Summary: In a garage filled with legacy and steel, Yao begins to rewrite what inheritance means—not with contracts or claims, but with quiet gifts, unspoken understanding, and the softest kind of belonging. Between laughter, pouting, and the overwhelming kindness of being planned for, she doesn't just accept her place among them—she begins to claim it. One key at a time.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The morning broke quietly.
Not with the rush of city horns or the click of rushed footsteps on tile, but with the soft clatter of porcelain and the smell of warm congee, fresh scallion pancakes, and tea steeping in elegant ceramic pots. The suite across the hall from theirs—Lu Wang Lan's—was filled with a calm, early light that bled through floor-to-ceiling windows, softened by sheer curtains and the low, layered sounds of casual conversation. The air carried a strange blend of comfort and tension, like everyone in the room was pretending this breakfast was just another family meal—almost managing to believe it.
Almost.
Yao sat quietly at the round glass table, her long sleeves pushed slightly up as she stirred her congee with care, not yet eating. Sicheng sat beside her, his hand resting on the curve of her chair, not touching but close—always close. Yue, seated across from them, was uncharacteristically fidgety, his spoon tapping against his bowl until a sharp look from his mother silenced it.
It was Yue who finally broke first. He cleared his throat, then shifted forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at her directly, his voice soft and sincere in a way that rarely surfaced. "I'm sorry." he said.
Yao blinked, lifting her gaze.
"I teased," he added, quieter now. "Joked, poked at you. But I'd never say anything to hurt you. You know that, right?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes still wary but softening.
Yue exhaled, clearly rattled still from the previous night. "Also, " his voice dipped sharply "there's no way in hell I'm getting shoved back into the military under Uncle's command. That man's not just terrifying, he's a tyrant. A beautiful tyrant with medals, but a tyrant all the same. Worse than Cheng. And Cheng's already Cheng."
That earned a small breath of a laugh from her, the sound short and barely there, but real.
"I don't blame you for being scared," Yue added, more seriously now. "But I'll keep my mouth shut. You have my word, Mei-Mei. You're family. And I don't screw over my own."
Before Yao could reply, Sheng set his cup of tea down with quiet finality, the sound firm and precise. "He's right," the elder Lu said smoothly, his deep voice carrying the weight of a man not prone to frivolous speech. "You are making the right decision."
Lan didn't speak immediately but her gaze was steady, sharp, the kind that weighed and measured everything before the first word was even spoken. "You're not alone in this," she added. "I've already begun making calls. Everything you need—legal structure, account transfers, discretionary counsel—will be in place before the end of the day."
Sheng leaned slightly forward, his tone smooth but layered with something unmistakable—steel wrapped in silk. "And if," he said, calmly, "anyone—anyone—dares leak this…" He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "The person responsible won't even have time to bask in their glory," he said, lifting a spoonful of broth and letting it hover there, unfazed. "Because by the time they exhale their first boast, we'll already have them buried so deep in litigation and silence, they won't see daylight again until the next century."
Yue visibly swallowed.
Yao blinked once, caught somewhere between stunned silence and a startled kind of awe.
Lan, sipping her tea without a single ripple in her posture, offered mildly, "Your father's very good at making people disappear from public consequence."
Sheng gave a small, pleasant smile.
Sicheng, sitting beside her all this time, hadn't moved—but his hand slid from the back of her chair to her shoulder, curling there with steady warmth. "This is the shield you have now," he said softly, just for her. "Not just me. All of us."
And for the first time since opening that vault…
Yao nodded. Not out of obligation. Not out of fear. But out of quiet, building trust. Because they weren't just saying she was protected. They were showing her what it meant to be claimed.
Breakfast had stretched longer than usual. Not because anyone lingered out of routine, but because no one rushed her. Not when she finally started eating. Not when she took longer to finish. Not even when she fell quiet again, this time without tension pressing at her shoulders. Her silence now wasn't fear—it was consideration. She set her bowl down gently, her fingers smoothing along the edge, and for a moment, she didn't speak.
But Sicheng knew that look. That pause she always carried right before a question—one she hadn't quite decided if she was allowed to ask. He turned slightly toward her, his palm still resting at her shoulder, and she tilted her head just enough for their eyes to meet.
"…Can we stay another day?" she asked softly, almost cautiously.
Yue's chewing halted mid-bite. Lan's tea cup paused just before her lips. Even Sheng looked up with something subtly alert beneath the stillness of his expression.
Yao didn't rush to fill the space. She took a quiet breath and continued, her voice not fragile now, just earnest. "I know we planned to head back to the base tonight," she said, "but I… I'd like to visit the house."
No one needed to ask which house.
Sicheng's fingers gently curled around her shoulder.
"The one she left to me," Yao clarified, though she didn't need to. "I haven't seen it since I was little. I don't remember anything about it. They never let me go back after—after my parents passed." Her voice tightened faintly at the edges, but she didn't waver. "I just… want to see it." A pause. "And there's a garage," she added, quieter now. "Apparently, filled with vehicles I'll probably never drive in my life because," she gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh "I hate driving. I hate the way the wheel feels. I hate navigating. I hate being in control of a machine that large."
