Bo Wang lowered his eyes, his gaze heavy and fixed on hers. He parted his lips, leaning in to sharply bite the tip of her tongue.
The metallic tang of blood bloomed between their mouths, a taste both chaotic and ambiguous.
“Mmm…”
Lu Zhiling nearly cried out from the sharp sting, but the small drawing of blood only made Bo Wang’s breathing grow heavy with a dark, restless excitement. He lingered there, slowly savoring the copper sweetness.
“Your blood is sweet, Lu Zhiling,” he murmured.
In the oppressive silence of the night, she could hear the distinct sound of him swallowing—a gesture so perverse it made her skin crawl. Still her own breathing fractured, turning shallow and erratic. Finally, her strength gave way; she stopped struggling and slumped against his chest, her body going weak as she allowed him to take what he wanted from her lips.
When he finally pulled back, she pursed her lips tightly. Her injured tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, throbbing with pain. His teeth are so sharp, she thought bitterly. Is he a dog?
She felt warm and soft in his arms. Seeing her finally obedient, a small, dark smile curved Bo Wang’s thin lips. He reached down, taking her arms and wrapping them firmly around his own waist.
“…”
The position forced an artificial intimacy, making it appear as though she were desperately clinging to him for a hug. Lu Zhiling lacked the strength to resist, so she simply remained there, leaning into him like a devoted lover. His aura remained suffocating—a cold, domineering presence that claimed everything it touched.
The hospital ward fell silent for a long, long time.
Suddenly, his deep voice vibrated above her. “Do you still want to try?”
It was an abrupt, cryptic question. Try what? To compete for the succession?
A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes. She looked up from his embrace, her gaze tracing the sharp, handsome line of his jaw. “You’ve changed your mind?”
So suddenly?
Bo Wang lowered his head. In the dim light, his dark eyes seemed like bottomless vortices, watching her in silence. Lu Zhiling’s mind raced through the implications. Regardless of his motives, his agreement to fight for the position of the Bo family heir was entirely beneficial for her and the life growing inside her.
At that thought, she softened her posture, nestling deeper into his chest and hugging him with genuine fervor. She offered a small, joyful smile. “That’s wonderful.”
Being held so tightly made Bo Wang’s throat go dry. He raised a hand, his palm cupping the back of her neck to tilt her head up for another kiss.
“I’ll… I’ll get you some water.”
Sensing his intent, Lu Zhiling quickly dodged his touch. She slipped off the hospital bed and flicked the switch, flooding the room with a clinical, bright light. On a small side table lay scattered tea leaves and empty sachets—the exact same blend she had placed in the jar by his door earlier.
Bo Wang tracked her movements, his eyes landing on the tea. “Are you trying to drink me to death in bed?” [Note: In Chinese slang, “drinking someone to death” or “tiring someone out in bed” often carries a double entendre regarding sexual stamina or excessive demands.]
“Drink you to death?” Lu Zhiling followed his gaze and sighed. He had misunderstood her again.
She had prepared these ingredients—herbs meant for calming the nerves and aiding sleep—with the intention of giving them to others as well. Feng Zhen and Jiang Fusheng’s parents both suffered from chronic insomnia. However, she simply smiled and played along. “I was afraid you’d be annoyed seeing my things and wouldn’t want to drink what I brought. I thought I’d pack some for Grandma; perhaps you’ll be more willing to have a cup if it’s served at her place.”
She moved to the table and began the ritual of brewing.
This level of thoughtfulness…
Bo Wang sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. Now that the light was on, her movements were fluid and pleasing to the eye. She brought the cup over, and as he took it, the gentle fragrance of jasmine rose with the steam. He took a sip; it was sweet, mellow, and perfectly balanced.
Lu Zhiling stood by, smiling. Whatever had caused his change of heart, it was a victory.
“So happy?” Bo Wang looked up, noting her expression as if she were the one about to become the heir.
“Yes, happy,” she nodded honestly. Then, pressing her advantage, she asked, “After I’m discharged, can I move into Dijiangting?” [Note: Dijiangting is likely the name of his private luxury estate/villa.]
Being closer to him would allow her to guard his interests better.
Bo Wang’s hand paused mid-air. His eyes pinned her down with a heavy, suggestive weight. “It’ll be faster if you just get back on this bed right now.”
The hospital bed was narrow, but for what he was implying, it was enough.
