Ever since that young man named Qiao Jin moved into his home, Lu Pingzhang had been increasingly restless.
He’d cut back on business trips out of town. He’d even started turning down social engagements—something unheard of before. Yet still, he found himself constantly wanting to be home.
One afternoon, his secretary came in with the psychologist. Lu Pingzhang stood up right away and sat across from her on the sofa.
It was a late afternoon bathed in golden sunlight.
The psychologist set aside her thick coat neatly and smiled gently.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lu.”
Lu Pingzhang glanced at the time.
She noticed too.
“You seem a bit rushed—do you have another engagement soon?”
“No,” Lu Pingzhang replied.
She nodded, seeming to take his word at face value.
There was a brief silence before Lu Pingzhang spoke again—this time unprompted.
“I’ve been very anxious lately.”
The psychologist said nothing, simply sitting calmly, exuding a quiet, harmless patience.
After another pause, Lu Pingzhang continued.
“I constantly want to go home. If I’m not there, I feel unsettled. I think it’s because of Qiao Jin—he has Lu Boyang’s corneas. I keep seeing him as Lu Boyang.”
The psychologist didn’t interrupt. She’d been meeting with him twice a week and understood the source of his anxiety. But she couldn’t say it outright—Lu Pingzhang was fiercely prideful and would only tolerate discussion within boundaries he set himself.
“He’s been talking about going out to find a job,” Lu Pingzhang said.
“I was thinking of asking him to work at my company, as my assistant. Is that reasonable?”
“Of course. That’s your decision,” the psychologist said gently.
“But I’d suggest asking Qiao Jin how he feels about it. May I ask—why do you want him as your assistant?”
“That way I can see him every day,” Lu Pingzhang said without hesitation, clearly agitated.
“Otherwise, I can’t focus. Even when I’m home, I need to see him the moment I open my eyes, to know he’s safe. If not, I can’t do anything.”
The psychologist noticed his growing resistance and softened her tone further.
“If you could be completely sure Qiao Jin was safe, would you still feel the need to see him constantly?”
Lu Pingzhang fell silent.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to look out the window at the distant skyline.
The psychologist spoke gently.
“Car accidents are statistical events—we can’t prevent them completely. Your family’s death was a tragic accident, and your investigation confirmed that Hou Wude had nothing to do with it. Letting Qiao Jin live freely won’t lead to harm. You need to trust yourself—and more importantly, recognize that Qiao Jin needs freedom too.”
Still, Lu Pingzhang said nothing.
“You’re Qiao Jin’s benefactor,” the psychologist said gently.
“He’s a kind child. Out of gratitude, he may tolerate more than he should. But that isn’t fair to him. He didn’t acquire anything illegally—not your financial support, and not Lu Boyang’s corneas.”
Lu Pingzhang’s gaze out the window began to waver. He glanced at the time.
Once he started checking the time, he did it again and again—three times in quick succession.
The psychologist observed him, then softly suggested,
“Your anxiety disorder has become quite severe. I recommend you consider medication.”
But Lu Pingzhang refused.
He still believed everything was under control, though he’d already lost patience for the session.
“Can’t I just treat him like he is Lu Boyang? Maybe then I’d feel better.”
“You’re already doing that,” the psychologist replied tactfully.
“But I feel I should remind you—it might not be a healthy path.”
—
After she left, it was still early. Lu Pingzhang didn’t linger. He followed his instincts and went home.
When he opened the door, Qiao Jin was there, just like always—sitting in the hanging chair he’d recently bought. The warm sunset poured in like a soft blanket covering him.
“Mr. Lu’s home,” Qiao Jin said, as if he’d been waiting. The moment he saw him, he smiled.
“Ten minutes earlier than usual today.”
Lu Pingzhang nodded, his eyes stinging. He couldn’t stop the thought: If only he would call me ‘ge’—just once, how wonderful would that be?
And just as quickly, he shut it down: No. Absolutely not.
But… Why not?
Just no.
He had never made a wrong decision.
Qiao Jin had been dragged home from the office by Lu Pingzhang, forcefully and without regard for his struggles or protests, which were brushed off as if they were nothing.
That night, Lu Pingzhang fed him dinner personally, gave him a bath, and in the end, tied both of his wrists to the bed. Not out of punishment, but to prevent him from doing anything reckless to his eyes.
Before turning off the light, Lu Pingzhang leaned over him, his expression a mix of tenderness and absolute authority.
“If you sleep like this, you won’t be able to roll over all night. Your arms will go numb, maybe even cramp. Are you sure this is what you want?”
But in truth, Qiao Jin hadn’t done anything extreme. He hadn’t gone on a hunger strike or screamed in outrage. Even his words had been carefully measured—no aggression, no anger.
His resistance had been calm, subtle, restrained to the point of invisibility. He avoided eye contact whenever he could.
But Lu Pingzhang felt his authority had been challenged. And he could not—would not—tolerate threats.
