Willing to Be for Her - Chapter 1

Two bright yellow glass lanterns hung on either side of the narrow door to the private room on the top floor of the teahouse, casting a faint glow on Luo Xuan’s pale, sharp features. She carried a tray with antique, elegant tea sets, the fragrant steam curling upward.

Her complexion was sickly pale, and when she overheard the conversation inside the room, a flicker of disgust crossed her face, like a bl00d-tempered blade poised to snap.

Just then, two men in sharp suits emerged from the room.

“Hey, I heard President Ning might be marrying someone from the Luo Family?”

“Oh, please don’t let it be Luo Xuan. I heard she’s not even an A-Class Alpha anymore. And that sickly girl’s mother was a jinx—she died just a few years after marrying into the Luo Family. Bad luck all around.”

“Come on, it’s just a marriage. Marriage doesn’t mean a permanent bond, you know? It’s basically just keeping a… you know. The real point is the alliance.”

“Alright, keep your voice down. President Ning will definitely hear you. Shut up already.”

Hearing the words “President Ning,” Luo Xuan’s heart began to race.

Ning Yiqing is back from his business trip?

They hadn’t seen each other for six months since their wedding. Luo Xuan never imagined they would meet here. She couldn’t suppress the joy and excitement bubbling in her chest.

A moment later, she gently knocked on the door and announced in a measured tone, “Guests, your tea is here,” before pushing the door open and entering.

Luo Xuan’s eyes fell upon a redwood screen embroidered with the High Heaven Bright Moon, its elegant and refined beauty filling the room. The young woman seated in the main seat was particularly striking.

The woman wore a meticulously tailored black suit, her face cool and refined. Silver-rimmed glasses framed her gaze as she turned to Luo Xuan, the lenses reflecting an icy, commanding light.

Even more conspicuous was the string of pale blue Buddhist prayer beads wrapped around the woman’s slender, fair wrist. Her features, obscured by shadows, seemed indistinct, yet the room carried the faint, luxurious scent of cold-blooded elegance.

Despite unexpectedly encountering his wife after six months of separation, Ning Yiqing’s expression remained unchanged, as aloof as a deity surveying mortals from above.

The other occupants of the private room were all wealthy and influential, yet they deferred to Ning Yiqing, who sat in the main seat. Their expensive, extravagant attire framed faces that were either obsequious and ingratiating or filled with awe and fear.

“President Ning, this Cloud Mist Tea is extremely rare, with an annual yield of only twenty to thirty pounds. Its flavor is pure and fragrant. Please try it,” the speaker gestured for Luo Xuan to pour tea for Ning Yiqing.

Luo Xuan set down the wooden tray, picked up a teacup, and walked to Ning Yiqing’s side, her lashes lowered. She poured the tea casually and murmured, “Please enjoy.”

Luo Xuan’s voice carried the clear, defiant tone of a young woman. Ning Yiqing’s fingertips lightly tapped as he tilted his head to gaze into her dark, ink-like eyes.

The woman’s jade prayer beads, still warm from her body, brushed against Luo Xuan’s fingers before she could withdraw her hand. She froze for a moment, hearing Ning Yiqing’s soft, gentle voice beside her.

“Thank you,” Ning Yiqing said, lifting the teacup to take a sip.

At that moment, several others approached, eager to discuss a major project in the city with Ning Yiqing, their words hinting at a desire to collaborate with the Ning Group.

Ning Yiqing spoke little, merely nodding occasionally. His demeanor was warm and approachable, yet his relaxed posture exuded an air of effortless control. The crowd, unable to decipher his intentions, grew increasingly respectful.

In Capital City, everyone knew that under Ning Yiqing’s leadership, the Ning Family had soared to new heights, acquiring companies, launching innovative projects, and driving the group’s rapid expansion.

Despite his serene appearance—adorned with prayer beads, his features exquisitely refined, and his expression gentle—he was known for his deep cunning, cold-blooded ruthlessness, and decisive, thunderous methods.

As the crowd grew anxious, a sharp scream pierced the air.

The man who had just declared Luo Xuan unworthy of Ning Yiqing now shrieked at her, his voice shrill: “Can’t you even pour tea properly? Are you trying to scald me to death?”

Luo Xuan, holding the jade teapot, offered a rare smile on her pale, melancholic face. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did you get burned? I’ll fetch some burn ointment for you.”

The group froze for a moment, stunned to see Luo Xuan, the waitress, smiling with an almost reckless, fearless air.

She showed no remorse for having scalded someone.

Only after the accident did they truly see that while the waitress was pale and beautiful, she carried a strange, morbid ferocity—as if an angel and a demon coexisted within her. She was like a transparent glass blade, fragile enough to shatter at the slightest touch, taking everyone down with her.

“You dare to smile? Believe me, I’ll sue you and make you pay until you’re bankrupt!”

“I’m sorry, it was an accident. Please don’t be angry,” Luo Xuan replied, her demeanor as refined as fresh bamboo in the mountains, pure and beautiful. Yet her eyes flickered with a hint of defiance. “Here’s my lawyer’s business card. Feel free to contact them anytime.”

The man’s face flushed crimson, and he nearly lunged at her. But a woman’s soft yet authoritative voice cut through the tension.

“Enough. Go get the burn ointment.”

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Ning Yiqing. The woman gently rubbed her temples, her expression weary and annoyed, as if a monarch had descended, radiating an inviolable dignity that brooked no opposition.

“President Ning, your tea. Old Chen just can’t handle a little hardship. What’s the big deal about a splash of hot water?” The peacemaker forced a smile, shooting Old Chen a warning glance to keep quiet.

Ning Yiqing pushed up his glasses with a single hand, his pale, aristocratic face impassive. Under the brilliant lights, his gentle demeanor was tinged with cold indifference, exuding an aura of aloof nobility.

