Chapter 04

Song Shuling’s first reaction was to a blade.

Indeed, some people carried sharp weapons close to their bodies for emergencies.

Such concealed threats were often hidden on the outer side of the thigh, secured with straps or thin ropes, the bulge barely noticeable—

If he hadn’t been mistaken, it certainly wouldn’t be hidden in such a discreet place.

The black mourning attire was too loose, so a tiny glint of light, like a slender silver fish, had vanished in an instant.

“I really have no other choice, I can only come to you for help.”

Ruan Zhen lifted his face, a tear rolling down his cheek, hanging on the side, about to fall but not quite.

The memorial hall was deathly quiet.

Ruan Zhen’s eyes were almost watering from the strain, but he saw no reaction from Song Shuling.

Damn.

The book had too little to say about this man, only that he was unfeeling and ungrateful.

But Ruan Zhen believed that even the hardest of men must have a soft heart, especially during the death of a loved one, when emotions were more easily stirred, making him more approachable than usual.

Finally, Song Shuling moved.

He released Ruan Zhen’s shoulder with a look of disgust, stepping back half a pace as if afraid of being tainted by the tears.

Ruan Zhen: “…”

“Speak your mind, don’t cry.”

Song Shuling’s face still held a smile, but his nephews were already sweating, sensing that he was about to lose his patience.

After all, apart from the initial shock of Ruan Zhen’s beautiful face, Song Shuling had no interest in this “sister-in-law.”

Just a pretty face.

Fleeting, fragile, and insubstantial.

Song Shuling didn’t like such things.

He preferred things that were clear and tangible, like thin pages of a book, a sharp dagger, the blood that splattered when it struck, warm, sticky, and utterly filthy.

Just like the Song family now.

Song Shuling didn’t intend to get involved in their messy affairs. His purpose today was to see his eldest brother off, as he was the only true blood relative left in this world, along with his seven sons.

… Well, the number wasn’t small, after all.

“Alright,” Ruan Zhen raised his arm and wiped his face forcefully, “Can I see him one more time?”

This time, even with Song Shuling present, the four young masters let out simultaneous gasps of surprise.

See who, their deceased father?

He was already in the crematorium!

“I, I want to collect his bones myself,”

Ruan Zhen sniffled, “Our bond was shallow in this life, and I can’t do much for him, so… could Third Lord fulfill my wish?”

The silence was deafening. Song Chunfeng was stunned, his eyes wide.

Collect bones!

Did he mean to personally gather the ashes?

He thought Ruan Zhen had been forced to marry his father… no, it was true at first, as his father had admitted it, and they had only known each other for a little over two weeks. How could he have developed such deep feelings so quickly?

Unbelievable, there must be a trick.

Song Shuling’s eyes were deep and dark. “But you just said you wanted me to save you.”

Ruan Zhen wiped his eyes again. “I’m afraid the young masters won’t agree. If I can’t fulfill this wish, I’ll bash my head in.”

In the vast memorial hall, only the flickering candle flames moved.

Too fake.

But sometimes, when something is fake enough, it has a strange effect.

Like how ugly things are common, but something so ugly it’s impressive demands a second look.

It was this kind of eerie, half-true, half-false effect he was aiming for.

“Alright.”

His low, hoarse voice carried a hint of amusement. “Wait here, I’ll take you.”

But this amusement wasn’t out of sympathy or reflection, but rather the thrill of a predator who has caught its prey—

A sense of mischief.

Ruan Zhen finally lowered his arm, adjusting his slightly disheveled clothes.

Still cold.

The butler hurried over, tiptoeing to whisper in Song Shuling’s ear. Song Shuling nodded. “I know, go prepare.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The butler glanced fearfully at Ruan Zhen before quietly backing away.

At the same time, a side door opened.

Song Shuling gestured for Ruan Zhen to go ahead.

“Let’s go,”

His tone was indifferent. “To collect my brother’s bones.”

—

The memorial hall was separated from the crematorium by an empty courtyard. As previously mentioned, according to the Song family’s rules, cremation and the journey to the cemetery must take place at midnight, so it was extremely quiet, with no stray cats even lurking in the corners.

Only the occasional cricket chirp broke the silence.

Ruan Zhen’s teeth were chattering.

It was so cold.

He subtly glanced sideways at Song Shuling.

The man’s hair was slicked back, revealing his sharp features, dressed in a suit and tie, exuding a refined air, and even deliberately lagging half a step behind, as a sign of respect.

But the problem was, from this angle, the wind was hitting Ruan Zhen full force.

If they walked side by side, he might have been shielded a bit.

Damn.

Ruan Zhen cursed inwardly.

While Song Shuling was warmly dressed, he was shivering in the cold night breeze. The short hundred-meter distance had already made him sneeze twice.