Yue blinked. "Wait—you own a fleet and you don't drive?"
Sicheng, mouth twitching faintly at the corner, brushed his thumb along her arm. "You want to go today?"
She nodded. "I just want to… walk through it. Be there. See what she left me. Not as the heir to anything. Just…" Her voice grew smaller but steadier, "…just as her daughter."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Lan, as always, broke the silence with absolute clarity. "I'll have a private security detail set the perimeter before we arrive."
Yue groaned. "That's going to look like an action movie."
"Then walk behind me and look insignificant," she replied without missing a beat.
Sheng smiled faintly into his tea. "I'll call ahead. Have the property manager open it up. If any of the staff survived the family purge, they'll likely be glad to see her walk through the doors with a Lu on either side."
Sicheng leaned closer to Yao, his hand sliding down until his fingers threaded through hers beneath the table. "You say the word," he murmured quietly. "And we don't leave until you're ready."
And for the first time in what felt like a very long stretch of days …. Yao smiled.
The moment the conversation about the house settled and plans were quietly being formed in the background—Lan already making discreet calls, Sheng tapping a message into his phone—the atmosphere in the suite began to ease. The weight in the room didn't disappear entirely, but it shifted, softened by the promise of action and support, no longer pressing down on Yao's spine like a vice.
Yue, clearly feeling the tension had dropped enough to reclaim his usual position as chief instigator, sat back in his chair and arched a brow at her over his teacup. "I still can't believe you don't drive," he said, voice laced with mock judgment. "And yet—correct me if I'm wrong—wasn't it you,Tiny Boss Bunny, who hijacked my brother's prized baby and drove me to the hospital the day of the kickoff game?"
Sicheng didn't even look up from where he was peeling an orange. He just reached over and tossed an entire steamed roll squarely into Yue's smug face.
Yue yelped, catching it midair before it fell into his lap, glaring at his brother. "I wasn't wrong! She did!"
Yao, cheeks flushed as all eyes shifted back to her, muttered without looking up, "Yes, well… I was in a full adrenaline rush, okay?"
"Oh really?" Yue said, grinning now, clearly delighted.
"You were burning up," she continued, still poking at her congee like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Throwing up. Barely able to speak. And no one else was at the base. Everyone was at the arena."
"And you," Sicheng added helpfully, eyes flicking to her with the kind of deadpan affection only he could pull off, "were doubled over in period pain and still drove like a war general with a mission."
"I was in pain and all I could think about was getting your sick-ass brother to the hospital before he collapsed in my arms." Yao grumbled under her breath, flicking him a sharp side glance.
Yue winced dramatically. "Aw, you do care."
"I regret it every day."
"You lie like a child."
"Do you want another roll in the face?"
Yue held up his hands in surrender, lips twitching.
Lan, without even lifting her head from her phone, said dryly, "This is why I'm installing car service at the gate. Yao is not to drive anything ever again unless the world is ending or a man is actively dying in her passenger seat."
Sicheng muttered, "That car still smells like hospital."
"I Febreezed it!" Yao snapped, then paused. "Twice."
"You Febreezed my car?" Sicheng's voice turned flat as he eyed her like she had lost her damn mind.
Sheng cleared his throat into his tea to muffle his laugh.
Yue whispered, "You may as well have poured bleach on his soul."
"I saved a life." Yao crossed her arms, cheeks pink now.
"You endangered his engine."
"You had 104-degree fever!"
"You took a corner at eighty," Yue said, voice perfectly level.
There was a pause.
"…It was a straight road," she said finally, muttering.
"That's worse, Tiny Boss Bunny but yet Ge has not even scolded you for hijacking his precious car, in the first place. That shows just how badly you have him wrapped around your little finger." Yue added, snickering.
Sicheng reached for another roll.
Yue ducked.
Sheng, sipping his tea, simply smiled behind the rim of his cup and whispered to Lan, "She fits."
Lan's lips curved. "She always did."
And across the table, Yao, cheeks still warm, arms crossed, but lips twitching with the faintest smile, finally relaxed into the space where laughter lived. Because this was her world now. And it was hers. Chaotic. Teasing. Maddening. And safe.
The drive to the property was silent. Not tense, but reverent in the way only first steps into history can be. The kind of silence that didn't ask for conversation, only presence. Yao sat between Sicheng and Lan in the lead SUV, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of her coat, her gaze fixed on the city beyond the window. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The silence was her voice right now—an expression of something she hadn't yet found the words for.
They were nearing the house her mother had left to her. A house she had never seen before. Not in photos. Not in person. Because Xu Roulan and Tong Liyan had moved to the States before Yao was ever born. The home they left behind had remained untouched in her memory—not because she had lost it, but because she had never known it.
