The Heiress's Game

Wang Manyun heard that name at an afternoon tea party for ladies.

That day, Mrs. Sun organized the gathering at a teahouse in the east of the city that was only open to members. There was a 300-year-old banyan tree in the courtyard, whose shade covered half of the courtyard.

Seven or eight ladies sat around a long table made of rosewood, each with a cup of pre-Qingming Longjing tea in hand. Their conversation ranged from the autumn auctions at the auction house to interviewers at their children's schools, from which cosmetic clinics offered the best Thermage treatments to the frequency of their husbands' social engagements.

Wang Manyun held her teacup, smiling politely, occasionally interjecting a word or two, her manner perfectly measured—she had been Mrs. Gu for over a decade, and the knowledge of which topics to discuss and which to remain silent on was ingrained in her very being.

Then Mrs. Li suddenly said, "Hey, have you heard? It seems like Mr. Gu has a young painter by his side lately."

Wang Manyun's hands did not tremble. Her movements as she held the teacup were so steady that it was as if she hadn't heard anything. The tea rippled out in a very fine circle around the rim of the cup, but not a single drop spilled.

She took a sip of tea, put down the teacup, and touched the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief—the whole sequence of movements was fluid and graceful.

"A painter?" She smiled. "What kind of painter?"

Seeing that she was interested, Mrs. Li told her everything she knew.

It's said to be a Chinese-American female painter named Julie, who just returned from France. She's about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, looks clean and neat, and is currently making waves in the art world. She just set a record at an auction last month.

Someone saw Gu Zhenxing go to her art exhibition, and twice—once on the opening day and once the day before the closing day, both times when there were the fewest people.

After Mrs. Li finished speaking, she added, "But it's possible that he just likes collecting. Hasn't Mr. Gu been quite interested in art these past few years?"

Wang Manyun smiled and replied, "Him? His study is already overflowing with calligraphy and paintings, and he keeps adding new ones."

The ladies followed up on the topic, praising Mr. Gu for his good taste, and Wang Manyun also chimed in with a few compliments.

Afternoon tea continued, and no one noticed that Wang Manyun had switched her teacup to her left hand—she would subconsciously switch the teacup to her left hand whenever she had something on her mind, because she was afraid that people would notice if she clenched her right hand too tightly.

It was already evening when we returned to the Gu family's old house.

As Wang Manyun was taking off her earrings in front of the dressing mirror, she suddenly threw them into the jewelry box. The pearls hit the velvet cloth with a very soft thud.

Julie. Twenty-five years old. Painter. Clean-cut appearance. Four keywords, each hitting a nerve.

But after sitting in front of the vanity mirror for a while, she found that what welled up in her heart was not the kind of threatened panic, but a more complicated kind of boredom that was closer to exhaustion.

From the day she married Gu Zhenxing, she knew that this man would not have only one woman.

Su Wanning is a cautionary tale, Ning Limei is a living example that has been observed for over twenty years, not to mention those who come and go outside.

She can't control it, and she doesn't intend to.

She sits in Mrs. Gu's position, holding the reins of the Gu family's finances and social standing—something she earned through over a decade of patience, something a twenty-five-year-old painter cannot shake.

The only thing that could stir her emotions was how Ning Limei would react.

When Wang Manyun thought of this, the corners of her mouth curved slightly.

It was that kind of gloating laughter.

Ning Limei was more anxious and distressed than her.

Because Ning Limei's greatest asset in life is not money or beauty, but Gu Zhenxing's "different treatment of her".

If this "difference" also starts to go awry, what will Ning Limei have left?

Reading scriptures? Drinking tea? Enjoying a peaceful life?

Thinking about it this way, Wang Manyun felt much better.

She put the earrings away, stood up, walked to the window, looked at the pomegranate tree in the courtyard rustling in the evening breeze, and said softly, "Anyway, I'm not the one who should be worried."

They're really in a hurry over there in Qingshui Bay.

The news reached Ning Limei through different channels than it did Wang Manyun.

It's not afternoon tea for ladies, it's Ningville.

Ningweier returned home at 11 p.m., threw his bag on the sofa, and held up his phone in front of Ning Limei without even changing his shoes.

"Mom, what's going on with this Julie?"

Ning Limei took the phone and glanced at it. The screen displayed an article from an art-related public account, titled "Emerging Chinese-American painter Julie's first exhibition after returning to China fetches tens of millions of yuan."

The accompanying picture shows a girl around 25 years old standing in front of her painting, wearing a beige linen dress, with her hair down over her shoulders, and smiling slightly at the camera.

Her face, folded together with the bouquet in her hand, was as clean as a glass of lukewarm water.

Ning Limei's gaze lingered on the photo for five seconds. In those five seconds, she went through all the young women she had met, dealt with, and outlived in her life, and then placed this girl named Julie into the photo.

"Who showed it to you?"

"Who needs to show me? It's all over my WeChat Moments."

Ningville slumped into the sofa, his voice shrill and urgent.

"They even tagged me, saying congratulations, Sister Ningweier, your dad has a new lover. What do you mean my dad has a new lover? These gossipy women—"

"Vell".

