Song Cheng waited for a while before Qin Wuyan finally pushed the door open and stepped out.
He had been sitting on the examination bed, and seeing him stand, Song Cheng asked, “How is it?”
Qin Wuyan smiled faintly. “Seems like nothing’s wrong. I was just overthinking.”
Hearing this, Song Cheng laughed. “Told you I’m fine. So… can I go home now?”
Qin Wuyan rolled up the medical reports and held them in his hand. He nodded. “I’ll have Sister Ban prepare things.”
By this time, the hospital had been surrounded—inside and out. Paparazzi made up only a small portion; most were idle onlookers curious about the commotion. It was better for Song Cheng to leave early so the hospital could restore order quickly.
Back home, Qin Wuyan insisted on supporting Song Cheng into the elevator. Song Cheng was resigned; he was injured, but not so fragile as to need constant help like an elderly lady.
The local anesthetic on his wound had worn off considerably, and Song Cheng began to feel pain, so he settled obediently into bed. Chengfeng ran up, placing his head next to Song Cheng’s hand. His big black eyes looked plaintive, and he whimpered softly.
Song Cheng patted his head. “Daddy’s fine.”
Seeing this, Qin Wuyan immediately scolded him: “Do not touch the dog until your wounds are fully healed!”
Song Cheng paused, then looked up at him. “So… does that mean I can’t touch you either?”
Qin Wuyan: “…………”
Humans only realize what they cherish after losing it. In such a short time, he was already starting to miss the amnesiac version of Song Cheng.
After attending to him until he fell asleep, Qin Wuyan finally sat beside him and exhaled slowly.
Chengfeng was even more obedient than Song Cheng. Song Cheng might sneak a pat on him, but now knowing his owner was hurt, Chengfeng stayed off the bed and stopped running wildly around the room.
In the quiet room, man and dog quietly stared at each other. Qin Wuyan extended his hand. Chengfeng looked at him a moment, then nudged his head forward.
Qin Wuyan: “……”
As he stroked the furry head, the warmth in Qin Wuyan’s eyes gradually cooled.
His car had just been serviced last week—what on earth had happened? He was determined to find out!
That evening, Qin Wuyan’s studio posted a “safe and sound” update on Weibo. Once everyone knew Song Cheng was unharmed and that the accident’s cause was still under investigation, the commotion quieted down.
About an hour later, Ji Xingyuan returned to the Shen residence, as was his habit. Every weekend, unless on a business trip, he came back to have dinner with Shen Hanshu. Shen Hanshu didn’t speak, and neither did Ji Xingyuan. The atmosphere was so oppressive it could make one sick. If the pay wasn’t good, these staff would have left long ago.
Early autumn nights were a bit chilly. Ji Xingyuan removed his suit jacket and handed it to a servant. He had arrived late but didn’t see Shen Hanshu, so he frowned. “Where is the master?”
The servant replied cautiously: “He’s in his room.”
Ji Xingyuan: “He’s not coming down?”
The servant glanced nervously at him. He was slightly afraid of this young man. “The master has a headache and asked you to see him upstairs.”
Ji Xingyuan paused, looked upstairs thoughtfully, and then strode forward. His companions tried to follow, but he waved them off, so they stayed downstairs.
Shen Hanshu lived in a second-floor side room shaped like a right-angled trapezoid. It was small but had an excellent view of the outside. This had once been Song Cheng’s room, now assigned to Shen Hanshu.
All the old decorations were gone. The room now felt elegant, heavy, and suffocating. The scent of herbal medicine seemed to have seeped into the walls. Shen Hanshu’s health had always been poor. Even as a youth he often suffered headaches and fevers. Now, at forty, he took more medication daily than many sixty-year-olds. Not all of it was strictly necessary; sometimes taking more medicine was itself a treatment.
When Ji Xingyuan entered, Shen Hanshu sat on a chaise lounge, legs covered with a thick blanket. Sensitive to cold, the mild autumn for others felt like icy winter to him.
Ji Xingyuan walked two or three steps and stopped. Shen Hanshu didn’t need him closer. His pale lips parted, voice hoarse: “How is Song Cheng?”
Ji Xingyuan adjusted his stance.
Shen Hanshu was being cared for while recovering. As his adoptive son, Ji Xingyuan naturally provided good food and everything he needed. He never restricted Shen Hanshu’s leisure activities; he could watch TV, use his phone, surf the internet. However, Ji Xingyuan filtered some information to ensure he saw only what he wanted him to.
Such filtering wasn’t foolproof. It was only a matter of time before Shen Hanshu realized Song Cheng had returned. Ji Xingyuan didn’t hide it: “He’s fine. Qin Wuyan has already handled his discharge.”
