Chapter 49: Unlocking What Was Ours

Summary: A single message shatters the quiet, and suddenly everything begins to shift—toward old truths, long-sealed legacies, and a mother's final safeguard. Surrounded by those who never let her walk alone, Yao steps into the future her mother designed for her with the quiet resolve of someone who finally understands what she was meant to inherit. Not just wealth. But trust. And belonging.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The rain poured steadily outside, blanketing the windows of Yao's apartment in soft sheets of gray. The world beyond was little more than blurred outlines and the soothing tap of droplets against glass. Da Bing and Xiao Cong were curled in their usual places—one draped like a shaggy cloud over the back of her couch, the other nestled in the warmth of a fleece blanket by her feet.

The base downstairs was filled with the low hum of laughter, soft conversation, and the occasional clash of controller buttons—someone was trying to convince Yue to lose gracefully, and failing. It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons where time felt suspended, and for once, Yao had allowed herself to rest, tea in hand, laptop open, papers left unattended beside her.

Then the email notification pinged.

She didn't look at it right away.

But after a moment, she set the mug down and clicked open the message.

Her eyes skimmed the subject line. Then the sender.

The Law Offices of Calloway, Reese & Lowe.

From the States.

The message was brief, clipped in tone, professionally written. A formal notification that her aunt, uncle, and cousin—those same three who had tried to control her life, manipulate her future, and profit off the ashes of her grief—had died tragically in a house fire. The cause, it said, was under investigation. The fire had been swift. No survivors.

Her hand moved absently to her chest, her fingers brushing over the medallion that never left her skin—the Lu family crest in white gold, circled with rubies, worn against her heart every day since he'd given it to her. She didn't remove it. Not for sleep. Not for work. Never.

And now, feeling the familiar weight of it resting over her sternum, grounding her, she understood exactly why it had been given. Not just as a symbol of belonging. But of protection. Because this? This was no accident. She wasn't foolish. She had felt the shift when it had started—weeks ago, the quiet between her and Cheng deepening with something unspoken. She'd caught the way Jinyang's voice dropped when she talked about justice, the way Sicheng's expression had shuttered when his mother's name came up.

And now?

Now the silence had an answer.

She didn't cry.

Didn't grieve.

There was no part of her that mourned people who had never loved her. She closed the email slowly and lowered the screen of her laptop, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Then her fingers curled over the medallion once more, holding it with a quiet strength as she leaned back into the couch, Xiao Cong still nestled against her, Da Bing watching with his steady, knowing gaze.

She whispered softly, "So this is what you kept silent about, isn't it, Cheng-ge…"

No fear.

No doubt.

Just quiet understanding.

The rain hadn't stopped. It tapped steadily against the windows like a quiet rhythm that filled the silence of her apartment. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of her floor lamp and the muted flicker of her laptop screen, which now sat closed on the coffee table. Da Bing remained curled near the base of the couch, tail flicking slowly in time with the storm outside, and Xiao Cong was asleep in the corner, barely stirring.

Yao sat still, one leg tucked under her, the Lu medallion warm against her skin where her fingers rested gently over it. She stared at her phone for a long moment, then slowly typed a message.

To: ZGDX_Chessman

From: ZGDX_TinyBossBunny

Can you come upstairs?

No fluff.

No explanation.

She didn't need to send anything else.

It took less than a minute. 

There was a soft knock, followed by the click of her door unlocking, and then he stepped inside. He wasn't dressed for anything formal—just in a dark hoodie and joggers, socks and slippers, quiet, eyes sweeping the room the moment he entered. He didn't speak right away.

Didn't need to.

She looked up at him from where she sat, and without a word, he moved to join her, sinking into the cushion beside her, his hand briefly brushing hers. Her fingers tightened slightly over the fabric of her sleep pants before she reached for the laptop. She opened it, pulled the email back up, and turned the screen toward him.

His amber eyes flicked down to it. He didn't react—not visibly. Not at first. And that, more than anything, confirmed what she already knew. When he finished reading, she slowly turned the screen back and closed it with quiet precision.

"Why?" she asked softly, her voice not accusing, not cold—just steady, calm, searching. "Why did you think this was necessary?"

He didn't answer right away.

She wasn't expecting him to. "I know you, Lu Sicheng and I know Jin-er" she continued, voice even lower now, her fingers curling slightly into the hem of her shirt. "You don't do anything without a reason. You're not impulsive. You don't strike unless you have all the facts. And you don't ever cross a line unless someone pushes you hard enough to deserve it." Her eyes met his, unwavering. "So… why?"

For a moment, all he did was watch her—like he was measuring what she already knew, what she had guessed, what she had quietly pieced together. And then, finally, his voice came, low and even, with a depth that held no pride in what he'd done—only certainty. "Because they tried to hurt you in an unforgivable way," he said simply. Yao didn't flinch. "They didn't just fail you," he continued, jaw tight, voice calm in that razor-sharp way that only surfaced when something mattered. "They plotted to use you. They lied. They tried to make you vulnerable on purpose. And when that failed, they tried to destroy you through someone else." His fingers tapped once against the side of the couch, then stilled. "You weren't supposed to find out yet," he added, more quietly. "I didn't want you carrying it."

