Lan Xingchen sat on the sofa for a long while, unable to speak.
Wen Yuan, too, seemed unsure of what to say. Rarely, the uncle and nephew were both silent.
After some time, just as Wen Yuan was about to speak again, Lan Xingchen broke the quiet. He said, “I know.”
“You know… that their relationship isn’t just simply like siblings?”
Wen Yuan looked at him in surprise.
Lan Xingchen’s gaze was calm. “That afternoon, in your study, I overheard everything.”
Wen Yuan hadn’t expected that. In that instant, he recalled their argument from that day. “You heard it?”
“Yes. So I thought Ning Yuan and Ning Rong were her children. I felt I’d learned a secret I shouldn’t have known. I didn’t know how to face her, how to face Ning Yuan and Ning Rong, or how to address them. So I moved out.”
Lowering his eyes, Lan Xingchen continued, “Everyone in this house knows the truth, except me. I stumbled upon it by accident, forced to know it, so I felt embarrassed.”
Wen Yuan had never imagined it would be this way.
“You should have told me?” he asked.
But the next second, he shook his head, self-reproaching. “No… I should have told you.”
“Zhou Man always wanted to tell you, but I didn’t allow it. I thought you wouldn’t accept it. But actually…”
But actually, how could Lan Xingchen not accept it? If he could silently keep this secret for over six years for her sake, how could he possibly avoid marrying Zhou Man just because she had been Lan He’s student?
Adults are always like this.
They think they are accommodating and protecting children, believing that even keeping a secret is for the child’s own good.
Yet they fail to realize that children grow up and start accommodating them in return, caring for them, and following their wishes.
“It’s my fault,” Wen Yuan said. “I shouldn’t have hidden it from you.”
He should have trusted himself more, trusted Lan Xingchen’s feelings, instead of being timid, hoping to create false peace through secrecy.
He looked at Lan Xingchen, lifted his hand to his shoulder, and pulled him into an embrace.
Lan Xingchen shook his head. He didn’t blame Wen Yuan.
His worry stemmed from his resentment. He had simply finally found his own happiness and wanted to hold on to it.
If he hadn’t directed his anger at his parents’ students after their death, Wen Yuan wouldn’t have hidden anything from him. Perhaps everything could have unfolded differently.
“I’m sorry,” Wen Yuan whispered.
“I don’t blame you,” Lan Xingchen replied. “I just…”
“I just…”
He just felt that perhaps it was time for Wen Yuan to know, that maybe it could bring closure.
Wen Yuan’s concealment was only to hide the relationship between Zhou Man and Lan He and Lu Yinkong, not because he thought Lan Xingchen was excluded or unworthy of knowing their true relationship.
Often, once a conversation begins, the rest falls into place naturally.
This was not the first time Lan Xingchen and Wen Yuan had talked heart-to-heart, but it was the deepest they had ever gone.
Wen Yuan realized for the first time that his nephew had remembered Li Li, and their breakup, all this time.
He felt guilty, and because of that guilt, he dared not do anything that might affect Lan Xingchen’s happiness.
“I thought you’d forgotten it all.”
He had been so young, and had only seen Li Li once or twice. Over all these years, no one had mentioned her. He assumed Lan Xingchen had long forgotten. Yet he had remembered all along.
Wen Yuan discovered that his nephew could be remarkably reserved.
If he didn’t want you to know something, he could keep it buried in his heart in silence, and no one could pry it out.
They all thought they were doing good for the other, believing that as long as they acted, the other’s happiness would remain intact.
But it was never that simple.
By the time their conversation drew on, both had eyes slightly red.
When Zhou Man came downstairs and saw them, this was the scene.
“What’s wrong with you two?” she asked in surprise.
Lan Xingchen looked up at her, silent and still.
“He knows,” Wen Yuan whispered. “That year, when you argued with me in the study… he overheard.”
Zhou Man froze, belatedly realizing what Wen Yuan meant—the argument in the study that year.
