The atmosphere in the grand hall was thick with a suffocating, medicinal scent of aging wood and the sharp, metallic tang of repressed violence. As Bo Wang drew closer, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the opulent decor, his cold gaze swept over the slender figure resting on the sofa.
She was unharmed.
The icy frost in his eyes thawed, if only by a fraction. Behind him, at the expansive mahogany table, Bo Zhengrong was a portrait of frantic, aging authority. He was juggling two phones, barking orders to his subordinates to scour the city, his voice rasping with a harshness that bordered on desperation.
Lu Zhiling, seated on the plush cushions of the sofa, lifted her head. Her eyes met Bo Wang’s—a collision of silent understanding and hidden depths. She raised a delicate index finger to her lips, a sign for silence, and gave a small, firm shake of her head. It was a plea, a command: Do not recognize me. Do not let them see what I am to you.
Bo Wang’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smirk. That worried look of hers… it was a brand on his heart. Ignoring the chaos, he strolled forward with a predatory grace, pulling out a chair directly opposite his father.
Bo Zhengrong froze. He hadn’t expected his son to return so soon, let alone with such insolent calm. For a moment, the elder Bo’s throat constricted, the curses he usually spat out dying before they reached his tongue.
Bo Wang leaned back, his posture lazy, almost liquid, as he threw a casual remark into the tense silence. “Those two women have been clinging to you for far too long. I imagine you’ve grown tired of the flavor. Shall I find you two new ones to fill the void?”
Bang!
Bo Zhengrong’s palm collided with the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “Nonsense! Release them this instant!”
Unfazed, Bo Wang reached for an orange from the crystal fruit plate. He began to peel it, his movements slow and methodical, the citrus scent sharp in the air. He spared a glance at Lu Zhiling. She was watching him, her brows knit with a concern that made something in his chest tighten.
“What do you mean, ‘release them’?” Bo Wang asked, his eyebrows arching in mock confusion. “What does their disappearance have to do with me?”
Bo Zhengrong’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. He wanted to leap across the table and strike the arrogance from his son’s face, but the thought of the missing Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing held him back. They were his anchors, his comforts.
“The police found a suicide note in Zhang Ziyou’s car,” Bo Zhengrong said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register. “The man was unstable, harboring dark thoughts for a long time. Apparently, Zhiling had scolded him a few times while in his car, and he held a petty grudge. He wanted to drag her down into the abyss with him.”
He paused, searching Bo Wang’s face for a crack. “So, this matter has nothing to do with Yunfei or Meiqing. Release them immediately. You know Yunfei has asthma; she cannot handle the shock of… wherever you have put them.”
Lu Zhiling listened in a cold, detached silence. She had never cursed Uncle Zhang. She knew, and she knew that Bo Zhengrong knew, that this was a convenient lie—a geitaijie [a way to give someone a face-saving exit or ‘stairs to walk down’]. After decades in the cutthroat business world, Bo Zhengrong wasn’t blind to the truth; he simply chose the version of reality that required the least amount of mess.
Bo Wang finished peeling the orange, the rind lying in a perfect, coiled heap. “It doesn’t matter whether your story is true or not,” he said, his voice dropping to a silky, lethal whisper. “Even if my woman had truly drowned in that river today—even if she had died carrying my child—I wouldn’t dream of blaming my two… stepmothers.”
The word “stepmothers” was spat out with such dripping sarcasm it felt like an insult to the very concept of family.
Bo Zhengrong’s features twisted. “If you truly felt that way, would you have raced back here like a madman?” He let out a harsh laugh. “No wonder the Old Lady [the family matriarch] values Lu Zhiling so much. I see it now. She’s using that girl as a longtou [a leash or harness] to control a wild, rabid wolf like you.”
“I came back to eat an orange,” Bo Wang replied. He tore off a segment and popped it into his mouth, his face twitching slightly at the unexpected sourness.
“Bo Wang!” Bo Zhengrong slammed the table again, standing up. The facade of the patriarch was crumbling. “I don’t have the patience for your games! I am telling you: I must see Yunfei and Meiqing back before the sun sets today. If not, you can forget about ever touching a single cent of your mother’s remaining inheritance!”
The room went deathly still.
Bo Wang’s hand stopped mid-motion. He sat there, head bowed, his shadow stretching long across the floor. A heavy, suffocating unease settled over Lu Zhiling. She could feel the shift in the air—the sudden, violent pressure of a storm about to break.
Even Ding Yujun [the grandmother/matriarch figure] found her breathing becoming heavy. “Zhengrong…” she warned softly.
Bang!
Bo Wang surged to his feet, slamming the half-eaten orange onto the table. It shattered, the juice spraying across the polished wood like a burst of golden blood.