She looked down at her lap, silent for a moment. Then—"I'm not angry, Cheng-ge." His gaze lifted sharply. She wasn't crying. She wasn't shaking. She was steady. Still. "I just wanted to understand," she whispered, lifting her hand to press it gently over the medallion hanging against her chest. "And now I do." Her voice didn't falter. "I know you didn't do this out of revenge or anger," she said. "You did it because you're the kind of man who protects what's his." Her fingers curled tighter over the crest. "And I am, aren't I?"

His jaw tightened slightly, eyes locked to hers. "You've been mine since before I gave that to you." he said, voice low and steady, the weight of truth behind every word.

She nodded once, leaning into him, her head against his shoulder. Then, softly, "I just wanted to hear it from you."

For a moment, all he did was sit there, still as stone, her weight gently against his shoulder, her hand resting over the medallion he had placed around her neck—his name, his legacy, resting just above her heart. But inside him, something stirred—quiet, coiled tension laced not with guilt but with uncertainty. She had taken it all in—his silence, the truth, the weight of what he'd done—and hadn't flinched. She hadn't pulled away. But that didn't stop the question from forming. Didn't stop it from needing to be asked.

He turned his head slightly, just enough that his words would find her ears directly, his voice low and rough in the quiet of her apartment. "Are you afraid of me now?" 

She froze—not out of fear, but surprise.

His words had been calm, controlled—but she could hear the edge beneath them, the strain he rarely let surface. The part of him that wanted her closeness but feared, just a little, that knowing the full extent of him, what he could do, what he had done, might push her away. He didn't stop. "Do you regret it?" he asked softly, his voice barely a breath now. "Saying yes to being my Intended. Giving me a chance."

Yao slowly turned her head, her hazel eyes lifting to meet his. She searched his face—not for the truth of his question, because she already knew it—but for the weight behind it. The vulnerability buried under all that sharp control. And her heart cracked a little, just seeing it. "No," she whispered, unwavering. "I'm not afraid of you."

He blinked, just once.

"I could never be afraid of you," she continued, her voice firmer now, as she shifted, one of her hands reaching to gently touch his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath the curve of his cheekbone. "You don't scare me, Cheng-ge. You protect me." Her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. "And no," she repeated, softer now. "I don't regret anything. I said yes because I meant it. I knew what kind of man you were. I saw it from the beginning." She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, closing her eyes as she breathed him in—rain, warmth, something only him. "You're dangerous when you need to be. But never to me. And that's the difference."

His eyes closed as her words settled into him, that storm inside him quieting—not disappearing, but finally understood.

"I trust you." she whispered.

And for Lu Sicheng, who had spent so much of his life building walls to protect others from what he was capable of…. Those three words? Meant everything.

The quiet between them settled like fog—thick, weighted, but warm. Her fingers still brushed his jaw, her forehead gently resting against his, and when Yao opened her eyes, she saw everything in his expression. The careful restraint. The storm he kept behind silence. The ache for assurance he never voiced, not fully, not even with her. And she knew. He needed to feel it now—more than words, more than logic, more than reason. So she moved. Drawing in a soft breath, Yao pushed through every layer of hesitation that lingered in her chest, her fingers sliding down from his face to his shoulder as she shifted on the couch. One knee, then the other, slid across his lap until she was straddling him—tentative but steady, her eyes never leaving his.

Sicheng froze. He didn't breathe, didn't blink—only stared at her like she'd just shaken the ground beneath him. But she didn't waver. Her hands found the sides of his face again, smaller palms cradling him like she was holding something precious. And she leaned in—slowly, deliberately—her lips brushing his once, soft and trembling, before she kissed him fully.

Deeply.

Not shy.

Not cautious.

Not hesitant.

But giving.

She poured it into him—everything she couldn't say, everything she wasn't ready to speak aloud. Every piece of trust. Every drop of belief. Every moment of love that had bloomed so quietly inside her and now burned too brightly to stay silent. Her lips moved with more certainty than she thought herself capable of, and her fingers curled at the back of his neck, holding him to her as if anchoring both of them in this moment, afraid he might pull away.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Sicheng groaned low in his throat, hands flying to her hips as he gripped her like she was oxygen and he'd forgotten how to breathe. He kissed her back hard, deep, matching her with intensity he hadn't known he was capable of holding back. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her fully against his chest, his entire body responding to the way she was offering herself—not physically, but fully.

When they broke apart, barely, their foreheads pressed together once more, breaths mingling, she whispered into the space between them—voice shaking, but sure, "I meant it."

Sicheng, with his heart still thudding from the weight of what she'd just given him, whispered back hoarsely, "I know."

Her breath still mingled with his, warm and unsteady, her lips tingling from the depth of the kiss they'd just shared. She didn't pull back, didn't retreat into herself the way she used to when emotions crept too close. Instead, she stayed pressed to him, seated in his lap with her fingers still buried in his hair, her forehead resting against his as her heart thundered like a drum inside her chest.

