Wen Tingli remembered she’d just seen this Mr. Meng’s photo in the newspaper a few days ago—the article’s headline had been something like “A Formidable Young Talent: Meng Qiguang, Owner of Dachang Industries.”

The article said that when Meng Qiguang inherited the family business, Dachang Company had been on the verge of bankruptcy, but in just two or three short years he’d bought back every old factory his late father had sold off during his lifetime, and had gone on to open several new flour mills in Wuhan, Cixi, Ningbo, and elsewhere. Now Dachang’s capital had multiplied several times over, and it had clearly become a rising star in the local industrial world. There were also rumors that Meng Qiguang was on close personal terms with several gang leaders in Shanghai, moving comfortably in both legitimate and underworld circles.

“Young Master Meng has both the ability and the ambition—a hundred times shrewder and more capable than his late father,” and so on.

While she was thinking this over, a bright-eyed, short-haired, round-faced woman beside Meng Qiguang spoke up. “Does Miss Wen remember me?”

Wen Tingli shook her head apologetically.

The short-haired woman took no offense, introducing herself readily: “I’m Huang Yuanshan, a director at Golden Film Company.”

Wen Tingli was startled—anyone who liked movies knew the name Huang Yuanshan. She was a director who’d risen to fame these past couple years, with a distinctive style and, remarkably, a film that was a box office hit every single time, which was why Golden Film Company valued her so highly. The big star Duan Miaoqing had been personally launched to fame by her.

As a regular moviegoer herself, Wen Tingli had basically seen every one of Director Huang’s films—her favorite was last year’s Chunshen’s Past, which had been a huge sensation.

Out of curiosity, she began studying Huang Yuanshan more closely—about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, short hair, wearing a flat cap, dressed very casually, yet with bright, resolute eyes that immediately marked her as someone sharp-minded.

Huang Yuanshan proactively handed over a business card. “I saw Miss Wen once, in your school’s auditorium. That evening you played the lead in Spellbound—unforgettable. After the show I wanted to come say hello, but unfortunately you’d already left.”

Someone beside them laughed. “Is Sister Huang scouting for another big star again?”

“Miss Wen has both beauty and talent—it’d be a shame not to act in films. What do you say, Miss Wen, come by our company for a screen test sometime?”

Wen Tingli shook her head with a smile. “Thank you for the compliment, Director Huang, but I’m afraid I’m not very interested in acting.”

“Not interested? How could you perform that well, then? Miss Wen, don’t misunderstand—our company is a reputable one, we only make progressive films.”

She seemed determined to persuade Wen Tingli, and while speaking, pulled out a ticket to the Golden Theater from inside her clothes to hand over.

Wen Tingli smiled awkwardly, at a loss. Though she loved theater, she had no wish to get entangled with a film company. Meng Qiguang chuckled from the side. “Why trouble the poor girl? Your company already has so many actresses—Duan Miaoqing, Shen Qing, all riding high already—what’s one more?”

Just then several older ladies happened to pass by, and hearing this, shook their heads at Huang Yuanshan. “It’s rare enough you come to a party, and still all you talk about is movies, movies. No wonder your father’s so angry—leaving the family business unattended while you fuss over this new-fangled culture all day. Have you ever considered—what good family’s daughter goes into acting?”

“That’s prejudice!” Huang Yuanshan flushed red. “Everything you just said is prejudice! Film is one of the eight great arts of the world—”

Just then, the Qiao family’s steward led in a group of finely dressed young people, who upon seeing Meng Qiguang and Huang Yuanshan laughed, “Why are you two here so early?”

Wen Tingli was only puzzled as to why Qiao Xingchu still hadn’t come find her. Fortunately this interruption pushed the earlier topic aside for Huang Yuanshan. “Qiguang and I are waiting for someone.”

“Did I hear that right? Who has enough clout to make you two wait?”