Ning Limei's voice wasn't loud, but Ning Weier's mouth stopped. She knew all too well what it meant when her mother spoke in that tone.

"When have you ever seen me get angry with a sleazy woman?"

Ningville opened her mouth but couldn't say anything, though her fingernails scratched several fine marks on the edge of the phone case.

Ning Limei didn't say anything more. She returned the phone to her daughter, walked back to the wicker chair by the window, sat down, and picked up the now-cold Pu'er tea again.

Ning Limei had seen far too many girls like this. In the more than twenty years she had been by Gu Zhenxing's side, she was like an experienced helmsman navigating a fixed sea, having weathered all kinds of storms.

A female secretary throwing herself at you, a female celebrity deliberately sitting in the wrong seat at a dinner party, a female entrepreneur coming to your door with a business plan.

Each of them was after Gu Zhenxing's money, and each of them thought their methods were superior to the previous one.

She watched them come one by one, and watched them leave one by one.

Twenty-three years have passed, and she is still in Clearwater Bay, while those women didn't even leave their names.

But these experiences couldn't make her completely at ease at this moment. Because this Julie was different from all the others. Not a secretary, not a celebrity, not an entrepreneur with a business plan.

She is a renowned painter. Internationally famous. Not the kind of fame built on family connections, men, or hype, but the kind of fame where her works are featured in reputable auction catalogs and collected by collectors.

Ning Limei herself has lived most of her life by relying on her public persona, so she knows all too well what social status means.

This means that the girl doesn't need to ride on Gu Zhenxing's popularity; on the contrary, Gu Zhenxing's close relationship with her can be interpreted as a heartwarming story of "a business tycoon appreciating a young artist."

This isn't a mistress, this is a talented woman. The aura of a talented woman is harder to shake off than any title.

What made her most uncomfortable was that face. It wasn't an aggressive face, not the kind of face that made people wary at first glance.

It is clean and lukewarm, like a cup of hot water without sugar, but when you pick it up and take a sip, you find that the water is salty.

Ningwei has almost shattered his phone screen.

She wasn't throwing a tantrum at her mother; she was venting to her friends.

The chat window was flooded with messages; a bunch of girlfriends were online late at night gossiping.

Ningweier: Did you guys see that Julie? She's not much older than me, but she's trying so hard to get close to my dad. Does she think everyone else is blind?

She looks decent enough, but what kind of behavior is this? Knowing my dad is married, she still went after him. Has she no shame?

Friend A: The key point is how she staged the accident. What kind of celebrity is she that she bought articles all over the internet to praise her?

Friend B: You can't even figure out your own place, that's hilarious.

Ningweier: My dad and mom are true love. My mom was with my dad for 23 years, and my dad's most beloved person in his life is my mom.

Wang Manyun's marriage was an arranged one, they lived separate lives, it only looked good on the outside. True love is the only thing that matters.

Friend A: That's right. Your mom's temperament and refinement are the result of years of experience. Julie's behavior is obviously an act. Tell your dad to wake up.

Friend B: I support your aunt. Your mom has been with your dad for so many years, what do they know? True love deserves a respectable title.

Ningweier: Anyway, this woman won't be coming into our house. My mom won't bother with her, but I don't have that kind of patience.

Friend B sent Ningweier three hug emojis in a row, saying that she would keep you updated on any new information and that the sisters would keep an eye on things for you.

After the chat window fell silent, Friend B put his phone on the sofa and rolled his eyes.

"Isn't Ningweier's mother a mistress? Where does she get the nerve to insult others?"

Friend B's boyfriend said, "True love is her source of confidence."

Friend B chuckled sarcastically. "Her dad seems to have had quite a few true loves. One over twenty years ago, one with Wang Manyun, and now another one."

Friend B sent Friend A a private message: "Will's brain comes from her mother." But in the group chat, she still praised and supported her as usual.

Anyway, Ningweir is willing to give us money to spend.

And that's how their circle is—they say "Auntie is true love" to your face, but behind your back they say "true love is worthless."

Ningville wouldn't know any of this. She leaned back on the sofa, still scrolling through reports on Julie's art exhibition, forwarding the link to a social media account with sarcastic captions after each post.

She has 50,000 followers and usually posts pictures of Cullinan and Jaeger-LeCoultre watches. Young girls in the comments section call her "sister" because she's so cool.

Right now, these fans are fighting for her in the comments section, turning Julie's comment section into a chaotic mess.

Ningville felt a little better after reading those comments.

Ning Limei was still sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. She didn't participate in her daughter's rant, nor did she pay attention to what her daughter posted on social media.

She was thinking about other things. What stage had the transfer of ownership of that courtyard house reached? Gu Zhenxing had recently visited Clearwater Bay twice, with a few days in between.

Gu Zhenxing attended the opening and closing exhibitions of the girl named Julie twice.

Once on the opening day, and once on the day before the closing day. Both were when there were the fewest people.

Twenty-three years have passed. For the first time, she felt that the intervals between the lighthouse beams had become longer.