Sicheng's hands were still firm on her hips, holding her like he didn't want to let go—like he wouldn't, not unless she asked him to. 

The rain outside drummed gently against the windows, a soft hush that only made the quiet in the room feel more intimate.

Yao closed her eyes, swallowed once, and then—barely louder than a breath, raw and full of everything she was still learning how to express—she whispered, "I love you."

Sicheng went still. Utterly, completely still. His grip didn't tighten, but she could feel it—the way his breath caught, the way his heart skipped, the way something sharp and fierce lit behind his eyes when she opened hers again. He didn't speak right away. Didn't need to. Because his gaze said everything. And when he finally did answer, his voice was low, almost reverent. "I know," he whispered, cupping her cheek with a hand so gentle it made her tremble. "I've known." Then his thumb brushed her lower lip, and he kissed her again—slow, deep, not rushed like before, but with something settled. Because now he wasn't just holding the woman he protected. He was holding the woman who loved him and nothing else in the world could compare.

Hours later, the storm outside had softened into a gentle drizzle, the kind that washed the world in silver and left everything smelling clean and new. The crack in Yao's bedroom window let in just enough of that freshness to make the room feel like its own quiet world—safe, soft, untouched by anything beyond the rain and the rhythm of breath. The lights were low, her cats sprawled in peaceful watch nearby—Da Bing nestled at the foot of the bed like a fluffy guardian and Xiao Cong curled tightly in the crook of a throw blanket by the window.

But the bed belonged only to them now.

To her.

To him.

To the warmth they shared beneath the covers, limbs tangled without care, hearts beating in that steady, wordless harmony only trust could build.

Yao lay curled against him, her head tucked just beneath his chin, her fingers loosely fisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding on even in sleep. Her breath came in slow, shallow rhythms, her body relaxed, the sharp edges of alertness dulled by peace.

And Lu Sicheng?

He hadn't moved. Not once. One of his arms was tucked securely around her waist, the other curled protectively across her back, his palm resting flat between her shoulder blades like he was keeping her anchored to him—to the world, to safety, to something no one could take away. His thumb moved slowly, absently, over the hem of her shirt, not to wake her, not even to soothe her—but because he needed that small tether, that constant reminder she was there. Breathing. Warm. His. He tilted his head slightly, just enough to brush his lips to her hair, then rested his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes. And for all the weight he carried—of legacy, of control, of choices that could never be undone—here, in her arms, with her heartbeat under his and her breath stirring softly against his chest… He found stillness. The kind only she could give him. And with the scent of rain in the air and her body curled in his hold like she had always belonged there, Lu Sicheng held the woman he loved as the storm outside faded into quiet.

It had been a week since the storm.

A week since the quiet unraveling of truths, of whispered confessions and steady, unshakable presence. Since then, things had returned to a strange kind of normal—scrims, meals, laughter echoing through the ZGDX base like always. But something had shifted beneath it all. The team moved a little closer. Yao smiled more easily. And Lu Sicheng rarely left her side when he didn't have to.

Then, on a quiet morning as she sat at her desk in her office in her apartment, with a half-filled mug of tea and Xiao Cong sprawled out across her notes, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen.

Shanghai Central Trust.

Her brow furrowed as she slid the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Miss Tong Yao?" came the voice of a composed, older gentleman on the other end. "My name is He Qiang, the head of Shanghai Central Trust. I'm calling regarding an account connected to your late mother."

Yao straightened slightly, her heart skipping.

"Yes, this is she."

"I apologize for the sudden nature of this call," Mr. He continued, "but with the recent passing of your aunt, Mei Yuling, also known as Sago Yuling, all legal restrictions connected to certain holdings have been formally lifted. We've reviewed the terms of a dormant set of accounts, including several safety deposit boxes. These were originally sealed at the request of your mother following her passing."

"I see…" Yao's breath caught quietly.

"There is no need for alarm," he assured quickly, gentle but firm. "However, the contents must now be reviewed and transferred as per the original custodial arrangement. Since you were still a child at the time of your mother's death, you were not made aware of them, nor were they accessible until your aunt's legal rights expired."

"I understand. What do I need to bring?" Yao closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself.

There was a soft shuffling of papers on the other end.

"You are required to come to our main branch in person. We will not ask you for the passcodes associated with the safety boxes, per your mother's instructions. Instead, we are to follow the second security measure left in her file. You must bring your original birth certificate, state-issued identification, and be accompanied by one specific person: Lu Wang Lan."

Yao's eyes widened. "Lady Lu?" she said quietly.

"Yes," the banker confirmed. "It is noted in your mother's handwritten instructions that her daughter was to be granted access only in the presence of one Lu Wang Lan. Her exact words, Mrs. Tong, were: 'If I am gone, I trust her to protect what belongs to my child. My daughter will know what that means.' "

Yao didn't speak for a moment. She couldn't. Her throat tightened, and she placed a hand over her chest, feeling the weight of the Lu medallion against her skin. Warm. Solid. Constant. "…Alright," she finally whispered. "I'll contact Lady Lu and arrange a time."