“You haven’t heard? Old Mr. Lu of Nanyang Hongye is coming tonight too.”

The room fell silent—nearly everyone present had heard of the famed “Lu family of Nanyang Hongye.”

The Lu family’s ancestral roots were in Shanghai, though their fortune had been made in Nanyang. It was said that an ancestor of the Lu family had crossed the ocean to Nanyang to make a living—first working as a miner, then as an apprentice at a money-changing shop. Once he’d saved enough, he opened a large general store locally, and business flourished. A few years later, he sold off everything to hire workers and open a mine in Wendong, and unexpectedly struck a tin deposit, making a great fortune from then on. He then used the momentum to buy up large tracts of land for rubber cultivation, becoming known throughout Nanyang as the Rubber King.

Old Mr. Lu was the second-generation heir of the Hongye Lu family. After inheriting his father’s business, he further expanded into ocean shipping and cotton-and-hemp machinery manufacturing, extending the Lu family’s assets to Batavia, Medan, and Sumatra.

After that, Old Mr. Lu, driven by patriotic fervor, invested a portion of his assets back into the country, over twenty years steadily investing in industries in Shanghai, Beiping, Tianjin, and Hong Kong. The Lixin Bank alone, beside Suzhou Creek, provided thirty to forty million yuan in loans annually to patriotic small and medium enterprises.

There was a saying around town: “If the Lu family let even a little scrap slip through their fingers, it could save a small Shanghai factory.”

If the Qiao family had truly managed to secure Old Mr. Lu’s presence tonight, it was no wonder even Meng Qiguang was willing to patiently wait around.

Then Qiao Baoxin laughed. “You’ve all guessed wrong. It’s not Old Mr. Lu coming tonight, but Young Mr. Lu.”

Everyone was even more astonished. “Lu Shicheng?”

Two girls in the group blushed instantly. Wen Tingli was puzzling over why everyone’s expressions varied so much when, without warning, she spotted an old acquaintance walking through the garden outside the window—Qiu Dapeng.

Ever since she’d gotten together with Qiao Xingchu, Qiu Lingyun hadn’t come to block her path at school again. Qiu Dapeng and his wife had probably realized their son had been rebuffed, and hadn’t visited the Wen household recently either.

Strange—why would Qiu Dapeng be here tonight? Oh, right—Qiu Dapeng currently worked as a comprador at Dabao Trading Company, and Dabao’s daughter was a cousin of Qiao Baoxin’s. Given how skilled Qiu Dapeng was at working connections, it wasn’t surprising he’d wormed his way in.

Before she could look more closely, the figure had already melted into the crowd. Just then Qiao Baoxin stood up. “It’s a bit stuffy—Tingli, Aisha, Qizhen, let’s take a walk in the garden.”

Wen Tingli had actually wanted to go investigate, and said with a smile, “Sure.”

Huang Yuanshan caught up to her. “Miss Wen, please do keep what I said in mind. I can tell you love theater—there’s no harm in trying it out.”

“She can’t.” Someone answered on her behalf.

Wen Tingli’s heart leapt with joy—Qiao Xingchu had arrived.

Qiao Xingchu walked straight over to Wen Tingli’s side, smiling as he said to Huang Yuanshan, “Sister Yuanshan, let me formally introduce her—Miss Wen is my—”

“Xingchu!” Before he could finish, a middle-aged woman in a tight dark-ink silver satin qipao walked in from outside. The woman glared at Wen Tingli, her eyes sharp with hostility.

Wen Tingli was startled by the chill in the woman’s gaze, taken aback for a moment.

Qiao Xingchu frowned and said quietly, “Mother.”

Mrs. Qiao’s expression switched instantly to a beaming smile as she turned to the young people in the room. “Sorry to keep you all waiting. Xingchu said he’d come in to greet you right away, but who knew he’d run into Liyun in the garden. You all know how it is—he and Liyun have known each other since childhood. The past couple years she was studying in America, so they hadn’t seen each other, but now that she’s back, the two of them have endless things to talk about—I was just teasing Xingchu myself, saying whatever he had to say could surely wait, why leave a room full of guests unattended?”

