Volume One, Chapter One: Family Banquet

Page 1 of 3

Inside the restaurant, fawning laughter and honeyed flattery filled the air without cease.

Shen Wuyang raised her wine glass, her face wreathed in smiles as she gazed at Zhou Jingmo. "Jingmo-gege is truly remarkable — to have achieved such extraordinary things at so young an age. I have never in my life met anyone as accomplished as you."

Her voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, and the adoration and eagerness to please in her eyes were utterly unmasked.

Zhou Jingmo sat in the seat of honor with an elegance that was perfectly composed — legs crossed naturally, his slim black trousers falling in clean, unbroken lines along the length of his legs without a single crease.

He was strikingly handsome. His complexion was fair as jade, his brows dark and his eyes deep-set, the line of his jaw clean and sharply defined. The gold-rimmed spectacles perched upon his nose lent him an air of refined, scholarly grace.

"Little Wuyang grows lovelier with each passing day," he replied. "That quality of natural elegance about you — anyone who laid eyes on you would call you a beauty without hesitation. The Shen family is truly fortunate to have someone as sweet and clever as you."

Zhou Jingmo lifted his gaze halfway, looking at Shen Wuyang across the table, a faint smile curving the corner of his mouth as he returned the compliment in a tone that was warm and impeccably courteous.

The manner in which he did so displayed, with perfect measure, the gentlemanly propriety he was known for.

Everyone at the table was merry and at ease — everyone, that is, except for Jiang Yihuan, who sat in the corner looking entirely out of place.

Jiang Yihuan extended her slender fingers and lightly pinched the stem of the red wine glass before her, giving it a gentle swirl.

The wine rotated slowly against the curved walls of the glass, its blood-red hue reflected in her face — a face that was strikingly beautiful yet utterly remote, keeping the world at arm's length.

She watched this farce with cold eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting in a self-mocking arc.

Today was her first day back in the country. This family dinner was ostensibly held in her honor as a welcome home, yet every gaze at the table was fixed upon Zhou Jingmo — the most distinguished person present.

Strictly speaking, Zhou Jingmo had no obligation to attend a family dinner of this kind, but the bond between the Zhou family and her own was no ordinary one.

The story traced back to when her grandfather, General Jiang, was young.

In those days, General Jiang and Old Master Zhou had joined forces along the borders of the country to suppress and eliminate a major criminal syndicate. But those men were desperate, vicious outlaws, and Old Master Zhou sacrificed his life in the line of duty during that operation, entrusting his only son — Zhou Jingmo's father — to General Jiang's care.

And so she and Zhou Jingmo had grown up together from childhood. Before the calamity that befell the Jiang family, they had been inseparable. Not siblings by blood, yet as close as any.

Zhou Jingmo had excelled from his earliest years — the sort of child other parents held up as an example. At only twenty-eight, the investment bank he had founded, Molin Capital, already commanded a formidable presence on the international stage, operating across the great financial hubs of Wall Street, the City of London, and the Singapore financial district alike.

Though Jiang Yihuan had learned all of this from the American financial press while she was in the United States, no one understood Zhou Jingmo better than she did.

Warmth and refinement were his mask. Wolf in scholar's clothing was what he truly was.

---

Page 2 of 3

She took a small sip of wine, inwardly mocking Zhou Jingmo's hypocrisy.

Then, without warning, a piece of steamed sea bass appeared on the plate before her.

Jiang Yihuan's brow furrowed slightly. She turned to look at the man seated beside her.

This was her fiancé — Cheng Wang — and the primary reason she had returned to the country at all.

Shen Qiming, who had exiled her to America for ten years without a word of concern, leaving her entirely to her own devices, had — without so much as asking her — carefully selected for her a fiancé widely regarded in Rong City as something of a rake.

The young master of Hongtai Bank. Its heir, to be precise.

Cheng Wang smiled with a gentleness that painted him the very picture of a devoted man. "I've already removed all the bones for you. Go ahead and eat."

The moment those words left his mouth, every relative at the table turned to look, and a chorus of praise followed — what a considerate young man he was.

