It had only been a month since Qiao Jin moved into the Lu household. His vision was already mostly restored—clear enough to see things, though he still had to take medication and apply eye drops regularly.
His use of electronics was strictly regulated. Lu Pingzhang had told him he couldn’t look at screens for more than five minutes at a time.
With little else to do, Qiao Jin reserved his limited “eye time” for the greenery outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He’d bought a round hanging chair for the balcony. It let him either gaze out into the distance or close his eyes to soak up the sun—comfortable, warm, and perfectly peaceful.
That day, Lu Pingzhang came home unusually early. When he opened the door, he found Qiao Jin curled up in the spacious hanging chair reading a book. He was dressed in soft cotton loungewear, surrounded by thick velvet cushions.
The sunset poured through the window, casting a golden glow across Qiao Jin’s face, as if he were a subject in an old classical oil painting long preserved.
Lu Pingzhang stood still and held his breath, watching for a moment.
Then Qiao Jin turned his head—and when he saw who it was, his eyes lit up instantly.
“Mr. Lu,” he said.
His hair had grown longer, the edges catching light in uneven strands as he turned.
Lu Pingzhang approached and gently took the book from Qiao Jin’s hands, glancing at the cover before setting it on the table.
“Not too much reading either.”
He was tall—so tall that Qiao Jin had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Okay,” Qiao Jin nodded, pointing toward the clock in the living room. “I’ve only read a few pages today, I promise.”
Lu Pingzhang didn’t comment on that. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the hanging chair beneath Qiao Jin.
“You want to try it?” Qiao Jin asked, mistaking his expression for disapproval. He lowered his voice, as if worried he’d overstepped. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it with me when I leave.”
Lu Pingzhang paused. He didn’t respond to the comment about moving out—whether by avoidance or indifference—and simply said, perhaps about the chair or perhaps about Qiao Jin himself:
“It’s nice.”
At that moment, Aunt Dai knocked and walked in, beaming when she saw both of them home.
“Mr. Lu, you’re back so early today! What do you want for dinner? I got ribs and shrimp, and plenty of other ingredients too.”
Qiao Jin looked toward Lu Pingzhang, who instead asked him:
“What do you want to eat?”
“Anything’s fine,” Qiao Jin answered quickly. Then he hesitated, before standing up and asking, a little unsure:
“Can I cook tonight? My ribs and shrimp are really good.”
Lu Pingzhang remained where he was, while Qiao Jin looked at him with hopeful eyes.
Lu Pingzhang didn’t say yes right away—but being stared at like that, he found it hard to say no. After a pause, he said,
“I’ll call the doctor and ask.”
The doctor said it was okay to cook, but advised avoiding heavy smoke. High heat wasn’t great for recovering eyes.
Lu Pingzhang ended the call. He tried to sound gentle, but his tone still lacked warmth:
“Smoke isn’t good for your eyes. Let’s wait a bit longer—until they’ve healed more.”
Qiao Jin looked a little disappointed, but adjusted quickly. “Okay.”
As Lu Pingzhang turned to head to the study, Qiao Jin called after him:
“Mr. Lu.”
Aunt Dai had started cooking in the kitchen, and the once-silent house was now filled with comforting sounds and movement.
The sunlight on the balcony shifted and stretched, its golden lattice slowly fading. The warmth lingering on the hanging chair began to dissipate, little by little.
Lu Pingzhang felt a sudden, inexplicable irritation—but none of it showed on his face when he turned to Qiao Jin.
“What is it?”
Qiao Jin thought for a moment before speaking softly, almost timidly.
“I think… my eyes are clear enough now. Starting tomorrow, I want to try looking for a job.”
He watched Lu Pingzhang’s expression closely, his voice growing even more cautious.
“I’ve already sent out a few resumes… Some companies have asked me to come in for interviews.”
Lu Pingzhang looked at him. He was still wearing his suit from work, perfectly tailored and sharp, the cool, restrained scent of his cologne lingering faintly, nearly faded after a full day—but Qiao Jin could still catch traces of it.
As if afraid of rejection, Qiao Jin quickly added,
“Some of my classmates have already been interning for months. A few have even passed their probation periods.”