"Please do," Mr. He replied gently. "You may call the number in this message when you are ready. We'll expect you both."

As the call disconnected, Yao lowered the phone slowly, eyes distant, heart pounding.

She sat there for a long moment, before quietly unlocking her phone again.

To: Aunt Lan

From: Yao

I received a call from Shanghai Central Trust. They said I need to go in— And that I need to bring you with me. It's about my mother.

Her finger hovered.

Then—

Send.

It didn't take long.

Less than thirty minutes after the message had been sent, the main doors of the base opened with purpose—not hurried, but with the unmistakable presence of someone used to being obeyed the moment they entered a room.

Lu Wang Lan, impeccably dressed, every step measured and precise, she walked through the common area of the base like it belonged to her. She didn't pause to acknowledge Yue's startled expression or the way Pang immediately straightened from where he had been slouching on the couch, ramen cup still half-open. She didn't glance toward Rui, who glanced up briefly from his tablet before nodding once and silently returning to his work. No words. No hesitation. She headed straight for the stairs.

Sicheng was already rising from the couch the moment she passed him, a flicker of understanding in his amber eyes as he set down his phone and followed behind her without a word. There was no need to ask where she was going. He already knew. Together, they ascended the steps with a quiet gravity that turned the air still behind them. When they reached the door to Yao's apartment, Lan didn't knock. She opened it like she had every right to, her presence sweeping into the space with the same commanding energy that always made the room feel sharper, quieter.

Sicheng followed silently, his eyes already searching, focused.

The door to Yao's personal office was ajar, the soft light from within spilling into the hallway.

And inside—

They found her, sitting at her desk, curled slightly in her chair, the Lu family medallion glinting faintly against the fabric of her shirt where it rested just above her heart. Her phone was still in her hand, the screen gone dark now, untouched since the message had been sent. Her expression was distant—wide hazel eyes staring not at the device, but somewhere far beyond it.

Frozen.

Not from fear.

Not from confusion.

But from the weight of something that had just settled over her shoulders—a truth heavy with memory and meaning.

Lan stepped forward first, moving toward her with the careful grace of someone who understood the exact line between presence and pressure. Her voice, when it came, was firm but low, laced with something more than authority. Something protective. "Yao-Yao."

The girl blinked, her head slowly lifting at the sound of her name, her eyes shifting as if returning to the present. When she saw them—Lan and Sicheng both standing there—her lips parted slightly. "I didn't expect you to get here so quickly," she whispered.

"You messaged me about your mother." Lan reached out, her hand resting gently on Yao's shoulder, grounding. 

"I didn't know what else to do."

"You did exactly what you were supposed to."

Yao looked down at her phone again, the message still sitting there in her inbox like a weight. "The bank said... she left instructions. My mother. That I had to bring you."

Lan didn't flinch.

Sicheng stepped closer now, moving behind Yao's chair, his hand brushing gently against her back—quiet support, unwavering.

Yao tilted her head just enough to lean slightly into his touch, her voice smaller when she spoke again. "She trusted you."

Lan's gaze didn't soften, but her voice did. "She always did."

Sicheng stood behind her still, one hand resting on the back of her chair, his thumb brushing slowly in small grounding motions as he looked down at the phone still resting in Yao's lap. His gaze flicked between her and his mother, then back again. "Yao," he said softly, the quiet depth of his voice pulling her attention upward to meet his eyes, "walk me through it. All of it."

She nodded slowly, straightening a little in her seat as she took a breath. Her fingers tightened over the edges of her phone, the glow from the screen still casting faint light against her skin. She told them everything—starting with the call from the bank, the instructions passed down, the precise wording: that she, my mother, Mrs. Tong aka Xu Roulan's daughter, was to appear with original documentation and accompanied by Lu Wang Lan. No passwords. No verbal codes. Only legal proof and Lady Lu's presence would open what had been sealed. And it hadn't been an oversight. It had been designed that way.

"I was just a child when she died," Yao said quietly. "She knew people might try to control me. She knew they'd hide things. So she gave the bank specific instructions—ones no one could cheat or fake." When she looked up, there was a faint shimmer in her eyes—not tears, but understanding, the weight of it finally settling. "She trusted Aunt Lan to protect me."

Sicheng's eyes narrowed slightly, but not at her, his gaze was elsewhere, sharp with thought. Then he snorted under his breath and stepped around to the front of her chair, his hand trailing lightly off her shoulder as he crouched down in front of her. The amusement in his expression was subtle, dry, and impressed all at once. "Xu Roulan," he muttered, "was one hell of a smart woman."

Yao blinked. "What?"

He looked up at her with a wry twist of his mouth, tone edged with knowing. "Because she knew how easy it is to forge paperwork," he said plainly. "Birth certificates. IDs. Even death certificates. Someone always knows someone who can make the ink look real."

Lan, standing off to the side, said nothing but her silence was sharp, watchful, and she was clearly listening to every word.

