Chapter 15

Her eyes were fixed on him, staring with an intensity only he could understand. To anyone else in the room, her face was unreadable—blank, devoid of any clear emotion.

The entire family had gathered in Shi Lei's sitting room. He had called them together on the third morning after Peng's death. A monk stood quietly to the side, reciting prayers that sent chills through everyone, a stark reminder of their grief. Even Shi Lei's mistress and all her children felt the weight of Peng's passing—it had shaken them deeply, coming so suddenly. Peng had never caused trouble for anyone; he had always kept to himself, focused on his own affairs.

"May his soul rest in peace," the monk intoned solemnly. His words echoed through the vast room, followed by a murmur of voices repeating the phrase. Then, one by one, everyone rose to continue their day. The house was still filled with people, and preparations were ongoing for the final memorial. Slowly, they all filed out—everyone except for Qian who remained seated beside Shi Lei.

Mei stepped forward, lowering her voice as she leaned close to Qian.

"The cook says we're out of frying oil."

Qian sighed, her gaze lingering on her husband before she finally responded.

"There's money in my wardrobe. Take some and buy two large containers."

Mei nodded and followed the others out, leaving the room almost empty. Qian glanced back at Shi Lei, who was now speaking quietly with the monk. When the monk finally finished offering his condolences and left, the door closed behind him, sealing them inside.

That was when Shi Lei turned to her.

He studied Qian's face—her expression, her posture—before he stood and walked over. Then, despite his age, he knelt before her, taking both of her hands in his. His eyes locked onto hers, seeing something within them that only he could recognize.

"I'm sorry, Qian."

His voice was soft, and in that moment, Qian swore she heard something else in his tone—something distant, as if time had pulled her backward.

Back to another moment.

Back to Zhao Min, sobbing uncontrollably in a hospital bed, her entire body trembling as she clutched the sheets in grief.

"I'm sorry, Zhao Min."

Shi Lei had said the exact same words back then. The only difference now was the name.

Qian shook her head, her unshed tears brimming to the surface, her voice breaking as she whispered,

"I can't, Shi Lei. I can't do this. I know exactly how she feels right now. I know how Zhao Min felt when we told her she had lost her baby. My heart feels the same pain she did, and I don't think I can bear it again."

Shi Lei tightened his grip on her hands.

"Come on, Qian. Who says we will go through something like this again? Just because we lost Peng doesn't mean tragedy will keep coming for us. You have to remember—this was Peng fate. This was always meant to happen. You have to accept it."

She shook her head again, and this time, her tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks.

"You and I both know the truth, Shi Lei. We know what we did to Xiao Lei and his family. We know how far we went to ruin them, how we brought them to this point."

"Stop it, Qian. What are you saying?" he interrupted, trying to silence her.

But she didn't stop.

"They say karma never forgets its debts. And retribution comes in different forms. I have regretted what we did for a long time—that's why I kept pushing you to make amends, to stop dragging us deeper into the abyss. You and I both know Peng's death is connected to our past sins. So what if this is only the beginning, Shi Lei? What if this is just the start of the reckoning?"

Shi Lei shook his head.

"Stop talking like this, Qian. What's done is done. Peng died because his time had come, and no one can change that."

Qian shook her head again.

"Stop hiding the truth, Shi Lei. We committed terrible crimes in the past—yours were even worse than mine. And I know for a fact that you're still involved in some filthy business, using it to grow this fortune of yours. So tell me, how can you possibly think that we won't be tested for it?"

"Qian..."

She didn't let him finish. She pulled her hands away from his grip and clasped them together, pressing them in front of his face as if begging him.

"I'm pleading with you, Shi Lei. I'm begging you with everything sacred, with the weight of all the chances we've been given. Please stop. Whatever it is you're doing, let it go. Clean your hands of all of it. Let's repent and seek forgiveness. Let's find every single person we wronged and ask for their forgiveness. Maybe then—maybe then, the heavens will show us mercy. Please, Shi Lei."

The way he looked at her was the same way a parent watches a child throwing a tantrum over nothing. Her words didn't touch him—not even slightly. He simply stared at her, convinced that her grief over Peng's death had clouded her mind. As far as he was concerned, nothing she said held any weight.

But if she had realized that, she didn't show it. Instead, her body began to tremble, and then, without warning, she broke into uncontrollable sobs—deep, wracking cries that shook her entire frame.

At that moment, his phone rang, saving him from the moment. He quickly stood, pulling the device from his pocket as he walked to the far end of the sitting room, putting as much distance as possible between himself and Qian's heartbreaking cries.

It was the police commissioner—the same man he had asked yesterday to take charge of Peng's case.

"There's an important medical report on Peng's autopsy. It just came in. Can you come to my office in about two hours so we can go over it in detail?"

After offering his condolences once more, the commissioner waited for Shi Lei's response.

"Today is the final day of the three-day mourning period for my son," Shi Lei replied. "If I leave at all, it won't be until later in the evening. There are still too many guests, and I have people to receive."

"I understand. My condolences again. But let me give you a brief overview before we meet, because this information is quite significant."

"I'm listening," Shi Lei said, though he suddenly felt as if his heart had climbed into his throat.

"It's about the cause of death," the commissioner explained. "The medical report states that your son, Peng, died due to heart failure. The two injuries found on his body were minor and not life-threatening. It appears his heart failed—possibly due to fear or shock. His medical records show that he had a history of heart conditions. So at this point, we're no longer considering a homicide charge against any suspects. However, there are still grounds for charges related to assault and bodily harm."

Sweat began to bead on Shi Lei's forehead, despite the icy blast of the air conditioner filling the room. His legs suddenly felt weak, as if they might give out beneath him.

