Chapter 33 - 1#

Perhaps it was because the heater was on, but the room felt stifling.

Apart from the central figure, Dais King sat on the side sofa. The lounge seemed to have quite a few people, but aside from the bodyguards, only the man in the center and Dais King were notable figures.

Dais stood up first, walking toward me as he said, “Friend, you’ve come. It seems it wasn’t easy to pick you out from the crowd, Hans.” He made a gesture to leave, and his men immediately understood, bowing respectfully before backing out and closing the door.

I straightened my back, eyes fixed on my toes, hands clenched—perhaps it was too hot in the room, or perhaps even my breathing was becoming labored.

“Don’t be so tense. Come.” Dais picked up two glasses filled with brandy from the table, pressing one into my hand as he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Lawyer, relax. This is a very important person. He asked to meet with you privately just a moment ago. This is a rare opportunity—mind your manners.”

With that, Dais patted my shoulder, raised his glass to me, and gave a meaningful smile as he drank. Then he tilted his chin, signaling everyone in the room to leave. Even the middle-aged Chinese man standing nearby waved at the bodyguards in suits, and they filed out one by one.

The glass in my hand trembled slightly.

It felt as though all the blood in my body was flowing backward as the room emptied.

The door slowly closed.

I pursed my lips, finally mustering the courage to lift my eyes slightly.

That face was almost exactly as I remembered it—unchanged, as if it had always been this way. Only the graying temples stood out sharply, and the hair cut to shoulder length seemed to shimmer with silver. The moment our eyes met, it felt as though my breath had stopped.

A crisp sound rang in my ears—the noise of something shattering.

I lowered my head numbly. The glass in my hand had fallen to the floor at some point. The air was filled with the aroma of brandy, mingled with a faint hint of sandalwood.

Involuntarily, I raised my eyes and saw him sitting upright. His light-colored silk robes, combined with his expression, gave him a pale, cold appearance.

My tongue seemed to knot. I suddenly stumbled backward, my foot unsteady, and I fell to the ground with a thud.

“Ah!”

A sharp sting shot through my palm, and I couldn’t help crying out in pain. It turned out that in my fall, my hand had pressed hard against the glass shards scattered on the floor.

He abruptly stood up from the sofa and strode over quickly, but I scrambled to my feet in a rush—clumsy yet swift—and then took two steps back as he approached.

“Qiri.”

I heard him call out softly, and it struck me like a thunderbolt. I lifted my head, only to realize cold sweat had broken out on my forehead. I had already backed up against the door panel.

He seemed to have taken good care of himself over the past few years—his complexion was much better than before.

Third Uncle Ren didn’t come any closer. He simply stood a few steps away, looking at me.

After a long moment, he said, “Qiri.”

“…”

“Qiri, let Third Uncle take a look.”

“…”

“…Qiri, you’re hurt.”

Years hadn’t changed his tone of voice—it was as if he had to use all his strength just to speak a complete sentence. Without his voice box these past few years, it must have been very difficult.

I bit my lip, took a breath, and before he could speak again, I yanked the door open and ran out.

It felt like someone was chasing me. I ran desperately, not daring to look back, but before I could fall, I was yanked backward by force.

“Xiao Qi!”

I shuddered violently and looked up.

It was—

“B-Boss…?”

Du Yijie was breathing heavily, frowning, gripping my arm as he asked, “Where did you go just now?”

“Xiao Qi, what’s… wrong?”

“What happened? Xiao Qi? Xiao Qi?”

My legs felt weak. Something hot and wet burst from my eyes—I didn’t know what.

For six years, I hadn’t returned to the Ren family mansion. Even knowing that Old Madam Ren had been critically ill for the past two years, I didn’t dare go back. It was because I truly didn’t have the courage.

That was because, because—

I was truly afraid of him!

That incident was something I didn’t want to think about.

If I could help it, I wanted to bury it in the deepest part of my heart, forgotten forever.

It was the night before I left for America.