Until now.
The gates parted with smooth precision as the SUV rolled into the long, tree-lined driveway. The property was understated in the way only old money could manage—elegant and quietly commanding. A private world tucked just far enough from the bustle of Shanghai to feel like something preserved in time.
Yao sat forward slightly as the house came into full view—white stone walls softened by ivy, tall windows framed in deep charcoal trim, and a front entrance with curved wood doors that felt less like an invitation and more like a challenge. She stepped out of the car first.
Sicheng followed her silently.
Yue and Sheng exited the second vehicle further back, but neither approached.
Lan came to stand on her other side, heels clicking softly on the stone path.
No one spoke as Yao stood there, unmoving, her eyes taking in the shape of a place that had belonged to her family… but never to her. "I've never been here before," she whispered.
Lan didn't nod. She didn't soften. She simply said, "It's still yours."
Yao exhaled slowly, as if she had to make room inside her body just to walk forward. Her boots moved one step, then another, until her hand came to rest lightly on the door handle. It opened beneath her fingers with a soft click. The air inside was clean, faintly floral, touched with the subtle scent of polished wood and fresh linen. Not abandoned. Not dusty. The estate had been kept ready, not lived in, but waiting. The entryway opened into a hallway of pale stone floors, high ceilings, and soft gold accents along the lighting fixtures. Art lined the walls—abstract and impressionistic, the kind that whispered taste over trend.
Yao took slow steps through the main corridor, her gaze catching on every little thing as if it might suddenly tell her something about the people who once belonged to this house.
Her people.
Her blood.
And yet, she felt like a visitor walking through the memory of a life she was never given the chance to live.
Sicheng didn't hover. He trailed her at a respectful distance, his hands in his coat pockets, eyes never leaving her figure as she turned into what appeared to be the main sitting room.
Soft golden light filtered in from tall windows, warming the clean lines of the furniture—everything modern but lived-in, welcoming in a way she hadn't expected. She paused at the edge of the carpet. "I thought it would feel… cold," she said softly, her voice barely above a murmur. "Detached. Like a shell." She looked around again, brows drawing in just slightly. "But it doesn't. It feels…" She trailed off, and then, with a tiny exhale, "…like it was waiting."
Sicheng finally stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he stood beside her, his voice quiet. "Because it was."
Yao looked up at him, her eyes uncertain. "I don't belong here," she said, a small shake of her head. "This house… this life… it was part of something before I was ever born. And now it's mine, and I don't even know where to start."
Sicheng reached down, brushing his knuckles against hers. "Then we start with what is yours. Right now. Today."
Her fingers curled into his. She nodded slowly. And then, with a small breath and no ceremony, she took another step. Into the house that was hers. Not because she had grown up there. Not because it had raised her. But because she had survived everything else. And now? She was finally allowed to walk forward and claim it.
They had walked through the house slowly.
Room by room.
She touched nothing at first, letting her eyes do the work—learning the space like it was a stranger she was somehow supposed to trust. There was a quiet reverence to the way Sicheng followed behind her, letting her lead without ever straying too far. Lan moved with them for the first floor, speaking only when she pointed out a sealed office tucked behind antique glass and a private elevator leading to the basement vault. Sheng and Yue remained outside, speaking with security and ensuring the property perimeter remained locked tight.
But it wasn't until the hallway off the east wing, the one Yao hadn't noticed until a soft breeze from the automated panel doors brushed her wrist, that she paused, fingers hesitating over the interface until Sicheng glanced down at her. "Garage," he said quietly.
She looked at him. And then nodded once. The doors slid open. What she expected was a spacious three-car configuration—something elegant, maybe sleek, tailored to the shape of a well-off household with taste and precision. What she stepped into was a warehouse.
The temperature dropped slightly as they crossed the threshold, the lights flickering to life in soft motion-activated waves that bloomed across the massive space, revealing a high ceiling ribbed with black steel beams and rows—rows—of vehicles.
Yao came to a full stop just inside.
And stared.
Not at one vehicle.
But at dozens.
Lined in perfect, almost militaristic rows across the glinting polished concrete floor.
There were cars from every decade. Brands she recognized and others she didn't—sleek modern electric models, elegant European antiques, hypercars with curves so precise they looked like they could cut glass. Motorcycles too—lined against the side wall on specially mounted platforms. Ducatis. Harleys. Even a few sleek electric prototypes that hadn't even hit the market yet.
"…What the hell," she whispered.
Sicheng stepped beside her, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes sweeping over the silent display like he was trying to catalog the absurdity. "Your father and grandfather had taste," he murmured.
"They had a fleet," Yao countered, voice tight with disbelief. "This isn't a garage, this is an exhibition." She walked forward slowly, her boots echoing across the floor as the light followed her, illuminating each line of cars in sequence. One matte black McLaren caught her attention—its curves aggressive, menacing, and slightly ridiculous. "Who even owns this many vehicles?" she muttered.