Shen Hanshu finally lifted his face.
He resembled Song Cheng by about fifty percent—the nephew resembled the uncle, a rule of genetics that applied to them. But unlike Song Cheng’s vitality, Shen Hanshu seemed lifeless. Some in the company guessed Ji Xingyuan was responsible for breaking his spirit—but that wasn’t true.
It was Song Cheng who had done this.
Looking at Ji Xingyuan, Shen Hanshu said: “I want to see him.”
Ji Xingyuan’s expression shifted. After two seconds, he suddenly smiled.
“Do you think he wants to see you?”
Shen Hanshu: “He wants to.”
Hearing those two words so calmly, Ji Xingyuan’s expression twisted. He wanted to explode, to scold Shen Hanshu for being hypocritical and shameless—but, unfortunately, though Shen Hanshu had only guided him for ten years, that decade had already changed him completely. He could no longer display the helplessness of losing his temper, nor could he stubbornly make decisions on Song Cheng’s behalf.
Shen Hanshu was useless, no doubt.
But he hadn’t failed at everything. At the very least, he had successfully trained Ji Xingyuan into a competent agent, someone who would always give way by three steps when facing Song Cheng.
After leaving Shen Hanshu hanging for half a month, and once the cause of the previous accident had been fully investigated, Ji Xingyuan hesitated, then dialed Song Cheng’s new number.
Back in the military, Song Cheng wasn’t easy to track; he was in another system altogether. No matter how powerful a businessman was, he couldn’t extend influence there—though, with persistence over a few years, one could eventually find him, even in foreign forces.
Qin Wuyan lacked the ability to locate Song Cheng. Shen Hanshu could have, but he had given up, so he also didn’t know. From start to finish, the only person who knew exactly where Song Cheng was serving was Ji Xingyuan.
He had assumed Song Cheng would stay there indefinitely. Even after discharge, Song Cheng would likely move to another city to start a new life. He never expected him to return.
Song Cheng—the embodiment of trouble and timidity. After running away, Ji Xingyuan had removed the “timid” label, but “trouble” might never be removed.
To Ji Xingyuan, Song Cheng was trouble—massive trouble. From their first meeting, every encounter with him stirred his annoyance. He wanted to scold him, to release his frustration through force.
Why was he always so obedient? Why did he do whatever he was told? Didn’t he have a mind of his own? You’re his blood nephew—resist! Strike back! Make him realize you won’t always be submissive!
Of course, those thoughts were from when he first came to the Shen residence. The more he saw, the more his perspective changed. The one constant was his feeling toward Song Cheng.
He was still volatile. Even now, thinking about speaking to Song Cheng, his expression remained flawless—but inside, his emotions churned.
No psychology degree needed—Ji Xingyuan knew that his anger masked his true emotion. Beneath the fiery exterior lay guilt, trembling quietly.
Holding his phone, Ji Xingyuan let out a self-deprecating laugh.
Shen Hanshu was useless, and the shadow of lifelong shame left by that uselessness didn’t seem all that impressive in him either.
He dialed the long-memorized number and heard a familiar voice on the line, pressing his lips together.
Ji Xingyuan had been trained not to lose his temper—but Qin Wuyan still could.
The more privileged someone’s upbringing, the more clearly they could express what they wanted. Song Cheng might hesitate a few seconds before revealing his true thoughts to Qin Wuyan, but Qin Wuyan never hesitated. He shut down any dissent immediately.
“No way!”
“Not unless you step over my corpse. Don’t even think about seeing him!”
Song Cheng: “……”
He stayed silent, calmly staring at Qin Wuyan. Seeing this, Qin Wuyan froze. You can’t be thinking of seeing him, can you? He treated you so badly! Worse than your absent father! You… you’ve recovered your memory, haven’t you? You’re not tricking me, right? That you haven’t remembered anything—I could even accept that more easily.
Song Cheng: “……”
He paused, then said, “He might have something he wants to say to me.”
Qin Wuyan sneered coldly. “Don’t tell me you think he’s going to apologize. The person I like isn’t some idiot like that.”
Song Cheng’s temples throbbed. “I also have things I want to say to him.”
Qin Wuyan: “Wait until he’s dead. Write it down, burn it, and he’ll know. No need to go running there now!”
Song Cheng: “…………”
Taking a deep breath, he suppressed his anger. Qin Wuyan was strong; normally, Song Cheng could push back, but this time, pushing back would get him nowhere. He had a better plan.
Lowering his eyes, he said softly, “Are you going to tell me what I can do and what I can’t?”
