The next morning, the room remained shrouded in darkness, the curtains expertly shielding every ray of sunlight.
Suddenly, a soft glow appeared on the nightstand, accompanied by a gentle melody.
The sound played on for several minutes before a hand reached out, fumbling to shut it off.
_______________________________________________________________________________
The room was once again swallowed in complete darkness.
A figure on the bed stirred faintly. A sigh floated into the air—soft, barely audible.
Pei Lingchu’s eyes held a faint shadow. Fatigue settled heavily between her brows. Her cool fingertips pressed gently to her forehead, covering eyes that still felt sore. Her head throbbed, her body weighed down, and a weary breath slipped from her lips. Her mouth moved slightly, whispering in a voice no louder than a mosquito’s hum.
“So tired…”
The words seemed wrapped in silk, sinking deep underwater, endlessly falling, too feeble to struggle.
She lay on the large, soft bed, fingers lightly pinching the bridge of her nose. The irritation in her eyes gradually faded as she stared at the ceiling she could not see.
“Next time… no more sleeping pills…”
Her voice trailed off. She lifted her hand to brush the messy hair from her forehead, narrowed her eyes, and let out a yawn.
Turning her head, Pei Lingchu tapped her phone awake. The sudden light made her instinctively shut her eyes and knit her brows. Clicking her tongue, she let go and tossed the phone back onto the nightstand with a soft thud, then burrowed once more under the covers.
It was just past six. After lying there a while with her face buried in the pillow, she slowly pushed the blanket aside, stepped barefoot onto the carpet, and walked toward the window.
The curtains were wide open. Sunlight poured in, landing warmly across her bare, makeup-free face.
The light acted like a natural contour, highlighting her high nasal bridge and pronounced brow bones. Her eyes looked even deeper set, her features striking, but the slight droop at the ends of her brows and the dullness in her gaze lent her a melancholic air.
Pei Lingchu stood still, letting the sunlight wrap around her. The heaviness in her body eased, its edges smoothed by the warmth.
Her champagne-gold slip dress clung to her graceful figure—slender waist, long, shapely legs, toned calves.
She remained there for a while, until her nerves relaxed, her body warmed. She exhaled softly, then casually tied her hair into a low bun and walked into the bathroom.
When she emerged again, the sleepy look had vanished. Her hair was neatly pinned back, her complexion clean and delicate. She pulled an outfit from the wardrobe without much thought.
A loose white cotton camisole, layered with an off-white linen cardigan and wide-legged pants. Her tall frame and straight shoulders made her a natural clothes hanger. She looked effortlessly relaxed, just the right touch of laziness.
It was just after six-thirty when she descended the stairs. The closer she got to the ground floor, the stronger the scent of bitter Chinese herbs.
Xiao Chi had to take herbal medicine every day for her health.
Pei Lingchu quickened her steps downstairs.
“Cough, cough cough.” Fu Chi raised a hand to her lips, suppressing a cough. Her eyes were red, but her lips were pale.
“Xiao Chi, go sit down. Don’t fuss around with me. You weren’t coughing during dinner last night—did you catch a chill from the rain?” Pei Xu hurriedly took the tray from her hands and gently nudged her toward the kitchen door.
“Aunt Xu, I’m fine. Just a dry throat. I’ll be okay with more water… cough cough…” Fu Chi tried to reassure her, though her coughing only worsened, shaking her shoulders.
“Yan Hui.” Unable to persuade her, Pei Xu turned to the woman at the head of the dining table.
The addressed woman set aside her tablet and looked up. Her face was striking—cool and elegant. Nearly fifty, yet she looked like she was in her thirties. Her skin was still taut, with only faint lines at the corners of her eyes. This was Pei Yan Hui, current CEO of the Pei Group.
Pei Yan Hui frowned. Her gaze met Pei Xu’s before shifting to Fu Chi, who was still coughing. After a moment of thought, she said, “Xiao Chi, go sit down. You’ve learned enough from Pei Xu for now. Focus on recovering.”
Her voice was calm, devoid of emotion, but carried unquestionable authority. “Pei Xu, call Dr. Gu after breakfast.”
“Yes, I understand,” Pei Xu answered sweetly with a smile.
Pei Xu had grown up with Yan Hui. Ever since Yan Hui took over the company, Pei Xu had been by her side for over two decades—as housekeeper and assistant.
“Yes, Mother.”
Fu Chi, who had wanted to return to the kitchen, had no choice but to sit quietly at the table. Pei Xu placed a dark bowl of herbal medicine in front of her and said warmly, “Xiao Chi, drink this before you eat.”
“Thank you, Aunt Xu.”
Fu Chi looked at the black liquid calmly, lifting it without flinching and drinking it down.
Ever since she was brought home by Pei Lingchu at the age of five and fell seriously ill with a fever, she had been left with a weakened immune system. She’d grown used to daily doses of medicine—it had become as familiar as drinking water.