"Apparently," Sicheng said, following her with dry amusement, "you do."
She turned to him, eyes wide, incredulous. "I hate driving."
"I know."
"I get anxious just thinking about merging onto the freeway."
"I've seen it."
"I almost hyperventilated the first time I used a roundabout."
Sicheng nodded. "Which makes this," he gestured toward the collection, "the most ironic inheritance in modern history."
She groaned softly and turned in a slow circle. "What am I even supposed to do with all this?"
"Catalog it. Lock it down. Maybe let Yue sit in one for his birthday if he promises not to touch the ignition."
Yao snorted despite herself. "He's going to pass out if he sees this."
"That's why he's not in here with us yet."
She paused in front of a sleek white Porsche, her reflection staring back at her in the polished body. Her voice was softer now. "This doesn't feel real."
Sicheng didn't respond right away. He just stepped up behind her, slid his arm gently around her waist, and let his chin rest lightly against the side of her head as they stood there in the quiet. "Doesn't need to feel real today," he said after a long moment. "Just needs to feel yours." And strangely enough… it did. Not because she wanted it. But because she hadn't asked for any of it—and still, it was given to her. Not for luxury. Not for power. But for the same reason the house was left untouched. For the same reason the jasmine oil still lingered on the sheets. Because someone had loved her enough to leave pieces of themselves behind—waiting for her to grow strong enough to return.
Yao continued to stare at the absurdity surrounding her—row upon row of vehicles that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a garage. The low hum of motion-sensitive lights shifted across polished chrome and matte steel, and the only thing louder than the silence in her ears was the echo of her own disbelief. Beside her, Sicheng was suspiciously quiet. Which, in her experience, was always the warning sign. "…What," she asked without looking at him, voice wary. "What is that face."
Sicheng didn't answer right away. He had turned slightly, hands still in his pockets, his gaze locked on a single vehicle two rows over. His eyes, dark amber under the ceiling lights, gleamed faintly with something sharp. Something distinctly entertained.
Yao followed his line of sight—straight to a gleaming, deep blue coupe tucked between two classics like a crown jewel trying to keep a low profile.
"That," he said at last, tone smooth but already smug beneath the surface, "is one of only three Azure Frost BMS 97s ever made. Commission-only prototypes. My father has been trying to find even a whisper of one for the last two decades."
Yao blinked, then looked at him fully. "So?"
"So," he drawled, "all three are in your garage." He paused for full effect. "I want to see him pout."
"…What?"
"I want to see him sulk," Sicheng continued, his voice taking on that deadly calm that always preceded bloodshed—or playful revenge. "Beg, if we're lucky."
"Cheng-ge —"
"Maybe offer to trade national secrets for a test drive."
Yao groaned. "You're evil."
"I've waited my entire life for this opportunity."
"You are not dragging your father into this garage just to emotionally torment him with something I inherited and don't even want."
He tilted his head toward her, the picture of calm menace. "Yes. I am."
"No."
"Yes."
"Lu Sicheng—!"
But he was already pulling out his phone, thumbs moving with intent as he tapped Yue's name.
Yao's eyes widened. "Don't you dare—"
The call connected.
"Yue," he said smoothly, completely ignoring her flailing behind him. "Bring our parents,down to the garage. Tell Dad Yao's inheritance has teeth."
A pause.
"No, I am going to tell you what it is. I want to watch him suffer."
Yao swatted him gently on the arm.
He hung up with all the satisfaction of a man about to unleash chaos.
"You are a menace," she muttered, flushing as she stepped back toward the sleek white Porsche just to put something between her and the incoming Lu Parental Unit.
"And yet," he replied, slipping his arm lazily around her waist and pulling her right back, "you keep letting me in your bed."
Her blush deepened dangerously. "That is not a point in your favor."
"It is for me." And then, calmly, as if he hadn't just engineered a full-family ambush for the sole purpose of watching his highly decorated father collapse into longing, Lu Sicheng leaned down and murmured in her ear, "Let me have this. Just once. He made me sit through a three-hour speech at fifteen on the importance of delayed gratification. I've been delaying this gratification for twelve years."
Yao dropped her forehead to his chest with a groan. "You're the worst."
"Absolutely, when it comes to pay back against that dramatic man and the number one harpy."
The first sound was the familiar chime of the motion-triggered security panel as the inner door unlocked.
Yao, still trying to regulate the sheer amount of heat in her face from being wrapped in Sicheng's smug satisfaction, straightened just as Yue's voice echoed into the vastness of the garage.
"Okay, what the hell—"
His sentence cut off mid-word.
Footsteps halted.
Dead silence.
Then—
"Oh my god," Yue breathed. He stepped in like someone who had walked into the wrong timeline—slack-jawed, eyes bouncing across each row with increasing disbelief. He spun a slow circle on the spot, taking in vehicle after vehicle, engine after gleaming engine, pausing briefly at the row of motorcycles before turning back toward Yao with a look that was equal parts reverent and scandalized. "Tiny Boss Bunny," he whispered, lifting a hand dramatically to his chest, "you own a fleet. This is not a garage. This is a private museum. This is a Bond villain's backup lair."