Panic washed over her. She regretted speaking so deliberately back then.
How would Lan Xingchen see her now?
What would he think of her?
What kind of woman would he believe she was?
No wonder, all these years, he had been distant toward Ning Yuan and Ning Rong, and at times toward her as well.
What impression had she left in his mind? A woman who hid her marriage history, brought two children along, and even tried to deceive his uncle.
“Xingchen, it’s not what you think. I can explain,” Zhou Man said anxiously.
“I know,” Lan Xingchen said, seeing through her fluster. He felt as though he were looking at her as his parents had when they were young. “My uncle told me. I know everything. You only said it that way on purpose.”
Zhou Man nodded. Since she was nineteen, she had learned not to care about others’ eyes. But there was one gaze she could never ignore: Lan Xingchen’s.
If possible, she wanted to leave a better impression in his mind. A good one, better, even better.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She had failed to leave him a good impression.
Now she understood why, all these years, no matter how hard she tried, there had always seemed to be a barrier between her and Lan Xingchen.
In his perception, she was already someone else’s mother.
She was already another child’s mother. How could she ever be his mother?
Moreover, she was only his aunt by marriage.
She had sown the seed and reaped the fruit; the fruit was bitter, but the seed had been planted by her own hand.
Zhou Man regretted it—her decision at the time had indeed been too hasty.
“This isn’t your fault,” Lan Xingchen comforted her.
After all, Zhou Man hadn’t known he was still around back then.
Every event in life has its own footsteps; tangled paths and overlapping impressions can easily give rise to misunderstandings if one isn’t careful.
But those were all in the past. Now, what mattered to him was: “Aunt, do you want a child? One who shares blood with you and my uncle?”
Zhou Man shook her head, still caught in her previous thoughts, unsure how he had jumped to this topic.
“Aren’t you already our child?”
“But I’m not your biological child.”
“To us, you are,” Zhou Man stated.
She looked toward Wen Yuan, slightly puzzled.
Wen Yuan explained, “Xingchen feels that we should have a child of our own.”
Zhou Man didn’t think it was necessary. “I’m already at this age; it’s not appropriate for me to have a child.”
She walked over to Lan Xingchen and patted his shoulder. “Not everyone wants children. Besides, we already have you, so there’s no need for another.”
Lan Xingchen didn’t know what to say for a moment.
What could he say?
He couldn’t persuade Zhou Man. If she could invalidate herself even after learning the truth about his uncle, believing she was unworthy of him, how could she possibly devote herself fully to him—the only child of Lan He and Lu Yinkong?
Even if she had her own child, she might insist on shielding them entirely, preventing any friction with him.
She might even resolutely forbid her child from entering Anglai, cutting off anything she felt belonged to him, fearing any harm might come to his well-being.
This was not what Lan Xingchen wanted to see.
He wished for his uncle and aunt’s child to be theirs by choice, loved and protected fairly, not overshadowed by the memory of another.
Lan Xingchen fell silent.
On the way back to his room, he called Pei Qingjian.
The instant the call connected, Lan Xingchen realized something: somehow, over time, he had grown to enjoy being with him more and more.
He liked sharing his matters with him.
He liked consulting him when making decisions.
He didn’t mind Pei Qingjian being involved in his life—friendship, family, everything.
Perhaps it was because Pei Qingjian always said what he wanted to hear, or because he always treated his concerns seriously.
Or perhaps, because facing many things together made them seem less difficult.
Like now—he instinctively called him, though they hadn’t known each other that long, yet he still wanted to hear his voice, his thoughts.
“What’s up?” Pei Qingjian’s tone was as light and cheerful as always.
Lan Xingchen paused, then said, “You’re right. They really don’t intend to have a child.”
Pei Qingjian found it reasonable; otherwise, they would have had one already.
“Isn’t that good?” he said. “It shows they really love you.”
“But I feel it’s unfair to them.”