"But forging my mother?" he continued, his amber eyes fixed on Yao's. "Having the audacity to try and impersonate Lu Wang Lan? That's not just bold—it's a death sentence."

Yao's brows furrowed slightly, confused. "Why would that be any harder than pretending to be me?"

Sicheng's lips curled into a dry, amused smirk, not unkind but undeniably pointed. "Because the Lu family isn't obscure. Everyone knows us. My mother. My father. Yue. Me. You don't just find someone who looks like my mother and hope it passes." He tilted his head. "She's a former diplomat. A known figure in China. You try to impersonate her and even the security guards at the front of the building would raise an eyebrow."

Yao blinked again, slowly processing that. "So… my mother's safeguard wasn't just trusting someone powerful—it was choosing someone impossible to fake."

"Exactly," Lan said, her voice finally joining the conversation. "Your mother didn't just trust me, Yao-Yao. She counted on the fact that if something ever went wrong, no one would dare try to take my place."

Yao looked down again, her hand unconsciously curling around the medallion at her chest. "She really… planned that far ahead."

"She was your mother," Sicheng said softly, eyes steady on her. "Of course she did."

Lan tilted her head slightly, that calculating glint sliding into her gaze as she looked at Yao—not with judgment, but the way a woman trained in both diplomacy and war assessed the weight of a moment before she moved. "When's your next match?" she asked, voice calm but direct, her eyes shifting briefly to her eldest son.

Sicheng didn't even have to think about it. He pulled out his phone, checking the schedule with the ease of someone who lived and breathed by it, then replied evenly, "Not until next week. Thursday evening. We're clear." He paused, thumb hovering over the edge of the screen. "We're flying out Saturday morning after that, headed for Haidian. Tsinghua University. Yao's dissertation defense is on Monday."

Lan gave a single nod, like a general confirming her battlefield conditions. Then her eyes returned to Yao. "I can have the jet ready in less than an hour," she said, coolly efficient, already running the logistics through her mind. "We'll fly out to Shanghai tonight, get you settled, and tomorrow we handle this."

"So soon—?" Yao's eyes widened slightly, mouth parting.

But before she could say more, Sicheng's eyes narrowed sharply, his voice firm and low. "Not without me," he said bluntly. "And you know Father will want to come for this. And Yue."

Lan didn't argue. Because he wasn't wrong. She merely raised one brow, amused but unsurprised. "Of course he will."

Yao swallowed hard, feeling the weight of it all—the legacy her mother had left behind, the doors now opening, the significance of what waited for her in Shanghai. But she didn't back down. Didn't hide behind uncertainty. She nodded once, firmly, and pulled her phone from the desk. "I'll go."

Lan watched her for a moment longer before pulling out her own device, already dialing with fluid precision. As she moved toward the window, her voice dropped lower, though Yao could still hear the sharp authority in her tone.

"Darling, before you start reciting anything from that book of sonnets you stole from my study," she said dryly into the receiver, "let me stop you. Something has come up. Our Yao needs to fly to Shanghai tonight. Yes, now. You need to meet us at the airstrip within the hour." There was a beat of silence on the other end—then, a muffled crooning of what suspiciously sounded like old Tang Dynasty poetry. Lan sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered under her breath, "Hopeless romantic menace…" Then she turned slightly toward Yao again, her expression softening just so, her tone shifting back into something grounded and steady. "You've waited long enough," she said. "It's time."

Yao nodded once more, quietly but with certainty—her voice clear as she whispered, "Let's go."

Sicheng brushed a firm but gentle kiss to the top of Yao's head, letting it linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his hand at her back pressing one final grounding stroke between her shoulder blades. She hadn't spoken since his mother's declaration, just nodded—quiet, resolute, her fingers curled around her phone like it was a lifeline. He felt the tension in her, the hesitation, the weight of a door long sealed finally beginning to creak open. "I'm going to pack," he murmured, voice low and certain. "You do the same. Take your time."

She nodded once, eyes lifting to meet his. Still hesitant, but not backing away.

He turned, stepped out of her apartment, and descended the stairs with the same calm precision he brought to the arena, his footfalls unhurried but heavy with intent. The base was alive with its usual rhythm. Yue was sprawled half-upside-down on the couch with a tablet in hand, Pang was raiding the fridge, and Lao Mao was lounging across the beanbag like he had no idea the world ever required movement. Ming and Rui were both in the far corner reviewing scrim notes while Kwon quietly sipped tea by the whiteboard. "Everyone—listen up!" His voice cut across the base like a blade through silk, sharp, commanding.

"What did I do? It wasn't me this time—" Yue immediately sat up, tablet nearly falling out of his hands. 

"You're coming with us," Sicheng said flatly, his gaze sweeping the room. "We're leaving for Shanghai tonight."

"What?" Pang blinked. "All of us?"

"No," Sicheng replied, already moving toward the hallway that led to his room. "Just me, Yao, and Yue."

"What's going on?" Rui asked, his clipboard lowering slightly, expression shifting into calm alertness.