“…”
Why did he always twist her words? Was she truly being too ambiguous, or was his mind simply governed by carnal impulses?
“That’s not what I meant,” she explained softly, her voice steady. “I won’t shamelessly try to share a room with you. I just want to be close… to take care of you.”
Bo Wang reached out, his fingers hooking under her chin to lift her face. Her lips were slightly parted, revealing the bright red wound on the tip of her tongue.
“I merely kissed you, and you already have the audacity to think of moving into my home,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly register. His thumb brushed across her lower lip. “If I actually let you move in, wouldn’t your ‘thoughts’ become even deeper?”
“I know this is just a whim of yours, and I won’t overthink it,” she said, her eyes clear and devoid of hidden agendas. “In my eyes, you are single. You don’t belong to me. Believe me, I am very clear-headed.”
Very clear-headed.
The phrase grated on him. Bo Wang felt a surge of inexplicable irritation. He frowned and shoved the empty cup back into her hands. “Whatever.”
If she wanted to play this game, he would let her.
“Your house is a bit empty. Can I buy some furniture?” she asked, undeterred.
“…Whatever.”
“Okay.” Lu Zhiling smiled, stepping forward to tuck the blanket around him. “It’s late. Don’t head back tonight; get some rest here. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Without waiting for a rebuttal, she turned away, grabbed a thin spare blanket from the cabinet, and curled up on the small single sofa in the corner. She clicked off the light, plunging the room back into silence.
Bo Wang leaned against the headboard. The sudden darkness felt hollow. The bed, once crowded with her presence, now felt vast and cold. Damn it, he thought. Did I come all the way here just to steal a hospital bed?
He glanced at the silhouette in the corner. His lips moved as if to speak, but he ultimately remained silent, pulling the covers up to sleep.
The Morning After
As dawn broke, the white curtains failed to filter out the growing light. A sharp “Knock, knock” echoed through the room.
Bo Wang’s eyes snapped open instantly. His hand instinctively slid under the pillow, gripping the handle of his gun. The transition from sleep to lethal readiness was seamless.
Then, the light hit his eyes. He remembered: the hospital.
He watched as Lu Zhiling rose from the sofa on tiptoe. She hurried to the door, opening it just a crack.
“Young Madam, I’m here for the rounds—” Dr. Qin began.
“Shh,” she whispered, glancing back at the bed. “He’s still asleep. Let’s talk in the hall.”
The door clicked shut with agonizing care. Bo Wang withdrew his hand from under the pillow and lay back, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, the tension left his shoulders, and he drifted back into a light doze.
When he finally woke for the second time, the room was bathed in sunlight and a faint floral scent. He turned his head to find a yellow rose resting on his pillow. It was vibrant, beautiful, and—he noticed—every single thorn had been meticulously stripped from the stem.
He sat up, holding the flower with an expressionless stare. Lu Zhiling was at the table, busy wrapping more tea.
“Awake?” she asked with a faint smile.
“What is this supposed to be?” Bo Wang asked, gesturing with the rose.
“I picked it from the garden. I hoped it would brighten your day,” she said. This private hospital encouraged “floral therapy” for its patients.
“A single flower is supposed to brighten my day?” Bo Wang scoffed, though he didn’t put it down. He twirled the stem between his fingers.
“My Third Aunt used to say so,” Lu Zhiling reminisced, her eyes softening. “She and my Third Uncle fell in love because of a single flower. She said if she saw a flower every morning, the whole day felt full of light.” She chuckled softly. “My eldest brother was so ‘possessed’ by the idea that he went to her garden every day to pick one for his own lady. He cleared the garden out in a week, and my aunt cried for days.”
Bo Wang ignored the anecdote, his mind snagging on one phrase: A single flower to brighten the day.
He brushed the petals with his thumb, the lingering fragrance transferring to his skin. His eyes softened, just a fraction.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
“Zhi Ling! Zhi Ling!” Jiang Fusheng, clad in a hospital gown, hurried in. She was waving an identical yellow rose. “Did you give this to me? I found it as soon as I woke up! It smells amazing, thank you!”
The atmosphere in the room plummeted. Bo Wang’s face darkened instantly.
“I’m glad you like it,” Lu Zhiling said, oblivious for a second.
“I love it! This place reeks of medicine, so a little fragrance is—” Jiang Fusheng stopped mid-sentence as she caught sight of the gloomy, predatory figure on the bed. She recoiled against the doorframe. “B-B-Young Master Bo!”