"I hate driving." Yao groaned softly and leaned her hip against the nearest car.
"I don't," Yue said immediately. "And I would like to personally offer my services as emotional support test driver, should you ever need someone to 'make sure they still work.'"
Before Yao could muster a reply, the soft click of heels across concrete signaled Lan's arrival. She stepped into the garage without a word, her expression neutral as her gaze swept across the cavernous space, analyzing details like she was mapping the blueprints in her mind. Her eyes paused on the motorcycle lineup—just long enough for the faintest twitch of amusement to tug at the corner of her mouth—before she turned toward her son and raised an eyebrow.
"Do you plan to explain this, or shall I guess?"
Sicheng simply gestured toward Yao, who muttered something under her breath and offered a helpless shrug.
Lan hummed once under her breath. "Of course."
But then—
A second set of steps echoed from the doorway.
He entered slower than the others, his hands tucked behind his back, posture as straight as ever, the dark gray coat falling over his broad shoulders like something out of a recruitment poster. Lu Sheng walked a few steps into the space, his expression unmoved.
At first.
He stopped.
He stared.
And then—
It happened.
His entire body stilled. His eyes locked on the sleek, low frame of the deep blue coupe parked beneath the glass skylight.
Sicheng leaned closer to Yao and whispered like a man announcing the second sunrise, "Watch this."
Yao glanced up—just in time to see Lu Sheng take one full step forward.
Then another.
His brow furrowed. He turned slowly, taking in the full span of the garage—and the three matching prototypes spaced evenly like precision blades laid on velvet. He blinked once. Then again. And then his mouth opened.
Yue watched it happen in real time, his eyes darting between his father and the blue coupe with all the glee of someone front row at a stage play. "Holy shit," he whispered. "He's going to beg."
Lan's arms crossed delicately. "He's calculating how fast he can offer her his soul without looking desperate."
Sicheng, arms folded with absolute serenity, just smirked. "That's the exact face he made when I got top of my class in third year."
Yao, caught somewhere between disbelief and rising panic, turned toward him. "You told me you just wanted to see him pout—"
"I lied."
"Cheng!"
But Sheng hadn't moved again. He just stood there, staring at the holy trinity of automotive history like it had personally risen from the dead just to mock him. And then he spoke. "…These are yours?" he asked, voice low.
Yao blinked. "Uh. Yes?"
"All three?"
She looked at Sicheng, who nodded cheerfully. "Confirmed. Verified. Polished weekly."
Sheng took a deep breath and exhaled like a man trying not to crumble in front of witnesses.
Yue took out his phone.
Sicheng didn't stop him.
Yao buried her face in her hands. "I hate you." she whispered to Sicheng.
His arm slid casually around her waist, voice warm with satisfaction. "That's okay. I'm having a great day."
Lu Sheng hadn't said another word. He was still standing perfectly still, the hard lines of his military-honed posture beginning to falter—not from weakness, but from sheer, stunned longing. His gaze hadn't left the line of the three Azure Frost BMS 97s, the rare prototypes gleaming under the skylight like artifacts pulled from time itself. He was one breath away from bargaining.
Yue was already opening his camera app.
Sicheng was waiting for the glorious spectacle of his father begging.
But before it could happen, Yao moved. Quietly. No dramatics. No announcements. Just one step back. Then another. Her boots tapped softly across the concrete as she turned toward the far wall where, neatly mounted along a sleek matte-black panel, was a meticulously arranged row of key fobs, each one labeled in elegant silver script beneath the manufacturer crest. She stopped in front of them.
Everyone fell silent.
Yao scanned the labels with narrowed eyes, thankful for the clarity and order someone—probably her grandfather or father, she assumed absently—had made sure to preserve. Her gaze landed on the right one, and she reached out slowly, fingers brushing the glass panel as she lifted the key marked BMS-AZURE F97 // No. 2.
It was heavier than she expected. Solid. Beautiful. Ridiculous. She held it in her palm for a moment. Then turned. Her steps back across the floor were unhurried. Her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked once toward Sicheng—who looked mildly alarmed now—and then toward Lan, who said nothing but watched with the faintest shift of curiosity in her eyes.
And then, Yao stopped in front of Lu Sheng. He looked down at her, his gaze sharp, his back impossibly straight. And Yao, cheeks warm, hands slightly unsteady, lifted the key between them. "…You can have one," she said softly.
The words were simple.
But the effect was nuclear.
Yue choked audibly. "Wait, what?!"
Even Sicheng straightened.
Lan raised an eyebrow.
But Yao didn't flinch.vShe kept her eyes on Sheng's face. Her voice was quiet, but certain, if a little shy. "I trust you to take care of it," she added, a bit more firmly. "So… if you want one, it's yours."
