In the southern city of Nanyang, May always came with endless rain.
By dusk, the drizzle had just stopped. A faint mist hung in the damp air, and even the wild roses outside the hotel entrance drooped with a melancholy grace.
In the rear garden just outside the private banquet hall, Qiao Li leaned lazily against the wall of the rain corridor. She stared at the handsome man rambling in front of her, a flicker of impatience glimmering in her eyes.
"So, do you understand now?" he said coldly. "I'll never love you—let alone marry you. I don't care how this engagement came about. You'd better give up on this marriage while you still can."
His name was Shang Lu, a renowned doctor with a fortune to match—or so the rumors said.
Qiao Li didn't know much about him. The only connection between them was the engagement arranged before they were even born.
Classic. Cliché. Pathetic.
Her feet were getting sore, so she shifted her weight slightly and sighed, her voice airy and calm.
"Alright. Got it."
"…And another thing—wait, what?"
Shang Lu blinked, caught off guard. He clearly hadn't expected her to agree so easily. For a second, he was stunned.
Outside the corridor, the rain had returned, falling in light, steady drops. The sound of rain tapping against the banana leaves was crisp and soothing.
The soft rhythm snapped him out of his daze.
He looked up—only to realize she was already gone.
He looked around. At the far end of the corridor, only the dark green hem of a dress disappeared around the corner.
⸻
Qiao Li strolled leisurely along the rain-drenched corridor. Just ahead was a glass pavilion designed for admiring the rain.
The VIP lounge to her right was empty.
She gathered her dress and took a seat by the window. Outside, the sky was overcast, but her mood was surprisingly bright.
Truth be told, this was her first proper meeting with Shang Lu. The engagement that had bound them for years was no childhood sweetheart story—far from it.
In fact, to her, the whole arrangement felt vague and suspicious.
If it had truly been a big deal, her family wouldn't have been so evasive whenever it was brought up.
So, now that it was over?
Good. One less problem in the future.
As Qiao Li sat there in thought, the rain softened further—
And then she heard it.
A cry for help.
"Help… me—"
It wasn't her imagination.
The voice was faint. Barely audible.
Like someone was being choked, struggling to plead for their life.
Qiao Li straightened up in the high-backed chair, tilted her head slightly, and listened for a few seconds.
Then she rose and followed the sound toward the open-air greenery beside the rain pavilion.
Dusk was falling fast. The sky above was a heavy gray, and a fine rain continued to fall silently.
Guided by the broken fragments of a cry, she moved through tall and low plants alike.
At the far end, she gently pushed aside a banana leaf—
And what she saw stunned her.
In the heart of the emerald garden, beneath an octagonal pavilion, sat a man by a stone table, unmoving like a mountain.
In her twenty-two years of life, Qiao Li had never seen a man wear black so handsomely.
A black shirt. Black trousers. Polished shoes without a single speck of dust.
His sleeves were casually rolled up, one arm resting on the stone table. Even the way his collar hung open gave off a wild, untamed energy.
In that small corner of the world, his presence was overwhelming.
"Master Yan, I was wrong! Please… save me…"
The voice called out again, and Qiao Li snapped out of her daze.
Her gaze shifted slightly and finally landed on a frail middle-aged man lying on the slippery stone floor, his face twisted in pain.
At that moment, her instincts screamed—this was a place she should not have entered.
Just then, the man referred to as Master Yan slowly raised his hand, calmly smoothing the creases on his sleeve.
His deep, magnetic voice echoed in the quiet pavilion.
"Looks like you've forgotten the rules of Nanyang."