On the yacht, the guests who hadn’t left began the second round of the night’s revelry.
A young man from a cadet branch of the Zhou Family had been nursing a belly full of frustration all evening.
The first time he’d seen Mu Suihe on the deck, that white sundress wrapped around a waist too slender to hold, those cool, aloof peach-blossom eyes sweeping over the crowd—she was more captivating than every socialite and heiress he’d ever met in their circle.
A pity Song Shiqian was guarding her. For now, he couldn’t make a move.
Zhou Jingchen leaned against the railing, downing glass after glass of whiskey as he scouted prey for the second half of the night—until he spotted another girl squeezing out of the crowd with a champagne glass in hand.
Also in a white dress, also with long black hair, also with that timid, fresh-faced look.
Her features were far less refined than Mu Suihe’s, and her figure lacked that stunning quality that made it impossible to look away.
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a once-over. Fine. Her aura would do.
Zhou Jingchen set down his glass and walked over, bracing one hand on the railing to block her path. He looked down with a smile, his eyes full of practiced tenderness.
“I saw you over there just now, and I felt like we were fated to meet.”
His voice was low, deliberately intimate. “What’s your name? Which family are you from?”
The girl’s cheeks flushed under his gaze, and she murmured her name.
The daughter of a minor family, tagging along with distant relatives to see the world. It was probably her first time at an occasion like this, and she was visibly nervous.
His smile deepened. He reached out and tucked a wind-tousled strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertip brushing her earlobe as if by accident. “Cold? The wind’s too strong. Let me take you inside to sit for a bit.”
The girl didn’t refuse.
He took her hand and led her through the socialites on the deck, swiping open the door to the top-floor suite, shutting out all the jazz music and laughter outside.
“You’re so beautiful.” Zhou Jingchen pressed her against the full-length mirror by the entryway, his thumb tracing the lipstick at the corner of her mouth.
“When you smile, your eyes curve, and I can’t look away.”
As he said it, what flashed through his mind was another pair of tender, almond-shaped eyes.
Zhou Jingchen lowered his head and kissed the girl before him.
Her lips were soft; she was nervous.
His kissing was skilled and patient—he first gently captured her lower lip, and only when he felt her body gradually soften did he kiss her with unhurried boldness.
She wanted to push him away, but her fingers were too weak to muster any strength.
He kissed his way from the corner of her mouth to her earlobe, his lips drifting slowly down the tender skin of her neck, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of her dress.
The white dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled in a small heap, unnoticed by anyone.
“Scared?” he asked, looking down at her, his tone as considerate as a gentleman’s, though his hands had already taken hold of her legs, lifting her into his arms.
Blushing, she shook her head slightly, then nodded, and he half-carried her to the edge of the bed.
The dark gray sheets set off the paleness of her skin. He braced himself above her, the alcohol going to his head.
The same white dress, the same long black hair, the same timid air—it was her.
He bent down to kiss her lips, swallowing all her soft, broken whimpers. His movements weren’t rough, but neither were they gentle, kneading her inch by inch into the bedding.
The girl beneath him reddened around the eyes, her fingers clutching tightly at the pillow.
He lowered his head and kissed her eyelids, praising her for being good, praising her for being pretty, his voice as tender as if he were coaxing a beloved lover.
Under his dense barrage of tenderness, all her nervousness and shyness were washed away.
The bedside wall lamp cast the two of them in ambiguous shadow, until a wave crashed against the hull with a tremendous roar and drowned out her final cries.
By the time Lu Yuzhi returned to the Lu Family estate, it was already the middle of the night.
The private estate, sprawling over a hundred acres, was brightly lit, the European-style fountain glimmering with gold in the darkness.
The servants spotted his car approaching the iron gates from a distance and immediately withdrew to either side, standing at attention with lowered hands.
He passed through the entrance hall, tossed his suit jacket to Jiang Lin, and loosened his tie.
In the living room, Elder Lu Zhenshan was still awake, sitting on the rosewood sofa with his cane, an unfinished chess game laid out before him.
Seeing his youngest son enter, his cloudy eyes brightened. He waved him over to sit, then asked bluntly, “How was the Song Family girl? Is she worth a second look?”
Lu Yuzhi sat down on the sofa across from him, crossing his long legs. “One meeting doesn’t tell you much. She’s about what I expected.”
Lu Zhenshan snorted and rapped his cane against the floor. “Back then, your eldest brother was a disappointment—carried on like he’d die if he couldn’t marry into the Song Family as son-in-law to their only daughter. And look at him now, separated anyway, with mistresses all over the place.”
“I don’t ask much of you. Marry Shen Wanyue, produce an heir, and I’ll train the child myself. Would that not do?”
“Besides, it’s not as if I didn’t ask your opinion back then. You heard her guzheng playing and were deeply impressed—it was you who made me arrange the engagement.”
“Who knew that once you met her in person, you’d stop liking her.”
Lu Yuzhi said nothing.
A year ago, Shen Wanyue had stunned everyone with her performance of “Bright Moon.” He had always been exacting about string instruments, but that recording had indeed made him listen several times over.
Cool and ethereal, like moonlight falling into a deep pool—music that only a translucent soul could produce.
Later, when Elder Lu asked his opinion, for the first time in his life, he didn’t object.
After the engagement, he met Shen Wanyue a few times. She was dignified and gracious, gentle and poised—a proper young lady of a distinguished family.
But that airy quality from the music was gone. What remained was only shrewd calculation and eager flattery aimed at pleasing him.
And then there was the Shen Family’s younger daughter, who had recently played “Butterfly.”
Melancholic, struggling—like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar, desperately beating its wings.
At the time, he had thought: this piece was written about a cage.
And yet it was also like the light sorrow of misty rain over Jiangnan.
His curiosity was stirred.
But tonight, having met her in person, he had nothing left to say.
Her face suddenly flashed through his mind.
Those tender, almond-shaped eyes, her understated elegance amid all the glittering splendor—so otherworldly.
And yet she was a fool with no sense, throwing herself at Song Shiqian of all people.
No self-respect, no self-regard—just knew how to cling to a man.
He sneered inwardly, leaning back against the sofa and closing his eyes.
But in his mind, that face only grew clearer.
Lu Zhenshan was still going on, counting off grievances one by one: “All the younger generation in the family, the nephews from the collateral branches, the illegitimate sons your eldest brother keeps outside—you’ve rejected every single one of them.”
“Either they’re too immature, or not clever enough, or crooked at heart.”
“And you refuse to have children yourself. Who is the Lu Family supposed to pass into the hands of?”
Lu Yuzhi frowned and cut him off. “Stop nagging. I’m not giving you an heir.”
“Shiqian may be a nephew, but his character is solid. He’s far better than your illegitimate sons and their whole generation.”
Lu Zhenshan was furious, eyes bulging. “You brat! What family doesn’t have a few fresh bastards running around outside?”
“Didn’t your mom have a kid with another man back then? Did I ever say anything about it?”
Hearing this, Lu Yuzhi rubbed his nose and said nothing more.
His mother was an artist. Back then, she had been the one to cheat first—the classic type who loved freedom and let herself run wild.