At the yacht venue.
All the electronic screens switched their displays simultaneously.
The jewelry advertisements that had been playing were replaced by a news bulletin: the presidential election had changed hands, and the Zhou Family had risen to power.
On the screen, the Head of the Zhou Family stood at the podium, delivering a speech into the microphone, with a dense thicket of camera flashes behind him.
“Tsk tsk, the Lu Family’s move, truly turning their hand into clouds and flipping it into rain,” a young heir was the first to exclaim.
“The Zhou Family’s prospects in this election weren’t looking good to begin with, but their political rivals just had to be blind, thinking victory was in the bag and rushing headlong to their own deaths.”
“Strange, though. The fools in the Zhao Family aren’t usually that stupid. Why would they, at this critical juncture, run their mouths to some third-rate media outlet—and even dare to mention the Lu Family?”
“Well, there it is. A century-old foundation, years of scheming, all collapsed overnight.”
A man wearing glasses pushed up his frames, his tone arrogant and contemptuous. “All fools. The Lu Family has merely disdained to appear at these occasions in recent years—it’s not as if they’ve fallen.”
“Elder Lu still holds military power in his hands, and the Lu Family remains a top-tier conglomerate beyond everyone’s reach. Their annual financial reports have made plenty of people green with envy.”
“As for those blind fools, what’s there to lament? Didn’t they get what they deserved?”
“That’s enough, say less of such things,” someone cautioned carefully, though without any real tension in their voice.
That was simply how things worked in Gangjing.
You could mock any drowning dog you pleased, but never discuss those in power where others could hear you.
As for the Lu Family, forget discussing them. It was best not to even think about them.
The noblewomen around them, listening to this discussion, couldn’t help but let their gazes drift once more toward the man in the seat of honor.
Full of the regret of wanting what they could never have.
Shen Wanyue accepted everyone’s envious looks, and the embarrassment of being snubbed earlier dissipated considerably.
She was the publicly acknowledged fiancée of Lu Yuzhi, approved by Elder Lu himself.
Shen Wanyue said softly to Shen Jinxin beside her, “Don’t you have a gift for Shiqian?”
Shen Jinxin had just turned eighteen this year. She wore a pale pink gown with a bow, her long hair loosely curled and falling over her shoulders, holding a red brocade box in her hands. At these words, she looked a little shy.
But the confidence instilled by years of being pampered still made her rise to her feet and walk, under everyone’s gaze, to stand before Song Shiqian, opening the brocade box.
Inside was the Venus Gold Award medal, its edges encircled by carved patterns of an ancient pipa, glittering brilliantly under the lights.
“Shiqian, this is the award I won this year.”
“I’ve studied the pipa for twelve years, and this is my highest honor.” Her cheeks flushed crimson.
“I want to give it to the most important person.”
A chorus of teasing erupted around them.
Song Shiqian lounged in the sofa, looking at the young girl before her. She held her pride in her hands—and her feelings too.
He had seen countless women give gifts: jewelry, luxury watches, keys to sports cars. But a medal was a first.
He set his wine glass on the coffee table, reached out and took the medal, spinning it once between his fingertips, his phoenix eyes curving. “Alright, I’ll accept it.”
“Thanks, Jinxin.”
Shen Jinxin’s eyes lit up, the corners of her mouth turning up irrepressibly.
Around them, several young heirs jeered, “Shiqian, you’re quite the lucky one with the ladies.”
Shen Jinxin shyly returned to her seat.
Shen Wanyue watched her younger sister’s lovestruck maidenly manner, the corners of her lips curving slightly, while from the corner of her eye she glanced toward Mu Suihe.
She sat quiet and demure, seemingly without any reaction to the gold medal that should have been hers.
It was late at night by the time the celebration ended.
Mu Suihe followed the Shen Family’s car back to the Shen Family villa. The moment she stepped through the door, Shen Jinxin seized her arm.
Her grip was strong, digging into Mu Suihe’s tender flesh.
“You were late today, and you certainly stole the show on the yacht.” Shen Jinxin dragged her toward the stairwell.
“So many noble young ladies were laughing at you for learning piano, but you just sat there quietly, acting like nothing was wrong.”
“Do you have any idea that in other people’s eyes, you’re just a lowly thing that doesn’t belong on a proper stage?”
