Chapter 03

The ancestral hall was lit by long-burning lamps, their light mingling with the scent of white chrysanthemums, creating a faintly bitter atmosphere.

Ruan Zhen straightened his back, feeling a chill run through his entire body.

He had always been sensitive to the cold.

When he was first picked up as a child, he didn’t dare to crawl into Zhang Laotou’s bed or seek any other means of warmth. Instead, he tightly wrapped himself in the blanket, but his small hands and feet remained icy cold. Unable to bear the cold, he hesitantly pulled down the simple curtain beside him and carefully wrapped it around himself.

In the morning, he would quickly climb out of bed and hang the curtain back up.

So many years had passed, yet he could still vividly recall that cold.

Perhaps it was due to the deep darkness of the night.

He hadn’t slept well for several days, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He looked fragile, as if he might collapse at any moment.

Wearing a black mourning suit.

Locked inside the ancestral hall by his sons.

How cliché.

Even if he took a step back, why couldn’t the scene from a stepmother novel take place elsewhere, even in the kitchen? At least then he could grab a knife and cut down those despicable bastards.

Why try to do something unspeakable in the ancestral hall?

What kind of sick hobby is that?

Ruan Zhen took a step back, his arms behind his back, his right hand unconsciously rubbing the red string on his left wrist, which had a small peach basket attached to it.

Zhang Laotou had tied it on, saying, “Child, may the Buddha protect you and keep you safe.”

Ruan Zhen felt nauseous again.

Perhaps it was because of the terrifying scenes that flashed through his mind, or the relentless approach of the young masters.

What should he do?

How could he escape—

He had managed to navigate the complex relationship with his so-called “husband,” carefully dragging it out until the day the other man passed away.

But why did he still have to face this situation?

Whether he attended the funeral or not, whether he accepted or rejected, the moment he caught the attention of the Song family, he felt like a bird with broken wings, trapped in a cage lined with thorns.

Even if he was covered in blood, he would drag those who hurt him down with him—

And in the moment of falling into hell, Ruan Zhen would release his grip, step on their heads, and climb upward.

Why should he?

He wanted to live.

His life had just begun.

He didn’t want to be cornered, to be scrutinized, to be ogled with a gaze that felt like a physical touch, roaming over his body.

“Eldest Brother,”

Song Qiuguang said impatiently, “Let’s not waste time here. It’s boring!”

“What’s the matter?”

Song Chunfeng raised one corner of his mouth. “I find it extremely interesting.”

He even gestured to Song Xiaoyu, who was standing nearby. “Look, the slap mark on my face hasn’t faded yet!”

Song Xiaoyu rubbed his hands and smiled foolishly.

Of the seven young masters of the Song family, only four were present today.

The other three were still minors. The fifth had broken his leg and couldn’t attend, while the sixth and seventh, being twins, were fighting with their mother over the inheritance and didn’t even show up for the funeral.

Though there were many of them, their names were easy to remember. The four in front of him were Song Chunfeng, Song Xiaoyu, Song Qiuguang, and Song Dongbai.

They looked different, but they were all equally despicable.

But Ruan Zhen knew that the seemingly honest and straightforward Second Young Master, Song Xiaoyu, was the most dangerous. In the original story, it was he who took the nearly dead Ruan Zhen and threw him into the icy wilderness like a piece of trash, then left without a second glance.

It was so cold.

Ruan Zhen clung to the car door, unwilling to let go, while Song Xiaoyu pried his fingers open one by one, his expression indifferent.

“What a beautiful hand, it’s a shame.”

It was covered in chilblains and scars.

He stepped on Ruan Zhen’s hand and ground it repeatedly.

“Since it’s like this, we should add some blood to make it more beautiful.”

Ruan Zhen’s hand couldn’t bleed anymore. His bones had turned a bluish-purple, and his body was curled up, his broken soul coughing out in bits and pieces, sprinkling on the white snow.

Song Xiaoyu’s expression was the same as it had been then.

“Pretty,”

He patted Song Chunfeng’s shoulder in a fawning manner. “Eldest Brother, your face is a bit red, very pretty.”

