The Lu estate didn't flaunt its wealth the way the Zhao properties did — no gilded gates or showy fountains. Instead, a winding drive passed through manicured bamboo groves, opening onto a courtyard framed by old pines and carved stone lanterns. The house itself was modern but understated, its pale walls and dark wood blending with the garden as though it had grown there for a hundred years.
Weiwei stepped from the car, her heels clicking against the flagstones. The air smelled faintly of osmanthus and damp earth.
The housekeeper appeared at the door, bowing slightly. "Miss Jiang, welcome. The families will meet shortly — but Master Lu suggested you might enjoy the garden first."
Weiwei's brows lifted the smallest fraction. Master Lu? Not his parents?
"Thank you," she said smoothly.
She followed the stone path into the garden, the rustle of leaves masking her footsteps. Turning a corner, she found him.
Lu Shixian stood beneath a ginkgo tree, his back to her, sleeves rolled to the elbows as he examined a bonsai on a low table. The afternoon light traced the line of his shoulders, sharper now than in childhood, every movement deliberate.
He glanced over his shoulder, and the years between them seemed to fold in half.
"Weiwei," he said, as if her name belonged to him.
Her lips curved faintly. "I didn't think you'd remember me."
"I remember," he replied, turning fully to face her. His gaze was steady, assessing. "You used to cry whenever the old gardener's dog barked."
She laughed softly. "And you used to stand in front of me like you were made of stone."
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Some things don't change."
They stood in the stillness for a moment, the gold leaves above them catching the sun. Weiwei tilted her head toward the bonsai. "Is this what you do with your afternoons now? Shape trees?"
"Sometimes." His eyes held hers. "Sometimes I shape other things."
The words landed heavier than casual banter. She could feel the unspoken weight in them — intent, unhurried, dangerous in its patience.
Before she could answer, the housekeeper's voice floated from the veranda. "Young Master, the tea is ready."
Lu Shixian stepped aside, gesturing toward the path. "After you."
Weiwei moved past him, the faintest trace of his cologne — cedar and smoke — following her.