“Yes.”
Li Minghuai observed Bo Wang. Seeing that the man didn’t seem displeased, he assumed his report had hit the mark. He bowed and retreated.
Bo Wang sat at his desk in the silence, eventually reaching for his phone. He opened his chat with Lu Zhiling and pressed the voice message icon. “What time are you coming home tonight?”
A reply appeared almost instantly—two lines of hurried text.
[Lu: The crew has a critical meeting tonight, then I have to visit Dr. Qin for my prenatal checkup. I might not be back until after midnight. Are you staying at Dijiangting (their high-end residential complex) tonight? If you are, I’ll bring you a midnight snack. Do you still want those Crabapple Cakes (a traditional sweet, flower-shaped pastry) from last time?]
He stared at her meticulous, caring instructions. She was always thinking of him.
Lu Zhiling, you absolute Simp (slang for someone overly submissive or devoted in a relationship).
Bo Wang tossed the phone aside. A slow, dark smile spread across his lips, his eyes gleaming with a growing, twisted pleasure.
Black Spade Club.
The lights flickered in a frenetic rhythm, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne and raw hormones. In the sprawling private suite, vintage wines were uncorked one after another, and banknotes littered the floor like autumn leaves.
The door swung open. Bo Wang stepped in, shedding his trench coat with a careless flick. The young heirs inside froze before surging forward to greet him.
“Brother Wang.” “Brother Wang!”
Ji Jing, who had been dancing with a girl, rushed over. “Brother Wang, you’re finally here! I’ll open a bottle of ’92 for you!”
Ji Jing had noticed the change. Lately, Bo Wang had been turning down eight out of ten invitations. Ever since his sister’s wedding, Ji Jing realized that Lu Zhiling wasn’t just another secretary—she was something else entirely.
Bo Wang took a seat. Everyone instinctively cleared a wide berth around him; smart people knew better than to crowd the dragon. He leaned back, watching the room dance in a hedonistic blur. He checked his phone. 11:00 PM. One hour until she returned.
Suddenly, Ji Jing’s loud, drunken voice cut through the music. “Are you an idiot? A woman who is completely obedient to you doesn’t love you!”
Bo Wang’s eyes narrowed. He looked over to see Ji Jing lecturing a man named Ding Zhou, who was drinking himself into a stupor.
“You don’t understand how tender she was!” Ding Zhou growled. “I thought she was just obsessed with me! I never imagined she was that kind of person.”
Ji Jing clinked glasses with him. “Consider it a lesson learned, brother.”
Bo Wang set his glass down, his dark gaze pinning Ji Jing. “What are you talking about?”
“Ding Zhou’s newest conquest,” Ji Jing said, leaning in. “She was the perfect ‘obedient’ type. No matter how much he raged or scolded her, she accepted it all—she even told him she felt sorry his hands were sore from hitting her! When he wanted her, she offered herself up; when he wanted someone else, she’d just cook him a gourmet meal and send it over, worried he’d go hungry. She never threw a tantrum, never got jealous. She licked his boots (acted with extreme servility) until he actually thought about settling down with her.”
“And then?” Bo Wang’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration.
“Then? The woman vanished abroad with all his money!” Ji Jing laughed. “The kicker? She left him a letter saying she only ever wanted his cash. She mocked him for being a ‘weakling’ in bed and said she felt physically ill having to pretend to be interested in him every single time.”
Ji Jing didn’t notice the sudden, lethal chill radiating from Bo Wang. He continued, “Trust me, Brother Wang. Every woman has a temper. The less temper she shows, the more dangerous she is. Petty jealousy, arguments, flipping the table—that’s how a woman shows she’s hooked. If she’s quiet and sensible? She’s either got an agenda or she’s already halfway out the door.”
Bo Wang stood up, his face a mask of shadows. He grabbed his coat and walked out without a word.
BAM!
The heavy door slammed shut, leaving the room in stunned silence.
11:00 PM. Lu Zhiling walked out of the hospital, clutching her ultrasound results. Under the yellow glow of the streetlights, she looked at the image—the tiny, faint outline of a life.
Biparietal diameter 28mm, femur length 13mm. The baby was so small. So well-behaved. Her morning sickness had finally begun to fade.
Beep—! BEEEEEP—!
The arrogant, piercing blare of a car horn shattered the night. High beams suddenly blazed, the white light blinding her. She shielded her eyes, squinting through the glare. As she approached the car, her heart skipped a beat.