“What are you playing at, pretending to be above worldly competition?”
Mu Suihe winced at the pain, drawing a soft breath, a thin sheen of moisture welling in her eyes. “Miss Jinxin, I didn’t—”
“You dare talk back?” Shen Jinxin raised her hand to pinch her again, but another hand caught her wrist.
Shen Wanyue’s voice carried an air of authority. “What’s all this fuss? If you bruise her, who’s going to win you the gold medal?”
Shen Jinxin reluctantly let go, though she remained indignant. “Look at her, Wanyue!”
“The Shen Family feeds her, clothes her, sends her to a private university—and she has the shameless gall to seduce Shiqian.”
“On the yacht today, didn’t you see the way she looked at him? She kept staring at Shiqian until even he felt embarrassed.”
Shen Wanyue’s gaze swept over Mu Suihe’s lowered head, the corner of her mouth curving into an ambiguous smile. “Song Shiqian isn’t the only one she’s seduced.”
Shen Jinxin froze. “Who else?”
Shen Wanyue didn’t answer.
She walked up to Mu Suihe, raised a hand, and tilted her chin up, forcing that delicate, lovely little face to look at her.
Tears gathered in her peach-blossom eyes, on the verge of falling but not yet fallen. Her cherry lips were pressed together, and her neck was so slender that faint bluish veins showed beneath the skin.
Shen Wanyue remembered the rainy night a year ago.
Father Shen had been out drinking at a business engagement. When he returned, the chauffeur was supporting him, but in the corridor he ran into Mu Suihe, who had just come out of the music room.
She was in her nightgown, sheet music in her arms. Back then, her personality wasn’t as timid as it was now—her eyes were remarkably bright and lively.
Father Shen waved the chauffeur away and stumbled toward her, slurring her name: “Suihe.”
He grabbed her pale, slender wrist and dragged her toward his bedroom.
She struggled, the sheet music scattering across the floor, crying out, “Help!”
At the end of the corridor, the door of Shen Wanyue’s room opened.
Mu Suihe saw those calm, cold eyes and, as if grasping the last straw of salvation, lunged forward and clutched at the hem of her dress, her voice breaking into fragments. “Miss Wanyue, please, save me.”
“Let go.” Shen Wanyue looked down at her, her voice indifferent.
She had no intention of saving her. If anything, she secretly wished this threat would be trampled into the mud.
Father Shen dragged Mu Suihe backward. In her panic, she grasped at anything. “I know you play the guzheng too. Haven’t you always wanted the gold medal? I can help you.”
“You’ve heard me play ‘Bright Moon,’ haven’t you? It could win you this year’s Venus Award.”
“Please, help me.”
Shen Wanyue narrowed her eyes. She had indeed heard it.
That day, she had come home to hear an unfamiliar melody drifting from the music room—clear, ethereal. She had stood outside the door listening for a long time, unable to imagine who else in the house could play such a piece.
But when she pushed the door open, she saw this orphan girl, fostered in the Shen Family, sitting at the guzheng, her slender white fingers resting on the silk strings—pure, soft, and smiling at her.
She hadn’t said a word at the time. She had simply watched her for a long, long while.
She knew that if this girl were allowed to grow up and make her debut, she would become a formidable rival in every respect.
At this moment, caught between her father’s lecherous gaze and this orphan girl’s humble pleading, Shen Wanyue weighed her options.
She reached out and lifted Mu Suihe’s chin, her voice as gentle as an elder sister comforting a younger one: “There, little sister. Now this is getting interesting.”
She turned to Father Shen. “Daddy, pretty girls—seventeen and underage there are plenty out there.”
“But if she can win the gold award, just what kind of connections the Shen Family could gain through a daughter, surely I don’t need to spell out the stakes for you.”
Father Shen, breathing heavily, stared at Mu Suihe kneeling on the floor her slender neck, her budding chest, her face like a pear blossom wet with rain.
He swallowed hard, but in the end, he let go.
Staggering toward the door, he rounded the corner of the hallway and bumped into a maid carrying tea, who also had an innocent, fresh-faced look.
He grabbed the maid’s wrist and dragged her toward the bedroom, mumbling indistinctly, “Suihe, you’re so beautiful.”
As the master bedroom door closed, a flash of disgust passed through Mu Suihe’s eyes, unnoticed by anyone.