Chapter 6

Fu Linxiao’s phone calls were starting to yield some answers—but the responses he got were suspiciously consistent.

Fu Linxiao’s contact sounded apologetic on the phone. “Can’t find anything, Lin-ge. This whole thing is sealed tight. The Lu Pingzhang family did have a car accident—Lu Pingzhang’s parents died on the spot, and his younger brother, Lu Pingzhang Boyang, stayed in the ICU for three months before he… didn’t make it.”

“Three months in the ICU and still didn’t make it? They gave up on him?” Fu Linxiao asked.

“Seems like it,” the contact said, uncertain. “Can’t say for sure. Everyone involved is tight-lipped—no one’s giving definitive answers.”

“Got it,” Fu Linxiao said easily. “Thanks. You free tomorrow night? Let’s meet at Sheng Tang Zhai.”

“You’re too polite. I didn’t even get you results…” the other person demurred a bit, but eventually agreed. “Alright. I’ll keep digging for you.”

After hanging up, Fu Linxiao raised an eyebrow at Qiao Jin. “He stayed in the ICU for two months before dying. You know how these kinds of families are—even if the patient’s brain-dead, they’ll keep them alive on machines. If they haven’t officially given up, it’s impossible for him to just ‘die suddenly.’”

Qiao Jin leaned back in his chair, his pale, clean feet resting on a soft footstool as the technician’s nimble fingers worked over them.

Fu Linxiao lay on the seat next to him, wincing as the masseuse pressed into his muscles. “If his parents died suddenly, why would he give up on his only brother? Ow—hey, not so hard.”

“Sorry about that,” the technician apologized, lightening their touch. “Is this better?”

“Yeah.” Fu Linxiao turned to Qiao Jin again. “Still want to keep digging? Lu Pingzhang-zong might notice.”

Qiao Jin felt stifled. Whenever it came to Lu Pingzhang, his gut instinct rarely failed.

“Something else must’ve happened,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to recall that winter. “Something he doesn’t want me to know.”

At 10:00 p.m., Lu Pingzhang called. Qiao Jin picked up.

“It’s been an hour. You’re still not home?” Lu Pingzhang’s voice was low and tightly controlled.

Qiao Jin almost never came home late. He’d mastered Lu Pingzhang’s schedule—always showing up precisely between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m., never missing a beat.

On the rare occasions something came up, he would always report in.

Tonight, though, was straight-up reckless.

Qiao Jin realized it, but still kept his tone calm. “Getting a foot massage. Heading home after.”

No one knew the ins and outs of massage parlors better than Lu Pingzhang.

He took a deep breath, voice laced with threat. “Ten minutes. Video call me in ten minutes. If you’re not home, I’ll have someone bring you back.”

That word—bring—carried a weight of warning no phone could soften. Qiao Jin sank into the plush chair, his thoughts scattering.

“Ten minutes is too short. I won’t make it.”

He could hear Lu Pingzhang’s steady breathing on the other end.

“At least forty minutes,” Qiao Jin said.

There was silence.

Qiao Jin held his breath and caught faint audio announcements from Lu Pingzhang’s background. Then came the tightly reined-in voice, clipped and angry: “The doctor just said today—no staying up late.”

“It’s not really staying up,” Qiao Jin replied. “I’m not working overtime or scrolling my phone. Just… relaxing a bit.”

Lu Pingzhang had been holding back all evening. Now his temper was hanging by a thread.

“Qiao Jin,” he said, voice loaded.

Qiao Jin didn’t respond at first. After a moment, he exhaled deeply. “Can’t I relax? Foot massage, hair wash, sauna, basketball… You go to these clubs all the time.”

Lu Pingzhang, probably aware that he was far away and couldn’t physically rein Qiao Jin in, tried to soften his tone—awkwardly.

“You want to relax? Wait until I get back. I’ll take you.”

Qiao Jin didn’t respond.

Just his silence alone was enough to throw Lu Pingzhang off balance.

As soon as Lu Pingzhang made a sound, Qiao Jin hung up on him.

He set the phone aside and sank back into the reclining chair.

Next to him, Fu Linxiao sat up and gave him a thumbs up. “Impressive. Respect.”

Qiao Jin let out a long sigh.

“Thinking about someone like Lu Pingzhang-zong, with all his status and power, still getting whipped around by a relationship… somehow gives me a bit of shameful satisfaction,” Fu Linxiao said, shifting until he found a comfortable position and settling in.

Soft music continued to play in the club, and the massage therapist, following prior instructions, kept their movements light and slow.