Wen Tingli looked at Qiao Xingchu in shock, then at Mrs. Qiao.

Qiao Xingchu looked his mother straight in the eye and said, cold and hard, “It’s too hot inside. I’m taking Tingli out for a walk first.”

Wen Tingli’s thoughts were in chaos, but she quickly steadied herself and bowed to Mrs. Qiao. “Hello, Auntie.”

Her smile was so sweetly innocent it could have melted solid ice—but Mrs. Qiao only kept glaring at her son. “Don’t forget your grandfather is still waiting for you in the study.”

Qiao Xingchu remained unmoved. “Mother, her name is Wen Tingli, she’s my—”

“Your grandfather just fainted once already!” Mrs. Qiao cut him off sharply, her face turning ashen. “Do you mean to force the old man into the hospital before you’re satisfied?”

Qiao Xingchu seemed to choke on those words, silenced at once.

Mrs. Qiao’s tone softened slightly, her voice dropping. “The Lu family is sending someone tonight. Your grandfather and father need to personally entertain the distinguished guests, and there’s a lot they need to tell you—don’t make them angrier.”

She continued in a gentler, persuasive tone: “You’re too honest for your own good. Your grandfather is still furious—the more you defy him, the more likely things fall apart. Do you really want to break things completely tonight? Why not wait it out a little?”

These words clearly carried a note of compromise, and Qiao Xingchu was somewhat moved by them. He turned to look at Wen Tingli, still uneasy.

Mrs. Qiao switched to a pleasant expression and asked Wen Tingli politely, “I hear you’re classmates with Baoxin at school. Your surname is Wen?”

Wen Tingli quickly nodded with a sweet smile.

“What a pretty girl.” Mrs. Qiao held Wen Tingli’s hand and looked her over. “How are your studies usually?”

Qiao Baoxin, originally caught between her mother and brother, hurriedly spoke up. “Tingli’s studies are excellent, everything about her is excellent. Every time the school has a patriotic performance, she always gets the lead role—even the drama club teacher at our school praises her endlessly.”

Mrs. Qiao’s smile grew even more genuine. “How old are you this year?”

“I’m eighteen.”

Mrs. Qiao nodded kindly. “The same age as our Baoxin. What month were you born?”

As she spoke, she kept holding Wen Tingli’s hand affectionately, and Qiao Xingchu’s expression eased somewhat. Just then someone else came in to announce, “Director Deng of Cixin Hospital has arrived.”

Mrs. Qiao seized the moment to urge Qiao Xingchu along. “Go greet Director Deng quickly—she’s highly skilled in medicine, and we’ll feel more at ease having her examine your grandfather personally later.”

“Then please excuse me.” Qiao Xingchu nodded to the room, then said gently to Wen Tingli, “I’ll go now?”

The smile in Mrs. Qiao’s eyes didn’t waver in the slightest. The moment her son left, she immediately released Wen Tingli’s hand and turned to the other two classmates instead. “Which of you is Chen Aisha? Which is Liu Qizhen?”

The two answered politely, and Mrs. Qiao said warmly, “Xingchu knows you three are Baoxin’s closest friends and didn’t want to neglect you—now that we’ve properly met, please do feel welcome to visit us often.”

With this, she’d neatly severed any connection between her son and Wen Tingli in front of everyone. Wen Tingli bit her lip—it was clear that Mrs. Qiao simply did not like her.

Perhaps, she thought, it was only because they weren’t well acquainted yet. She was confident that with a few more encounters, Mrs. Qiao would surely come to see how lovable she was.

With that thought, she broke into a happy, confident smile again, then suddenly felt a gaze on her from across the room. Looking up, she found Meng Qiguang studying her with a teasing look.

