Like a meticulously returned, if slightly damaged, package, the limousine dropped Lin Wanwan off at Mingde Hospital. Her already precarious situation was made even more confusing by Ye Tingjue's cryptic remarks about her family and "old debts," which left her reeling after their encounter. She felt more like a piece on a chessboard, moved by an invisible hand with an unknown strategy, than a woman who had made a last-ditch deal.
When she came back, Xiaoyu was asleep, breathing steadily, and his skin tone was maybe a little less pale. It was a painful anchor to see him so calm and uninformed. Xiaoyu's safety was her top priority, which is why she was involved in this horrifying charade, regardless of the shadows Ye Tingjue was casting or the complex games he was playing.
There was no escape from sleep that night. Ye Tingjue's face, with its cool, evaluating gaze, mysterious lip curve, and unnerving intensity when he spoke of Suzhou, was superimposed over Wanwan's worries as she tossed and turned. Suzhou's Lins embroidery is made of silk. Haunted by a past he hardly discussed, her father had been a reserved man. He once told her that his mother had given him a pair of beautifully embroidered silk slippers, which were still beautifully crafted even though their vivid colors had faded with age. It was one of the few physical reminders of a heritage she was hardly aware of. Is there a connection?
The days that followed settled into an odd, unsettling pattern. Ye Tingjue did not call her back right away. Rather, he showed up in more subdued, sneaky ways. A private suite was added to Xiaoyu's room, complete with conveniences that greatly exceeded what was offered in a typical hospital. Renowned experts in their domains showed up for consultations, their costs likely paid by her invisible sponsor. Every day, lavish bouquets of exotic flowers filled the room with a heady scent, accompanied by a plain, unsigned card. It served as a persistent, unsettling reminder of his ownership, strength, and reach.
A stylish, silver laptop was brought to Xiaoyu's room one afternoon. It was the best, with games, educational apps, and streaming services already installed. Weak but encouraged by the better care, Xiaoyu was overjoyed.
His eyes gleamed as he said, "Jie, look!" "This was sent by someone! Is the individual who paid for the room, in your opinion, the same one?
Wanwan feigned a smile. "Xiaoyu, it has to be. There are still good people in the world. She didn't think of Ye Tingjue as kind. Maybe calculated. Of course, possessive.
The presents bound her more tightly, like a gilded leash. Every instance of "generosity" resulted in an additional debt and a link in the chain. His silent, pervasive influence suffocated her. With terrifying effectiveness, he was proving that he had complete control over her life and, consequently, her brother's.
Then Kai was back. She was stirring a cup of lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when he found her.
As silent and unobtrusive as ever, he said, "Miss Lin." "Mr. Ye asks that you start getting to know his family. He has made arrangements for you to stay in a suite of rooms at his main home.
In its saucer, Wanwan's coffee cup clattered. "His home? However, Xiaoyu.
"Miss Lin, you will continue to provide Lin Xiaoyu with the best care possible here at Mingde. Mr. Ye has made sure of that. Although it makes sense, your presence at the hospital is not currently strictly required for his medical well-being. But Mr. Ye wants his... friends... to be easily reachable." The steely implication was not entirely concealed by the courteous exterior. It wasn't a request.
"Companions," Wanwan said again, the word having an ashy taste. "Is that who I am?"
Kai's face didn't change its expression. "Mr. Ye uses his own words. You will be picked up by a car this evening at seven o'clock. Please make sure you have packed any personal items you think are necessary.
Argument was out of the question. That night, Wanwan was in the back of the black limousine once more, with a small, battered suitcase filled with her few belongings on the seat next to her. She had told Xiaoyu that she was just staying near a new, demanding job she had taken to help with expenses, and she had said goodbye, promising to visit him every day. With the gullible naivete of youth, he had accepted her explanation, his enthusiasm for his new laptop outweighing any reservations. Her tongue ached from the lie.
This time, the limo did not transport her to the minimalist penthouse. Instead, it headed toward a posh, densely forested enclave farther out of the city. It went up a long, winding driveway and through imposing wrought-iron gates guarded by security guards who hardly looked at the car. At last, it came to a stop in front of a large, contemporary mansion that resembled a private resort more than a house. It was a dark-wooded, stone, and glass fortress that blended in perfectly with the lush, manicured grounds.
