This was Lu Yuzhi’s first time seeing Mu Suihe.
His first thought was: which family’s carefully trained spy is this? Trying to run a honey trap on him?
The schemes people used to plant someone by his side over the years had been endless—he’d long grown sick of watching them.
Heiresses staging “chance encounters,” minor starlets “accidentally” spilling red wine on him at parties, and once, someone bold enough to have a woman stripped bare and delivered to his hotel bed.
But this one was different.
Her features were pure and soft, her face so exquisite it looked painted.
Most striking were those affectionate eyes peach-blossom in shape, yet carrying a hint of an almond eye’s innocence. When she looked at anyone, it was as if her gaze held a pool of water, and on closer inspection, a hidden melancholy, something faintly broken.
It made one want to look closer. To probe.
Lu Yuzhi’s face betrayed nothing, but his fingers tightened slightly around his whiskey glass.
Whoever was behind this had real skill.
He was notoriously picky about women. In all these years, no one had ever figured out his tastes—even Elder Lu had given up trying to matchmake for him.
Yet this woman hit every single one of his preferences.
The way she walked, waist swaying gently like a willow branch stirred by the March wind—soft enough to squeeze water from.
A pity, really.
If she weren’t deliberately approaching him, he might have given her a chance.
Lu Yuzhi looked away and tipped his head back to finish his drink.
The ice slid into his mouth; he crushed it between his teeth, the cold sliding down his throat and settling his mood somewhat.
When he looked up again, Mu Suihe was already moving through the crowd.
She wore the simplest white dress, black hair loose, not a single piece of jewelry on her—yet she effortlessly outshone all the glitter and glamour in the room.
The socialites stopped mid-conversation, one after another, their eyes landing on her.
One Shen Wanyue to contend with face-on, and now another ravishing beauty looking all delicate and pitiable—not to mention countless rivals lurking in the shadows.
Everyone wanted to climb the Lu Family’s high branch, it seemed.
Mu Suihe hadn’t noticed Lu Yuzhi at all.
Quietly, she walked to Shen Jinxin’s side, her eyes carrying a trace of admiration as she looked at Song Shiqian on the sofa.
Lu Yuzhi tracked her in his peripheral vision—until she brushed right past him and headed straight for his nephew.
So he’d been flattering himself?
Jiang Lin, the special assistant who had grown up alongside him, stole a glance at the clearly displeased Ninth Master, then a discreet look at the beauty over there.
He grumbled inwardly: whose family sent this beauty? Doesn’t she have any sense?
Sure, the Ninth Master had more or less settled on Young Master Song as his heir, but the real power in the Lu Family was still firmly in the Ninth Master’s hands.
And this beauty had skipped right past the Ninth Master to go fawn over Young Master Song.
Tch. No eye for reading the room at all.
Song Shiqian was lounging in the sofa when he suddenly found himself locked in those tender, affectionate peach-blossom-almond eyes. He coughed low and sat up straighter, a little awkward.
Over the past year, he’d seen her a few times.
A orphan girl sponsored by the Shen Family, every time she saw him from a distance, she looked as though she wanted to approach but didn’t dare, gazing at him with those longing eyes.
But her eyes were too clean. So clean that even a playboy like him felt embarrassed to misbehave.
He looked away.
The smile on Shen Jinxin’s face couldn’t hold.
She looked at the innocent-seeming Mu Suihe, then at Song Shiqian with his evasive gaze, and the fire in her chest burned hotter and hotter.
Her hands itched to grab Mu Suihe by the throat—but then she remembered all those novels where the vicious heiress side character gets publicly humiliated by the White Lotus Female Lead.
If she blew up in front of all these people, it would only make outsiders sympathize with this vixen putting on an innocent act.
She’d deal with her later, once they were home.
Shen Jinxin swallowed her anger, put on her hostess airs, and stood up, warmly taking Mu Suihe’s arm:
“This is an adopted daughter my mother sponsors. Come to think of it, she’s half a sister to me. She’s never made a public appearance before.”
“It just so happens everyone’s here today, so let’s all get acquainted.”
The young ladies all breathed a sigh of relief.