He rose from the sofa and said, seemingly casual, to Mrs. Qiao, “Cousin, you go on ahead—I’ll go have a word with cousin-in-law in the study.”

Young as he was, this man carried himself with both steadiness and presence. Once he left, the rest of the young people followed him out too.

Mrs. Qiao shook her head with a smile, then turned back to Wen Tingli, her expression turning completely cold. She said to Qiao Baoxin, “Your cousin Liyun is in the garden. You’re always talking about her—go find her and play, won’t you?”

Qiao Baoxin looped an arm around her mother’s shoulder and said mysteriously, “Grandfather’s birthday is tonight—I’ve prepared a gift for him.”

“What gift?”

Just then a servant hurried in. “Ma’am, Director Michelle from Wushi Girls’ School has arrived.”

Over there, a tall, thin foreign woman was waving at Mrs. Qiao, who went to greet her happily. “Michelle!”

The two seemed very close. In a moment, the flower parlor held only Wen Tingli and her companions.

They exchanged awkward glances. Chen Aisha and Liu Qizhen had both noticed Mrs. Qiao’s deliberate coldness toward Wen Tingli and looked a bit embarrassed on her behalf, but Wen Tingli looked around with lively interest instead. “Baoxin, where’s the washroom? I think my hair’s gotten a bit messy.”

Qiao Baoxin quickly led the group up to the washroom attached to her own room, deliberately lagging a few steps behind on the way to whisper to Wen Tingli, “Liyun is the daughter of a distant relative of ours—she’s been studying in America and just got back. She’s a good person, but there’s nothing between her and my brother, don’t worry.”

Wen Tingli feigned indifference. “What would I have to worry about?”

Qiao Baoxin gave her a sidelong, teasing look. “I can smell the jealousy from here.”

Wen Tingli burst out laughing—well, fine, she really was bothered to death about it inside.

“Actually I have my own selfish reasons too,” Qiao Baoxin explained. “My mother’s head is full of old-fashioned thinking—I already know that someday when I want to marry for love, she and my father will interfere too. If my brother can make his own decision this time, then when it’s my turn, they won’t have much room to object. So I’m determined to help you two.”

Wen Tingli was quite moved, but also puzzled at how conservative the Qiao family’s atmosphere seemed to be. A little later, coming out of the washroom, they ran into someone who looked like a steward in the hallway. “Miss, there’s trouble—the foreign lead singer from the garden orchestra, Miss Lu—Lu something—”

“Louisa.”

“Right, right. This foreigner just fainted. Director Deng says it’s severe low blood sugar and she needs to be taken to the hospital right away.”

Qiao Baoxin took off running. “Oh no!”

Wen Tingli chased after her. “Why the panic? Worst case you just switch the program.”

“You don’t understand—I prepared this program especially for Grandfather. If the singer’s fainted, how am I supposed to give him a surprise now?”

By the time they reached the garden, a crowd had gathered in front of the pavilion. Louisa lay in a wicker chair by the swing, her face very pale, while a silver-haired old lady bent over to examine her.

The old lady wore a chrysanthemum-green crepe qipao and carried herself with remarkable presence.

Wen Tingli heard someone say, “That’s Director Deng from Cixin Hospital.”

Director Deng straightened up. “Nothing serious, but she should be kept under observation overnight in the emergency ward. Someone bring a blanket to cover her, and make sure she’s kept warm on the way.”

Her words clearly carried weight—the Qiao family immediately sent someone for a blanket. Once Louisa had finally been sent off, a female relative asked Qiao Baoxin, “We agreed this foreigner would open the show tonight—now what? Hurry and think of a replacement act.”

Another elder seemed almost gleeful about it. “Your mother’s always saying you’re the cleverest one in the family. She specially asked you to help arrange your grandfather’s birthday celebration, and look what happens—trouble before the show’s even started. Your grandfather was just asking what kind of surprise you’d prepared for him—what a waste, now.”

