Married with the Silent Wolf

Chapter 9: Resolutely Standing Up for Him

Muting her delight behind a sweet smile, Mu Tianxing called out gently, “Sister-in-law!”

Fang Minzhi offered a mild, appreciative smile in return. “What a lovely young girl—so radiant and courteous. Fourth Brother is truly fortunate.”

“Isn’t that so?” Zeng Qian chimed in with a laugh, taking Mu Tianxing’s hand and leading her toward the sofa. “If the old master hadn’t acted swiftly, such a gem of a daughter-in-law might’ve been out of reach in another two years!”

Yet with subtle grace, Mu Tianxing evaded her grasp. Noticing Zeng Qian’s surprised glance, she offered an apologetic smile. “Aunt Qian, why don’t you go ahead? We’ll follow.”

Her delicate hand gripped the handles of Ling Lie’s wheelchair with quiet determination, and she took a measured step forward. It was only then that Zeng Qian and Fang Minzhi seemed to remember the long-neglected Fourth Young Master of the Ling family.

Fang Minzhi chuckled, covering her lapse. “Didn’t I say? Fourth Brother’s luck has turned. From now on, we needn’t worry about him—he has someone who cares.”

Mu Tianxing steadily wheeled Ling Lie toward the seating area. She couldn’t see his expression, but she imagined it remained unchanged—detached, unreadable. In this household, anyone could overlook him. Anyone but her.

She stood here today because of him. Without Ling Lie, there would be no “Fourth Young Madam.”

“Would you like something to drink?” She glanced at the maid offering her a warm, fragrant milk tea, then retrieved Ling Lie’s paper and pen, placing them gently in his hand as she posed the question.

Zeng Qian and Fang Minzhi were momentarily stunned, and even the maid, who had just withdrawn her hand, looked slightly embarrassed.

It wasn’t malice that left Ling Lie without tea in this household. Ever since the car accident, he had refused any beverage prepared within the family home. Should he need anything, it was always brought by Zhuoran or Zhuoxi from outside.

The old master, having scolded him more than once—“What, do you think I’d poison my own son?”—couldn’t shake his son’s inexplicable obstinance. Ling Lie’s reticence remained unmoved, his defiance cloaked in silence. Eventually, the family simply stopped preparing anything for him.

Fang Minzhi, thinking Mu Tianxing was unaware of the unspoken history within this house, had just opened her mouth to offer a diplomatic explanation—lest the new bride feel rebuffed.

But before she could speak, Ling Lie raised his pen. With precise strokes, he wrote two words on the pristine paper: Yours.

If others were astonished, Mu Tianxing remained composed. Her gaze lingered on the characters.

Had he wanted a cup of the same milk tea, he could have simply written “milk tea.” But he didn’t. He wrote “yours,” implying that what he desired was the very cup in her hand.

It was the same drink—but his insistence was oddly poignant.

A quiet revelation settled over her heart. No one here had thought to offer him tea. Could there be a deeper wound? Was it a shadow of past pain that led him to forgo even the smallest comforts within these walls?

She lifted the cup and placed it gently into his hand. Her voice carried a trace of regret. “I didn’t know. I’ve broken your rule. I won’t again.”

Zeng Qian and Fang Minzhi exchanged another startled glance.

That Ling Lie would write two full words today was already extraordinary—more than the single, terse characters he had begrudgingly offered over the years. But this girl—this seemingly innocent young woman—had parsed those two words and unearthed the long-unspoken rules of his isolation.

She was almost frighteningly astute.

“Another cup for Miss Mu,” Fang Minzhi instructed the maid with a light smile, feigning nonchalance.

Zeng Qian, meanwhile, took a sip of her red tea, lowering her gaze to hide the sharp glint that flickered behind her eyes.

She had thought that Mu Tianxing, at merely eighteen, would be nothing more than an innocent, naïve girl. Marrying her off to the crippled Fourth Young Master seemed unlikely to stir any waves—after all, even if the Mu family had some standing, a child matched with a broken man appeared inconsequential at best.

But now… if the old master were to discover that the young Miss of the Mu family possessed such astonishing intellect and insight, things might become far more interesting than anyone had anticipated.

Just then, the elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Ling Yuan emerged, flanked by his three sons.

His gaze swept over to the unfamiliar yet strikingly lovely young girl seated near the sofa. The corners of his mouth lifted into a broad smile.

“Hahaha, so it’s Tianxing who’s arrived!”

Mu Tianxing rose alongside Zeng Qian and the others, offering a courteous smile. “Good day, Uncle. Greetings, brothers.”

Within the span of a few glances, she had already evaluated the four men before her.

Ling Yuan wore a burgundy silk short-sleeved shirt paired with black trousers and polished leather shoes. His complexion was pale and well-kept, and though not yet fifty, he exuded a robust energy—clearly a man who had taken care of himself.

Still, the fact that he was already referred to as "the old master" in the household by his early forties hinted at his strict and commanding nature.

On his left stood the eldest son, Ling Feng—likely just past thirty. His black-rimmed glasses, crisp white shirt, and coffee-colored trousers complemented Fang Minzhi’s calm and composed demeanor perfectly.

To the right was the second son, Ling Rui, nearly identical in looks to his elder brother, as both were born to the same wife. It was said he was merely a year younger than Ling Feng—children of Ling Yuan’s wild youth, fathered when he was still a reckless teenager. Thus, his marriage had come early. Ling Rui, dressed more casually in a grey t-shirt and jeans, had divorced only last year and remained childless.

Suddenly, from the side, a man leapt forward and unabashedly planted himself in front of her, brazenly sizing her up—surely the third son, Ling Ye.

He wore a flamboyant, shiny violet shirt embroidered with elaborate, almost ostentatious patterns. Even the buttons at the cuffs and collar were set with sparkling stones, catching the light so blindingly she could barely keep her eyes open.

His pair of alluring, fox-like eyes were even more beautiful than those of the eldest two, yet Mu Tianxing couldn’t bring herself to like him. He felt far too much like a flamboyant butterfly, flitting from flower to flower.

Instinctively, her gaze returned once more to Ling Lie.

He sat silently in his cold wheelchair, cloaked in a jet-black shirt, trousers, and shoes—everything about him austere and still. His expression remained unreadable, as icy as his attire.

And yet… his ink-dark hair, his finely sculpted brows, and those obsidian eyes gleaming with suppressed emotion all formed a portrait so striking it made the others pale in comparison.

His exposed skin, fair and luminous, was even more delicate than that of a woman. Aside from his face and hands, everything about him was black—and not just black, but the purest, most unyielding shade of it.

For reasons she could not explain, Mu Tianxing found a quiet warmth in his darkness. Compared to the men around her, his presence felt the most untainted, the most honest.

She had heard that Fourth Young Master’s mother had been the great love of Ling Yuan’s life. Judging by the ethereal perfection of Ling Lie’s appearance, it was easy to imagine what a breathtaking beauty that woman must have once been.

A pity, she thought, that such a woman had married a man like Ling Yuan.

An even greater pity—that such a brilliant son had been reduced to a shadow of himself under his father's care.

“Miss Mu, just call me Ye-ge,” said the third son, his eyes practically glued to her face as he reached out a hand with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Truth be told, after years of roaming the world of women, Ling Ye rarely encountered a girl whose beauty—untouched by rouge or embellishment—glimmered with such unearthly purity.