"Family matter," Sicheng answered smoothly. "Yao received a call from Shanghai Central Trust. It's something important, and we're handling it in person. We'll be flying out on the Lu jet. My mother is coordinating."

Ming, ever silent but precise, looked up from his monitor. "How long?"

"Two days," Sicheng replied. "We'll be back before the next match, and we're still traveling to Beijing on Saturday."

"Understood," Rui nodded. "We'll hold down the base."

"Rui, Kwon, Ming—you three are in charge of everything here," Sicheng added firmly.

"Wait," Pang said again, "what about the cats?"

"Da Bing and Xiao Cong are staying," Sicheng replied without missing a beat. "Lao K, Ming—they're your responsibility."

Lao K gave a slow, resigned nod. "Got it."

Ming narrowed his eyes slightly. "If Pang feeds Xiao Cong anything that isn't approved, I'll lock him out of the base and sicking Jinyang onto him."

Sicheng smirked faintly, eyes already sliding toward his younger brother. "Yue."

"Yeah?" Yue blinked like he was still catching up.

"Go pack. You've got fifteen minutes."

"I didn't even know we were going!"

"Then pack fast," Sicheng said coolly, already turning toward his room.

Behind him, Lan's voice drifted down the stairwell with calm authority, clearly still on the phone. "No, do not let my husband near my luggage. He tried to pack my opera heels and a half-bottle of wine last time. This is not a honeymoon. And no silk robes."

Sicheng said nothing. He didn't have to. Everything was already moving. And for once, there was no resistance. Just preparation—for something that had waited far too long.

As the base shifted into motion—bags being packed, plans relayed, and the hum of urgency settling over the otherwise casual rhythm—Yao stood in her apartment, her phone in hand, teeth gently pressed to her bottom lip as she hesitated over her contact list for a breath. She trusted Lao K and Ming. They were meticulous, especially Ming, and she had no doubt they'd keep the base from burning down or letting Da Bing stage a feline-led rebellion. But still. This wasn't a game or a casual visit—they were flying out to Shanghai to step into something that touched her past, her mother's legacy, and the part of her heart that had been left quietly, carefully walled off for years. And in the face of that… she needed her people.

Her thumb hovered over one name.

Then tapped.

Jinyang.

The phone rang once, then twice, before that familiar voice answered with a chirp of curiosity.

"Yao-Yao? You alright? What's going on?"

Yao exhaled slowly. "Hey. Yeah, I'm okay. I just—something came up."

There was a pause, and Jinyang's voice lowered just a little. "What happened?"

Yao explained quickly but clearly—the call from the bank, her mother's instructions, Lady Lu's involvement, and that she'd be flying out tonight with Sicheng and Yue. She didn't have to explain why it was important. Jinyang, as always, understood. "I trust Lao K and Ming to watch over Da Bing and Xiao Cong," Yao said gently. "But… would you mind stopping by while we're gone? Just to check in? I know it's only for two days, but I'd feel better if someone who actually owns a cat was helping look after them. Just to make sure they're comfortable."

There was a short beat of silence.

Then a soft, affectionate snort. "Yao-Yao. Of course I'll come. You think I'm going to let your small lion and your grumpy snow beast go unsupervised? Please."

"Thank you. I just—" Yao let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. 

"You don't have to explain," Jinyang said gently, cutting in. "You focus on what you need to do. I'll stop by tonight, bring some treats, maybe bribe Da Bing into letting me pet him. Though I make no promises about Xiao Cong. That one still thinks he owns the base."

"He does." Yao smiled faintly, fingers brushing against the Lu medallion resting against her chest. 

"I'll stay for a bit, make sure they're both good. I've got it covered."

"Thank you, Jin'er."

"Always," Jinyang replied without hesitation. "Now go find out what your mother left for you. And Yao?"

"…Yeah?"

"Whatever it is… I'm proud of you. And I know she would be too."

Yao blinked back the warmth rising behind her eyes and whispered, "I hope so." Just as Yao was about to end the call, a thought struck her, and she quickly brought the phone back to her ear. "Oh—Jin'er, wait. One more thing."

"Yeah?" Jinyang replied, already sounding like she was halfway to putting her keys into her purse.

"Xiao Cong," Yao said with a quiet sigh, glancing toward the fluffy menace currently curled up on her desk chair like royalty. "He has these salmon-flavored vitamin drops he takes once a day. They're in the fridge—bottom shelf, in the labeled glass bottle."

There was a pause. "The ones that smell like canned death?"

Yao winced. "Yes, those."

Jinyang groaned dramatically. "I knew there was a catch to this favor."

"He actually likes them," Yao insisted gently. "But only when you give them to him with the little silicone spoon. The one with the fish handle. It's in the utensil drawer. If you use anything else, he'll sulk under the couch for hours and hiss at shadows."

There was another beat of silence on the other end, followed by a sigh that was all resigned affection. "Okay. Fine. I'll brave the fish apocalypse drops. But you owe me."

"I'll buy you takoyaki and boba when I get back." Yao said, smiling softly now.

"You're lucky you're cute," Jinyang muttered. "And that your cats love me more than they love logic."