And Song Shuling hadn’t even glanced at him.

Finally, they reached the place, and the moment the staff opened the door, Ruan Zhen darted inside like lightning.

So cold, he needed to warm up quickly!

Song Shuling’s expression finally showed a hint of surprise.

He silently followed, observing Ruan Zhen’s back.

So eager?

So desperate to see his brother one last time?

“May I ask, whose request is this?”

True to the Song family’s grandeur, the room was filled with flowers, and two rows of neatly dressed staff in black suits stood respectfully, hands at their sides.

Just one person being cremated, and it was this elaborate.

“It’s me,”

Ruan Zhen pressed his lips together, turning to Song Shuling. “But could everyone please step outside? I want to speak with him.”

Song Shuling spoke indifferently. “He’s just a pile of ashes now, there’s nothing to say.”

Ruan Zhen paused. “But it’s your brother’s last wish.”

He was struggling to hold on.

The funeral procession was waiting in the courtyard, ready to head to the cemetery. If he didn’t act quickly, Ruan Zhen would have to resort to drastic measures.

He felt Song Shuling’s gaze quickly scan over him.

“Alright.”

Song Shuling raised his hand, and the staff and butler immediately retreated, quietly closing the door behind them.

Not even a cough could be heard.

Song Shuling remained motionless, standing tall and watching Ruan Zhen with a calm demeanor.

“Does Third Lord have a hobby for this?”

Ruan Zhen, with his back to him, walked to the workbench. “Enjoying the private conversation between brother and sister-in-law?”

“Yes,”

Song Shuling replied indifferently. “I might learn something to tell my wife later.”

Ruan Zhen’s hand pressed on the black velvet-covered table, the marble underneath cold and damp. His fingers tightened, the joints turning pale.

No time to deal with that bastard behind him.

He put on gloves, carefully wiping the white jade urn with a silk cloth, then turned to the cremator.

The middle compartment was already open.

With his back to Song Shuling, Ruan Zhen didn’t need to maintain any expression.

Meeting again, Song Qinwen.

No matter how powerful a man had been in life, he now rested in a small box.

What must he be thinking?

Does he know the chaos that followed his death?

Collecting bones wasn’t a complicated process, just carefully transferring the ashes to the urn. Anyone with hands could do it.

That’s why Song Shuling hadn’t refused Ruan Zhen.

No matter how many tricks he had up his sleeve, they wouldn’t amount to much.

He watched the man’s movements, respectful, careful, and cautious.

Like handling a delicate feather.

Ruan Zhen indeed did it that way.

But his face showed no trace of mourning.

Why…

Was it burned so clean, with nothing to find?

He frantically searched through the ashes with a tool, but there wasn’t even a piece of bone the size of a pebble, let alone the key!

Ruan Zhen’s face was pale.

He could almost hear Song Qinwen’s laughter.

An old man’s laugh, like a broken windpipe, wheezing and rasping.

Three days ago, he had been forced to the Song residence, where he met Song Qinwen lying in a bed of luxury.

“Good child…”

Song Qinwen patted the bed. “Come here, let me see you.”

Ruan Zhen didn’t move.

“Afraid?”

He laughed and coughed. “Don’t be afraid, I can give you anything you want—money, status, fame… just ask.”

He looked at Ruan Zhen greedily.

So young.

Song Qinwen had everything in life, all his desires fulfilled. He had many lovers, numerous children, excelled in business and politics, and frequently engaged in charitable activities, donating countless school buildings—

A life of grandeur, until he suddenly feared death.

Before that, Song Qinwen treated his bed partners with kindness and normalcy.

But as his health declined, he became panicked, and his tastes changed.

He preferred fresh, young boys.

The first time he saw Ruan Zhen was the day he was diagnosed with cancer. To keep the news from spreading, he attended a banquet despite his illness, and there, he saw a fleeting figure.

Bright eyes.

So young and full of life.

Song Qinwen watched from behind a car window for a long time.

He wanted to possess that youth.

To touch that elastic skin, see those rosy lips, and feel the vitality, forgetting his own aging.

He extended his hand, like offering candy to an innocent child. “Come, sit beside me.”

“No,” Ruan Zhen shook his head. “I won’t.”

“Why?”

Song Qinwen laughed, his eyes fixed on Ruan Zhen’s.

So beautiful, those gray-blue eyes, like a misty morning sky.

He wanted to pluck them out, to keep them for himself forever…

“Because,”

Ruan Zhen smiled brightly. “You’re old.”

He stepped closer, looking directly at the man’s shocked and twitching lips. “You’re dying. Why not do some good before you go?”

In the original story, he had begged for mercy, saying sorry, asking to be spared.

He said the man was old enough to be his father.

He said he wanted to study, didn’t want to marry, didn’t want to stay, they were strangers—

Ruan Zhen didn’t understand then that some people would turn a beautiful bird into a specimen just because they liked its feathers.

