Chapter 9 - The Poison in the Soup
The dinner proceeded in a strange, subdued atmosphere.
Director Zhao had completely stopped listening to Lu Guowei's whispers. Instead, he spent forty minutes asking Lin Chen about her father's old workshop, his sharp, cynical face softening into something approaching genuine respect as she spoke about the old industrial days of the city.
At eight-thirty, the servants brought out the final course: a clear bird's nest soup served in delicate porcelain bowls with gold rims.
Lin Chen picked up her silver spoon, but before she could dip it into the soup, a hand reached out and caught her wrist.
Lu Zongheng.
He wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the soup bowl in front of her. His dark eyes were fixed on a faint, oily sheen floating on the surface of the clear broth—a sheen that was slightly thicker than the collagen of the bird's nest should have been.
"Don't touch it," he said, his voice dropping so low only she could hear it.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Lu Zongheng didn't answer. He turned his head slowly to look at the young maid who had just served the bowl—a new girl with nervous eyes who was standing near the sideboard, her fingers twisting the edge of her apron.
"Where did this soup come from?" Lu Zongheng asked aloud, his voice cutting through the laughter at the other end of the table.
The room went quiet again.
The maid trembled, her face turning pale. "It... it came from the main kitchen, Young Master. Executive Chef Zhang prepared it personally."
Lu Zongheng stood up. He picked up Lin Chen's bowl, walked over to the sideboard, and set it down directly in front of the maid.
"Drink it," he commanded flatly.
The maid gasped, backing away until her spine hit the mahogany paneling. "Young Master—I am not allowed to eat the guests' food—"
"I said drink it," Lu Zongheng repeated, his voice dropping into a register that made even Director Zhao straighten up in his chair. "If it's Chef Zhang's soup, it's the finest bird's nest in the province. Drink the bowl, and I will give you ten thousand yuan on the spot."
"Zongheng!" Lu Guowei shouted, standing up from his chair. "What is this dramatic nonsense? You're frightening the staff over a bowl of soup!"
"Shut up, Guowei," Old Man Lu's voice echoed from the doorway.
The old man had entered quietly, leaning on his cane, flanked by two personal bodyguards in plain clothes. He looked at the trembling maid, then at the soup bowl, and finally at his son, Lu Guowei.
"Secretary Chen," Old Man Lu said coldly. "Call the private medical team from the third floor. Have them analyze the liquid in that bowl immediately."
The maid dropped to her knees with a loud thud, her forehead hitting the parquet floor as she began to sob hysterically.
"It wasn't me!" she cried out, pointing a shaking finger toward the end of the table. "Miss Miaomiao gave me five thousand yuan! She told me it was just a mild laxative to make the new bride embarrass herself in front of the board! I didn't know... I swear I didn't know what was in the bottle!"
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Lin Chen felt her blood go cold.
She turned to look at Lu Miaomiao, who was sitting near the window, her scarlet dress glowing under the chandelier, her face entirely devoid of color as every eye in the room turned toward her.