"They don't," Yao said calmly. "Da Bing only tolerates you. Xiao Cong just thinks your shoes smell like expensive food."

"See? Mutual affection."

"Thanks, Jin'er. Really." Yao let out a soft laugh, the warmth in her chest steadying her again.

"You've got this." Jinyang said, her tone shifting into that fierce, unwavering loyalty she always saved for the big moments. "Now go."

The call ended, and Yao exhaled with a quiet smile, looking down at Xiao Cong. "I warned her," she murmured. "Now it's up to you."

Xiao Cong meowed lazily and rolled over like he'd already declared victory.

The rain had cleared by the time they loaded into the sleek black car, the city glittering with that soft evening sheen that always seemed to follow after a storm. Lan drove herself, of course—because no one was allowed behind the wheel when she had somewhere important to be, and tonight was nothing if not significant.

Yao sat in the passenger seat, quiet but steady, her hands resting in her lap, the familiar weight of her necklace grounding her with every small shift of the car. The medallion was warm against her skin, not because of the metal, but because of what it meant. Who had given it. And where they were going.

In the back seat, Yue was already mid-sulk, sprawled out with his legs kicked up and his head tilted dramatically toward the window. "Unfair. I should get shotgun. I'm the younger sibling. I deserve to be doted on."

Before Yao could respond—cheeks just beginning to color—Lan's voice cut cleanly through the cabin, never taking her eyes off the road. "She's not my child, but she's the only one of you I trust with directions, etiquette, and enough basic sense not to accidentally open a window on the freeway and you are older than her, you brat."

Yue blinked. "You're still mad about the glovebox incident?"

From beside him, Sicheng, who was entirely unbothered and calm, reached out and smacked the back of Yue's head with the flat of his hand. 

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying—"

"Shut up before she hands me the wheel," Sicheng muttered darkly at his brother.

Yue immediately went silent as he had no desire to sit beside his mother as he knew the woman would sit in the back and terrorize his ass..

The rest of the drive was smooth—Lan's presence commanding even in silence. The security at the airport didn't so much as pause as she navigated through a private gate and into the VIP terminal reserved for very few.

And waiting for them at the foot of the Lu family jet, parked under soft golden lights and already prepped for takeoff, was Lu Sheng. Only this time—he wasn't grinning. He wasn't trying to recite poetry or tuck a second carry-on bag under his coat when Lan wasn't looking. He was calm. Upright. Serious in a way that immediately told Yao something was different. That he knew. The moment the car stopped, he stepped forward and opened the passenger door before the driver could even move. 

"Yao-Yao," he greeted gently, his voice more grounded than usual, though still carrying that warmth that always made her feel like she was stepping into the safety of someone's home. Lan was already out, and Sheng reached instinctively to help her, which she accepted without protest for once—heels clicking lightly against the pavement as she turned toward the stairs leading to the jet.

Sicheng moved next, grabbing both his and Yao's overnight bags from the trunk with ease. He slung the straps over his shoulder and turned back to her, eyes meeting hers for just a second—checking in, not with words, but with that unspoken question he always carried: You okay? She gave a small nod.

Then Sheng extended a hand to her. "Let's get you settled, Xiǎo mèi."

Yao placed her hand in his, and he helped her up the steps behind Lan. Behind them, Sicheng followed, carrying both bags without a word, and Yue—muttering something about unfair labor distribution—trailed behind last, shoulders slumped but eyes flicking up toward the glowing entry of the jet with silent curiosity. The door closed behind them with a soft press of hydraulics. And just like that, they were in the air, bound for Shanghai. For answers and the echoes of a legacy long left waiting.

The hum of the jet had settled into a soft, steady rhythm as the city lights of Shanghai began to draw closer below, far beneath the clouds. The cabin was quiet, comfortably dim. Lu Sheng sat beside Lan near the front, an open folder in his lap—though he hadn't touched it since takeoff. Yue had stretched out across the rear bench with a blanket thrown over him, earbuds in, clearly not sleeping but pretending very hard to be.

Sicheng and Yao sat together, side by side, his arm resting along the back of her seat as she leaned into him slightly, comforted by his closeness. It wasn't suffocating, wasn't overwhelming—just there. Present. Reliable. She hadn't spoken much since boarding, and no one had pressed her. But now, with the altitude steady and the noise of movement behind them fading, she exhaled and finally spoke, her voice soft but certain. "They called me directly," she said, gaze forward, not quite looking at anyone yet. "Shanghai Central Trust. A man named He Qiang. He said that with my aunt's passing—along with my uncle and cousin—everything that had been frozen is now released."

Lan turned her head slightly, listening, even though she already knew of this from earlier, her posture precise and still.

Yao continued, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the Lu medallion at her chest. "They didn't ask me for a passcode. He said that wasn't required. My mother left written instructions… handwritten. That if something ever happened to her, and legal access was needed, the bank was only to recognize me—with my birth certificate, official ID, and…" She paused, glancing toward Lan now. "…you. Aunt Lan. You were listed as the only one to be present when I opened the deposit boxes. Her exact words, apparently, were 'If I am gone, I trust her to protect what belongs to my child. My daughter will know what that means.' "

For a brief moment, the silence in the cabin shifted—less like a pause, more like something ancient pressing itself into the air.

