He leaned over her, his expression hardening into something increasingly grim and predatory. “Lu Zhiling,” he rasped, his voice a low vibration against her skin, “are you planning your escape every single day?”
Yes.
The word echoed in her mind. She wanted to leave; she wanted to reclaim the Lu family’s legacy from this gilded cage and retreat to the quiet of Jiangnan [a prosperous region south of the Yangtze River, often romanticized in literature as a place of poetic beauty and peaceful retirement]. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in the shadow of the old house, far from him.
But the words died in her throat. She knew the cost of honesty with a man like Bo Wang.
“Occasionally,” she lied, her voice soft and yielding. “But most of the time, when I look at you, my mind goes blank. I can’t think of anything else but you.”
The confession, though born of survival, visibly pleased him. The tension in his shoulders bled away, replaced by a dark, possessive hunger. He lowered his head, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that felt endless—a slow, rhythmic consumption.
Lu Zhiling tilted her head back, her breath hitching in a trembling sigh as she accepted the weight of him. Fortunately, ever since she had used her pregnancy—and the humiliating “excuse” of bladder control—as a shield, he hadn’t forced the final act. But his lust was a palpable force. His hands roamed her curves with a feverish intensity, leaving her skin flushed and her mind reeling. He played with the boundaries of her endurance, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she felt she might dissolve under the heat of his gaze.
…
The intensity of his touch followed her into her sleep. That night, Lu Zhiling’s dreams were a chaotic blur of passion and violence. She dreamed of Bo Wang’s hands—not gentle, but tearing at her clothes, dragging her toward the bed with a terrifying, primal strength.
In the dream, the pleasure turned to copper. Blood began to bloom across the silk sheets, staining the room in a sickening crimson [a color often associated with both weddings and tragedies in Chinese symbolism]. The child was gone. She felt her life force draining away, a cold void opening in her chest. Bo Wang stood at the foot of the bed, shrouded in shadow, his face twisted into the mask of a sinister murderer.
She woke up gasping, the phantom scent of iron still in her nose.
The nightmare left her dazed and listless the following day. She sat at her desk at SG Entertainment, staring at documents through a foggy lens of exhaustion.
Knock, knock.
The sharp sound snapped her back to reality. Lu Zhiling looked up to find Gu Na standing before her. The woman who had been a broken mess of sedatives and grief at the hospital only a day prior was now transformed. She looked refreshed, her short hair perfectly styled, wearing a sharp black suit dress that screamed “Director.” Her eyes, once clouded with pain, were now bright and calculating.
“The receptionist said you gave the word that I can come up anytime,” Gu Na said, her lips curving into a friendly smile—a stark contrast to the aloof [a common trope for ‘high-cold’ or ‘Gao Leng’ professional female characters] demeanor she usually maintained.
Lu Zhiling stood up, shaking off her surprise. “You look much better, Director Gu. Your recovery is… impressive.”
Inwardly, Lu Zhiling marveled at her resilience. To realize the man you hated was actually the love of your life—and that he was dead—usually broke a person. But Gu Na had processed a lifetime of regret in twenty-four hours.
“I’ve already ordered my team to fly in. Let’s get to work,” Gu Na said, surveying the office. “Where shall we talk?”
“You’re staying?” Lu Zhiling asked, stunned. “I thought nothing could make you stay in the country.”
Gu Na’s expression softened into something resembling elder-sisterly affection. “Because you are Xiao Qi [a nickname meaning ‘Little Seven,’ indicating her birth order among the siblings], Lu Jingcheng’s favorite little sister.”
The name sent a pang through Zhiling’s heart. Only family called her that.
“I stayed away because I hated him so much I couldn’t breathe the same air,” Gu Na said decisively. “But the hate is gone now. Letting go is a choice adults make.”
Without another word, Zhiling ushered her into Bo Wang’s private office. He wasn’t there, so she prepared a cup of tea. Gu Na sat on the sofa, her eyes narrowing as she took in the surroundings. “You come and go as you please in Bo Wang’s inner sanctum?”
“I do.”
Gu Na leaned forward, her tone turning serious. “Xiao Qi, do you know what they’re saying? They say you’re his mistress. They say he destroyed the Gong family just for a whim. They’re saying your husband is happy to wear a green hat [a Chinese idiom meaning a man whose wife is cheating on him].”
Gu Na took Zhiling’s hand, her eyes falling on the band of gold there. “If this ring is just for show, take it off. These rumors will ruin you.”