When Luo Xuan met Ning Yiqing’s gaze, her smile faltered slightly. She lowered her head in a fluster, finally resembling a child who had done wrong.

The others in the private room quickly led the person who had burned their finger out of the room.

The tea house manager rushed over upon hearing the commotion, repeatedly apologizing to everyone while pulling Luo Xuan along. He also brought several complimentary plates of delicate pastries before withdrawing from the room.

After a brief scolding in the manager’s office, Luo Xuan was dismissed. Since it was her last day anyway, he saw no point in arguing. He settled her wages and let her go.

Back in the changing room, Luo Xuan’s face flushed an unnatural crimson.

Calming her racing heart, she stood before the mirror, removing her black cosmetic lenses and wig to reveal her long, silvery-white hair and heterochromatic eyes: one pale gold, the other deep green.

Born with mismatched eyes, she possessed an eerie beauty that straddled the line between angel and monster, a creature seemingly out of this world.

Her thoughts abruptly shifted to that woman again, and Luo Xuan found herself longing for Ning Yiqing once more.

Despite having resolved to maintain a facade of normalcy before their marriage, she had failed to restrain herself today.

Her heart churned with anxiety and torment.

No one would ever love a monstrous outcast, especially not a woman as noble and aloof as an immortal being.

Yet this woman had shown her such tenderness, a beauty Luo Xuan had never dared to dream of during her six years of secret longing. She couldn’t bear to lose it.

It was already past eight o’clock. Luo Xuan calmed her emotions, confirmed her physical condition was stable, and slowly descended the stairs, ensuring she wouldn’t suddenly faint.

Outside, a winter rain carried a bone-chilling cold.

Pulling up the hood of her sweatshirt, she stepped out of the teahouse and watched withered leaves swirl in puddles, drifting further and further away.

Her gaze pierced through the rain and landed on a vintage, luxurious, all-black limousine.

The car glided to a stop before her, the window lowering to reveal Ning Yiqing’s noble, aloof profile, as ethereal as an immortal.

“Get in.”

Hearing Ning Yiqing’s still-gentle voice, Luo Xuan stood in the rain, her lashes lowered, suddenly lost in thought.

A faint sigh was followed by the crisp clink of Buddhist prayer beads against metal and the sound of the woman’s footsteps approaching.

Combined with the cold rain, everything felt impossibly tender.

Luo Xuan’s vision filled with the sight of Ning Yiqing’s rain-soaked, expensive suit and a faint, unfamiliar fragrance—something akin to pheromones.

She felt trapped, yet instinctively drawn closer.

Meanwhile, the bodyguard, caught off guard by his boss’s sudden exit into the rain, immediately followed suit, opening a black umbrella with dark gold ribs.

The heavy rain soaked Luo Xuan’s silver-white, slightly curled hair. Clear raindrops streamed down her nose bridge, dripping onto her bl00d-red, sickly lips.

Under the streetlamp, Luo Xuan’s face, though pale with illness, was strikingly beautiful—innocent and childlike. Her heterochromatic eyes held a captivating melancholy and an ethereal, dreamlike beauty.

Ning Yiqing held a black umbrella, his voice gentle and his words measured and elegant. “Little one, you’re still as stubborn as ever, holding grudges and seeking revenge. Even if you can’t benefit yourself, you’ll make sure others suffer.”

Hearing Ning Yiqing’s assessment of her revenge, Luo Xuan tilted her head, her slender neck exposed as she stared at the umbrella’s tip. She wondered if she had caused Ning Yiqing trouble.

“Alright, I’ll handle that person. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted so impulsively.”

Ning Yiqing reached out to brush away a tear at the corner of Luo Xuan’s eye, gently tucking her rain-soaked hair behind her ear. “Xiao Xuan, why are you working here? Are you really that short on money?”

Luo Xuan finally mustered the courage to look up at Ning Yiqing, noticing how the rain had dampened the woman’s porcelain-white skin.

The expensive, clean-scented suit was now soaked, losing its untouchable, saintly aura of nobility. It felt almost blasphemous to see it like this, as if defiling a deity.

A pang of reluctance tugged at her heart, not wanting this person to stand in the rain with her. “I’m not short on money. You rushed back on a plane and still have to deal with those people. Aren’t you tired…?”

Luo Xuan wanted to tell Ning Yiqing to hurry back to the car, but before she could finish speaking, she saw the woman pull out her phone and open a newly received text message.

<i>You’re married. What about your childhood sweetheart?</i>

The message was short, and Luo Xuan’s excellent vision allowed her to read the entire sentence in an instant.

“Ning Yiqing… married… why did you choose me?” she murmured, her voice low and almost to herself.

The bodyguard standing nearby involuntarily shuddered. He never expected Luo Xuan to dare address President Ning by her full name.

He had served President Ning for several years. Ever since she purged her rivals and seized power with ruthless efficiency, few dared to call her Ning Yiqing. Most addressed her as President Ning, Chairman Ning, or Chairman Qing.

The woman shook her head, meeting Luo Xuan’s eyes, which were filled with an eerie beauty. “The reason doesn’t matter. Let’s go home.”

Remembering the people in the teahouse who had said Ning Yiqing would never allow herself to be marked by Luo Xuan, Luo Xuan’s bl00d began to boil. She couldn’t help but cough, tasting the familiar metallic sweetness in her throat.

Yet the woman’s words—”Let’s go home”—warmed her heart. It seemed her innate stubbornness and rebellious spirit always vanished completely in Ning Yiqing’s presence.

The silver-rimmed glasses reflected a cold light in the flickering darkness. Ning Yiqing’s voice was gentle, but her eyes held an unyielding, icy detachment.

“Xiao Xuan, my heat cycle seems to have started early.”