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At the Zhou family’s old residence.
The ancient, cold-gray tones of the surroundings were oppressive. Dead leaves spun and fell to the ground, while the thick walls added to a heavy, weighty atmosphere.
After a quiet and subdued breakfast, Old Master Zhou glanced at his most cherished eldest grandson.
“Where’s that little sister from the Ming family? Didn’t you bring her along?”
At a certain age, one would automatically be bound to a matchmaking system. Old Master Zhou spoke slowly. “There are many young and talented people visiting me today. You should keep an eye on that girl for me.”
Zhou Tingyun’s voice was calm and deep. “She’s still young.”
“She’s still young? And what about you?” Old Master Zhou twirled a bead chain, his tone neither warm nor cold. “It’s time for you to settle down. You’ve been taking care of a sister who has no blood relation to you—how does that look?”
“Are you planning to keep her living with you even after you get married?”
The words hit hard. Zhou Qian, standing nearby, couldn’t help but twitch his hand, wishing he could vanish from the scene.
Who didn’t know how much the eldest brother doted on Ming Zhao, treating her like the apple of his eye?
But it seemed even mentioning it was taboo.
And yet, Grandpa still insisted on stepping on a landmine.
Although it was understandable—after all, Ming Zhao’s reputation for being spoiled and domineering was well known—for a patriarch like Grandpa, it was no surprise that he didn’t have a good impression of her.
However, damn, Zhou Qian felt like he was about to freeze to death from the cold air.
Shrinking his neck, he did his best to lower his presence to the minimum.
“At your age, you should be retired and enjoying your old age.” Zhou Tingyun didn’t even look up, his tone indifferent and impossible to read.
“Her marriage is for her parents to worry about—it’s none of your business.”
“You—!”
The words were even harsher, and Old Master Zhou’s face turned red with fury, clutching his chest, unable to speak for a long while.
Zhou Qian looked on, worried the old man might collapse right there.
“Today is Grandpa’s birthday—there’s no need to bring up what Third Uncle did at the company.”
At these words, Chen Lanfang’s face turned ashen. She instinctively glanced at Old Master Zhou, then quickly averted her eyes in guilt and panic.
“W-what are you talking about? Tingyun, you can’t just say things like that!”
Old Master Zhou’s eyes flared with anger as he glared at her. “What does he mean? What has that bastard done now?!”
The woman instinctively tried to cover up and deny everything, causing a chaotic scene.
Zhou Tingyun, uninterested in their quarrel, stood up and walked out.
The autumn wind howled desolately. The gray roof tiles looked particularly cold and solemn, while dry branches grew haphazardly—barren and lonely.
There were no golden ginkgo trees, no orange-red persimmons, nor the vibrant, ripe pomegranates that once swayed on the branches.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated, breaking the cold silence.
He opened WeChat.
A cute cartoon avatar, labeled “Little Darling,” had sent him two pictures.
[Help me choose! Which lipstick shade looks better?]
The photos were freshly taken. Her fair complexion and delicate, upturned nose stood out, while her plump lips were covered in a glossy, cherry-pink shade.
Ming Zhao had always loved looking pretty, and as a result, he had been roped into helping her with her styling choices—from picking hairpins to match her dresses in kindergarten to pairing makeup with lipstick and accessories as she grew older.
He was now well-versed in shades like nude, classic red, rose pink, and autumn-winter browns.
But…
Zhou Tingyun’s gaze glanced to the top left corner of the screen, checking the time.
It was indeed 8:00 a.m.
He replied, [Both look good. The second one matches your outfit better.]
After making his choice, he followed up with a question:
[Why are you up so early today?]
Normally, she would sleep until noon, and waking up early would put her in a bad mood.
[Hehe, guess!] Little Darling responded.
A typical dodge to avoid telling the truth.
Zhou Tingyun sent a quick message: [Be safe while you’re out.] He then put his phone away.
…
Lanting Mansion.
Many of the guests attending the birthday banquet were there not just to visit the elder of the Zhou Family but also to curry favor and expand their connections.
Ming Zhao had her long hair elegantly pinned up, dressed in a pure white satin gown. Around her neck, layers of lustrous pearls rested gracefully, while her wrist was adorned with a ruby bracelet. A large, deep-red pigeon blood ruby ring made her hand appear even more delicate and fair, giving her the appearance of a noblewoman straight out of a classic oil painting.
However, her attempt to blend in felt a bit too forced.
Dragging Lin Zhiwei along, Ming Zhao weaved through the crowd, avoiding people here and there, eventually finding a quiet corner. She said she was planning to surprise Zhou Tingyun.
Lin Zhiwei was speechless—who here didn’t already recognize her?
Everyone’s eyes were already drawn to her, with hushed whispers buried under the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations.
Occasionally, a few up-and-coming figures from recent years were caught off guard by her striking presence, wondering which family’s daughter she belonged to. She stood out—so graceful and elegant that it felt like she wasn’t even on the same level as everyone else.
“Isn’t that the Ming family’s eldest daughter? Why is she here?”
“Obviously. Why wouldn’t Young Master Zhou’s sister be here?”
“She’s not even his real sister,” one person scoffed. Then, as if struck by a thought, they added mockingly, “Maybe she’s more like a… special sister.”
“Whoa, are you crazy?” another person hissed, quickly lowering their voice. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Keep it down!”
“Why? Isn’t it true?” The first speaker, once rejected by Ming Zhao, responded bitterly, his tone laced with malice. “Who knows what they’re doing together, spending all that time so close to each other.”
Standing nearby, a man overheard the conversation. His face turned cold as the gold-hued liquid in his glass swirled, exuding a rich fragrance.
Ming Zhao took a small sip from her glass, listening as Lin Zhiwei regaled her with the latest gossip about the upper echelons of society. Tales of seventy-year-old men who died suddenly, leaving their fortunes to their young, newlywed wives. The romantic entanglements between wealthy women and their dashing bodyguards. Heartwarming stories of mistaken identities—where legitimate and illegitimate children unknowingly grew close while fending off rivals.
She was thoroughly enjoying the conversation when a familiar yet unwelcome voice interrupted.
“Zhao Zhao.”
She looked up to find a cold, handsome face staring down at her.
“…”
Although Ming Zhao had known Gu He would attend the event, running into him so soon in such a vast venue dampened her mood significantly.
To be fair, Gu He was indeed good-looking—broad shoulders, a slim waist, and sharp, striking features.
No one could accuse her of having poor taste.
Even though Shang Man had mocked her preferences several times, she had still made a particularly vicious remark about Gu He, describing him as possessing a kind of ‘gritty resilience born from a desperate climb to the top.’
And then she’d added something darker—speculating that he was the type who might later ‘betray his wife for success.’
How was one even supposed to respond to that…?
In a way, it felt almost prophetic.
Ming Zhao absently gripped her wine glass, her expression indifferent as she replied, “Long time no see.”
Lin Zhiwei, standing nearby, stared wide-eyed in shock. She didn’t know Gu He well and had never really paid attention to his appearance before. Now, she was clearly surprised.
But today, with a closer look, she suddenly realized—his eyebrows and eyes… why did they look so much like Zhou Tingyun’s?