“This is my wedding ring,” Zhiling said softly. “The man I married is Bo Wang.”
Silence fell over the room like a heavy shroud. Gu Na stared, her mouth slightly agape.
“You… how could you fall for a killer?” Gu Na finally whispered. “If your brother were alive, he would be furious. He’d burn this building down before letting you near a man with so much blood on his hands.”
While the rest of the world saw Zhiling as a social climber, Gu Na saw it as a tragedy. For the first time in five years, Zhiling felt a genuine spark of warmth.
“He isn’t that bad,” Zhiling defended, her voice low. “He saved me. And he only caused that scene at the wedding because he was worried for my safety.”
Gu Na sighed, her director’s brain already connecting the dots of the “drama” she had witnessed at the Ji wedding. “I see. If a man like him is willing to mark his territory so publicly, he must have feelings for you. But still… you told your brothers you wanted to marry someone like him?”
Zhiling chuckled. “I told my brothers that whenever they nagged me about dating. I just wanted them to stop asking, so I picked the most outrageous type of man I could think of.”
“You fooled Jingcheng,” Gu Na laughed. “He was so proud of your ‘tough’ taste in men.”
The mood lightened until Gu Na looked at her stomach. “You’re pregnant? And he has you working?”
“It’s not work; it’s keeping him close,” Zhiling explained. She told her about the drowning, the shadows following her, and the need for this TV show to act as a lure.
Gu Na’s eyes turned cold and sharp. “I understand. This isn’t just a show. It’s a trap for the mastermind who tried to kill you.”
“Exactly. I won’t live with a knife at my throat.”
“And you think I can make this a hit in two months?” Gu Na asked, her professional pride flaring.
“I’m betting everything on you.” Zhiling handed over the research materials.
As Gu Na read, her face went from serious to grim. By the second page, she was standing up. “Are you sure you want to film this? This is explosive.”
“I am,” Zhiling replied.
“Then I won’t let you down. I’ll put my soul into this.”
Days later, the script for the first episode was ready. Zhiling brought it to Bo Wang’s office. She entered to find him emerging from his lounge, shirtless and stretching. The sight was a deliberate provocation—his abdominal muscles rippling, his well-defined chest glistening slightly in the office lights.
He didn’t reach for a towel. Instead, he watched her with hooded, dark eyes as he slowly buttoned his shirt, one button at a time, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Your insomnia is better,” she noted, setting down a black coffee.
“It would be even better if I had a woman in my bed instead of just a ghost,” he countered, his voice dripping with sly suggestion [often implying a desire for ‘dual cultivation’ or intimate congress].
He walked toward her, the scent of expensive tobacco and cedarwood enveloping her. He reached out, his fingers brushing her ear before settling on the nape of her neck, pulling her just an inch closer. The intimacy was effortless, a silent claim.
“What do you want me to learn today, teacher?” he murmured against her temple.
“Whatever you want,” she whispered, her heart racing.
“Teach me how to handle this ‘pregnancy incontinence’ you mentioned,” he said, his hand sliding lower to the small of her back, his thumb tracing the line of her spine. “And teach me how to reduce the risks of… certain activities… during the second trimester.”
He was in heat. There was no other word for the raw, animalistic energy radiating from him.
Zhiling forced a nervous laugh. “I’m not a doctor. Ask Dr. Qin. Let’s focus on the script, Bo Wang. It’s brilliant.”
She escaped his grip to hand him the folder. He glanced at it, bored. To him, the company was a toy he’d given her. “Do what you want.”
…
That night, copies of that script were already being dissected by his rivals, Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing. They saw the potential. They began planting their “pieces” immediately—actors, grips, and makeup artists—all intended to infiltrate the set.
The project was officially titled: “The Rich and Powerful.”
On the day of the auditions, the lobby of SG was packed with the most beautiful faces in the industry. Gu Na and Zhiling watched from the mezzanine.
“Look at them,” Gu Na remarked. “A third of them are spies sent by the Bo family wives. Every ‘ghost and demon’ in the city is in this room.”
“Then I trust you to weed them out, Director.”
As the auditions began, a young woman walked in. She wore a dark green Qipao [a traditional Chinese body-hugging dress] with a high collar. She looked like a willow in the wind—fragile, translucent skin, and eyes that seemed perpetually filled with unshed tears.
She was the perfect “pitiful beauty.” And in this world, those were often the most dangerous.