Under the cover of night, the forest was a tomb of silence.
Thin ribbons of LED light were woven among the wildflowers on the forest floor, swaying in the evening breeze like a colony of grounded fireflies. Lu Zhiling and the others had taken a winding path away from the clearing where Director Gu had been bound—a tactical detour that allowed them to speak freely while keeping a hidden watch on their surroundings.
The two bodyguards remained on high alert, their eyes scanning the shifting shadows. “The person who struck Director Gu hasn’t returned,” one whispered, a hint of unease in his voice. “Are they really just going to leave her here? This forest is deep; anything could happen to a woman left alone in this darkness.”
Lu Zhiling’s brow furrowed. She had expected a confrontation, or perhaps a second trap, but the woods remained hauntingly still. It seemed the perpetrator was content to simply tie Gu Na up and vanish into the night.
“Director Gu, you were likely targeted because of me.” Lu Zhiling sat on a mossy rock, her voice steady and honest. “Someone knew President Bo wanted to hire you and went to extreme lengths to ensure I couldn’t find you. I was nearly led into a trap myself earlier.”
Gu Na leaned heavily against a gnarled tree, the low light from the path illuminating the sharp lines of her face. “Aren’t you afraid that by telling me the truth, I’ll be even less likely to sign your contract?”
“True cooperation is built on sincerity,” Lu Zhiling replied with a soft, melancholic smile. The pale light shimmered across her long Shuimo (ink-wash) dress, making her look like a forest spirit caught between worlds. “Whether you agree or not, I owe you the truth: the Bo family is a nest of vipers with fractured factions. This project is a hot potato—dangerous to handle and even more dangerous to drop.”
Gu Na studied her, her gaze cold and piercing. “I know who you are. The Seventh Young Lady of the Lu family from the Changlin District. A pampered heiress playing at having a career?”
“Director Gu has been out of the country for a long time,” Lu Zhiling said, her long eyelashes casting shadows over her calm eyes. “My family has fallen. I am all that is left of the Lu name.”
Gu Na’s posture stiffened. “What about your grandparents? Surely they look after you?”
“My mother was an orphan. I have no grandparents.” With the Lu family gone, she was a leaf adrift in a storm.
Gu Na’s expression shifted, her brows knitting together. After a long, heavy silence, she asked, her voice hushed, “Then how have you survived these past five years?”
Lu Zhiling looked up, meeting her gaze. The question felt too personal, too pointed for a stranger. “I was wondering if you knew me, Director Gu. But now I’m starting to wonder… do you know my family?”
Gu Na jerked her face away as if stung, her voice turning to ice. “No. I don’t know anyone from the Lu family.”
Lu Zhiling didn’t let it go. She carefully pieced together the fragments of a faded memory. “My eldest brother, before he died, spent half a year auditing classes at a technical school to learn motorcycle modification. Director Gu… you lived near that school back then, didn’t you?”
The woman’s pupils contracted violently—a classic stress response. “I don’t know Lu Jingcheng!” she blurted out, her breath hitching as if the name itself was a physical blow.
How could she know his name so perfectly if she had never met him?
Lu Zhiling saw the tempest of grief and panic in the director’s eyes. She pursed her lips and chose not to press the wound further, simply sitting in quiet companionship. Gu Na seemed to lose her strength, slowly sliding down the trunk of the tree until she was sitting among the crushed flowers, utterly drained.
“Of all the directors in the world,” Gu Na asked finally, her voice weary, “why me?”
“Because the story I want to tell needs your soul. Not the commercial style you use now, but the raw, dark energy of your graduation project,” Lu Zhiling said.
Gu Na looked at her in shock.
“Years ago, my brother dragged me to watch a student film. We watched it so many times I memorized every credit, every frame. I never forgot your name.” Lu Zhiling realized now that her brother hadn’t been obsessed with the plot. He had been looking for the person behind the lens.
Gu Na’s eyes turned a watery red. She stared at the younger woman, her silence screaming of old ghosts. Lu Zhiling stood up and reached out a hand. “Director Gu, I am sincere. I hope you will consider it.”
Gu Na stood up, ignoring the hand but looking Lu Zhiling straight in the eye. Her next words were a jagged blade: “If he knew you were living like this, he’d claw his way out of his coffin just to stop you.”
Lu Zhiling’s heart skipped a beat. She forced a faint, painful smile. “I’m doing quite well, actually.”
“Well?” Gu Na scoffed bitterly. “In his eyes, if you have to earn even a single penny on your own, you are suffering.”
Lu Zhiling slowly withdrew her hand. She knew it was true. To her brother, she was a treasure to be shielded from the sun, let alone the grime of the working world.
As they began to trek out of the forest, Lu Zhiling secured Gu Na’s contact information, her mind already planning the next steps. But just as they reached the edge of the woods, a sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the night, sending birds shrieking into the sky.
A gunshot at a wedding?
The two women shared a look of pure dread. The bodyguards drew their weapons, forming a protective perimeter. In the distance, beams of light cut through the dark as a search party moved frantically. A butler from the Ji family spotted them and sprinted over, his face pale and slick with sweat.
“Miss Lu Zhiling?” he wheezed, looking her over as if checking for missing limbs.
“I’m here. What’s happened?”