Lan's eyes didn't soften, but they deepened, her jaw setting with something almost reverent. "Xu Roulan never did anything without a plan." she said softly.

"She covered every angle. Even posthumously." Sheng exhaled, a low sound that was part sigh, part quiet awe.

Sicheng, who had been quiet until then, smirked faintly, the same dry note returning to his voice as it had back in Yao's office. "She wasn't just smart," he muttered, "she was calculating. She didn't just anticipate being erased—she made sure it would be impossible to pull it off."

Lan gave a single, approving nod.

Yao tilted her head slightly, looking at him. "You said something like that earlier."

Sicheng looked at her, his expression calm but pointed. "Because she didn't leave the vault to a password. She left it to identity. And then attached that identity to my mother—which no one could possibly fake."

"It's true. You try to forge Lady Lu's presence and the entire city would implode from the scandal alone." Sheng chuckled under his breath, a bit more animated now. 

"Or the lawsuits," Yue muttered without opening his eyes.

Lan gave him a dry glance before returning her gaze to Yao. "She knew," Lan said simply. "That your aunt and uncle would try to strip you of your rights. She knew they'd hide things. She knew they'd isolate you. So she anchored her plan in a woman they couldn't touch. Couldn't replace. Couldn't remove."

"She really thought of everything." Yao lowered her eyes, fingers still brushing the medallion. 

Sicheng turned slightly in his seat, watching her. "She didn't just think of everything," he said quietly, "she built her entire legacy around you. And made sure that when you came of age, no one—not even death—could keep you from claiming it."

Yao's breath caught. Not out of surprise. But out of the kind of deep, aching clarity that came when truth no longer had to be proven. It just had to be accepted.

Lu Sheng, finally breaking the thoughtful quiet that had settled among them, cleared his throat and glanced toward the front of the cabin. His voice, as always, held that effortless confidence layered with something more grounded—serious, but still gentle. "When we land, there will be a black SUV waiting for us," he said, tone calm and clear. "Driver's been instructed. There will also be two guards traveling with us discreetly. No unnecessary uniforms or formality—just presence."

Yue cracked one eye open from under his blanket. "You brought guards?"

"Two," Sheng said with a casual wave of his hand. "Not counting your mother."

Lan arched a brow but said nothing.

He turned back toward the others. "I also made accommodations. We'll be staying at The Peninsula."

Yao's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't speak yet. 

"I rented The Peninsula Suite for Lan, Yue, and myself. It has three bedrooms, and I assume one of us is going to need to barricade the minibar from your brother."

Yue scoffed. "I didn't even say anything—"

"And for you two," Sheng continued, gesturing casually between Sicheng and Yao, "I've rented The Palace Suite. It's on the same floor, just across from ours. You'll have privacy and space."

Yao blinked, her eyes rounding. "Wait—the Palace Suite? That's… isn't that a bit… excessive?" Her voice wavered slightly, flustered, uncertain if she should be grateful or quietly overwhelmed. Her cheeks turned the soft shade of pink that always accompanied anything she wasn't expecting.

She barely had time to glance toward Yue before he sat up, mischief flickering behind his expression. "Oh, come on, Jie—what's a little decadence between—" But he didn't get the chance to finish.

Because Sicheng turned his head. And the look he gave his brother was cold. Controlled. And sharp enough to stop words midair. Yue closed his mouth immediately. Because the look said don't. Not now. Not about her.

Yao didn't notice it right away—her fingers had curled into the hem of her sleeves, and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, still digesting the idea of being placed into one of the most exclusive hotel suites in Shanghai like it was nothing.

But Sicheng's voice followed a second later, low, steady, and pointed. "She was working a part-time job when we met her," he said, his tone level but laced with quiet fire. "She was going to school full-time, chasing a Ph.D., living off of scholarship stipends, and barely getting enough hours to afford basic meals—without help. Without connections. Without anyone protecting her."

The cabin quieted.

"She didn't even know her trust existed," he added, gaze still locked on his brother. "Didn't ask for any of this. Earned everything she had by working twice as hard with half as much."

Yue's gaze dropped, subdued now. "...I know."

"I know you do," Sicheng said, eyes softening just slightly. "So don't tease her about it."

Yao's eyes slowly lifted to meet his, surprised at first—but what she found in his expression wasn't embarrassment. It was pride. Fierce. Steady. Undeniable. And it made her heart thrum painfully in her chest.

Sheng gave a quiet chuckle. "I'd say he gets that protectiveness from his mother," he said wryly.

Lan didn't even glance up. "He gets it from me. The patience, however… clearly skipped a generation."

Sicheng leaned back slightly, his arm brushing against Yao's, fingers grazing hers as he said more quietly now, just for her, "You deserve every inch of that suite." And this time, Yao didn't argue. She just nodded. Quiet, still a little pink. But she curled her fingers gently into his and held on.