“Don’t leave! You’re not allowed to leave!”
“I’m going to sue you! I’ll sue you until you’re rotting in a cell!”
As soon as the members of the Gong family were cut down from the lamp posts, they scrambled to intercept the Huoshen [the “Living Dead,” Bo Wang’s personal elite enforcers]. The enforcers moved with chilling synchronization, forming a silent wall of black cloth and white porcelain. Under the cold moonlight, their masks radiated a deathly aura, their hollow eye sockets revealing nothing of the souls beneath.
“Is the Gong family certain they wish to challenge us?”
The Living Dead drew their sidearms in unison, the metallic clicks echoing through the ruined wedding venue. They didn’t flinch; they were shadows ready to swallow anyone who stepped forward.
The air turned frigid. The Gong family froze in their tracks. Everyone in the underworld knew of the Living Dead. They were like ants in the abyss—seemingly insignificant individually, but capable of stripping a man to bone and ash before he could scream. Even the most prestigious clans in Jiangbei knew better than to provoke these mindless, ruthless killers.
Seeing that the resistance had withered, the enforcers holstered their weapons with a sharp snap. They lowered the brims of their hoods, bowed with terrifying grace toward Bo Wang, and vanished into the darkness as if they had never existed.
Xia Meiqing watched them leave, her voice a low hiss of resentment. “And they still try to claim those monsters don’t belong to Bo Wang.”
“I told you before, wearing a white mask doesn’t make one a member of the Living Dead,” Ding Yujun snapped, her gaze icy as she silenced her daughter-in-law. “They are merely ‘contractors’ Bo Wang hired. Watch your tongue.”
Bo Wang didn’t care for the chatter. His eyes were fixed on Lu Zhiling. He took her hand, his grip possessive. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute.” Lu Zhiling gently pulled her hand away. A flicker of dark displeasure crossed Bo Wang’s face, his expression clouding over instantly. She ignored the warning signs and hurried to Ding Yujun’s side, whispering urgently into the old lady’s ear.
“I see. I’ll handle the rest,” Ding Yujun whispered back, her eyes shining with approval. “Good girl. You always see the pieces on the board before they’re moved.”
Lu Zhiling nodded and returned to Bo Wang, naturally sliding her hand back into his large palm. The tension in his shoulders bled away at her touch, his expression softening as he led her toward the exit.
“No one leaves this place!” Old Mrs. Gong, supported by her kin, shrieked at the retreating backs of the Bo and Ji families. Her voice trembled with aged fury. “Old Mrs. Bo, Old Mrs. Ji! You owe the Gong family an explanation! We came to celebrate a wedding, and instead, we were treated like common criminals! I know the Bo family holds K-country in a death grip, but do you truly mean to leave us no dignity? What have we done to deserve such savagery?”
The Ji family members shifted uncomfortably. As the hosts, allowing Bo Wang to turn their daughter’s wedding into a torture chamber was a stain on their reputation. They had wanted to intervene, but Ji Jing had held them back. Ji Jing might play the fool, but he was a shark in shallow water; he knew that crossing Bo Wang today would have resulted in their own family being strung up next to the Gongs.
“Move,” Bo Wang growled, his grip on Lu Zhiling’s hand tightening.
“Oh, my head… the pain…” Old Mrs. Gong began to wail, clutching her temples and swaying as if on the verge of a stroke.
Bo Wang looked at her as if she were a weed beneath his boot. A wicked, predatory smirk curved his lips. “If you dare to fall, I dare to step over your corpse.”
The old woman froze mid-groan. The rest of the Gong family pulled her back, terrified, knowing Bo Wang was a man who kept his promises. But the humiliation was too much. Old Mrs. Gong shook off her relatives and stood directly in his path.
“Then do it! Step over these old bones!” she screamed, her voice shaking with hysteria. “Let the world see how the ‘Great Bo Wang’ abuses a white-haired grandmother! Let them know you have a father but no mother—that you have no Jiaojun [proper upbringing/filial education]!”
Before the insult could fully leave her mouth, Bo Wang’s hand flashed out. He snatched a discarded whip from the nearby lamppost and looped it around her throat in one fluid, violent motion.
The crowd shrieked. Bo Wang’s face was a mask of pure, murderous intent. He twisted the leather around his fingers, pulling it taut. “Then allow me to send you on your way, Old Madam.”