Qiao Baoxin’s face flushed red then pale, and she turned to look at Wen Tingli beside her, then suddenly said, “I already had a backup plan. Louisa’s sick, but there’s another talented singer here.”

As she spoke, she pushed Wen Tingli forward. “My classmate here has a voice that’s every bit as good as Miss Louisa’s.”

Wen Tingli was startled. But she immediately caught the pleading look in Qiao Baoxin’s eyes, and recalling the earlier remarks from those Qiao elders subtly belittling the Qiao mother and daughter, she understood at once—the Qiao family’s branches were tangled and complicated, and Qiao Baoxin likely had her own difficulties to navigate too.

“Tingli… please…” Qiao Baoxin’s face was full of apology as she gripped Wen Tingli’s hand tightly.

Wen Tingli worried she’d burst into tears the next second.

“Alright… I’ll try.”

Qiao Baoxin visibly relaxed, leading Wen Tingli toward the center of the garden. Huang Yuanshan came up, looking concerned. “Miss Wen, have you practiced this song before? It’s ‘Greensleeves’—the accompaniment is just a piano, and it really tests one’s voice. And the lyrics are a long string of theatrical English—if you forget the words partway through…”

That would be humiliating in front of everyone.

Just then Mrs. Qiao and her sister-in-law Mrs. Li arrived, having heard the news, and cut in. “Since Miss Wen dares to take this on, that shows she has confidence in herself. Conveniently, the old master and Master are both upstairs—they can open the window and enjoy Miss Wen’s performance from there. Miss Wen, please, go ahead.”

With things put that way, Wen Tingli had no choice but to go through with it.

She didn’t think one song would change Mrs. Qiao’s opinion of her, but since Mrs. Qiao was clearly determined to embarrass her, she wasn’t about to flee the field either.

She could see that Huang Yuanshan was genuinely worried for her, and touched by this kindness, she smiled at Huang Yuanshan and nodded calmly to the orchestra. The pianist seemed curious too about whether Wen Tingli could actually sing, and lifted his hand—notes poured out like flowing water.

Wen Tingli walked to the piano, rested her hand on its edge, and began the first line with easy nonchalance.

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong.”

Her voice had a slightly husky quality—even her speaking voice always sounded a bit like she had a cold—but singing gently now, it took on a wistful, captivating tone all its own.

The garden fell suddenly still. It was as if the song reached out an invisible hand from empty space and gently stroked people’s hearts. It was an intoxicating sensation, tingling down to the roots of one’s ears; those who’d been chatting fell silent without meaning to.

Though the song spoke of love, its melody was so pure and clear it evoked memories of a mother’s murmur from childhood.

The whole garden fell utterly silent. What made a song move people wasn’t only skill, but genuine feeling—and clearly Wen Tingli’s voice carried that power. At the mournful parts, her eyes and brows filled with sorrow; at the joyful parts, she was as lively as a bird on a summer branch.

A window on the second floor was pushed open—the people upstairs were listening silently too.

“Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu, God I pray to prosper thee, For I am still thy lover true, Come once again and love me.”

As the song ended, someone began clapping first. It turned out Qiao Xingchu had arrived at some point, standing at a distance, watching Wen Tingli with a smile. With that, others began applauding too.

Qiao Baoxin beamed with reflected pride, quickly gathering a few people around Wen Tingli, saying cheerfully, “This is Director Deng from Cixin Hospital—she was just praising your singing nonstop.”

Director Deng turned out to be more easygoing than Wen Tingli had expected, offering her hand to shake. “When I was studying abroad, I used to hear this song often in the dormitory. Your singing brought back a lot of memories for me—thank you for such a delightful experience.”

Wen Tingli was about to reply when a female relative came over to fetch the director. “Director, it’s windy over here—please come have some hot tea first.”