“Bo Wang?”
He sat behind the wheel, his expression sinister, his eyes like two pits of black ink. “Get in.”
She tucked the ultrasound into her bag and slipped into the passenger seat. Before the belt had even clicked, he floored it. The car shot forward like a guided missile. Lu Zhiling gripped the handle, her knuckles white.
“What happened, Bo Wang?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer. He drove like a man possessed, the city blurring into a streak of neon. When they reached the Dijiangting villa, the car screeched to a halt in the indoor garden.
“Is there anything you want to eat?” she asked, forcing a gentle smile. “I’ll go buy some Crabapple Cakes…”
“Hungry?” Bo Wang’s voice was a low, jagged rasp.
“A little.”
“I’ll make you something.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, staring at her with a look that suggested he intended to carve her up instead of a meal.
Inside, the house felt like a crime scene waiting to happen. Bo Wang threw his coat on the floor and went straight to the freezer. He pulled out a rack of ribs and slammed them onto the cutting board.
“Sit here,” he commanded.
Lu Zhiling sat opposite him. The only light was a dim, gray pendant lamp that cast long, sharp shadows across his face. Bo Wang opened the knife block. His slender fingers traced the handles, selecting a heavy cleaver as if choosing a weapon of execution.
“Shouldn’t we… defrost them first?” she whispered, clutching her own coat for comfort.
“No need.”
THWACK.
The blade hit the frozen bone with a sickening, heavy sound.
THWACK. THWACK.
Fragments of bone and ice flew through the air. In the dim light, he looked like a butcher in a slaughterhouse. A tiny shard of bone or ice struck Lu Zhiling’s brow. She touched it; her finger came away with a smear of dark, thawed blood.
“I’ll get some water,” she said, her voice trembling. She needed to run.
“Sit down!” he snarled, giving her a look of pure malice before returning to the ribs.
THWACK!
Blood and bone fragments sprayed across the counter. Lu Zhiling felt her breathing tighten. She had to break the spell. “Bo Wang, whatever is wrong, we can resolve it together.”
CRACK! He chopped even harder.
“Please… talk to me. Did something happen at the office?”
Bo Wang drove the cleaver deep into the remaining ribs, leaving it stuck in the bone. He leaned over the counter, his hands stained red, and stared into her soul.
“Last night, at the hotel,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “A group of female celebrities practically threw themselves into my arms. And I think Chen Xueran is quite ‘nice.’ I’m planning to keep her around. It won’t affect your filming, will it?”
He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. It was a test. A trap.
Lu Zhiling realized her mistake. something must have gotten in his head. If she acted “sensible” now, she was as good as dead. She remembered what Gu Na had taught the actors: If you can’t cry, think of your most agonizing heartbreak. Immerse yourself until the tears come naturally.
She slowly raised her face. Her eyes were already rimmed with red, a thin shimmer of tears catching the dim light. She gave him a bitter, shattered smile.
“It won’t affect the filming,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “But Chen Xueran… she’s a plant. Whether she’s from Yu Yunfei or Xia Meiqing, you need to be careful. Check her for cameras. Check her for bugs.”
“…”
“And if you don’t care… if it makes the news… I’ll have the PR department say you’re dating seriously. That way, your reputation won’t be damaged.” Her voice turned nasal, thick with suppressed sobs.
Bo Wang scoffed. “You, the ‘eldest daughter-in-law’ of the Bo family, are truly generous.”
“Do I have a choice?” she snapped, her stubbornness finally breaking through the grief. Her eyes were as red as a rabbit’s now. “As long as you’re happy, nothing else matters. Not even me.”
Bo Wang’s murderous aura vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stared at her, his voice softening just a fraction. “If it’s ‘unimportant,’ then why are your eyes so red?”
“I’m not made of stone!” she sobbed, a tear finally escaping. “How can I stay unmoved when you say these things to my face?” She looked down, looking utterly defeated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“…”
“I’m going to my room. Don’t cook… you’ll hurt your hand.”
She stood up, abandoned her coat on the chair, and fled the kitchen.
Bo Wang stood alone in the dark, his hands still covered in blood, watching her retreating figure. She was going to her room to cry.
She was different. She wasn’t Ding Zhou’s girl. She wasn’t just “sensible”—she was breaking.
Ji Jing is a fucking idiot, he thought, his chest tightening with a strange, uncomfortable heat.