Chapter 106

Shen Yuan suddenly remembered the days when he still lived with his father, trying to scrape by. His father didn’t want the trouble of taking care of a child and went out every day, leaving him locked at home. He had no toys; his only joy was watching other children play through the window and flipping through the sketchbooks his mother had left behind.

At the time, he couldn’t understand them—just a jumble of lines and colors—but he would stare at them over and over, imagining stories to amuse himself. Shen Yuan had thought he didn’t really remember those days, had assumed he chose his major because his uncle liked it.

—but that wasn’t true.

It was because he liked it himself, because in those lonely, painful days, only his mother’s sketches kept him company. Because… he actually admired his mother.

He had never wanted to admit it.

How could he love a mother who hardly loved him? How could she abandon him and still command his admiration? It wasn’t fair.

She didn’t love me, so I won’t love her. Shen Yuan stubbornly told himself.

When he first saw this manuscript, he immediately recognized his mother’s handwriting—her choice of colors, her brush strokes, her style.

Others might not notice, thinking all designer sketches look similar, but he could tell. He was certain.

Especially the date in the lower right corner of the yellowed paper: unmistakably his mother’s—

199x.6.17

What a coincidence.

It was his own birthday.

Leonard, meanwhile, was bragging: “You have a good eye. This is one of my award-winning works. I opened my own studio with this series, sold well. But back then I only focused on design, didn’t know how to run a business. The studio failed. Even if you’re talented, you have to understand marketing, or you can’t survive in the market—you can’t be naive.”

Shen Yuan turned his attention back to the other works, politely saying, “Thank you. I’m just a student, I don’t know much. Without your guidance, I’d be lost.”

Leonard, proud, said, “No problem. You’re Ye’s child. I didn’t get to work properly with her back then; now working with you would make up for that.”

Shen Yuan remained noncommittal, simply repeating, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

Leonard assumed this was agreement.

In truth, Shen Yuan had already sensed something was off. He realized: if Leonard had been close enough to plan a studio with his mother, he must have known the moment she passed. So why hadn’t he attended her funeral?

But Shen Yuan didn’t confront him outright. He swallowed his questions, let them enjoy the meal, smiled on the surface, and even arranged to meet again. After Leonard escorted him out, he got into the car and his face darkened, scheming all the way home.

Qiao Haixuan noticed his grim expression. “What happened? Did someone offend you? You just had dinner—why the long face?”

Shen Yuan glanced at him, serious. “Uncle Qiao, I want to do something to ruin someone’s future.”

Without hesitation, Qiao agreed. Put bluntly—even if Shen Yuan wanted to kill someone, Qiao would help cover it up.

—but Shen Yuan didn’t actually want to kill anyone.

He merely asked his resourceful uncle to investigate Leonard. Two days later, a detailed dossier appeared on his desk.

Leonard had graduated from a jewelry design school abroad, but further investigation revealed no record of him at that school. His ID was likely fake. He had worked in jewelry design but only modestly. He met Shen Yuan’s mother later through work—not a key partner, just one of several hired to assist with the studio. When the car accident ended his mother’s plans, the studio dissolved. Leonard then started his own studio, won awards, released some popular designs, but eventually couldn’t replicate the initial success. With declining business, he closed the studio and transitioned to brand PR.

Shen Yuan compared Leonard’s online scans of designs to his mother’s sketches—several unmistakably reflected the style she had left behind. Designers often carefully kept early drafts secret, so Shen Yuan started to form a hypothesis.

This time, when Shen Yuan was invited to Leonard’s house, he didn’t go alone. He brought Qiao Haixuan along, leaving the baby with a professional nanny for a few hours. Leonard seemed taken aback at first—maybe surprised that Shen Yuan was married or gay.

Shen Yuan dressed even more elegantly than before—refined, polished, exuding wealth and taste from cuff to shoe tip. Leonard was stunned when the couple arrived in a million-dollar Porsche. He recognized Qiao Haixuan vaguely from a banquet, realizing now he was a high-level executive.

Shen Yuan smiled. “This is my husband, Qiao Haixuan. You can just call him Qiao.”

Leonard shook Qiao’s hand eagerly, presenting his card. “Where do you work?”

Unexpectedly, Shen Yuan had “caught” a high-level contact just by showing up. But Qiao replied calmly, unabashed: “I don’t work. I’m a stay-at-home dad.”

Leonard froze—his enthusiasm instantly cooled.

Shen Yuan had brought fruits and cookies as gifts.

Once inside, they sat on the sofa, chatting. Shen Yuan spoke in harmony with Qiao. “After considering your advice, I think if I win this design competition, I can start preparing my own brand studio.”

Leonard replied, “Good, but it requires substantial startup capital and investors. Not something done overnight.”

Shen Yuan nodded. Qiao added, “I’ll invest. Don’t worry about that.”

Leonard was baffled. This mild-looking homemaker was an industry insider?

Shen Yuan explained lightly: “My husband was the president of a jewelry company. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

Leonard’s mind raced. He remembered seeing Qiao at the banquet, chatting with top executives.

Qiao smiled. “I’ve seen your past work, Leonard. Very impressive. Shen Yuan mentioned your originals in the study.”

Leonard realized his plan to manipulate Shen Yuan was failing. But perhaps benefiting from Qiao wasn’t so bad either. “Yes, in my study. Would you like to see them?”

“May we?” Qiao asked.

“Of course!” Leonard said eagerly.

He led them to the study. Qiao recognized the works and the sketches Shen Yuan had pointed out—they matched closely.

“Is this the only piece? I remember this series had others,” Qiao asked.

Leonard glanced at Shen Yuan, uneasy. Back when Ye was alive, she had been careful about her child—did Shen Yuan notice the connection? No one else knew, the studio’s staff were unaware, and Ye had kept the designs secret.

Blinded by desire to impress Qiao, Leonard brought out additional originals. “Take a look.”

Once the originals were in hand, Qiao flipped through them, passing them to Shen Yuan with a smile. “Nice work. But these aren’t yours, right? They belong to your mother?”

Leonard’s face darkened. “What are you talking about?”

He reached for the manuscripts, but failed.

Qiao said firmly, “These belong to his mother. They always did.”

Leonard glared. “I don’t welcome you here anymore. Return what you stole! Or I’ll call the police for theft!”

Qiao Haixuan said fearlessly, “I don’t think this counts as theft. If you insist on calling it that, maybe it should be considered robbery. The one stealing is you, isn’t it? Go ahead—call the police. This belongs in court anyway.”

Shen Yuan, unusually, didn’t join in the argument. He simply didn’t have the mood.

The design series’ theme was carnations—symbolizing motherly love.

During the dispute, one framed original fell, shattering the glass. Shen Yuan picked it up and saw a line on the back: “For my son.”