“You’re trading my mother’s legacy for the lives of those two women?” Bo Wang’s voice was low, vibrating with a primal rage. “Do you think they are worth even a shadow of her memory?”
Bo Zhengrong didn’t flinch, though a strange, unreadable glint flashed in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, his voice like grinding stones. “They cannot die.”
“Then rest assured,” Bo Wang said, leaning over the table until he was inches from his father’s face. He flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—a cold, predatory baring of teeth. The dark, polished beads of his nianzhu [Buddhist prayer beads] on his wrist seemed to absorb the light, radiating a paradoxical aura of serene violence. “If they are in my hands, I won’t let them die. Not so quickly.”
A collective shiver ran down the spines of everyone in the hall.
“I’ve recently taken an interest in raising Tibetan Mastiffs,” Bo Wang continued, his words slow and deliberate. “They are magnificent creatures. Loyal. Fierce. And I find they grow so much stronger when they are fed exclusively on raw meat.”
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Lu Zhiling looked at Bo Wang’s sharp, angular profile, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a wave of something complex—fear, yes, but also a deep, aching recognition of the monster the Bo family had created.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Bo Zhengrong gasped, his face ashen.
“I grew up in a dog cage,” Bo Wang whispered, the smile widening into something truly terrifying. “What makes you think there is anything in this world I wouldn’t dare?”
Then, as quickly as the darkness had surfaced, it vanished. He straightened his coat and laughed softly. “But Father, don’t be so tense. I’m only speaking hypothetically… if they were to fall into my hands.”
He turned to leave, his boots echoing sharply on the marble.
“Press him down! Tie him up!” Bo Zhengrong finally found his voice, screaming at Wen Da, the butler, and the surrounding bodyguards. “Don’t let him leave!”
The guards lunged forward. In a flash, Lu Zhiling moved, stepping directly behind Bo Wang. She felt the heat radiating from him, sensed the heavy weight of the gun he was already drawing from his waistband.
“My stomach… it hurts so much…”
Lu Zhiling’s voice was a weak whimper. She leaned her weight against Bo Wang, her face pale, her eyes fluttering. “My head is spinning. Bo Wang… please, take me to the hospital. I can’t breathe…”
Bo Wang paused. He looked down at the woman in his arms—this beautiful, sharp-tongued actress who was currently weaponizing her own vulnerability to save him from a brawl. A genuine sense of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. He tucked the weapon back into his holster and wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
“No one is leaving today!” Bo Zhengrong bellowed.
“What are you doing?” Ding Yujun stepped forward, her voice sharp with authority. “Zhiling’s pregnancy is unstable. If she loses my great-grandson because of your temper, Zhengrong, there will be no peace in this house. Let them go!”
“Take the mistress away!” Bo Zhengrong ignored his mother, his eyes fixed on Bo Wang. He knew that as long as he held his son, he had leverage.
Lu Zhiling stood her ground, her almond-shaped eyes burning with a sudden, fierce light as she looked her father-in-law in the eye. “Father, Bo Wang is a man of his own standing. You have no legal or moral right to restrict his freedom.”
“I am his father!” Bo Zhengrong roared. “That is all the right I need!”
“Even the police cannot detain a man without cause,” Lu Zhiling countered, her voice steadying. “And what cause do you have? Bo Wang has no reason to kidnap Aunt Yu or Aunt Xia. Why would he?”
“Are you not reason enough?”
“Me?” Lu Zhiling tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled. “Are you referring to the incident where I almost drowned? But as you said yourself, Father, that was the work of Uncle Zhang. He was a bitter man who acted alone. Bo Wang and I both know that Aunt Yu and Aunt Xia are completely innocent. We wouldn’t give them a second thought.”
She threw his own lie back at him with the precision of a scalpel.
Bo Zhengrong was left speechless, his mouth working silently as he struggled to find a retort. Ding Yujun pressed a hand to her forehead, hiding the ghost of a proud smile.
Bo Wang’s grip on Lu Zhiling’s waist tightened, his fingers splaying over the curve of her hip. He could feel the warmth of her through her dress, the defiant heartbeat that matched his own.
“Father, the most important thing now is to find the Aunts,” Lu Zhiling said, her tone now soft, gentle, and utterly maddeningly respectful. “Panicking and making scenes will not bring them home.”
“Yes,” Ding Yujun added, seizing the moment. “Bo Wang, take Zhiling to the hospital. Then, send your men out to help with the search.”
Bo Wang didn’t wait for a second invitation. He turned, sweeping Lu Zhiling toward the exit.
“Bo Wang!” his father’s voice cracked from behind them. “If they come back safely, I will overlook this. But if a hair on their heads is harmed… you will regret it!”
Bo Wang’s eyes darkened to the color of obsidian, but he didn’t look back.