“What exactly am I supposed to be sure about?” Qiao Jin asked, lying there beneath the covers. The soft light glinted off his damp collarbones and neck.
Lu Pingzhang studied him.
Qiao Jin shifted his wrists a little—the restraints had been fashioned from climbing rope, lined with a layer of fleece. They didn’t hurt.
“I just don’t understand,” Qiao Jin said quietly, not struggling, just lying still.
“From the moment you called me that day, I’ve wanted to ask… If my eyes didn’t have Lu Boyang’s corneas in them—would you have treated me like this? Would we even be here right now?”
Lu Pingzhang felt a headache coming on.
The bedroom was lit only by a dim nightlight, its brightness turned down to the lowest setting. It cast a soft, warm glow, making him seem calm and comforting—like a fireplace burning in the depths of winter.
But Lu Pingzhang knew that was just a façade.
Inside, he was anything but calm. He was restless, eager for change. The only reason he hadn’t acted yet was because he hadn’t figured out the right way to do it.
He wanted change just as badly.
“Don’t be unreasonable,” he said bluntly—he wasn’t one for beating around the bush. “These past three years, I’ve practically treated you like a living idol.”
Qiao Jin turned his jaw slightly, avoiding the hand reaching out to him.
Lu Pingzhang struggled to keep his composure. “What exactly do you want? Should I have someone remove Lu Boyang’s corneas and replace them with someone else’s?”
Qiao Jin had a knack for saying just the thing to push his limits. “Sure. Go ahead. Replace them. Can you bear to? These are Lu Boyang’s corneas, after all.”
That was it. Lu Pingzhang had had enough. He searched his pockets for a cigarette but came up empty.
Just then, his phone started ringing on the bedside table. He swatted it away in frustration, sending it tumbling across the floor until it hit the far wall with a loud thud.
In the midst of the incessant ringing, he grabbed Qiao Jin’s face and made him look straight at him. “So what you’re saying is—I can’t bear to part with Lu Boyang’s corneas, but I can bear to put you through another surgery?”
“Isn’t that exactly it?” Qiao Jin met his gaze head-on. “Can you honestly say that not once—not even for a day—have you treated me like I was Lu Boyang? That nothing you’ve done has ever been because of whose corneas are in my eyes?”
Lu Pingzhang’s temple throbbed, a vein visibly twitching. Because at some point, he had treated Qiao Jin like Lu Boyang—showering him with the patience and affection of an older brother.
“I knew it,” Qiao Jin said quietly, trying to move his bound wrist. “Let me go.”
Lu Pingzhang finally found a cigarette in the nightstand. He lit it, took a few slow drags, and exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself.
Qiao Jin stared at him and repeated, low and firm, “Let me go.”
“Let you go,” Lu Pingzhang exhaled, flung back the blanket, and, taking in his entire body, reached out and shoved his hand between his legs as he tried to move back. “And now?”
Qiao Jin dodged, but couldn’t. “Don’t touch me!”
“I can’t even touch you?” Lu Pingzhang felt his blood pressure rising. “Why didn’t you tell me that before, in bed?”
“Get out,” Qiao Jin said, reaching out to hit him, but the straps clamped him back down. He was furious. “If you thought I was Lu Boyang, why did you sleep with me?”
He demanded, “So am I supposed to be Lu Boyang, or Qiao Jin?”
Without waiting for a reply, Lu Pingzhang denied it himself. “That’s not right. I’ve never been Qiao Jin. You’ve always thought I was Lu Boyang.”
Lu Boyang, Lu Boyang. He only knew how to say Lu Boyang.
Lu Pingzhang angrily put out his cigarette, untied the wristbands in two strokes, and before he could even stand, rolled him over and pinned him down.
He gently massaged his reddened wrist bones; his chest, tilted dangerously, was tumbling down.
“I didn’t tell you at first that the cornea you transplanted was Lu Boyang’s because human nature is too greedy, and I didn’t want to cause any more trouble.” He exhaled the last puff of his cigarette toward him and unbuttoned his collar one by one. “Later, I didn’t tell you because I knew if I told you, you’d overthink it. Just like now.”
“So you kept it a secret from me. Did I ever give you a chance?” Qiao Jin’s tone changed. “Lu Pingzhang, don’t touch me!”
“Why can’t I touch you?” Lu Pingzhang removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt, whispering in his ear. “Everyone knows you’re mine.”
Qiao Jin didn’t remain silent and accept like before, unable to change his mind. This time, his reaction was far more intense than ever: “Lu Pingzhang!”
Lu Pingzhang reached out and clamped his jaw, mumbling the words he was about to speak.
The opened safe box was on the bedside table, but he didn’t attempt to reach for it.
Qiao Jin felt the warmth of his fingers, and realizing what he was up to, he began to struggle violently.
Lu Pingzhang held him down with one hand, pushing forward without question.
Qiao Jin felt like he must be injured, because he was in so much pain.
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