’s back, then at Lu Zhiling, who was staring longingly at the motorcycle.
Slowly, his hand reached for a heavy, sharp-edged crystal trophy sitting on a nearby pedestal.
CRASH.
Lu Zhiling spun around at the sound of the impact. Jiang Fusheng was on the floor, a pool of red beginning to spread under her head, her hand still clutching a piece of cake. Uncle Zhang stood over her, the trophy gripped in a white-knuckled fist. The light from the window was behind him, casting his face into a terrifying, ferocious shadow.
Suddenly, he turned his head toward Lu Zhiling. His eyes were no longer kind; they were murky, bloodshot, and filled with a reckless, suicidal desperation.
On the east side of the building, in a VIP room that felt like a torture chamber, the atmosphere was even grimmer. A man in a tailored suit stood on a flimsy wooden chair, a loose noose around his neck.
Li Minghuai, wearing a black hoodie that hid his face, stood behind him. “One kick, and it’s over,” he whispered.
“No, no! Young Master Bo, please! I truly don’t know who leaked the documents!” the man cried, his pants darkening as he lost control of his bladder.
“Wait a moment,” a deep, lazy voice rang out.
Bo Wang was sitting on a high barstool, his long legs crossed. He was holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He looked like an bored king watching a play. “Be careful, Minghuai. Check the angle. If he drops too fast, the neck snaps cleanly. We want it to look like he struggled… like a man filled with guilt.”
“Understood, Brother Wang,” Li Minghuai replied, moving the chair with a sickening screech. “Should we have him write a will?”
“A blood oath would be more fitting for a traitor,” Bo Wang suggested, his eyes cold as the depths of the ocean.
Li Minghuai dragged the man off the chair and onto the floor. He didn’t use a pen; he used a small, curved blade to slash the man’s fingers.
“AHHHH!” The man’s scream echoed through the industrial hall. “Why are you doing this? You’ve given your life to the Bo family, you’ve done their dirty work for years, and they haven’t even given you a single share of the company! You’re a dog fighting for a master who doesn’t feed him!”
Bo Wang’s expression didn’t flicker, but the air in the room seemed to vanish. He stood up, his presence filling the space like a physical weight. He walked over and ground his heavy boot into the man’s bleeding, mangled hand. He leaned down, his voice a chilling, intimate whisper. “I don’t care about shares. I care about order. And you broke the order. If you don’t start talking, I’ll find your wife. I hear she likes the mountains this time of year.”
The man froze, his spirit breaking. “I’ll talk… I’ll tell you everything about the Fenglin District project…”
Three minutes later, Bo Wang had the information he needed. Li Minghuai checked the digital files. “This ensures the Bo family’s new economic circle is foolproof. You’ve done it again, Brother Wang.” He looked at Bo Wang’s profile, wanting to say more, to ask why he settled for being the shadow when he could be the sun, but he knew better.
Bo Wang walked out, his face a mask of indifference, completely unaware that his “blind” wife was currently facing a different kind of monster only a few hallways away.
Back in the west lounge, the silence was more terrifying than the scream. Uncle Zhang’s gaze was fixed on Lu Zhiling.
She had nothing. Her bag, her phone, her only links to the outside world, were on the table next to the unconscious Jiang Fusheng.
Lu Zhiling forced her breathing to slow, her heart to steady. She kept her eyes blank, staring at a point just past Uncle Zhang’s shoulder. “Fusheng? What was that noise? Did something break?” She kept her voice light, innocent.
Uncle Zhang didn’t say a word. He stepped over Jiang Fusheng’s body, the heavy trophy still in his hand, and then he pulled something else from his waistband—a long, thin dagger that glinted with a cold, blue light.
Lu Zhiling turned to run toward the door, her “blindness” momentarily forgotten in her terror, but Uncle Zhang was faster. He lunged, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her against the cold brick wall.
The cold edge of the dagger was pressed firmly against the pulse point of her neck.
“If you dare to make a sound, I’ll carve you like a pig,” Uncle Zhang spat, his breath smelling of stale tea and malice. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Young Madam. The Bo family owes me, and you’re the only currency they’ll listen to.”
Lu Zhiling stood perfectly still, the steel biting into her skin. “What did you do to Fusheng?” she asked, her voice a low, steady hum despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “And what do you think the Bo family will do to you when they find out you’ve touched me?”
“The Bo family?” Uncle Zhang laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “By the time they find you, I’ll be across the border, and you’ll be nothing but a memory in a shallow grave.”