And his fear only fueled the other’s excitement.

Song Qinwen was silent for a long time.

Then he began to cough violently.

“You think you can leave?”

Song Qinwen’s face was sinister. “Come to my bed.”

Ruan Zhen still smiled. “Can you even get it up?”

In the long silence, Song Qinwen’s downturned mouth formed wrinkles, spreading, climbing, until the entire room was filled with the aura of death. No matter how well he groomed his hair, how expensive his jewelry, or how many treatments and medications he took, it was all in vain.

He was indeed dying.

So.

Song Qinwen laughed. “Good child, I’ll give you a gift.”

He shakily opened a drawer, his hands trembling—always maintaining composure in public, never allowing his back to bend, now he could finally let his guard down, hunching over to retrieve a pink gift box.

“Put it on.”

Song Qinwen’s eyes were gentle. “Then I won’t force you tonight.”

Ruan Zhen took it. “Just tonight?”

“Or until the day I die.”

Song Qinwen lay back, coughing. “At least I can ensure my things won’t be touched by others.”

Ruan Zhen looked down, untying the bow—

“Do you like it?”

Song Qinwen’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll look so beautiful… ah, don’t rush to refuse. You know, that stubborn old man is watching a movie. Let me think… yes, the most thrilling part, he won’t want to be interrupted, and he won’t even know that the smelly dog has been locked up.”

He coughed loudly, taking a moment to recover. “This was supposed to be a trade… to make you lie in my bed tonight, but if you don’t want to, just put it on. I promise the old man will find the dog sleeping at his feet by the end of the movie.”

Ruan Zhen looked down, smiling lightly.

So cold.

He silently held the gift box and walked into the closet.

Putting it on took a lot of effort.

It was specially made, with a silver metal frame and leather straps, elegantly adorned from the waist down.

A chastity lock.

His thighs were restrained by leg rings, the metal so cold it sent a chill up his spine.

Ruan Zhen dressed again and walked a few steps. The friction and discomfort were minimal, but he could endure it for a few days.

He hoped Song Qinwen would hurry up and die.

“Are you ready? Let me see.”

Song Qinwen on the bed stared at him, his expression one of appreciation, as if welcoming a rare masterpiece.

“Where’s the yellow dog?”

Ruan Zhen leaned against the door frame, calmly hugging himself.

When he was silent, people often mistook him for being lost in thought.

He couldn’t help it; he had a naturally lazy demeanor.

People thought he didn’t care about anything, that he was always in control—

“He’s back.”

Song Qinwen showed his phone, displaying a surveillance screenshot.

Zhang Laotou was sitting on the sofa, watching TV and petting the yellow dog’s head.

No sign of anything unusual.

Ruan Zhen looked away. “Want to see?”

Song Qinwen laughed. “Yes.”

“No, you can’t.”

Ruan Zhen let go, and the empty gift box fell to the luxurious carpet with a thud.

Song Qinwen fell silent.

Ruan Zhen repeated, in a light-hearted tone, “No, you can’t.”

He forgot what illness Song Qinwen had. Heart disease or high blood pressure would be best.

Just let him die, and it would be over.

But Song Qinwen smiled again, holding a small key on his finger.

“Only this key can open it. No matter what you do, cutting or burning, it won’t work. You’ll wear it for the rest of your life, unable to take it off.”

The key dangled.

“The key and lock are made of special material, very expensive, and indestructible.”

Song Qinwen laughed, putting the key in his mouth.

His Adam’s apple moved.

He opened his toothless mouth, coughing loudly.

“Ha, ha… I won’t give it to you either.”

Over the next three days, including after Song Qinwen’s death, Ruan Zhen tried many ways to remove the chain, but to no avail.

It seemed only that key could open it.

And that key was greedily swallowed, taken to the grave.

Ruan Zhen’s face was pale as he looked at the small compartment of ashes.

Nothing.

His last hope was that the key might appear in Song Qinwen’s ashes after cremation.

If it was indestructible, why wasn’t it there?

The friction and discomfort were becoming more noticeable, constantly reminding him of the humiliating device he was forced to wear.

Song Qinwen died quickly but left this to torment him.

No wonder he hadn’t forced him in the last few days.

Because he thought Ruan Zhen was already restrained.

The night at the funeral home was freezing.

After the ashes were collected, Ruan Zhen turned, calmly holding the white jade urn and raising it high—

Song Shuling’s pupils contracted.

“Bang!”

The urn shattered, and Song Qinwen’s ashes scattered.

Ruan Zhen covered his mouth in mock surprise, stepping back. “Oops, sorry,”

“My hand slipped.”

The scattered ashes mixed with the shattered white jade, covering the floor.

It was a beautiful mess.