Qiao Jin stared blankly at the silk drapes hanging from the ceiling, and spoke in an unusually slow voice: “When I got into college, my mom’s illness wasn’t too severe yet, but she couldn’t work anymore. A businessman offered to sponsor my tuition for all four years. I didn’t know at the time that it was Lu Pingzhang.”

He didn’t move. Under the dazzling lights, his elegant and aloof features were unguarded—like a marble statue.

“It wasn’t until I graduated that he suddenly asked to meet me—after refusing to see me for four years. That’s when I found out his name was Lu Pingzhang.”

Fu Linxiao turned to look at him, frowning.

Qiao Jin seemed lost in distant memories, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“My eyes were sick at the time—I had just gotten a corneal transplant. I had bandages over them and couldn’t see what he looked like. But he gave me a hug… That was the first time we met. November 22nd, three years ago.”

“That was also the day Lu Pingzhang’s younger brother died.”

He looked off into the distance, trying hard to recall the moment they met, but since he couldn’t see that day, the memory remained incomplete.

Doubt gnawed at him.

“It doesn’t seem connected, but he’s hidden this too carefully. He never hides things from me like this.”

The massage therapist looked to Fu Linxiao for direction. Fu Linxiao gave a silent nod.

The therapist lowered their eyes politely and continued their gentle work.

Qiao Jin kept trying to recall something, anything—but came up blank.

“Why was the timing so precise?”

He seemed to be talking to himself—or speaking across time and space, as if confronting Lu Pingzhang face to face. “What really happened that day? What made him give up on Lu Pingzhang Boyang, who had been in the ICU for two months? What changed his mind—enough to go meet the person he had been sponsoring?”

That night, Qiao Jin slept restlessly. Nightmares kept jolting him awake.

Just before midnight, he gave up on the useless attempt to sleep.

At 10:30 p.m. that evening, Lu Pingzhang had boarded a flight. He arrived at the Tingyuan villa district at 1 a.m.

Even so, Lu Pingzhang’s suit remained sharp and impeccable—showing no signs of fatigue or weariness.

Qiao Jin, still reeling from the lingering effects of his nightmare, stared at him in disbelief, brows furrowed.

Chilled by the cold wind outside, Lu Pingzhang stood at the bedroom door like he carried the night in with him.

Qiao Jin had only turned on a dim night lamp. A book lay open in his hands.
“…Why are you back at this hour?”

He glanced toward the clock, his brows knitting even tighter.

“If I hadn’t come back, you might’ve flipped the heavens by now.” Lu Pingzhang stepped away from the doorway as he removed his watch, walking over to the bedside and looking down at Qiao Jin. “Doctor’s orders—no staying up late, remember?”

He set the watch on the nightstand and took the half-read book from Qiao Jin’s hands, dropping it beside the watch with a firm slap.

“Skipping curfew and still wanting to go ‘relax’?” He repeated the word with a low, thick hum in his throat. “Hmm?”

Qiao Jin looked back at him.

His appearance was too perfect—made to deceive—but Lu Pingzhang wasn’t the type to fall for appearances.

“You wouldn’t dare, huh? But tell me, what don’t you dare to do, Qiao Jin?” Lu Pingzhang leaned down, pressing one hand into the mattress beside Qiao Jin, the bed dipping under the pressure. His presence was oppressive. “Tell me—when I’m not around, what other things do you feel brave enough to try?”

They stared each other down in silence for a long time. The lamp, sensing the lack of sound, dimmed by one level, then gently faded out altogether.

The room sank into complete darkness. Even the curtains looked heavy—like the eyes of a beast watching them from the shadows.

Qiao Jin’s throat shifted slightly as he swallowed, trying to ease the dryness.

“…Since you’re back, it’s good.” Qiao Jin finally spoke. The voice-activated lamp clicked back on.

His lowered lashes trembled faintly in the renewed light. Under its glow, he looked both fragile and unreadable.
“There’s something I want to ask you.”

“About what?” Lu Pingzhang asked.

“About…” Qiao Jin hesitated—an extremely rare occurrence. For nearly thirty seconds, neither of them said anything. Then Qiao Jin finally continued, “About your family.”

Lu Pingzhang stared at him, the distance between them uncomfortably close. Every breath he exhaled seemed to brush against Qiao Jin’s skin like a silent, dangerous warning.

In the dim light, Qiao Jin met his gaze—his eyes, buried beneath long lashes, glinted with a quiet coldness and a probing edge.
“I don’t want to guess. And I don’t want to keep digging. Lu Pingzhang, just tell me directly—what happened on November 22nd, three years ago?”

Lu Pingzhang didn’t move.

Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting the curtains in a hazy, distorted shadow play.

The soft, woody scent of his cologne had long since faded. By morning, he would carry the scent of Qiao Jin instead.