Bo Wang sat there, one hand resting casually on a bent knee, his narrow eyes cold enough to draw blood. “Throw the flower away.”
“Huh?” Jiang Fusheng blinked, confused.
“Throw it away,” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous command.
Lu Zhiling signaled to her friend with a quick nod, silently telling her not to argue. Terrified, Jiang Fusheng gingerly placed the rose on the floor. “I… I have an IV drip… I have to go!” She bolted as if the devil were at her heels.
Lu Zhiling turned to him. “Do you dislike roses?”
Bo Wang slid out of bed. He stood over the rose Lu Zhiling had given him and let it drop from his fingers. As it hit the floor, he ground his heel into the delicate yellow petals, crushing them into the linoleum.
He looked up, his gaze murderous. “Lu Zhiling, remember this: if you give me something that is exactly the same as what you give someone else… I don’t want it.”
He wouldn’t just reject it. He would destroy it.
The sheer extremity of his possessiveness made Lu Zhiling’s heart sink, but she kept her composure. “I understand. It won’t happen again.”
“Hmph.”
“By the way,” she said, shifting the subject to business. She picked up a vanity case. “Grandma called. She mentioned that Father [Bo Zhengrong] intends to donate your mother’s inheritance to charity. I think… it’s time for Aunt Yu and Aunt Xia to ‘return’ from their disappearance.”
A lethal glint sparked in Bo Wang’s eyes. The game was moving to the next stage.
Sunlight filtered through the dense forests of Shenshan [Note: “God Mountain,” likely the location of the main family estate], casting dappled shadows across the grand hall. The Bo clan was in a state of high anxiety. Search parties had returned empty-handed.
Inside the study, Bo Zhengrong sat with bloodshot eyes, slamming his phone onto the mahogany desk. The butler, Wen Da, stood trembling.
“It’s our incompetence, Sir,” Wen Da stammered. “We tried to keep the disappearances of Madam Yu and Madam Xia quiet, but the news has leaked within the family. At least the public doesn’t know yet.”
Bo Zhengrong gritted his teeth. “And Bo Wang? Did you follow him?”
“The Young Master… spent the night in the Young Mistress’s ward,” Wen Da whispered.
“He has time for that while his father’s side-wives are missing?” Bo Zhengrong was livid. He knew Bo Wang was behind this, but the boy left no tracks. He made a snap decision. “Find the lawyers. We proceed with the inheritance donation immediately.”
He would strip Bo Wang of his leverage.
Suddenly, the doors were flung open. Wen Da rushed back in, breathless. “Sir! They’re back! Madam Yu and Madam Xia are back!”
Bo Zhengrong stood abruptly, his face ashen. His first thought wasn’t relief, but terror. “Are they missing hands? Feet?”
Knowing Bo Wang’s reputation for cruelty, he expected a gruesome message.
“They’re… they’re back,” Wen Da panted.
“Are they dead?” Bo Zhengrong swayed, nearly losing his balance.
“They are alive and well,” Wen Da clarified quickly. “Limbs intact, organs present.”
Bo Zhengrong regained his composure, straightening his suit. He hurried to the lobby where a crowd of relatives had gathered.
Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing were being carried in by servants. They were pale, disheveled, and trembling so violently they couldn’t stand.
As soon as Yu Yunfei saw Wen Da approaching with her asthma inhaler, she let out a blood-curdling shriek. “AHHHH! No! No more! I won’t inhale anymore!” She scrambled onto the sofa, burying her head in her arms like a terrified animal.
Xia Meiqing was no better, biting her fingernails until they bled, muttering like a broken doll: “My boyfriend is Bo Zhengrong… he’ll save me… he won’t let you do this…”
Bo Zhengrong approached them, trying to offer comfort. “Yunfei, Meiqing, you’re safe now.”
They looked at him with hollow, glassy eyes before collapsing into his arms, wailing in terror. Yu Yunfei, ever the social climber, tried to force herself back into a “gentle” posture when she realized the family was watching, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Bo Zhengrong held Xia Meiqing, his suspicion growing as he scanned them. “Are you sure? No hidden wounds? No internal damage?”
He knew his son. Bo Wang never let anyone go without a price. If they were physically whole, the torture must have been something far more psychological—and far more permanent.