The remaining girls stayed gathered around Wen Tingli, and Qiao Baoxin pulled forward a girl in a white Western dress. “This is Sister Liyun—she wanted to meet you.”

Wen Tingli looked her over carefully and offered a sweet smile. “I’m Wen Tingli, pleased to meet you.”

Bai Liyun was quite refined. “Baoxin says you’re the same age as her—then you can just call me Sister Liyun too.”

Huang Yuanshan seized the chance to lean in. “Miss Wen, I’ll say it again—please seriously consider my proposal. I’m desperate for a star at the company who can speak English.”

“Sister Huang, are you at it again?” Qiao Baoxin called out.

Everyone laughed. Among the whole group, only Mrs. Qiao’s face showed no trace of a smile.

Wen Tingli noticed this and felt a pang of dejection—her performance, far from winning Mrs. Qiao over, seemed to have made the woman dislike her even more. But what exactly was wrong with her?

An old steward hurried over to Mrs. Qiao and Mrs. Li and said something. Mrs. Qiao asked quickly, “Have you told the old master and Master?”

The steward nodded. Mrs. Qiao let out a great sigh of relief and exchanged a glance with Mrs. Li beside her.

Wen Tingli felt puzzled by this. Qiao Xingchu came over too, while Huang Yuanshan was still saying, “Miss Wen, how about this—come to our Golden Theater and try performing on stage once, just like a school show.”

Qiao Xingchu laughed. “Still haven’t given up? Tingli has no interest in becoming an actress.”

There was an unmistakable intimacy in his tone. Bai Liyun looked at Qiao Xingchu in surprise, then at Wen Tingli.

Mrs. Qiao’s expression grew even darker, and she raised her voice to Mrs. Li beside her. “Third Sister, don’t you think Miss Wen looks a bit familiar?”

Mrs. Li nodded quickly. “Now that you mention it, I do recall—she reminds me a bit of someone I met before, an old acquaintance. I think her name was… A’Rou, wasn’t it?”

Wen Tingli’s heart clenched violently. Those two characters, “A’Rou,” blew toward her like a bitter midwinter wind.

How could they possibly know the name “A’Rou”?!

In all her years, she’d only heard that name once—late one night years ago, when her father and mother were arguing over something. Her father had said furiously, “Why won’t you let me call you A’Rou? Don’t forget, back when I met you at the Red Powder Fragrant House in Nanjing, your working name was A’Rou. I’ll call you A’Rou if I want—A’Rou, A’Rou, A’Rou.”

Slap— Her mother had struck her father across the face, and he’d tumbled off the edge of the bed with a thud.

“Are you sober now?!” her mother had snapped.

Her father’s voice had immediately gone soft and pleading. “I… I’m sober, dear wife, please don’t be angry, it’s not worth ruining your health over. I drank too much and pickled my own brain—go on, hit me a few more times if you need to.”

Hiding outside the door, Wen Tingli had lost all trace of sleepiness by that point.

Red Powder Fragrant House? What kind of place was that?

Why would her mother have some kind of “working name”?!

She’d felt her heart pounding with fright.

In her eyes, her mother had always seemed no different from anyone else’s mother—except that because of an illness in her youth, her mother’s face bore a scar, and she wasn’t as fond of visiting around as other ladies were. But her mother was naturally optimistic and easygoing, never one to trouble herself with worries; her father respected and loved her, and every household matter was decided by her mother.

She couldn’t imagine that such a cheerful, humorous mother could have some past she was unwilling to speak of.

The next day, Wen Tingli quietly watched her mother’s demeanor, but her mother went about the accounts in the storeroom as usual, and her father greeted customers up front as usual—both looking perfectly normal, as if the argument the night before had only been a dream.

After that, the family business only grew better. Wen Tingli never again heard the name “A’Rou” from either her father’s or her mother’s mouth.