The butler nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank God you’re safe. Hurry, Miss Lu—you must come quickly, or someone is going to die!”
The wedding grounds had been transformed into a scene from a nightmare. The music had died, and the fountains were dry. The fairytale lighting was gone, replaced by a single, harsh spotlight in the center of the plaza that cast long, distorted shadows.
The white rose petals were trampled into the mud. The water in the decorative pools had been dyed a sickening, deep crimson.
High above, several people were suspended from the ornate lampposts like human lanterns, their faces twisted in terror as they screamed curses into the night.
“Bo Wang, you monster! You’ll burn for this!” “Kill us all then, you animal! The Gong family will have your head!”
Below them stood men in black hoodies and stark white masks—the Huoshen (Living Dead), Bo Wang’s personal enforcers. They wielded long whips, and every time a curse was hurled, the leather cracked against skin, eliciting agonizing wails.
This wasn’t a wedding anymore. It was an execution ground.
Lu Zhiling walked down the white stone path. She saw Ji Manshi, the bride, trembling in her ruined gown, sobbing into the arms of her husand. Lu Zhiling didn’t stop. She looked toward the central pool, where a masked man was holding Gong Zihua by her hair, repeatedly shoving her head into the blood-red water.
“Where is Miss Lu?” the man growled, pulling her up just long enough for her to choke out a sob.
“I don’t know! I didn’t touch her! I just wanted her away from the director!” Gong Zihua wailed, her gorgeous dress soaked and heavy.
“If she doesn’t talk, hang another one!” the man shouted. Another Gong family member was hoisted into the air, their screams piercing the night.
Lu Zhiling’s gaze shifted to an exquisite pumpkin carriage parked near the castle. Bo Wang was leaning against it, his head bowed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His face was a mask of cold, sharp indifference. He flicked his lighter, the small flame dancing in his dark eyes. He looked like a god of ruin in his black trench coat.
Nearby, the elders of the Bo family sat in stunned silence. Even Xia Meiqing, usually so composed, was pale as she massaged Ding Yujun’s temples. No one could stop him when he was like this. He wasn’t just attacking a person; he was dismantling a family.
Ji Jing stepped forward, his face ashen, trembling as he approached Bo Wang. “Brother Wang… please. This is my sister’s wedding. The guests… if someone dies, the fallout will be catastrophic. It’s just a woman—”
Bo Wang exhaled a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke. He looked at Ji Jing with eyes that held no humanity. “You want to join them in the water? Don’t worry, I’ll get to everyone eventually.”
He spat the cigarette out, drew a handgun from his waistband, and pointed it directly at the gasping Gong Zihua.
“No!” several guests shrieked, covering their eyes.
Gong Zihua’s pupils dilated as she stared down the barrel of the gun. The sheer terror was too much; her eyes rolled back, and she slumped into the arms of her captor, unconscious. Bo Wang didn’t care. He smirked—a wild, reckless expression—and his finger tightened on the trigger.
“Bo Wang.”
The voice was clear, soft, and reached him through the wind.
Bo Wang’s entire body jolted. He turned sharply, his eyes bloodshot and predatory, looking for the source. When he saw Lu Zhiling walking toward him, the lethal tension in his frame didn’t disappear, but it shifted.
She forced her legs to move, walking right up to him. “What are you doing? Are you alright?”
Bo Wang’s gaze raked over her. Her dress was mud-stained at the hem, but she was whole. She was alive.
His throat worked visibly. He dropped his gun hand to his side and exhaled. “Nothing,” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp. “I thought you were dead. I was just settling the bill.”
Lu Zhiling’s heart throbbed with a mixture of fear and a strange, painful warmth.
“Zhiling!” Ding Yujun rushed over, her hands shaking as she touched Lu Zhiling’s face. “Are you hurt? Your phone—I couldn’t reach you!”
“I’m fine, Grandma. I was in the woods helping Director Gu. There was no signal.”
Ding Yujun looked at Bo Wang, her eyes full of complicated sorrow. “You see? She’s fine. You didn’t have to do… this.”
Bo Wang looked away, appearing bored, though his hand still gripped the gun tightly.
Lu Zhiling looked at the chaos—the people hanging, the blood-red water, the sobbing bride. She knew the fallout would be immense. Bo Zhengrong would be beyond furious.
She stepped closer to Bo Wang, her fingers gently catching the fabric of his sleeve. She gave it a small, insistent tug. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Look at me. I’m right here.”
Bo Wang looked down at her pale, slender fingers against his black coat. The metallic taste of blood and tobacco felt bitter in his mouth.
“Did you come straight here when you woke up?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his. “Have you eaten anything yet?”
“No.” He let her pull at his sleeve, finally sliding the gun back into its holster.
“Then let’s go home and eat, okay?”
Bo Wang stared at her. In her eyes, there was no hatred, no horror at his monstrous behavior, and no pity. There was only him. She didn’t see the “Living Dead” or the “Killing God.” She saw a man who had skipped breakfast.
“Hmm,” he grunted, his voice dropping an octave.
The tension in the air broke. Ji Jing stared at them, his jaw hanging open. He realized then that Lu Zhiling wasn’t a plaything; she was the only person who could hold the leash on the beast.
Bo Wang signaled to his men. Without a word, the masked enforcers lowered the prisoners, holstered their whips, and melted back into the shadows.