After a moment of silence, Lu Pingzhang finally spoke.
“The company’s short-staffed. I’ll check tomorrow. We can send you a contract.”
Qiao Jin was caught off guard. He often wondered why Lu Pingzhang treated him so well, though the person in charge of the “Student Support Program” had once explained: Lu Pingzhang needed material for a feature project.
Qiao Jin didn’t respond. Lu Pingzhang paused, then softened his tone:
“Standard internship. Normal advancement.”
Still, Qiao Jin said nothing—he simply looked at him.
Lu Pingzhang could’ve turned around and walked away. But he didn’t.
In his own home, he stood quietly, observing another person who now lived within it.
Qiao Jin’s shoulders slumped slightly, his earlier energy dimmed. After a while, he finally nodded.
Lu Pingzhang, for some reason, felt a subtle relief.
“Eat dinner and get some rest. Don’t read anymore tonight.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve already eaten.” Lu Pingzhang finally stepped out of the darkening balcony and into the brightened hallway.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the study.”
He stayed in the study until nine o’clock. In truth, he hadn’t needed to return home that day—there was nothing urgent that demanded it.
But he still came back.
Because the longer he stayed away, the more uneasy he felt.
All day long, his mind had been preoccupied with the young man back at home.
Only when he opened the front door and saw Qiao Jin safe inside did the knot in his chest finally loosen, his heart settling back into place.
At 9:10 p.m., unable to take it anymore, Lu Pingzhang left the study.
The lights in the living room were already off. Only two small wall sconces remained lit along the hallway.
Qiao Jin was asleep.
He lay curled on one side of the bed, the back of his head nestled deeply into a soft pillow. The blanket was neatly pulled up from head to toe.
He always slept like that—quiet and still. Lu Pingzhang had never seen him kick the covers off.
Lu Pingzhang walked in quietly and stood beside the bed, observing him in silence.
The bedside lamp glowed a soft, sunset-like gold, casting warmth over Qiao Jin’s peaceful face. His eyes were closed, unguarded—just like that afternoon on the balcony when he sat reading, equally unguarded.
Lu Pingzhang slowly reached out, hovering his hand near Qiao Jin’s face. He felt the gentle stream of breath against his fingertips and quietly drew back, reassured.
Then, after a moment, he reached out again, brushing aside a few strands of hair from Qiao Jin’s forehead.
Something about the warmth of the night seemed to enchant him—he lingered at the bedside, unable to pull away.
The calm rhythm of Qiao Jin’s breathing, rising and falling in the stillness, lulled the room into quiet.
And finally, after standing there for a long time, Lu Pingzhang moved again.
He gently touched the thin skin of Qiao Jin’s eyelid. His lashes brushed across his fingers—delicate, soft, and strangely ticklish—sending a faint, numbing sensation all the way up his arm.
He turned off the light. The next moment, he leaned down and gently kissed the warm, delicate corner of Qiao Jin’s eye.
The kiss was fleeting—barely a touch—like a mother bird’s goodbye before leaving the nest, filled with tenderness, affection, and a reluctant ache.
Then Lu Pingzhang quietly stepped away, his footsteps light, as he left Qiao Jin’s bedroom.
There was no sound of a closing door, but Qiao Jin knew—he had left.
In the darkness, he slowly opened his eyes, staring quietly in the direction where Lu Pingzhang had stood, eyes dazed and unfocused.
—
Suddenly, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the silence, echoing through the empty office.
Qiao Jin jolted out of the memory, his body slick with cold sweat, heart pounding, fingers icy.
He stared at the flashing phone screen. Just before the call went to voicemail, he answered.
“Where are you?”
Lu Pingzhang’s voice came through the speaker, calm but accusatory.
Qiao Jin glanced at the time. 9 PM—right around when Lu Pingzhang usually got home.
He must’ve come in, flipped on the lights, found the apartment empty—and immediately called.
Qiao Jin could picture the whole scene.
Lu Pingzhang’s voice came again, sharper this time, edged with displeasure:
“Where are you?”
“At the office,” Qiao Jin replied.