“Good morning, Mother. Aunt Xu.”
“Morning, Xiao Chi.”
At the sound of a familiar voice, Fu Chi’s eyes widened behind her bowl. She hurriedly downed the rest of the medicine, wiped the corner of her lips with a napkin, and smiled, “Good morning, Sister Xiao Chu. Did you sleep well last night?” Her gaze flicked to the shadows under Pei Lingchu’s eyes.
Pei Lingchu smiled softly and nodded. “I did.”
But before she could sit down, Pei Yan Hui’s voice rang out sharply, leaving no room for objection: “Xiao Chu, go put on socks.”
…
The air grew still. Fu Chi glanced down at Pei Lingchu’s bare, pale feet, then toward her heels. She pressed her lips together and quietly sipped her milk.
Their mother had always been strict—house rules were absolute.
Milk before bed. Hair tied back, never left down. No bare feet. No yelling, no running.
Even for Fu Chi, a child brought into the family halfway, the rules were the same.
“Yes, Mother,” Pei Lingchu replied obediently and turned to head upstairs.
“Come right back for breakfast once you’re dressed,” Pei Xu chimed in gently, winking at her with a warm smile. Yan Hui glanced up but said nothing, returning to her tablet.
Back in her room, Pei Lingchu pressed her lips tightly together, then relaxed. Her gaze was clouded with thought as she frowned slightly and murmured to herself. She opened the wardrobe and took out a pair of white socks. As she sat down and reached for her foot, her movement suddenly froze.
Something felt off…
Her gaze narrowed as she stared at the scabbed-over wound on her ankle.
Where was the bandage? Had she already taken it off last night?
She looked toward the trash bin beside her bed. A square bandage and a piece of waterproof film lay quietly inside.
—
The breakfast table was silent. Though the table could seat a dozen, only four people sat on one side.
Porcelain spoons lifted gentle scoops of porridge without a sound. No clinking of bowls, no idle chatter—just quiet, measured bites.
“Pei Xu, you’re coming to the office with me later,” Pei Yan Hui said, setting her spoon down.
“Huh? I thought you said you weren’t going in today,” Pei Xu frowned slightly, her tone tinged with subtle protest. “Your stomach’s still—”
“Pei Xu.”
Yan Hui cut her off, brow furrowing. Her cool gaze sharpened. Her red lips parted with a cold command: “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“…Understood.” Pei Xu lowered her head and quickened her pace with breakfast.
Fu Chi kept her head down, quietly sipping porridge. Pei Lingchu said little, sipping vegetable juice and peeling an egg for Fu Chi’s plate.
Fu Chi stared at the perfectly peeled egg for a long moment before slowly picking it up.
A few minutes later, another egg was placed in Pei Lingchu’s plate. It rolled slightly on the plate, plump and white.
Then came the sound of the front door opening.
A figure stumbled in, dragging a large easel. The white dress she wore was stained with paint in all colors. Her fair, round face was splotched here and there. Her light brown curls were tied into two low ponytails with nude-colored ribbons, and she hummed softly to herself, her bright eyes full of cheer.
Her delicate nose twitched, and her eyes sparkled brighter as she caught the scent coming from the dining room. She carelessly dropped her easel and art supplies onto the living room floor and made her way over.
“Xu Auntie! What’s for breakfast today? I made it in time! Smells amazing!” she chirped, planting herself by the table and reaching out, “I want this piggy bun—”
“Pei Xu, clear the breakfast,” Yan Hui’s cold voice cut through. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on the messy figure. “Breakfast time is over.”
The hand reaching for the bun froze. Pei Wenjin turned toward the woman at the head of the table and frowned. “Mother, breakfast ends at seven. It’s not even time yet.”
Yan Hui looked at her and repeated in a deeper voice, “Pei Xu, clear the breakfast.”
Pei Xu sighed inwardly, shot Wenjin a quick glance, and began clearing the plates.
Wenjin’s voice trembled slightly with hurt and anger. “Mother, are you doing this on purpose? You always look at me like that when I come back. What did I do wrong? You just can’t stand me, can you?”
A dark fury surfaced in Yan Hui’s eyes. She breathed deeply, her jaw tense.
“Pei Wenjin, I’ve told you—no staying out overnight. Wash your hands before eating. Dress properly. And look at your grades. Haven’t I said no more painting?”
She shook her head, disappointment in her eyes, and for a second, something almost like disgust flashed in her gaze.
Wenjin broke.
“But I love painting! Why can’t I paint? Why do you always have to control everything? I’m an adult now—why can’t I choose for myself?” She slammed the bun down on the table, where it bounced and landed in a bowl of porridge, splashing everywhere.
“It’s because you are obsessed with control that Father couldn’t take it and left!”
The room went dead silent.
Pei Xu hurried to hush her, “Xiao Jin, don’t say things like that…”