At the heavy oak doors, Ding Yujun gently pulled Lu Zhiling from Bo Wang’s embrace. “Wait a moment. I’ve had the servants pack a bag for the hospital stay. Zhiling, come with me to the Wutong Courtyard [a traditional courtyard house within the estate] to make sure we have everything you need.”
Bo Wang leaned against his sleek black car, lighting a cigarette with a flick of a silver lighter. He gave his grandmother a dry, knowing look. “Why don’t you just say you want to get rid of me so you can talk to her in private?”
“Just wait,” Ding Yujun said, unfazed, leading Lu Zhiling away.
The tea room in Wutong Courtyard was a sanctuary of silence, the air smelling of dried chrysanthemum and old paper. Ding Yujun dismissed the servants and, with some effort, knelt to retrieve a heavy, iron-bound wooden box from the bottom of a cabinet.
“Since you are willing to help me navigate this family,” Ding Yujun said, her voice heavy with the weight of years, “you need to understand the ghosts that haunt this house.”
She opened the box with a rusted key, pulling out a stack of faded photographs. “You think the relationship between Bo Wang and his father is beyond repair? That Zhengrong hates his eldest son? It wasn’t always this way. Once, Zhengrong doted on that boy above all others.”
Lu Zhiling took the photos. They were wedding portraits. A younger Bo Zhengrong stood tall, his face unlined and handsome, radiating the vitality of a nobleman in his prime. But it was the woman beside him who took Lu Zhiling’s breath away.
This was Qi Xue, Bo Wang’s mother.
She was ethereal, her beauty possessing a cold, spring-snow elegance that made the famous actress Yu Yunfei look like a common flower. In every photo, Bo Zhengrong’s eyes were fixed on her with a gaze so intense it was almost painful to witness.
“Do you know why the other siblings have names with the ‘wood’ radical [a linguistic component in Chinese characters], but Bo Wang does not?” Ding Yujun asked.
“I’ve wondered,” Lu Zhiling whispered.
“Because ‘Wang’ [妄] means ‘delusion’ or ‘absurdity,'” the old woman sighed. “Zhengrong fell in love with Qi Xue the moment he saw her. He was obsessed. But she already had a lover in Country C. She didn’t want this life.”
She shook her head at the memory. “Zhengrong was a madman for her. He went on hunger strikes, he cut his wrists… he did everything a spoiled son could do to force our hand. My husband almost beat him to death with the jiagui [family canes used for discipline], but he wouldn’t break. Eventually, I begged Qi Xue to marry him. For the sake of peace, she agreed.”
Lu Zhiling felt a chill. So, Bo Zhengrong was the “mistress” in his own marriage—the one who forced his way into a heart that didn’t want him.
“When Bo Wang was born, Zhengrong was overjoyed. He named him ‘Bo Qi’ originally, to signify that Qi Xue had finally settled with him. But the peace was a lie. He discovered she was still seeing her old lover. The rage… it broke him.”
The tea kettle began to whistle, a sharp, piercing sound.
“The day she tried to elope, taking five-year-old Bo Wang with her, the car went off the mountain road. Qi Xue died instantly. Bo Wang… he disappeared into the darkness for years before he was found.” Ding Yujun looked at Lu Zhiling, her eyes misting. “Zhengrong changed the boy’s name to ‘Wang’ as a curse. A reminder that his love for Qi Xue, and the son she bore, was nothing but a delusion.”
Lu Zhiling set the photo down. It felt heavy, as if the grief of the past was vibrating through the paper. She walked over to the kettle, turning off the heat and pouring the water with a steady hand.
“If he loved her so much,” Lu Zhiling asked, her voice low, “why did he make Bo Wang do all the ‘shady things’ [underworld dealings or dirty work] for the family? Why put his only son in such danger?”
Ding Yujun’s eyes widened in surprise. “He told you?”
“I guessed. A man like Bo Wang doesn’t get those scars from sitting in a boardroom.”
“You are too clever for your own good,” Ding Yujun whispered. “Qi Xue’s estate was frozen after her death. When Bo Wang returned, he wanted his mother’s legacy, but he also wanted her memory to remain untarnished within the family. He made a deal with his father: he would handle the ‘black’ side of the Bo family’s business—the things that require a monster—in exchange for his mother’s inheritance and her place in the genealogy.”
“And Father agreed?” Lu Zhiling frowned. “He let his son walk into the fire?”
“Zhengrong is a man blinded by his own pain. He saw a way to keep his hands clean while punishing the son who looked too much like the woman who betrayed him.”
Ding Yujun reached out, taking Lu Zhiling’s hand. Her skin was like parchment, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “Zhiling, Bo Wang is walking a road where there are no lights. Even if he reaches the end, he will only find more darkness. I am an old woman, and I cannot reach him. Please… you are the only one he lets close. You have to be the one to pull him out of the cage.”