He hadn’t drunk a drop of water all day; his throat was dry and rough, barely able to form words.
There was a pause on the other end—then the call ended.
A second later, a video call request came through.
Qiao Jin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, staring at the screen as if he were staring at Lu Pingzhang himself.
But a name on a screen didn’t carry the weight of the man behind it.
The ringtone played to the end—he didn’t answer.
Lu Pingzhang gave up on the video and called again.
As soon as Qiao Jin picked up, Lu Pingzhang’s voice came through, barely held in check:
“Answer the video call.”
Qiao Jin inhaled slowly. Somehow, even now, he managed to stay calm.
“I’m working late tonight. I might be home late.”
He paused.
“Or… maybe not at all.”
“I said, answer the video call,” Lu Pingzhang repeated, voice dropping low—dangerously low.
Qiao Jin knew this was the worst possible timing. Because if Lu Pingzhang found out that Fu Linxiao had leaked the information, there’d be no saving him.
He had to protect Fu Linxiao.
But he couldn’t face Lu Pingzhang.
Silence stretched for a moment. Lu Pingzhang was growing visibly more frustrated, but Qiao Jin didn’t let the pause last too long. What he said next only made things worse:
“No need for a video call. I’m just working late. I’m not out having fun.”
“I never said you were,” Lu Pingzhang snapped, voice low and cold.
“If there’s work, deal with it tomorrow. I’ll send Xiao Chang to pick you up.”
Lu Pingzhang had expected Qiao Jin to compromise—just like always. Qiao Jin was calm, composed, and always considerate of the bigger picture. Lu had never seen defiance in him before.
At most, like the night before, Qiao Jin might question him back once or twice, a quiet attempt to push back against the constraints of his life.
He never imagined—Qiao Jin would hang up on him.
It had never happened before.
Lu Pingzhang stared at the phone screen, now back on the contact page, the abrupt disconnection leaving him stunned and disbelieving.
—
Twenty minutes later, the door to Qiao Jin’s office swung open.
Lu Pingzhang entered with a cold presence, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Qiao Jin remained seated behind his desk. Only when he heard the sound did he slowly lift his head and glance over.
All the anger Lu Pingzhang had built up vanished the second he saw his expression.
“…What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer. He stopped at the desk and looked at the flushed corners of Qiao Jin’s eyes. “Do your eyes hurt?”
Qiao Jin lowered his gaze under the scrutiny, then leaned back in his chair and let out a vague, ambiguous smile.
It wasn’t even really a smile—just a slight twitch of his lips.
Lu Pingzhang frowned.
The office lights were bright and clinical, casting sharp, cold shadows. Even the silhouette on the floor was small and shrunken.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lu noticed a box sitting next to the desk, filled with law books.
Qiao Jin never usually read books like that.
Lu reached out and picked one up. The name Yu Feng was on the cover.
“Put it down,” Qiao Jin said.
Lu ignored him and grabbed another, flipping through a few pages roughly before tossing it back into the box.
Qiao Jin reached into the gap beside the stack of books and pulled out a graduation photo. He slid it across the table toward him.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
In the top corner of the photo, Lu Boyang’s ID photo was pasted—a bright, energetic smile aimed directly at the camera.
Lu Pingzhang’s throat tightened. He touched the photo lightly with his fingertips.
Qiao Jin watched his every movement.
“Why are we talking about him again?” Lu Pingzhang finally said, pulling his eyes away. His hand stayed on the photo. “We already discussed this. Yes, he was admitted to the political law university, but—”
“You never mentioned he signed an organ donation agreement,” Qiao Jin interrupted. He stared at him. “The corneas in my eyes—who were they from?”
Lu Pingzhang didn’t blink. His voice was steady, unreadable.
“The hospital wouldn’t disclose that.”
“But you know, don’t you?” Qiao Jin pressed.
“Why are you asking this?” Lu Pingzhang said flatly. “It’s all in the past.”
Qiao Jin repeated his question, calm and unyielding: “Do you know?”
“If you really want to find out,” Lu Pingzhang said, “I’ll have my assistant look into it.”