But her father’s words would occasionally surface in her mind, like a thorn lodged in her flesh that couldn’t be pulled free. It wasn’t that she’d never thought of asking her mother directly, but every time she looked at the scar on her mother’s cheek, she somehow couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Slowly, she’d let the matter go.

Now, to suddenly hear the name “A’Rou” from the mouths of the Qiao family, she couldn’t help but feel a chill of dread.

Could it be coincidence? No—Mrs. Qiao and Mrs. Li’s expressions made it clear they’d brought this up on purpose…

She felt a wave of cold spread through her body, and was suddenly nudged gently by someone. Looking up, she met Qiao Xingchu’s anxious gaze. “Why does your face look so bad—are you feeling unwell?”

Wen Tingli fixed her wide eyes, unable to muster even the smallest smile.

She suddenly remembered seeing Qiu Dapeng’s figure in the garden earlier.

That’s right—the Qiu family had fled to Shanghai together with her mother and father back then, so Qiu Dapeng surely knew quite a bit about the family’s background. If her mother had once been called “A’Rou,” he might well know about it too—that narrow-minded, loose-lipped old man had probably let it slip.

Could it be that this “Red Powder Fragrant House” was really…

Her mind was a chaotic mess—part of it aching for her mother, part of it desperate to learn the truth. She stared blankly at Qiao Xingchu, whose eyes were full of questions.

She looked around at Qiao Baoxin, Chen Aisha, Liu Qizhen, Bai Liyun, Huang Yuanshan… and Director Deng not far off…

Everyone was watching her with concern.

Then Mrs. Qiao spoke again: “I don’t think she looks much like her at all. A’Rou died in Japan long ago—I never heard she had any relatives, either.”

The words were spoken with a smile, but the eyes fixed on Wen Tingli plainly carried a threat.

Wen Tingli clenched her jaw silently. She understood now—if she didn’t leave at once, Mrs. Qiao would have no qualms about exposing this in front of everyone.

Rumors were a fearsome thing, and she still wanted to finish her studies properly at Xiude.

The thought helped her regain a measure of composure. She forced a smile, though it lasted only a moment. “I’m so sorry, I’m not feeling well—I’m afraid I must take my leave.”

With that, she lowered her head, pushed past Qiao Xingchu, and headed for the exit.

Qiao Xingchu couldn’t help but follow after her, but just then someone called out from behind, “Stop right there!”

It was a middle-aged man wheeling an elderly man in a wheelchair into the garden. The Qiao family rushed forward in a flurry. “Old Master.”

The old man stared coldly at Qiao Xingchu. “Come here. I have something to ask you.”

“Grandfather!”

This, it seemed, was Qiao Peiying, head of the Qiao family. Wen Tingli forced herself to maintain her composure long enough to offer a bow, then hurried out of the garden.

Walking turned into running.

As she ran, her hair fell across her eyes; she reached up to brush it aside and realized her whole face was wet with tears. Head down, she ran into the main hall, just catching a steward saying, “Hurry, go tell the Master and Madam—Young Mr. Lu has arrived.”

Wen Tingli kept her head down, since she had to walk with her face lowered so no one would see her tear-streaked cheeks. Suddenly she felt a gust of night wind, as if the servants had pulled open the great front doors, and someone was walking in. Just then, running toward the entrance, she collided head-on with him.

The hair ornament in her hair, already loosened, fell to the ground from the impact.

Ordinarily, someone bumped into like this would make some noise, but this person was utterly silent. Flustered, Wen Tingli lowered her head and apologized: “I’m sorry.”

She crouched down to retrieve her hair ornament, but the man, ever courteous, had already bent to pick it up for her first. His fingers were long and fair—clearly a man’s hand.

He handed the item to Wen Tingli without saying a single word the whole time. Someone came running toward this man: “Young Mr. Lu! Forgive us for not welcoming you properly.”

Flustered, Wen Tingli said hastily to him, “Thank you.”

She brushed past him and plunged into the inky darkness of the night.