Ruan Zhen’s face was pale.

“Hey,” Song Chunfeng continued, “Little Madam, what’s wrong? Tired from staying up all night? Why don’t I take you to rest?”

Despite the slaps, he still called her “Little Madam.”

Ruan Zhen realized this man was a pervert.

The more he was beaten, the more excited he became.

A breeze seemed to sweep through the ancestral hall, causing the flame of the long-burning lamp to flicker rapidly before settling back into a steady, eerie glow.

Ruan Zhen was almost cornered, with no place to retreat—

The four men surrounded him like hungry wolves, led by Song Chunfeng, taunting and mocking him.

How amusing.

This Ruan Zhen.

Despite his beautiful face, he didn’t come across as seductive. His expression was always dull and lazy, and his movements were slow and clumsy. From the moment they first met, it was impossible not to want to bully him.

To crush and mold him.

Song Chunfeng’s fingertips itched.

Ruan Zhen, who had just slapped himself in a fit of emotion, was so beautiful.

If he could make Ruan Zhen scream and cry out of fear, it would be even more interesting. It would be best to tie him up with ropes and see if his white wrists would be covered in finger marks. When guests came to visit, they could smile and tell them that Little Madam was resting upstairs.

Father, oh father, what a good father they had.

Not only did he pass away cleanly, but he also left behind such a valuable legacy.

His fingers were almost touching Ruan Zhen’s face.

“Hey, are you done yet?”

Ruan Zhen slightly tilted his head, his tone calm.

Song Chunfeng was still smiling. “What?”

Ruan Zhen slowly backed away, hugging his arms, looking helpless. “You keeping me here means you recognize me as your father, the group’s CEO, Song Qinwen’s spouse, right?”

His gray-blue eyes were like pure gems.

Song Chunfeng and Song Xiaoyu exchanged a glance and smiled. “That’s right, you are our Little Madam.”

The other two shrugged and joined in with lecherous laughter.

Heh heh heh, heh heh heh.

Such standard villain laughter.

“Alright,”

Ruan Zhen nodded in approval. “I’m quite satisfied with this identity.”

He raised his phone, showing the active call screen. “You heard the conversation, so do as I say.”

Song Chunfeng was stunned. He hadn’t noticed when the call was made.

A stranger’s voice came through, professional and clear.

“Understood, Mr. Ruan.”

Ruan Zhen smiled. “Goodbye.”

Song Xiaoyu lunged forward. “Who were you talking to?”

“A Professional Manager,”

Ruan Zhen calmly put away his phone. “I just told him that I want to manage your trust fund as the spouse of the late Song Qinwen.”

“What?”

Song Qiuguang and Song Dongbai, who had been watching, also froze.

Ruan Zhen narrowed his eyes.

“As a mother, I can cut off your monthly allowance… or is it called living expenses, or dividends?”

“You dare?”

Song Qiuguang said fiercely. “Who do you think you are, trying to get your hands on our family’s money?”

He had underestimated!

According to the law, if Ruan Zhen had legally married the father, he would indeed have the right to access the family fund!

No, no, the father must have had a prenuptial agreement. He wouldn’t be that foolish.

And the Song family, being a long-standing aristocratic family, had detailed and strict rules for property distribution. It couldn’t be so easily changed by a single phone call from Ruan Zhen!

Ruan Zhen’s lips were still pale, probably from spending too much time in the ancestral hall without food or water. He looked extremely weak.

Song Qiuguang clicked his tongue and reached for Ruan Zhen’s arm. “Explain yourself…”

“Let go!”

Ruan Zhen, who had been slow and deliberate, quickly shook off his hand, his expression one of disgust.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been colluding with outsiders, transferring antiques and property. The landscape painting that went missing last month, you took it as a gift to curry favor!”

Song Qiuguang shuddered in fear, trying to deny it. “I didn’t!”

He waved his hands, still trying to approach Ruan Zhen.

“Don’t come any closer!”

Ruan Zhen said sternly. “Or I’ll cut off your funds first!”

…Song Qiuguang stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, come on,” Song Chunfeng pulled at his lips. “Can’t we work together? Why make a scene?”