“Fairness isn’t decided by the giver—it’s decided by the one receiving. As long as the receiver feels it’s fair, there’s no injustice.”
Is that so? Lan Xingchen thought.
“So you think they shouldn’t have children either?”
“Of course not,” Pei Qingjian said. “I just think they have the right to decide whether or not to have children. Especially your aunt—she’s the one who would carry the child, give birth to it. If she doesn’t want one, she doesn’t have to. At her age, pregnancy isn’t as easy as when she was young.”
Lan Xingchen smiled. “My aunt said the same. She feels she’s too old to have a child.”
“Exactly,” Pei Qingjian said. “You can give them advice, but you can’t make the decision for them. They’ve lived over half their lives. Not having a child is fine—they won’t risk pregnancy, and they’ll still have your filial care. In practice, it’s not much different than having a child.”
Even so, Lan Xingchen, as the one who prompted this topic, couldn’t help but overthink.
“Have I ever told you about my parents?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“They were actually teachers,” Lan Xingchen began slowly, recounting the story.
Pei Qingjian hadn’t expected that. He had always assumed Lan Xingchen’s parents had died in an accident like a car crash, never imagining it was a natural disaster—and never that they were teachers.
“So your aunt probably doesn’t want a child even more,” he said.
“Yes. She cared too much about my mother and therefore couldn’t help but care about me.”
Pei Qingjian understood; it made sense.
“And now… do you still resent your parents’ students?” he asked.
Lan Xingchen didn’t answer.
He had thought he resented them, but tonight, upon realizing that Zhou Man was one of his parents’ students, seeing her again, he felt neither resentment nor hatred.
More than anything, he felt a sense of continuity.
Their lives had intersected through her. His parents had taught her and helped her grow, and he now saw her as she had grown—something his parents never got to witness.
If they could see it, they would surely feel gratified.
They would feel joy knowing that she had a better life because of them, and in turn, she had brought a better life to the brother who helped raise their child. That brother, in turn, gave their child the love they had never fully been able to provide.
In that instant, Lan Xingchen felt as if he could finally step over the barrier that had stood in his heart for so many years.
It was like seeing a new landscape, a new direction from which to move forward.
He finally took another step ahead, just as he had as a child when he gradually came to understand his parents.
Now, he could finally accept that his parents, beyond being parents, were also teachers.
“No, I guess not,” Lan Xingchen said softly. “Even if things were to start over, they would still make the same choices.”
If he could rewind time, they would still persist in their work.
Some things in this world simply require certain people to act, and there are some people you cannot stop.
Pei Qingjian listened quietly.
It was a perspective he had never considered before—thinking about the people they had helped, the children, the families, the parents—wondering whether they might feel resentment toward the students who had received their aid.
Suddenly, he thought of his own college years. Every year he would visit his teacher, who always welcomed him warmly—but the teacher’s daughter never appeared.
“She said she went out to play,” he explained, “but maybe she didn’t really want to see me.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Pei Qingjian said softly.
“What?” Lan Xingchen asked, curious.
“My elementary school… it was kind of a charity school. Some of the teachers were older, some younger, all with different accents, but they taught us sincerely.”
His parents had originally planned to bring him out of the village, so they went out to work, earning money to give him a better education.
But an accident occurred while they were working, and he had to continue school in the village.
His grandmother had cried for a long time—she cried for his parents, for his inability to receive a better education, and for the rare kindness in society that had provided a free school.
Pei Qingjian had just held her, nestled in her arms.
“I’ve always been grateful to those teachers. Later, when I grew up, I went to see them again, to thank them once more.”
“But I never thought from their perspective, whether their parents or children might feel unhappy seeing me. No wonder their daughter was never around when I visited.”
Lan Xingchen blinked in surprise. “You? A charity school? Was your family that poor?”
“Yes,” Pei Qingjian nodded. “That’s why I call it a secret.”