The woman’s legs turned to water. She plummeted toward the ground, the breath wheezing out of her lungs. Lu Zhiling lunged forward, catching the old lady before she could be strangled. She looked up at Bo Wang, her eyes pleading as she shook her head.
To touch the matriarch of the Gong family would invite a storm of public condemnation that even the Bo family couldn’t ignore.
“Old Madam Gong,” Lu Zhiling said, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade of ice. “Perhaps you should ask your granddaughter exactly why tonight happened. Instead of questioning another’s upbringing, you should reflect on the poison in your own bloodline.”
She knew Bo Wang didn’t strike without a target. If she had been lured away, it was Gong Zihua’s hand at the tiller.
Lu Zhiling reached out and firmly grasped the whip in Bo Wang’s hand. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with a lingering, primal bloodlust. For a heartbeat, the air crackled between them. Lu Zhiling didn’t blink. She met his gaze with a silent, steady strength, her presence acting as an anchor for his drifting humanity.
His hand loosened. He had listened.
Lu Zhiling felt the breath return to her lungs. She slowly uncoiled the whip from his fingers, tossed it into the mud, and handed the trembling Old Mrs. Gong back to her family. The Gongs didn’t say a word; they were paralyzed by the near-death they had just witnessed.
“Shall we?” Lu Zhiling whispered.
Bo Wang didn’t answer with words. He simply entwined his fingers with hers and led her through the parting crowd.
They walked down the central aisle, surrounded by the crimson-dyed pools and floating white petals. Suddenly, a deafening boom shattered the silence. The night sky erupted in a brilliant, kaleidoscopic display of fireworks above the castle.
Ji Manshi, the bride, looked up as tears carved paths through her makeup. This was meant to be the climax of her fairy-tale wedding—the romantic peak. Now, the fireworks only served to illuminate the wreckage of her day.
High above, a delicate white silk veil—part of the automated ceremony—began to drift down from the castle ramparts, accompanied by a soaring romantic melody. Lu Zhiling tried to step out of the way, but Bo Wang’s grip was like iron. He pulled her still.
The veil floated down, draping over them like a shroud of mist. It settled over Lu Zhiling’s head, blurring her features, brushing against her skin with the softness of a ghost’s touch.
Bo Wang stood perfectly still. In the flickering light of the explosions, his sharp features shifted between shadow and flame. He stared at her through the thin white mesh, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her heart hammer against her ribs. Under that veil, in that moment, she looked like a bride.
Lu Zhiling couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze. She reached up and tore the veil away, her face flushed with embarrassment. She handed the silk to a nearby servant. “Please, give this back to Miss Ji. Tell her I am… deeply sorry.”
She turned back to Bo Wang. “Let’s go.”
The fireworks continued to scar the sky, but the guests had long since lost their appetite for the spectacle. The Gong family, led by the matriarch’s son, began to slink away in disgrace.
“Wait!” Ding Yujun’s voice rang out. Supported by Xia Meiqing, she walked toward the center of the plaza. “What happened tonight requires a proper narrative. I won’t have my grandson labeled a tyrant because of the Gong family’s incompetence.”
The guests were silent. Is he not a tyrant? they wondered.
“Today was meant to be a celebration,” Ding Yujun said, her voice projected with the authority of a queen. “Lu Zhiling, my grandson’s secretary, came here in good faith. Instead, she witnessed Director Gu Na being assaulted and abducted. She fled to my grandson for help. Bo Wang’s reaction was… passionate, yes. But he acted out of a sense of Yi-qi [righteousness/loyalty] to save a life!”
These were the exact words Lu Zhiling had whispered to her.
“Acting bravely?!” a member of the Gong family spat, emboldened by the presence of other guests. “You’re shifting the blame for this massacre onto us? That’s absurd!”
“Is it?” Ding Yujun signaled to her guards. A man, battered and bloody, was dragged into the light. “This is the man who kidnapped the Director. He is a sworn bodyguard of the Gong family. Explain that.”
The Gong family fell into a horrified silence. They looked at Gong Zihua, who was just regaining consciousness. The realization hit them like a physical blow: their daughter’s petty jealousy had nearly ended their bloodline.
Old Mrs. Ji [Ji Wenyue] stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her friend Ding Yujun. “The Gong family has disgraced us. You slandered my auction house, and I turned a blind eye for the sake of our history. But today, you brought violence to my granddaughter’s wedding and assaulted my guests. How much does your family truly hate us?”