Sheng blinked.vThen again.vLike he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
Yao's hand didn't waver. She didn't retract the key. She didn't offer conditions or ask for anything in return. She just… offered.
And Lu Sheng, the man whose command had shaped elite soldiers, whose words carried weight in government halls and war rooms alike, blinked once more before very slowly—very carefully—taking the key from her fingers like it might dissolve if he moved too fast.
Silence stretched.
Then he cleared his throat once, visibly composing himself. "I'll detail it myself," he said, voice low. "Once a week. Top-grade ceramic coat. And it will never see rain."
"Okay." Yao nodded, looking down now, clearly flustered.
Sheng looked at the key like it was priceless.
Because to him, it was.
Sicheng, stunned out of his gloating, stared at her.
Yue was gaping. "You just gave away one of the three—"
"She gifted it to our father," Sicheng said, voice still catching up. "I'm honestly speechless."
Lan, sipping from a small metal flask she definitely hadn't entered the garage with, muttered dryly, "And here I thought I was the dangerous one."
Yao tucked her hands into her sleeves, face pink, eyes a little wide as she muttered, "I didn't want him to pout…"
Sheng coughed into his fist and turned sharply, but not before anyone missed the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
And Sicheng, watching all of it—the flustered girl beside him, the man who once terrified half the league now staring at a car key like it was the Holy Grail—leaned closer and murmured, voice soft with something unshakably deep: "You realize you've just earned permanent Favored Child status, right?"
Yao didn't look at him. But her lips twitched. Just a little. "…Worth it."
Yao stood quietly near the far end of the garage, her arms loosely crossed over her chest, her gaze drifting as she watched Lu Sheng trail reverently along the line of the Azure Frosts, the key still clasped protectively in his palm like it was something sacred.
The man—Lu Sheng, tactical beast, high-ranking officer, terror of the mainland's joint command—was now openly cooing over his new acquisition. Inspecting it. Admiring it. Murmuring something low under his breath that sounded suspiciously like beautiful girl, look at your symmetry, as he traced a reverent fingertip along the sleek, aerodynamic curve of the hood.
Yue, naturally, had not stopped gaping. His phone was still in his hand, but now forgotten as his eyes roamed the collection like a child who'd accidentally been handed the keys to Willy Wonka's third estate. Sicheng was beside her again, casually watching his father embarrass himself while clearly soaking in the sight like it was better than pay-per-view. And Lan—calm, cool, unshakable Lan—was walking the outer aisle with slow, measured steps. Her gaze, sharp as always, passed over several models without comment until she paused in front of a pearl white Bentley convertible, one slender hand drifting to the edge of the fender with something far too thoughtful in her eyes.
Yao let out a quiet sigh, her breath soft in the still air of the garage. And then—still watching them, her voice low and hesitant—she spoke. "You can all pick one."
That got their attention.
Yue turned so fast he nearly dropped his phone. Lan stilled mid-step. Sicheng glanced sideways at her, brows raised.
She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and shifted where she stood, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of her sleeve. "I mean it," she said softly, biting her lip a little before continuing. "You can each pick one."
Lan blinked, slowly, but didn't speak.
"I trust you," Yao added, cheeks warming under the weight of everyone's attention now. "To take care of them. I know they weren't just bought to be shown off to strangers—they were collected. Carefully. And even though I'm not the one who chose them… they're mine now. And I think…" Her voice gentled further, almost reverent. "I think my grandfather and father would want people like you to have them. To drive them. To show them off. Not just lock them behind glass and forget they exist." She looked at Lan then, her voice steady despite her obvious fluster. "That one looks like it wants you to own it."
Lan arched one elegant brow. "You're sure?"
Yao nodded. "I'm sure."
Then turned to Yue, whose eyes were wide and vaguely glassy.
"And no, you can't test-drive all of them. Pick one."
Yue looked like he might cry. "I have never loved you more."
"You say that every time I let you eat my snacks."
"This is not the same." Yue whispered, turning back toward a sleek silver Aston Martin and inhaling like he had just discovered the meaning of life.
Lu Sheng, still standing beside his new car, turned slowly back toward her. The look on his face wasn't soft, but it was full. Weighted. The kind of look a man gives a young woman who, with only a few quiet gestures, had reminded him of the very best pieces of a legacy that mattered. He didn't say thank you. He didn't need to. His nod was deep. And it was enough.
Lan glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp. "You are dangerously good at this," she murmured.
Yao shrugged lightly as she shifted some with being slightly flustered. "I'm just… sharing what already felt like theirs plus I really think my grandfather and father would not mind."
Sicheng, beside her, leaned in close and murmured against her ear with quiet affection, "You know this means you're never allowed to say you're not part of this family again."
Yao flushed scarlet as she fiddled with her sleeves. "That's emotional blackmail."
"You love it."
And watching the three of them, each so different, each now tangled in her life in ways not even her mother could've foreseen, Yao didn't say it aloud. But maybe… Maybe she did.
