He only called her Lan Die. It wasn’t until years later that she learned the reason: he was Cang Lan, and she was the butterfly of Lan (Blue)!
—Cang Lan Butterfly Dance
In the VIP diamond-level private room of the capital’s most exclusive club.
The glamorous and radiant socialite Lin Yi looked at the young woman opposite her with a faint, mocking smile. “Are you going or not?”
The girl had a tall, slender figure—narrow shoulders, a delicate back, and a slender waist. Her waterfall-like black hair cascaded smoothly down to her waist.
She kept her head lowered, hiding her face.
But just from the graceful elegance of her silhouette, one could tell she must be a beauty with exquisite bone structure.
Lin Yi let out a light scoff. “What I hate most is this pretentious, holier-than-thou act of yours. Do you still think you’re the high-and-mighty heiress of Lan Sheng Group?”
The girl’s figure trembled almost imperceptibly, and she raised her head.
An oval face, peach-blossom eyes, porcelain skin, a delicate nose, and cherry lips…
Together, they formed a serene, ink-wash elegance reminiscent of the Jiangnan region, yet also an utterly captivating, mesmerizing allure.
Lin Yi hated Lan Die’s face the most—that perfect blend of purity and seduction!
For as long as she could remember, she had pretended to be Lan Die’s “plastic sister” in their wealthy social circle, only to be overshadowed by her beauty year after year!
Now, Lan Sheng Group had collapsed. The Lan family had been besieged by creditors overnight, and that once-proud heiress had nearly been assaulted by debt collectors…
Lin Yi could hardly contain her glee!
As for their so-called “plastic sisterhood,” she no longer needed to keep up the act!
“Lin Yi, thank you. I’ll go.” Lan Die took the glittering golden invitation card.
It was an entry pass to an exclusive private party for the city’s top elites and socialites.
Lan Die had agreed to perform her signature ballet to entertain the distinguished guests.
“I’m doing this for your own good. Who knows—maybe some elite will take a liking to you, keep you as a mistress, and you won’t have to live in such misery. You might even pay off the debt you owe to my Jian’an’s family.”
Lin Yi wore a look of smug amusement.
Hearing Kang Jian’an’s name, Lan Die’s long, thick eyelashes fluttered like delicate butterfly wings.
She didn’t want to stay any longer and endure Lin Yi’s humiliation. Standing up, she politely said, “Goodbye,” and prepared to leave.
“Jian’an is coming to pick me up soon. Would you like to see him?” Lin Yi glanced at her sideways.
“No need!” Lan Die practically fled the private room.
Large teardrops welled up from her enchanting peach-blossom eyes, falling like plump, round pearls—beautiful yet fragile.
Her upbringing prevented her from speaking harsh words, but her suppressed grievances needed an outlet.
She chose to cry and escape.
Running too quickly, she collided squarely with someone and was thrown back, nearly stumbling.
A very distinctive woody fragrance, mixed with a faint hint of tobacco, enveloped her senses.
It gave an illusory sense of security, yet also carried a subtle air of aloofness and intrusion.
Lan Die was highly sensitive to scents.
She herself was born with a natural, elegant orchid fragrance that had never been replicated.
On the day she was born, hundreds of beautiful butterflies gathered outside the window of her mother’s hospital room, lingering for a long time—a rare and wondrous sight.
Hence, her name was simply “Die.”
She tilted her head back with effort to see the tall, imposing man standing before her.
He was dressed in traditional trousers and a shirt, with an extremely arrogant, unapproachable, and distant appearance.
The noble, extraordinary aura he exuded, along with his understated yet luxurious attire, allowed her to quickly gauge his likely status.
The capital has never lacked for the powerful and privileged, yet those with truly sky-reaching influence are few and far between.
“I’m sorry!” Lan Die lowered her gaze as she apologized, her voice as sweet as spring water.
The man remained expressionless, merely glancing at her before casually walking past her side.
It seemed he stirred a breeze in his wake, carrying with it his distinct woody fragrance.
That scent was unlike any she had ever smelled before.
Later, she would learn it was called Pine Scent, a signature fragrance crafted for him by the Swiss master perfumer Alberto, tailored to his aura and preferences.
After all, as the former heiress of the Lan Sheng Group, Lan Die’s taste and judgment were quite sharp.
The man entered a luxurious private room and wordlessly took the central seat.
Immediately, several men dressed as elites approached, offering toasts and tea, eagerly searching for conversation topics.
He had always disdained such sycophantic gatherings—sending a senior assistant to handle them was more than enough.
Today, he had come only because Liao Zhongqing, a fellow scion from the same compound, had insisted three times that he, having just returned to the country, must come out and learn about China’s most promising investment projects.
The one sitting beside him, the only person not bowing and scraping, was Liao Zhongqing.
The He and Liao families were old allies from the same faction, among the capital’s rare few with sky-reaching influence.
After briefly listening to the reports from the elite executives, He Canglan grasped the gist.
As they continued their endless chatter, he listened half-heartedly, his gaze drifting intermittently toward the window.
His eyes underwent a subtle change, imperceptible to others.
Beside the bustling street stood tall ornamental trees. Beneath one of them was a silhouette with graceful curves.
Her waist was excessively slender, like a delicate jade branch from a fairy realm, seemingly ready to snap with a gust of wind.
The skin exposed where her dress fabric did not cover was strikingly pale. When sunlight struck it, the reflected light caused He Canglan’s slightly wicked, narrow phoenix eyes to squint faintly.
A breeze stirred. The girl’s long hair lifted, and several beautiful butterflies fluttered around her hair tips, lingering for a long while.
In his nostrils, it seemed the faint, elusive orchid fragrance she had emitted when she bumped into him earlier once again lingered.
A scent he couldn’t shake off.
Liao Zhongqing noticed his distraction and followed the man’s gaze out the window.
He Canglan’s eyes lingering on a woman? Unheard of!
Liao Zhongqing leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Canglan, your eye is as sharp as your investments! Lan Die, the fallen princess of the Lan Sheng Group!
A third-year broadcasting student at Capital University, long-reigning as the top campus belle in China, skilled in ballet, hailed as the Ballet Princess of the Capital’s elite circles.
Many scions in the circle have fantasized about her, but fearing the Lan Sheng Group’s former might, none dared act.
Now, with the once-mighty Lan Sheng Group collapsed and burdened with massive debt, many have openly offered to ‘sponsor’ her—clearly taking advantage of a vulnerable woman in distress.”
He Canglan said nothing, but his sensual thin lips gradually pressed into a straight line. His phoenix eyes held an inscrutable expression.
He was no saint, nor anyone’s savior.
His family background had taught him from a young age the stark, nearly insurmountable divides of social hierarchy.
Typical of scions from powerful families, while exquisitely polished and tactful, he was permeated with aloofness and indifference, arrogance and prejudice.
Thus, he subtly curled his lips, a hint of mockery in his tone:
“Zhongqing, have you ever been the one fantasizing about her?”
Liao Zhongqing’s Adam’s apple bobbed unnaturally.
Everyone is drawn to beauties, especially those rare, peerless ones of extraordinary charm.
Liao Zhongqing was no exception, though he only regarded those from mismatched backgrounds as mere playmates.
Before he could figure out how to respond, He Canglan’s low voice reached his ears:
“If so, from now on, you can put an end to such thoughts!”