Old Madam Ren had, for once, thrown a small farewell banquet for me. There were only a few people at the table. The chair next to her was empty as usual. Zhang Ma and Ru Po were rarely seated at the same table, and we had a simple meal together.

Ever since I decided to go to America, Old Madam Ren had been much kinder to me than before. Her temper had changed quite a bit during that time, as if she had become a different person. She stopped caring about company matters altogether and spent her days going to the temple, claiming it was for Buddhist worship. I remembered her holding my hand and speaking with rare gentleness.

—Whatever you want to do, Grandma won’t force you. As long as you’re happy, that’s enough.

She even pulled out an embroidered pouch, saying she had prayed for it at the temple—it would bring safety and health.

I nodded and accepted it. After all, it was an elder’s goodwill; it wouldn’t be right to refuse.

Old Madam Ren gently stroked my head, holding onto me as if reluctant to let go.

—Grandma knows you’re the most sensible child. No one can compare to you in that regard…

After that, she didn’t say much more and just let me go upstairs.

That night, I had a nightmare.

I dreamed that my mother jumped out of the window, crashing onto the ground, her face unrecognizable. The air was filled with her usual perfume, mixed with the smell of blood.

Then I woke up with a start.

But what truly shocked me was the cold touch on my cheek.

My eyes flew open.

He was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed—I didn’t know when he had come. He tilted his head and rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand. When I woke up, he looked at me too, but his gaze was hazy.

Th-Third Uncle…

I called out to him.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and hugged me tightly.

I sat there stiffly, a thick, sweet smell of alcohol reaching my nose.

With a jolt, I pushed him away forcefully and leaped out of bed.

—Th-Third Uncle…

I looked at him, hesitated—you’re drunk.

He stood up unsteadily from the bed, staring at me calmly.

I backed away, then turned and dashed toward the door, stumbling in my panic. But before I could steady myself, I was pressed to the ground by a force from behind.

I gasped for breath. His arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. I could clearly feel him bury his face in the hollow of my neck, inhaling desperately, as if he might suffocate at any moment.

His low, hoarse voice sounded in my ear, as if choked with sobs.

He said.

—Qi Qi, Third Uncle won’t force you.

—Don’t leave Third Uncle.

—Third Uncle won’t force you. Don’t leave Third Uncle, okay…?

I panted, staring at him in terror.

But out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a sharp gaze from the bottom of the stairs.

Old Madam Ren was holding a memorial tablet.

Her voice was piercing, as if it could drill through my eardrums straight to my heart.

She said—Dingbang, take a look.

Take a look.

Take a look.

————————

I ran too fast and didn’t even notice when my glasses fell off my nose.

I had to trouble Du Yijie to drive me personally—to be honest, I got into Boss Du’s car in a daze. I didn’t go straight home either; first, I went to the hospital to get my wound bandaged.

The blood on my palm had clotted. My earlier shock had been so intense that I hadn’t felt much pain. Only when the doctor cleaned the wound did I clearly feel the pain and the reality of it.

“Sir, bear with it. I’ll remove the glass fragments,” the doctor said, holding my hand and adjusting his glasses.

I nodded. Du Yijie placed his hands lightly on my shoulders.

“Xiao Qi, I’ll wait outside.”

I had fallen several times on the way, scraping the edges of my hands. The worst casualty was this suit of mine—I had bought it when I graduated from college and only wore it for important occasions. Now it was covered in the smell of alcohol and sweat, and the jacket was torn at one corner.

I looked utterly disheveled.

When I walked out of the treatment room, my palm was wrapped in gauze, and the scraped edges had been medicated. As soon as I looked up, I saw Du Yijie walking toward me, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his collar loosened. When he got closer, I could clearly smell cigarette smoke.

“I’ve paid the bill,” Du Yijie said as I fumbled in my pocket for my wallet. I squinted—maybe because I was used to wearing glasses, but taking them off always made it feel like the expressions on people’s faces were blurred.