What was happening?

Could Qian's words be true?

:-*:-*:-*:-*

A sharp sneeze from a sugarcane vendor nearby made Zhan turn his head. The man was busy peeling sugarcane, pausing only to sneeze repeatedly. He made an effort to turn away each time, but Zhan couldn't help thinking that, no matter how careful he was, at least a hundred tiny droplets had probably landed on the sugarcane.

Zhan sighed and leaned back inside the car, glancing at the dashboard clock. If he tried to count how many hours they had been on the road, he would only be lying to himself—he had lost track long ago.

They had passed through countless places, none of which Zhan recognized, and now they were parked in front of a massive building. But his mind was too preoccupied to take in its grandeur.

Somewhere along the way, the man—who had since introduced himself as Yibo—had asked him about his past, his origins, and his family.

That was when Zhan's chest had tightened, as if his heart had been wrung out like wet laundry. It felt like someone had pressed salt into an open wound. And ever since he had overheard Yibo's phone conversation, in which he mentioned being with his husband, unease had taken root deep in his gut.

Following a stranger across towns and villages was already reckless. But when he thought about the circumstances that had led him to do so, he convinced himself it wasn't so irrational after all. People often said that whatever drove a rat into the fire had to be more terrifying than the flames themselves.

Still, he tried to reassure himself.

Maybe this Gege wasn't referring to me. Maybe we're just picking up his husband somewhere along the way.

After all, back in that village, he had introduced me as his brother. Why will he now calling me his husband?

Zhan told himself over and over again that there was a reasonable explanation for everything, but his nerves refused to settle.

And then, as if reading his mind, Yibo had suddenly asked that question.

Zhan shifted in his seat, straightening up.

He had known it was only a matter of time before Yibo started questioning him. Only a matter of time before he wanted to know where Zhan had come from, who he really was.

But what Zhan hadn't accounted for was their location when the question finally came.

They were deep in a forest, surrounded by rocks and trees, with no sign of a village or town anywhere in sight.

And if, after hearing his answer, Yibo decided to stop the car and tell him to get out…?

Something lodged itself in Zhan's throat, but he said nothing. Instead, he adjusted his posture, interlocking his fingers tightly. When Yibo turned to face him before asking his next question, Zhan knew there was no avoiding it. He forced himself to suppress the tension gripping his chest and managed to piece together a few words—just enough to explain his origins.

He could feel Yibo studying his face, listening to every word. Though Zhan wasn't looking directly at him, he could sense the surprise in Yibo's expression. Of course, he would be surprised. Anyone would be. After all, everything Yibo had been doing up until now—helping him, taking care of him—was built on a false assumption. It must have been shocking to realize that the person he was assisting was no different from the countless vagrants wandering the streets, people with no roots, no family to claim them.

"You really don't know your parents?" Yibo asked.

Zhan's heart clenched at hearing the question repeated.

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't answer. But then, he nodded—only to shake his head immediately after.

"I don't know them," he admitted. "He Jun was the only person I ever knew as a father, but beyond him, there was no one. Just the people in our household."

"That's awful…"

That was all Yibo said before running a hand over the bridge of his nose.

He didn't press further. Instead, his next question was a practical one—whether Zhan thought his household would be looking for him.

Zhan shook his head again.

"Even if they do, I doubt they'd be too concerned," he replied, his voice quiet but firm.

Yibo nodded slowly, deep in thought. Then, without another word, he slipped an earpiece into one ear and made a call. The name "Guang" was mentioned, but the rest of the conversation was in Cantonese—dialect Zhan couldn't understand, but their unfamiliarity only made the pit in his stomach deepen.

His eyes drifted to their surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar terrain. He was still struggling to grasp the reality of his situation—how his life had flipped so suddenly, as if someone had begun flipping through the pages of his existence at an unsettling speed.

If Zhan had any wishes left, only two mattered now.

First, that the man named Peng had survived whatever had happened to him.

And second, that this Gege would let him go and take him home, after all this mess end once and for all.

Only now did he realize how much he had taken his previous life for granted. The home he had once found suffocating, the life he had thought unbearable—now, it seemed like paradise.

The sound of the car door opening jolted Zhan from his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed Yibo approaching, so when he suddenly entered the car, arms full of plastic bags, Zhan flinched slightly. The bags filled up the space between them, and he instinctively adjusted his position—just in time, as Yibo's hands nearly brushed against his thigh.

"I brought food," Yibo said, setting the bags down near Zhan's feet. "Eat whatever you want."

Zhan nodded slowly but didn't say anything.

Then, Yibo handed him a sachet of Panadol. Earlier, during the ride, Zhan had asked if he had any—his pounding headache had been unbearable.

"Thanks," Zhan muttered as he took the medicine.

"There's water in the bag," Yibo added instead of acknowledging his gratitude.

Zhan reached for the bags, ready to search for the water, but before he could open them, Yibo called his name.

He froze.

Slowly, he withdrew his hands and turned back slightly, though he didn't meet Yibo's gaze.

"I want to ask you something," Yibo said.

Zhan gave a small nod, waiting.

For once, Yibo didn't speak right away. He hesitated, as if carefully considering his words—so unlike his usual directness. Then, after clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

"Will you marry me, Zhan?"

It was as if a bomb had gone off.

Zhan's heart slammed against his ribs, his breath caught in his throat, and for a few seconds, all sound around him seemed to vanish. His mind went completely blank, as if his entire thought process had been wiped clean in an instant.

Slowly...almost mechanically...he turned to look at Yibo, his wide eyes locked onto him in disbelief.

Did he just say what I think he said?

Zhanxianyibo💚❤️💛