Someone whispered, “So she’s a sponsored orphan.”
“She’s quite pretty, though.”
“What good is being pretty? No family, no connections, she’s still at everyone’s mercy.”
Still uneasy, someone pressed further: “And her parents?”
Shen Wanyue answered for her sister: “They passed away long ago.”
“It was Mother’s kindness, she planned to sponsor her through university.”
“She’s the same age as Jinxin, just turned eighteen this year.”
A few young men in the back rows exchanged knowing looks, and one couldn’t help whistling.
An orphan. No family or background. A beautiful girl who’d just come of age.
What those words added up to, everyone understood perfectly.
At once, several gazes brazenly fastened onto her—from that innocent, alluring little face, down to the slender waist beneath the white dress, the swell of her tender chest, the curve of her perky hips.
Someone licked his lips. What a delicious little plaything.
Song Shiqian rose to his feet, his tall frame blocking a good number of those lecherous stares.
His gaze swept over the young men with their insolent eyes, carrying an unspoken warning: “That’s enough. Why are you all staring at the girl?”
He gestured to Shen Jinxin and Mu Suihe. “Sit down, both of you. No need to stand.”
Shen Wanyue looked at that strikingly attractive face, her gaze landing on the gold medal.
She said with a smile, “What a coincidence, really—Jinxin and Suihe both got into the Art Department at Shenghua Private University.”
“They’ll be able to look out for each other in their studies.”
Lu Yuzhi leaned back against the sofa, the hand holding his whiskey glass unmoving.
Shenghua was the most elite private institution in Gangjing, where the sons and daughters of plutocratic families all studied.
His gaze drifted over Mu Suihe, sitting quietly beside Shen Jinxin.
“What’s Miss Mu studying, then? Traditional music as well?” asked one of the young ladies in a pale-yellow gown.
Shen Jinxin jumped in first, her smile sweet and harmless: “Her? She was never fond of any of that. She’s studying piano.”
“Suihe never had any exposure to traditional music growing up, it’s too late to start now.”
“Piano, well, it’s easy to pick up. Suits her.”
The young ladies nearby exchanged glances, and one hid the mockery at the corner of her mouth behind her fan.
Piano, introduced from Europe, had indeed once been all the rage.
But that was before Huaguo reclaimed all its lost territories of Jiuzhou.
Now Huaguo had consolidated its new capital, the plutocrats of Gangjing stood dominant, its economy penetrated the globe, and Chinese style was in vogue—Western art had long since fallen from its pedestal.
At the Venus Art Awards, painting and sculpture, once ranked first and second, had both been supplanted by traditional music and relegated beneath it.
Traditional music was further divided by instrument, with the guzheng and pipa most coveted. Only a young lady who could win a gold medal in those truly counted as high society.
As for piano, it was mostly the fallback choice of lesser families who couldn’t touch aristocratic culture.
“No wonder,” the young lady in the pale-yellow gown said with a light laugh.
“The Shen Family paid for her to attend a private arts academy, and apparently she didn’t even learn anything worthwhile.”
“Just as expected, poor people who can’t hold their own in polite company.”
Mu Suihe silently lowered her head.
The whiskey glass in Lu Yuzhi’s hand tilted slightly. So she had studied piano.
Everyone knew he loved extreme sports free solo climbing, deep-sea diving, high-altitude skiing, anything that could send adrenaline soaring to its limits.
But few people knew that the languid melodies of ancient stringed instruments appealed to him far more than flirting with death.
The ethereal sound of the guzheng, the melancholy of the pipa, he loved them both.
Yet few players could truly reach his heart and earn his appreciation.
The piano was not to his taste.
The tones struck from those black and white keys lacked the lingering tenderness unique to ancient strings.
Lu Yuzhi glanced at Mu Suihe’s pale, slender fingers, and suddenly he wanted very much to hear her play an ancient melody.
Those soft, jade-like hands resting on silk strings, every pluck and every flick carrying a lingering, winding resonance.
It would suit her perfectly, he thought.
No—Lu Yuzhi frowned and drove the thought out of his head.
What she studied, what she played, what did any of it have to do with him?