Cheng Wang smiled with becoming modesty, then turned to Jiang Yihuan. "You've barely touched your food all evening. Is nothing to your taste?"

Jiang Yihuan propped her chin in one hand, her eyes curving with a smile — and then she said something that brought the table to a halt. "No. You simply didn't use the serving chopsticks. I find that unsanitary."

The moment the words fell, every expression at the table froze. The smile on Cheng Wang's face stiffened, a flicker of anger crossing the depths of his eyes.

Only Zhou Jingmo watched her with something unmistakably indulgent in his gaze — the way one might look at a mischievous child who belonged to them.

They had grown up together. Before the disaster that struck the Jiang family, they had been nearly inseparable. Not brother and sister, yet as close as any.

Shen Qiming's voice dropped low and stern. "Yihuan, that is extremely rude. Apologize to Young Master Cheng at once."

"Oh?" Jiang Yihuan turned her gaze to Shen Qiming with a languid smile, her tone unhurried and careless. "Are there people with manners in this household? One who is black-hearted and ungrateful, one who has stolen another's nest, one who is utterly shameless — I'd say I'm actually among the more well-mannered people here."

Shen Qiming was her biological father. But why did she carry the surname Jiang and not Shen?

Because Shen Qiming had married into the Jiang family.

Her mother had taken her own life when Jiang Yihuan was eight years old — driven to depression and despair by Shen Qiming's infidelity, made all the more unbearable by the fact that his mistress had borne him a child a full year before her own. She had thrown herself from a building.

After her mother's death, Shen Qiming had assumed control of the Jiang Group in the name of the primary heir. Through that, he transformed himself from a man of no name or means into the chairman of a publicly listed corporation.

---

Page 3 of 3

And not even a hundred days after her mother's death, Shen Qiming had brought the mistress home and married her.

Shen Qiming's expression darkened. Before he could speak, Shen Wuyang was already cutting in with a sneer. "How can you speak to Father that way? What sort of upbringing do you have?"

She then turned to Cheng Wang with an expression full of apologetic solicitude. "I'm so sorry, Cheng Wang-gege. My sister grew up without a mother to guide her. She's been running wild abroad for years — please don't take it to heart."

"Not at all," Cheng Wang said. "Yihuan is probably just exhausted from the flight."

A cold light passed through Jiang Yihuan's eyes. She turned her gaze to Shen Wuyang.

She and Shen Wuyang were half-sisters, born of the same father. Had her mother not jumped from that building, Shen Wuyang would have remained a bastard child her entire life — one who could never have stepped through these doors.

But her mother had been too foolish to see it. She had given Shen Wuyang the very opening she needed.

That, however, did not mean Shen Wuyang was free to be insolent before her. Her slender fingers slowly closed around the dinner knife resting at the edge of her plate. She was just beginning to rise from her seat —

When a sharp crack rang out from nearby, followed by several startled gasps.

Jiang Yihuan's hand tightened around the knife and stilled. Her cold eyes swept toward the source of the sound.

For no apparent reason, Zhou Jingmo had crushed his wine glass in his hand. Shards of glass scattered across his palm; red wine soaked into his clothes.

The corner of his mouth lifted, his smile edged with something wry and teasing. "My apologies. The glass was rather thin."

Zhou Jingmo picked up his napkin and began dabbing at the wine stains on his jacket.

Shen Qiming said, "How careless — are you hurt?"

A servant stepped forward to clear away the mess.

"It's nothing." Zhou Jingmo gave his hand a casual shake. The red liquid glistening on it could not, for the moment, be distinguished as wine or blood.

He looked at Jiang Yihuan without the slightest attempt at concealment.

That gaze was hungry and burning — so aggressively intent that it left Jiang Yihuan, for a rare moment, at a loss for how to respond.

Zhou Jingmo cleaned his hand with unhurried composure, then raised his eyes to the servant, his tone shifting with sudden coldness. "You people grow more presumptuous by the day. Can you not even arrange the dishes properly?"