Lan Xingchen thought: wait, that can’t be right! His grandparents owned their own house back then. How could he have ended up in a charity school in the village? Even if his father was unreliable, his grandparents and mother would never have allowed it.
“You’re teasing me.”
“No, it’s true.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Pei Qingjian sighed. “Then you’ve just missed my secret.”
Lan Xingchen: …
Pei Qingjian smiled. “Lan Xingchen, I’m really glad to be here by your side.”
Of course, the school he attended wasn’t built by Lan He and the others; they weren’t even in the same timeline. Yet that didn’t prevent him from feeling, at this moment, the mercy and generosity of the universe.
There are always people in the world who give unconditionally, who try to offer love and hope, who step forward in every danger, and whose limited lives carry countless joys.
Because of this, life often feels fleeting.
Yet perhaps fate is kind. It cannot reverse death, but it can treat those left behind with gentleness.
Thus, Wen Yuan, without knowing it, met Zhou Man.
Thus, he crossed time and space to arrive by Lan Xingchen’s side.
Pei Qingjian had often wondered why he had ended up here, with Lan Xingchen. Now he had an answer.
Because they were looking at different landscapes, and the world is vast with countless vistas. They needed to lean on each other’s perspectives to see the other side.
In doing so, they could see it all.
“Thank you for letting me see what the other side looks like,” Pei Qingjian said softly.
Though he might never see his teachers again, or his daughter, perhaps this was for the best—for her, so she would no longer need to force herself to go out and play.
He hoped she would be happy. Forever happy.
Lan Xingchen listened, frowning slightly. What was this? Talking like this had somehow turned into a confession?
And he was glad to be here, thanking him—he really was… so direct!
Lan Xingchen’s ears flushed. He cleared his throat. “It’s enough that you know.”
Now that he knew, he could properly play his role as Pei Qingjian’s guardian for the time being, and once the contract ended, just be his friend.
“You want to see the scenery?” he asked. “After your filming wraps, we’ll go out.”
“Sure!” Pei Qingjian agreed—he’d arrived in this world but hadn’t gone anywhere yet!
“Domestic or abroad?”
“Either is fine,” Lan Xingchen said casually. “Up to you.”
Pei Qingjian leaned back on the bed, thinking. “Up to me? Then I’ll have to think carefully.”
“Take your time,” Lan Xingchen said warmly.
Pei Qingjian lowered his head, smiling.
He felt that Lan Xingchen had probably already glossed over the stories from his childhood he had just shared.
After all, they didn’t quite match the original host’s conditions. Pei Qingjian thought it was understandable that Lan Xingchen might doubt him, even tease him.
It didn’t matter—when the time was right, Pei Qingjian would tell Lan Xingchen the secret in full.
Having learned so many of Lan Xingchen’s secrets, he naturally wanted to share some of his own.
Pei Qingjian propped his chin on his hand, unsure how Lan Xingchen would react, but he guessed that, like him, he would be happy about his arrival.
Although Lan Xingchen hadn’t said it outright, Pei Qingjian had a vague feeling that he quite liked him.
If their contract ended and their relationship could truly become one of friendship, perhaps they would become rare, deeply understanding friends.
The thought made Pei Qingjian quietly thrilled.
“Are you coming over tomorrow? Should I wait for you?” he asked.
“Of course I’ll wait,” Lan Xingchen replied without hesitation. He still had a few days of vacation left, and of course, he wanted to see Pei Qingjian.
Sighing, Lan Xingchen leaned against the headboard. If only Pei Qingjian were here right now, he wouldn’t need to call him just to chat—and he could hold him too.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, he would see him again, and naturally, he could hug him.
“Go to sleep—you’ve got filming tomorrow,” Lan Xingchen coaxed.
“You too,” Pei Qingjian replied.
“Okay.”
Pei Qingjian lay down, tucked into the sheets, and sweetly said, “Good night.”
Author’s Note:
Sweetness overload coming!
Lan Zong: Although I want to stay with him, talk to him, and hold him, we’ll be good friends after this.