After a long moment of silence, Lu Pingzhang finally spoke.
“That day, I met you for the first time. Also… Lu Boyang passed away. Two months after my parents died in an accident, my brother died too.”

Hearing it directly from him felt completely different from hearing it from someone else.

Qiao Jin’s eyes stung. He wanted to reach out and hold him, but there was no room to move in the cramped space between them.

Lu Pingzhang’s profile had gone rigid. “I was terrified something might happen to you too—that’s why I never liked you driving. What do you want to ask?”

Anyone could imagine what that period must have been like. Just a rough outline of the events was enough to understand the crushing pressure of living through it.
But Qiao Jin could still sense that Lu Pingzhang was steering the conversation away from something.

He didn’t back down. His lowered lashes veiled half his gaze, like he was calmly surveying territory that might or might not be his to claim.
“Why did you suddenly decide to meet me back then?” Qiao Jin asked.

Lu Pingzhang replied, “I paid for your college for four years. Am I not allowed to meet you once?”

“Of course you are,” Qiao Jin said. “Now tell me the truth.”

Lu Pingzhang fell silent and stared at him.

Qiao Jin was right within reach—but Lu Pingzhang wasn’t sure he could touch him and come away unscathed.

He leaned in to kiss him, but just before contact, Qiao Jin turned his head away.

Lu Pingzhang abruptly grabbed the back of his head, forcing his gaze forward. “Kiss me,” he ordered.

Though physically restrained, Qiao Jin in that moment seemed more like the one in control.

“You get one chance. If you don’t tell me, I’ll investigate it myself.” His voice was calm and even. “You’d better not be hiding anything from me.”

Lu Pingzhang was confident—he’d erased every trace. Qiao Jin wouldn’t find anything.

And yet, unease crept in. Because what if he did?

Once again, they reached a stalemate.

Until Lu Pingzhang finally said, “Back then, I wasn’t well either. The company’s stock was tanking nonstop. PR came up with a charitable campaign—trying to turn things around.”

Qiao Jin vaguely recalled that period. Lu Pingzhang had looked worn, both physically and mentally. There had been the scent of antiseptic on him, the rasp in his voice.

But no matter how he yelled at others over the phone, when he faced Qiao Jin, he was always patient—always restrained.

“The day I went to see you, I took a lot of photos,” Lu Pingzhang said. “But your eyes had just undergone surgery. You didn’t see me, or the camera.”

He let out a dry, self-mocking laugh. “What a filthy capitalist.”

Qiao Jin’s expression softened slightly, but the tension still lingered in his eyes.
“Are the newspaper or article links still around?”

Lu Pingzhang sighed helplessly. “I never let them publish it.”

Qiao Jin looked at him.

Lu Pingzhang took advantage of the moment to kiss him—just a light kiss.
“My last shred of conscience kicked in. The moment I saw you, I knew—I couldn’t expose you to all that.”

He released his bracing hold, letting his entire body sink into Qiao Jin’s. Breathing in the dry, warm scent from the hollow of his shoulder.
“Good thing I didn’t.”

Qiao Jin reached out to hold him, gently patting his back.

It was only then that Lu Pingzhang spoke again.
“After my family passed away, it took me a long time to accept it. I wouldn’t have made it through if you hadn’t been there.”

Qiao Jin started to regret pushing the issue.

He wanted honesty between them—but not at the cost of hurting Lu Pingzhang.

And maybe, he already had.

“Sorry,” Qiao Jin said softly. “For bringing up something that hurts. If I’d known sooner, I could’ve held you like this—back then.”

“Like this?” Lu Pingzhang’s voice eased, but tension still flickered in his tone. “…To be honest, I did fund you at first for the publicity. Please don’t be mad.”

Qiao Jin didn’t question him anymore. After a pause, he simply said, “I’m not. I should be thanking you—for paying my tuition, for covering my mom’s hospital bills.”

Lu Pingzhang felt like he’d dodged a bullet, but he still sat up, gazing at Qiao Jin with heavy eyes.
“Are you with me… just to repay me?”

Qiao Jin reached out, brushing his cheek and the nape of his neck. With almost no effort, he pulled him closer.

He didn’t answer. He simply kissed Lu Pingzhang’s cool lips, then leaned their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have reopened your wounds. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about it for two days, it didn’t make sense, and I couldn’t sleep…”

Lu Pingzhang, feeling a pang of guilt, whispered, “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes,” Qiao Jin said, full of regret. He kissed beneath the corner of Lu Pingzhang’s eye, as if trying to kiss away all the tears he had once shed in solitude. “I won’t ask anymore. Don’t be sad. I’ll always be with you. I’ll be your family from now on.”