Kai ushered her in. With its expansive, open areas, lofty ceilings, and windows framing breathtaking views of the surrounding forest, the interior was simply stunning. The exquisite combination of priceless antiques and modern minimalism in the décor was evidence of great wealth and discriminating taste. However, it felt oddly impersonal, more like a museum than a home, much like the penthouse.
A "suite of rooms" larger than her entire previous apartment was shown to her. A large bedroom, an opulent bathroom, a private sitting area, and a walk-in closet already filled with a variety of brand-new clothing items in her size, all beautifully made and all bearing designer labels she could only recognize from magazines. These items included dresses, casual wear, lingerie, and shoes. It was yet another demonstration of his strength, his capacity to foresee her requirements, to support her in a way that was both overwhelming and extremely unnerving.
Kai told her, "Mr. Ye is currently occupied with business." "He'll be at dinner with you. Please settle in. The domestic staff is available to you if you need anything.
Wanwan felt like a bird in a gilded cage, alone in the luxurious suite. The opulence was oppressive. She felt completely out of place as she moved through the rooms, touching the rich fabrics and the cool marble surfaces. Although the clothing in the closet was lovely, it felt like a costume, just another way for him to shape her into someone she wasn't.
She was escorted to a formal dining room later that evening while wearing one of the more straightforward new dresses, a silk sheath in a subdued teal that still felt way too ostentatious. Ye Tingjue was already there, holding a glass of amber liquid while standing by a huge stone fireplace. As she walked in, he glanced up, his dark eyes sweeping over her, a barely noticeable nod of approval.
"Miss Lin," he said in a smooth voice. "Greetings from my house."
Another lavish event was dinner, which was served by quiet, well-organized staff. When he felt like it, Ye Tingjue was a surprisingly interesting host, talking about philosophy, art, and travel with a casual erudition. In a courteous, almost paternalistic tone, he inquired about her day and Xiaoyu's development. However, beneath the surface, Wanwan could feel his control's unsettling, continuous thrum.
After supper, he took her to a huge library with books lining the walls from floor to ceiling rather than the bedroom. Despite being perfectly organized, it was the only room in the mansion that felt... cozier and more intimate.
He pointed to the bookshelves and remarked, "You mentioned you enjoyed literature." "Go ahead and explore. Many of these were gathered over many generations by my family.
Then he approached a big, old globe that was in a room corner. Slowly, he turned it while looking away. He whispered, almost to himself, "Suzhou." "A city of gardens, canals, and... complex histories."
His eyes were suddenly focused and sharp as he turned back to her. "Miss Lin, your father. Did he ever mention a Jiang family or a woman named Mei?
Wanwan scowled as she tried to recall something. "Mei? No, I can't remember. Jiang I can't place the name, but it sounds vaguely familiar. My dad didn't like to think back on the past.
Ye Tingjue's face was still unreadable. "Well, maybe. It's best not to disturb certain memories. Or maybe they just bide their time until they reappear.
He made his way to an area of the library that housed older, leather-bound books. He took one down, its pages yellowed with age, its cover tattered. "This is a compilation of poetry from the Qing dynasty," he explained, passing it to her. One poem in particular discusses the plum blossom's tenacity, which is a symbol frequently connected to Suzhou.
With an unfamiliar weight in her hands, Wanwan accepted the book. She said, "Thank you," but she was a little uncomfortable. Why was he so obsessed with Suzhou and the potential ties to her family? What did he want her to know, or maybe what did he want to find out?
His voice softened almost imperceptibly as he said, "Rest well, Miss Lin." "We can talk more formally about your role in this household tomorrow."
She was not touched by him. Wanwan was left alone with the ancient book of poetry, the silent, watchful shelves, and an increasing sense of dread as he simply bowed his head and departed the library. His "步步为营" (step-by-step entrapment) was much more subtle than she had first thought. Her body wasn't the only thing at stake; it appeared that he was claiming her identity and past, incorporating her into a story whose start and finish were obscured by his own mysterious plans. The whispers of a forgotten past were becoming louder, and the gilded leash was getting tighter.