Under the combined weight of the Bo and Ji families, the Gongs were crushed. Gong’s father, trembling with shame, turned and delivered a stinging slap to Gong Zihua’s face, nearly knocking her back into the red water.
“Tonight,” Ji Jing whispered to his sister, watching the carnage, “the Gong family becomes the laughingstock of Jiangbei. I’m sorry about your wedding, Manshi. I’ll buy you a better one.”
Ji Manshi clutched the torn veil in her hands. “I don’t know if they’ll be the laughingstock,” she murmured, watching the distant silhouettes of Bo Wang and Lu Zhiling. “But after tonight, the whole country knows one thing: do not touch the woman named Lu Zhiling. Bo Wang will burn the world down just to find her.”
Back at the Dijiangting penthouse, the air was thick with the scent of rain and unresolved tension. Lu Zhiling received a long voice message from Ding Yujun, confirming that the “moral high ground” had been secured and the transition of SG into the conglomerate was still on track.
She sighed with relief, putting her phone away as she entered the living room. Bo Wang was already there, seated at the dining table. He had unbuttoned his shirt, his chest heaving slightly, his face an unreadable mask of cold desire.
Lu Zhiling felt the shift in the room. His mood was a dark, swirling eddy. She moved quietly, clearing the cold dishes and preparing the fresh groceries she had bought. She served him a bowl of steaming rice. “Wash your hands. You need to eat.”
“Come here,” he rasped.
The word wasn’t loud, but it carried weight—an order wrapped in hunger. Lu Zhiling’s breath hitched. For a split second, she stayed where she was, pulse thundering so hard she was sure he could hear it. Then she moved, each step feeling like she was walking straight into a flame she had no intention of avoiding.
She barely made it around the table.
Bo Wang’s hand shot out, fingers locking around her wrist with unyielding force. She had no time to gasp before he yanked her forward, her balance shattering as she fell onto his lap. His arm came up instantly, palm pressing against the back of her head, guiding—no, forcing—her closer until her breath tangled with his.
Her lips brushed his.
Then he took them.
The kiss was brutal in its intent, all restraint stripped away. His mouth opened over hers in a claiming demand, as if he were staking ownership through sheer force of will. Lu Zhiling gasped, the sound swallowed instantly as his tongue swept in, deep and relentless. He tasted of smoke, danger, and something darkly intoxicating—an obsession sharpened to a blade.
His fingers slid into her hair, fist tightening, tugging just enough to make her scalp prickle. The pull anchored her there, helplessly close, until there was no space left between their bodies. Heat poured off him, seeping through fabric, pressing into her until her thoughts scattered like frightened birds.
She twisted instinctively, ending up sideways on his thighs, her knees brushing his hips. Her hands rose on their own, trembling as they clutched his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath. He was solid—terrifyingly so. The same ferocity that had nearly spilled blood earlier was now concentrated entirely on her, focused, possessive, unrestrained.
It scared her.
And it also made her dizzy.
Her fear flickered only briefly before dissolving as his mouth softened—just a fraction—before deepening again. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing instead of conquering, something inside her gave way. She let out a broken breath and melted into him, arms sliding around his neck, pulling herself closer as if proximity alone could steady her racing heart.
The world narrowed to sensation.
The house was deathly quiet, amplifying every sound—the wet press of their mouths, the uneven drag of breath, the subtle tremor that ran through her when his grip tightened again. Her stomach fluttered wildly, a swarm of butterflies crashing into her ribs, each beat of her heart echoing where his chest met hers.
Bo Wang finally broke the kiss—but only barely.
Their mouths stayed a breath apart, his thumb rising to trace the swollen curve of her lower lip. The pad of his thumb lingered there, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the proof of what he’d done to her. His eyes were dark, victorious, burning with something that made her skin prickle.
“Already breathless, Secretary Lu?” he murmured, voice low and rough, brushing against her mouth with every word.
“I’ve… never been kissed like that,” she whispered, her face burning, her voice unsteady despite her attempt at composure.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“That,” he said quietly, “was just the beginning.”
His hand slid from her jaw down her throat, fingers warm and unhurried, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. The touch wasn’t rushed—it was intentional, promising, making her acutely aware of every inch of skin beneath his path. Her breath stuttered as his fingers lingered there, the implication heavier than any action.
He leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, his voice dropping into a murmur meant only for her.
“Tonight,” he said, each word sinking in like a brand, “you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me hunt for you.”