He reached out, attempting to pull Qiao Jin up from his seat—but Qiao Jin leaned back slightly, just enough to evade the touch.
“You really didn’t know?” he asked, still reclining, his voice unsettlingly calm. “It was Lu Boyang, wasn’t it?”
Lu Pingzhang said nothing, only met his eyes in silence.
Qiao Jin withstood the weight of that stare for a long moment before turning his face away. “I know now.”
“What do you know?” Lu Pingzhang asked darkly.
“There’s no need to spell it out, President Lu.”
Qiao Jin’s heart was pounding again—dull, clogged, suffocating. The pressure made his head spin.
Lu Pingzhang reached out and touched his face. This time, Qiao Jin couldn’t avoid it.
Those burning fingertips paused on his cheek for a second or two before sliding back to cradle the back of his head, forcing Qiao Jin to tilt his face up.
“Let me take a guess too,” Lu Pingzhang said, eyes locked on his. On the tight brow creased from discomfort. On the truth Qiao Jin had already uncovered.
He didn’t say what he was guessing.
Instead, after a brief pause, he turned his head slightly and called out toward the door without letting go:
“Secretary Yin, bring Fu Linxiao in.”
“Stop.”
Qiao Jin’s voice was sharp. “This has nothing to do with him.”
“It does,” Lu Pingzhang replied coldly. “A photo and Yu Feng’s word wouldn’t have convinced you. You’d want real proof. And the only friend you have who has any connection to the medical system is Fu Linxiao. You must have gone to him.”
Qiao Jin grabbed his wrist, trying to pull the hand off the back of his head.
“You played it well, Qiao Jin. If you’d shown even the slightest hesitation or acted strange, I would’ve gone straight to Yu Feng or Xiao Chang.” Lu Pingzhang’s grip didn’t waver. “But I know you too well.”
Qiao Jin let go of his wrist. He reached for his phone on the desk instead.
He unlocked it, dialed Fu Linxiao in front of Lu Pingzhang, and pressed the speaker button.
The call had barely started ringing when Fu Linxiao picked up. “Xiao Qiao?”
“Mm,” Qiao Jin answered, eyes fixed on Lu Pingzhang. “From now on, I need you to call me at 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. every day. I’ll be waiting.”
On the other end, Fu Linxiao clearly picked up on the tension. His breath hitched, and he quickly said, “Okay.”
Qiao Jin ignored the hand pressing harder against the back of his skull, ended the call, and tossed the phone back onto the wide desk.
“You threatening me?” Lu Pingzhang asked, narrowing his eyes.
“I have every right to.”
Qiao Jin pointed to his eyes. “If Fu Linxiao disappears… your ‘eyes’ go with him.”
Lu Pingzhang stared at him.
All his usual calm composure—his effortless control, his ironclad logic—had gone straight to hell.
He turned his head toward the doorway and barked at Secretary Yin, voice laced with fury:
“Bring Fu Linxiao to me. Now.”
He strode across the desk in two steps, yanked Qiao Jin up, twisted his arms behind his back, and hoisted him up around the waist like he weighed nothing, heading straight for the door.
The documents on the desk were knocked off, scattering in a mess across the floor, but neither of them gave it a glance. Lu Pingzhang kicked open the office door with one powerful strike. “I want to see what exactly you think you can do without your eyes.”
When he lost his temper, it was downright terrifying—but Qiao Jin was long past the point of being scared. “You wouldn’t dare, Lu Pingzhang!”
Lu Pingzhang let out a cold laugh, his face hard. “The moment we get home, I’m tying you to the bed, blindfolding you, and hiring someone to feed you three meals a day. Just try me.”
“Let go of me!” Qiao Jin shouted, struggling as he was dragged out of the company. When they got to the stairs, Lu Pingzhang shifted his grip under Qiao Jin’s stomach to support him—and Qiao Jin’s face went pale.
He struggled, voice laced with desperation and anger.
“I’m not Lu Boyang! You can’t control my life the same way you tried to control your brother’s!”
Lu Pingzhang let out a cold laugh. He didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he shoved Qiao Jin into the car with unstoppable force, then climbed in himself, slamming the door shut behind him with a loud “bang.”