Ruan Zhen lifted his chin and stared at him.

Suddenly, he smiled.

For some reason, Song Chunfeng, who had been so nonchalant, suddenly felt a pang of anxiety.

Ruan Zhen didn’t say a word, but that expression—

It was a bit—

Mad.

Could it be that the trust fund was real?

And the information about Third Brother, did the father tell him?

But a sense of unspoken desire for conquest rose in his heart. He greedily stared at Ruan Zhen’s lips, adjusting his tie.

So what if he was mad?

Could he fly away with wings?

If they tied him up and locked him in a room, in a few months, the world would forget about the incident at the funeral and this mysterious “Little Madam.”

Then, the delectable Ruan Zhen would be their property.

Ruan Zhen’s back was pressed against the wall, with no place to retreat.

“Little Madam,”

Song Chunfeng stretched his neck. “Why does it feel like your fit just now was even more intense?”

In the vast ancestral hall, only the rapid breathing and the faint sound from a distance could be heard—

“Click—”

The locked door was opened from the outside!

Ruan Zhen couldn’t see clearly, but the sons who had been surrounding him, in the moment they turned their heads, suddenly fell silent as if their throats had been clamped.

They stood stiffly, looking at the solemn night breeze and the man who walked in, a white flower pinned to his chest.

“Third, Third Uncle! Why are you here?”

Song Chunfeng’s tongue stumbled, and he slapped his own mouth after speaking.

What kind of question was that!

Song Shuling was his father’s younger brother; of course, he would come to the funeral.

But had he seen what just happened, or—

The four young masters silently retreated, holding their breath, bowing their heads in greeting.

The steady footsteps grew closer.

Ruan Zhen looked up, meeting the gaze of the legendary man who was known for his coldness and ruthlessness, yet held immense power and was likely to be the one to push the Song family to its downfall and stand at the end.

Song Shuling looked down at him from above.

So cold.

Was it the night breeze from outside, or his icy expression—

“Brother just passed away, and you’re already so eager?”

Song Shuling’s eyes were filled with unhidden sarcasm.

Brother had been wise all his life, but suddenly decided to marry a man, against everyone’s objections. Song Shuling had been out of town at the time, and by the time he returned, the deed was done, and this widower, whom he had never met, had become his sister-in-law.

What a joke.

Even more ridiculous—

Song Shuling shifted his gaze.

At the same moment, the four nephews widened their eyes in surprise.

Ruan Zhen’s mourning suit was unbuttoned, and inside, it seemed he wasn’t wearing anything else.

They couldn’t see clearly, didn’t dare to look, and certainly couldn’t look any longer, only catching a glimpse of his pale legs trembling slightly.

The mourning suit, neither traditional nor modern, wrapped around him like a bathrobe, made of plain black fabric with no patterns. But this deliberate “chastity” only made it more—

Seductive.

How improper.

Song Shuling’s face showed impatience, and he was about to turn and leave.

When he first entered, he had clearly seen this so-called “sister-in-law” entangled with his nephews, her legs bare and unseemly.

But the next moment, Ruan Zhen, without any hesitation, lunged toward him.

Song Shuling didn’t dodge, instinctively reaching out—

And caught him in a full embrace.

Soft.

Indeed trembling, his body cold.

“Save, save me!”

Ruan Zhen’s eyes were red-rimmed as he looked up. “Third Lord, save me!”

Song Shuling’s breath caught.

Damn.

No wonder the old man couldn’t control himself.

At such close range, in such a position, with such a beautiful and fragile face.

It was, as they say, a light peach blossom floating in the stream.

Utterly charming.

The inappropriate flutter in his heart quickly subsided, and Song Shuling sneered inwardly, gripping Ruan Zhen’s shoulder without pity, ready to push him away.

“Third Lord,”

Ruan Zhen didn’t struggle, his expression on the verge of tears. “I, I really can’t take it anymore.”

He lowered his eyes and bit his lip, blushing in shame.

At that moment, Song Shuling’s heart skipped a beat.

He looked down—

And saw a hint of silver glitter between Ruan Zhen’s legs, hidden in the mourning suit.