It took less than five minutes for Lan to decide. She didn't dither. She didn't second-guess. She simply walked once more along the polished row of vehicles, paused in front of the pearl white Bentley convertible, sleek, elegant, powerful without being ostentatious and placed her hand on the hood like she was confirming a deal that had already been made in her head weeks ago. "This one," she said. Not a question. Not a request. Just a fact.
Yao smiled softly with a shy look as she nodded to the woman. "I had a feeling."
"It's an excellent feeling." Lan nodded once, her mouth twitching faintly.
Yue, on the other hand, was a chaos storm of indecision. "This one speaks to me," he said, stopping in front of a silver Aston Martin with gleaming black trim. Then, a moment later, he turned to a blood-red Jaguar, placing a reverent hand over his chest. "But this one calls to me."
"Pick one." Yao warned from across the garage as her lips twitched at the younger Lu as he groaned..
Yue pouted, turning back toward the Aston and huffing. "Fine. First love wins. But only because I'm emotionally weak."
She handed him the key.
He cradled it like it was a newborn. "I will cherish her."
"You better." And then, finally, she turned toward the one person who hadn't moved much at all. Sicheng stood near the far side of the motorcycle lineup, his expression relaxed, his hands in his coat pockets. He was leaning back slightly, eyes half-lidded, that signature quiet cool wrapped around him like a second skin. But Yao had known him long enough now to recognize focus when she saw it. And he wasn't looking at the cars. His gaze had shifted subtly but unmistakably, toward one specific motorcycle. It sat beneath a spotlight. Sleek matte black with burnished gold trim and a distinctive low-slung body, its make engraved in brushed steel across the body.
Zhenxing V8 Carbon Shadow
High-end. Rare. Modified for speed and silence. Not mass-produced.
She didn't say a word. Just watched as his eyes lingered. Only for a moment.
Then he turned back toward the vehicles and gestured casually to a silver Ferrari 250 GT Lusso Berlinetta tucked beside Sheng's new toy. "That one," he said.
Yao nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. And while Lan passed her the Bentley key with a crisp nod and Yue made actual kissing noises at his chosen car, Yao walked slowly toward the wall again. The keys were still arranged neatly, each labeled in clean silver lettering. She scanned the row until her eyes landed on it.
Zhenxing V8 C-Shadow // Custom
She didn't hesitate. Her fingers closed around it quietly, lifting it from its place. She held it in her palm for just a second—just long enough to glance at Sicheng out of the corner of her eye, already half-distracted by Yue dragging him into an argument over turbo kits—and then, with calm purpose, she slipped the key into the pocket of her coat. No announcement. No fanfare. Just a mental note. Have it delivered to the base. Serviced. Tuned. And placed where he'll find it without knowing it came from her.
Because some things?
Some things were better said in actions. And she wanted that look on his face—the one she'd seen earlier, the one he probably didn't even realize he'd made—to be hers alone when he found it waiting.
The attention of the room remained fixed on the chaos Yue was creating—flailing dramatically over whether or not to name his Aston Martin after a Greek goddess or a K-Drama lead—as Lan calmly tested the seat adjustment range in her Bentley with a clinical grace that somehow still felt mildly threatening.
Sicheng had drifted toward one of the far cabinets along the side wall, indulging Yue with half his attention, eyes scanning rows of engine tools and diagnostic panels with mild curiosity. Which meant no one was watching her.
Yao moved softly, steps light, deliberate, her body turned slightly away from the center of the room. The keys still hung in pristine order along the panel, cool metal tags glinting beneath the track lighting. Her fingers reached for the one she hadn't stopped thinking about since Yue's ridiculous groan of heartbreak.
Jaguar XKR-S // Crimson Feral
He had practically wept over it. Whispered to it. Called it his soulmate and then betrayed it five minutes later when the Aston had caught his eye. But she had seen the way his shoulders sagged just a little when he turned away. She lifted the crimson key quietly and slipped it into her coat pocket beside the first one. That one will be waiting at the base, tucked behind the loading bay. Let him find it alone. Let him scream. Let him cry. Let him have both.
She turned her attention to the other two. She had noticed earlier, in that subtle, meticulous way she always observed the details others missed: the way Lan had passed her fingers just a second too long along the matte black Lotus parked beside the convertible… and how Sheng had paused for a half-breath near the deep green coupe nestled beneath the back skylight. Neither had said anything. Neither had reached. But she had seen the hesitation.
And so—
Lotus Evora Shadowline // Custom GT.
Maserati Vento '92 // Hunter Green.
Two more keys.
One smooth and light. One heavier, worn at the edges in the way that only something crafted by hand could feel. Both were slipped into the other side of her coat pocket with practiced ease. Four keys total now. Her fingers curled protectively over the weight of them, the corners of her mouth soft with quiet satisfaction. She didn't want thanks. She didn't want a scene. She just wanted them to have what they didn't ask for. Because she saw them.