Qin Wuyan stiffened.
Song Cheng looked up, serious. “Can’t I make my own decisions?”
Qin Wuyan: “…………”
Ji Xingyuan had left Shen Hanshu hanging for half a month. Qin Wuyan had also left Shen Hanshu hanging for half a month.
He had already agreed to let Song Cheng go—but on the condition that he could not go immediately. He had to wait until his wounds fully healed. Shen Hanshu could still catch his breath; there was no rush.
By the time Song Cheng was fully recovered, Zhou Qingge had also been apprehended. The initial investigation into the accident revealed someone had tampered with Qin Wuyan’s car. The first person caught was a man, stubbornly claiming he did it out of resentment toward Qin Wuyan.
Qin Wuyan knew too well how far online users could go. Throwing rotten eggs? Possible. Tampering with his car? Impossible.
After extensive investigation, they discovered the man was Zhou Qingge’s high school classmate. They had dated, and he owed a large gambling debt. Zhou Qingge promised to help him repay it, as long as he “handled” some tasks for her.
Normally, when a celebrity is arrested, footage isn’t uploaded online. But with some help from Qin Yinian, Ji Xingyuan, and a lot of money thrown at marketing accounts, clips of Zhou Qingge shouting and cursing Qin Wuyan like a madwoman went viral nationwide.
Qin Wuyan still didn’t understand why Zhou Qingge hated him so intensely, but it didn’t matter—he now harbored an equal, burning hatred for her. While she was in prison, he would find ways to watch over her, and when she got out, he wouldn’t let her off easily.
That was just how grudges worked with him.
…
Sitting in the car, Song Cheng glanced again at the news related to Zhou Qingge before putting his phone away. He turned his head. “I’m going down.”
Qin Wuyan fixed him with a sharp look, brows furrowed.
Song Cheng: “…I’ll be back quickly.”
Qin Wuyan: “Thirty minutes. If you’re not back by then, I’m calling the police.”
Song Cheng: “…………”
Passing through the familiar gate and pausing to take in the little-changed front garden, Song Cheng stopped for a moment.
Ji Xingyuan stood under the porch, waiting. Seeing him approach, he spoke: “How does it feel to revisit old grounds?”
Song Cheng looked up. “The place hasn’t changed. You, on the other hand… you’ve changed a lot.”
Ji Xingyuan twitched the corner of his mouth. “Getting older naturally makes one more mature.”
Song Cheng shook his head. “I don’t mean that. You… you’ve become very much like my old uncle.”
Ji Xingyuan: “……”
Silent for a long moment, he didn’t respond further. Entering the main house, Song Cheng instinctively headed for the master bedroom on the second floor. Ji Xingyuan stopped him, gesturing to the side. “He’s staying in your old room now.”
Song Cheng was puzzled. Ji Xingyuan explained, “I think this room is better suited for his recovery.”
Song Cheng watched him quietly.
Even from just standing silently opposite him, Song Cheng could see that this once submissive “brother” was completely changed. But he couldn’t tell whether that was his true nature or a carefully maintained facade.
Song Cheng had returned today to settle matters. He had neither the energy nor the time for small talk with Ji Xingyuan. Nodding slightly, he proceeded toward his room, but after only a couple of steps, Ji Xingyuan called him back.
Song Cheng turned. Ji Xingyuan moved his lips, originally intending to wait a few years until the right moment to reveal certain things. But now, abruptly, he said: “At most, three years. The Shen family will no longer exist. From then on, only the Ji family and the Song family remain.”
Song Cheng froze for a moment, digesting the words. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ji Xingyuan had already turned away, leaving with the others. Song Cheng stood alone in the quiet corridor, then continued toward his old room.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he moved almost silently on the carpeted floor, yet Shen Hanshu heard him enter. He lifted his head; their eyes met, and both paused.
Song Cheng didn’t know what Shen Hanshu was thinking—he only knew that he looked surprised.
The once-tall uncle now appeared so frail that Song Cheng could easily press him to the ground with one hand, leaving him unable to rise. His pale face showed no color; a mere gust of wind might have knocked him over.
This was the man he had feared all these years.
Such a weak person.
Four years was a long time for a child, but not enough to drastically change an adult. Song Cheng couldn’t tell whether Shen Hanshu had truly changed or if he had simply gained the perspective to finally see him clearly.
Pressing his lips together, Song Cheng continued forward and sat across from Shen Hanshu, watching him silently.
“You didn’t take money when you left.”
Song Cheng lowered his gaze. “I didn’t dare.”
“Then how did you get by all these years?”
Song Cheng: “Even without money, life goes on. I wasn’t born a young master. Being a little poor made me feel more at ease.”
Shen Hanshu’s fingers tightened slightly. “You resent me.”
Song Cheng: “I don’t.”
Shen Hanshu: “You hate me?”
Song Cheng: “I don’t.”
Shen Hanshu stared at him, then suddenly became agitated. “You do hate me! Otherwise, you wouldn’t have run away!”
Song Cheng raised his head, speaking calmly: “I really don’t hate you. Life is long. To me, you are just a frequently appearing passerby. No matter what, you raised me. The task my mother gave you, you’ve completed it. That’s all she asked. I just needed to grow up safely—and you did that.”
Shen Hanshu suddenly began to breathe rapidly, his pale face flushing slightly. He seemed to struggle for air but still pointed at Song Cheng repeatedly, insisting: “You hate me, you do hate me…”
Song Cheng knew why he emphasized this.
If Song Cheng hated him, it meant he still mattered in his heart. In the absence of gratitude, respect, or affection, hatred itself was proof of lingering emotional connection.
Shen Hanshu had lived a miserable life. Before twenty, he had indulged himself under poor health and family favoritism. After twenty, one blow after another fell upon him, leaving him alone in the family with only an inexperienced nephew—a person incapable of holding up a family suddenly forced to do so, his spine bending under the weight. He could not give up. Because he had done wrong, living itself was his atonement.
To Song Cheng, he represented so much: the only family, his sister’s orphaned child, the root of atonement, a reminder of tragedy. No matter how he treated Song Cheng, his original intentions were genuine—for Song Cheng.
A little absurd—but not amusing.
In the name of love, all his actions caused harm. Sometimes, they weren’t even wrapped in a pretense of love. Both outside and within, it was all harm.
Pathologically so.
Shen Hanshu grew increasingly agitated, but Song Cheng had no intention of calling anyone. He knew Shen Hanshu wouldn’t give in easily; he could endure, as he always had. Song Cheng simply sat, waiting, watching him. The more fragile he appeared, the more Song Cheng’s inner turbulence drained away.
He truly had no reason left to fear Shen Hanshu.
His mood lightened more and more, and Shen Hanshu had recovered about fifty or sixty percent. Once his breathing steadied, Song Cheng spoke softly: “Uncle.”
Shen Hanshu flinched slightly.
Song Cheng stood, offering him a sincere smile. “I won’t come to see you anymore.”
Turning away, he ignored Shen Hanshu behind him. No matter how Shen Hanshu called his name, Song Cheng did not look back.
Qin Wuyan had given Song Cheng thirty minutes, but he had used only ten. Seeing him return so quickly, Qin Wuyan was momentarily stunned. “You didn’t see him?”
“I did,” Song Cheng smiled at him, “just said a few words.”
Qin Wuyan studied his expression. “How are you feeling now? Your mind okay? Didn’t recall anything… unpleasant from the past?”
Based on what Qin Wuyan had learned, if the brain itself didn’t want to recall those memories, they would likely remain forgotten for life. But he couldn’t be entirely certain. What if seeing Shen Hanshu triggered Song Cheng and memories from his childhood resurfaced?
He genuinely hoped Song Cheng would forget everything forever, which was why he had opposed this visit so fiercely.
Song Cheng looked at him, confused, as if he didn’t understand what Qin Wuyan was talking about. “No… I already said, my mind is fine. No aftereffects.”
Only then did Qin Wuyan relax. “Good. Let’s go home, pick up Chengfeng, and I’ll take you both for barbecue.”
Song Cheng: “Chengfeng can’t eat barbecue.”
Qin Wuyan: “No seasoning then. Buckle up; let’s go.”
Song Cheng immediately complied. With a click, he fastened his seatbelt, and Qin Wuyan drove off.
A smile lingered on Song Cheng’s face. At last, his gaze drifted back toward the Shen estate. He looked not at his old room, but at the now-empty room that Shen Hanshu had occupied for more than a decade.
Countless times, Shen Hanshu had roughly dragged him by the arm and locked him in that lavishly furnished walk-in closet. He would intentionally turn off the lights, leaving a thin seam of light that slipped through the door, reflecting off the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror. There, he could see his own fear and anxiety, and a deeper darkness that accompanied his mirrored self.
“I understand now… I really understand… sob sob sob…”
“Uncle, I know I was wrong…”
“Please let me out… I’m scared, Uncle…”
The memories flashed past, leaving only shadows behind. They belonged to the past. Beside him now was his future.
Qin Wuyan noticed Song Cheng smiling, puzzled, while Song Cheng’s smile only grew brighter.
Qin Wuyan: “……”
End of main story.