Because she knew and because loving these three—these impossible, infuriating, loyal Lu family lunatics—meant sometimes you give without letting them see you do it. She took one last look at the panel, carefully adjusting the spacing to make it appear untouched, then turned and rejoined the others just as Sheng finally consented to letting Yue sit in the driver's seat of his newly acquired Azure… under supervision.
Lan glanced sideways at her, as if sensing something—but didn't speak.
And Yao, ever composed now, just smiled lightly and dusted her sleeve with the edge of her hand. Plans made. Deliveries scheduled in her mind. One Jaguar for Yue at the base. One motorcycle hidden away for Sicheng. One Lotus for Lan and a Maserati for Sheng en route to a private garage by the end of the week. It would be done. Because she wanted it done. Because she could. And because none of them had ever asked her for anything and have never since meeting her hesitated in taking care of her. So she'd give them everything. Without saying a word.
The sun was just beginning to slip beneath the skyline when they returned to the suites. The garage had finally dimmed behind them, lights powering down as the motion sensors fell still and the secured doors clicked shut. The silence left behind wasn't empty—it was full. Of laughter, of plans, of the weight of keys tucked into pockets and the knowledge that something had shifted today. And now, as they stepped back into the warmth of the hotel suite, the soft lighting casting long gold shadows across the wood floors, Yao moved instinctively toward the couch, ready to collapse.
But Lan's voice cut through the room before she even reached the cushions. "Bed," she said crisply, eyes sweeping across all three men with surgical precision. "All of you."
Yue opened his mouth to argue, only for Lan to raise one brow.
"We have an early flight," she reminded. "And I am not dealing with complaints about bloodshot eyes and sleep deprivation before your next match on Thursday or that you are too drained to train for said match."
Sicheng stretched lazily as he slipped off his jacket. "Yes, Mother."
Lan didn't even blink. "I expect doors to be closed and lights off in ten minutes."
"I thought I left the military to escape curfews…" Yue grumbled something unintelligible and shuffled toward the guest room.
"You left the military," Sheng said, stepping into the living space behind his wife, "but you didn't leave me. And since I'm footing the logistics bill for this entire weekend, you'll live with a little discipline."
"Little?" Yue muttered.
"I can still have you reassigned to the mountain unit under your Uncle's command."
"…Going to bed now."
Yao gave a small laugh behind her hand, cheeks pink from barely-contained amusement as she watched the familiar dance of the Lu household roll out in full force. It was chaos but ordered chaos. And, in some quiet way, it had begun to feel like home. She was just about to follow Sicheng toward their suite when Sheng spoke again, this time more conversational, almost casual, if you ignored how precisely planned everything was.
"Oh, and by the way," he said, adjusting the cuff of his shirt as he leaned slightly against the doorway. "I made a few calls."
Sicheng looked back, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What kind of calls?"
Sheng waved a hand. "To the Tsinghua area. Rented out a private floor at a quiet business hotel not far from campus. Large suite for the boys to share—Pang, Lao Mao, K, Yue—two bedrooms, lounge, balcony. Another suite for Lan and I, of course."
Yao blinked, eyes narrowing just slightly.
Sheng smiled, slow and pointed. "And a private suite for you and Sicheng."
She flushed. "You—"
"Don't argue," Lan added without missing a beat. "You need sleep. You'll be too keyed up the night before."
Yao muttered, "I'm always keyed up."
"Then he'll handle it," Sheng said dryly, nodding toward Sicheng. "That's why you're sharing a room."
Sicheng looked far too pleased. "Continue." he said.
"And," Sheng went on smoothly, "Jinyang, Ai Jia, Kun Hyeok, and the rest of YQCB will be housed one floor down in a shared suite with a secondary lounge and separate room access. No one's dealing with Beijing traffic at six a.m."
Yao's eyebrows lifted. "That's…"
"Necessary," Sheng interrupted. "Your dissertation defense is at nine. You need to be there by 8:45. I don't want to hear about traffic, weather delays, or excuses. You'll have your full support team within fifteen minutes of the university gates."
Lan added, "And no caffeine after nine p.m. I don't care if you think it helps."
Yue peeked around the hallway, pouting. "I better get a window seat."
Sheng didn't even glance at him. "You're lucky you're flying at all."
Yao stood frozen in the middle of the room for a moment, lips parted, overwhelmed by the sheer logistics of what they'd pulled together and the knowledge that she hadn't asked for any of it. But they'd done it anyway. Because that's what family does. Quietly. Efficiently. Completely.
"Welcome to the family, Wǔ xiān." Sicheng nudged her gently toward the hallway, his voice low at her ear.
She muttered, "I think I've been adopted without paperwork."
"You've been absorbed."
"Not the same."
"Better," he said with a smirk. "Ours now."
And as she let herself be guided toward their suite—warm, flustered, and a little in awe—she couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at her lips. Because they didn't just love her. They planned for her.