Chapter 12

An eerie silence fell over the room.

The faces of those present were a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Ruan Zhen, propping his chin in his hand, smiled as he looked down.

What’s wrong? Weren’t we supposed to be a family?

Cooking a couple of dishes is perfectly normal. He had just come in from the rain and was about to take a shower. He would definitely be hungry after that.

“Tomato and egg stir-fry, with a bit of sugar.”

“Stew a chicken soup; it will make your stomach feel better when it’s hot.”

Without turning back, Ruan Zhen continued walking. The mahogany stairs, polished by time, gleamed brightly, much like the crystal chandelier above, exuding an ancient and elegant charm.

This was the Song family’s ancestral home, a decades-old villa that had retained its original appearance. To preserve its old-world charm, it was not equipped with an elevator, making it a typical three-story mansion.

Song Qinwen had primarily lived here, while the four adult sons each had their own houses and rarely visited, only gathering in the living room on weekends for a family meal.

Ruan Zhen stepped onto the last stair and looked up the corridor on the third floor.

At the end, a lush phoenix-tail bamboo plant stood tall.

Sparse sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled spots of light on the ground, like scattered gold coins.

The rain had stopped.

Ruan Zhen pushed open the door to the guest room, locked it, and then dragged a chair to block it.

Only then did he let out a long breath and take off his half-dry clothes.

The pendulum of the clock swung rhythmically, the hour hand stopping at seven. Ruan Zhen dried his hair with a towel and sat on the bed when the internal phone rang.

He pressed the speaker button.

“Hello, Stepmother?”

It was Song Xiaoyu’s voice, simple and unremarkable.

Ruan Zhen, his lashes lowered, did not respond.

He actually detested that title.

“The food is ready. Do you need me to come up and get you?”

“No.”

Ruan Zhen took off the towel and coldly replied, “I’ll come down soon.”

He hung up, dressed again, and loosely tied his hair. Ruan Zhen had long hair, not for any particular reason, but it seemed to have grown naturally, until the day he suddenly awakened, as if wiping away a layer of dust from a glass, revealing a clear world—

A world that was not quite right.

It was too bizarre.

Ruan Zhen bit the rubber band, silently tying his hair.

According to the original story, he was supposed to die not long after the book began. He had a minor role, a background character, and because of the author’s negligence or stereotyping, he was portrayed as a beautiful stepmother.

Of course, she would have long hair.

She might even wear a cheongsam, with cold ankle bracelets, pushing an old man in a wheelchair through the eerie old house.

And in a chance glance, she would catch the eye of one of the young masters on the second floor.

Her eyes would flicker.

The seeds of an affair would be sown.

…What a load of crap.

And the meek, bullied character from the original plot was not the real Ruan Zhen.

His flesh and blood were not sketched with a few strokes but had grown gradually in the alleys, accompanied by Zhang Laotou and a yellow dog.

Ruan Zhen lowered his head and touched the red string on his left hand.

—

“Stepmother,”

Song Chunfeng pulled out a chair, smiling warmly. “We’ve all been waiting for you to come down.”

The long dining table was set with an elegant candelabra, and the dishes were piled high, steaming and fragrant.

Song Xiaoyu and Song Dongbai also stood up, one simple and the other cold, but both showing respectful attitudes as they looked at Ruan Zhen approaching step by step.

The chair at the head of the table was pulled out, and Ruan Zhen sat down calmly.

“Here, the tomato and egg stir-fry with sugar!”

Song Chunfeng eagerly moved the dish to the front. “Stepmother, would you like to try it?”

Ruan Zhen looked up and quickly glanced at him.

“Out with it, what else is there?”

“We’re a family now,” Song Chunfeng said with a grin. “So I won’t hide anything… Xiaoyu, you tell her.”

Song Xiaoyu chuckled. “To be honest, you’re still so young. It’s unlikely you’ll spend your whole life mourning my father. You’ll probably remarry, right?”

In the vast dining room, the candle flames flickered, casting long shadows on the white tablecloth.

“That’s true,”

Ruan Zhen tasted the tomato and egg stir-fry, which was sweet and delicious. “You’re right.”

He was only twenty-two.

He had a whole life ahead of him. How could he confine himself to a dark room because of a pervert?

Besides, he and Song Qinwen had never been legally married, so there was no legal binding.

Not to mention, there was not a shred of affection between them.

With a thirty-year age gap and forced into the situation, Ruan Zhen considered it a favor to wear mourning clothes for him.

But from the looks of it, these young masters didn’t know that he had scattered their father’s ashes.

“But Father’s will stipulates that you must remain a widow for three years.”

Song Chunfeng rubbed his ring, his expression ambiguous. “This fulfills his wish and also ensures you receive a substantial reward.”

“Three years?”

“Yes,” Song Xiaoyu nodded. “We only heard about it from the lawyer today.”

Dead old man.

Not content with physically restraining him, he had also left a will, using money to lure him into staying in this lifeless place.

Three years, not too long, not too short, but enough to confine Ruan Zhen to the plot, clipping his wings.

“Alright,”

Ruan Zhen sipped the chicken soup slowly. “During this time, I will be your… Little Madam?”

“Yes, after three years, you’ll receive the land in the northern suburbs,” Song Chunfeng quickly interjected. “And annual dividends, but during this time, you must remain…”

The last word lingered in his mouth, but he didn’t say it.

Ruan Zhen seemed not to hear, continuing to enjoy the chicken soup.

His expression was serious, treating the food with great care.

A few days ago, he had been exhausted and pale, but now, after the funeral and a good rest, his skin had a healthy glow, and his lips were rosy. When his lashes lowered, two strands of hair fell over his face—

Song Chunfeng swallowed.

The lawyer had actually questioned the authenticity of the will.

It was illogical.

Requiring someone to remain a widow for three years—how was that supposed to work? No dating, or no marriage? More importantly, the lawyer’s investigation revealed that Ruan Zhen had no legal relationship with Song Qinwen!

They had barely known each other for a few days, not even a common-law marriage.

Song Qinwen had simply taken a fancy to him before he died and brought him into his house as a plaything.

According to Song Chunfeng’s original plan, they hadn’t intended to let him attend the funeral, considering him beneath their notice. But he was amusing, so they kept him at home to pass the time. Who knew Ruan Zhen would show up at the memorial, dressed in mourning clothes, standing at the front.

This couldn’t be blamed on them.

A glint of cunning flashed in Song Chunfeng’s eyes. “As the eldest son, I don’t need to worry much. Xiaoyu and Qiuguang are a few years older than you, but they’re still children. Xiao Zao and the others are even younger, still in school, and they need your care. Please don’t be too formal.”

Ruan Zhen put down the chicken soup and took a napkin.

Very well.

Men never grow up, do they?

What a bunch of infants.

“Of course, I’ll take care of them,” he said coolly. “Qiuguang doesn’t know the rules, so I pricked his hand. Isn’t that teaching a child?”

Song Chunfeng was clearly taken aback.

He had almost forgotten about his younger brother, who was still in the hospital.

“Since that’s the case, I’ll go back to rest,”

Ruan Zhen stood up. “Don’t trouble the maid. You boys can clear the table and sweep the floor, and open the windows to let in some fresh air. It’s just rained, so the air is nice and fresh!”

And he would go back to his room for a good sleep.

The night was long.

The third floor was primarily Song Qinwen’s office, with a large open garden filled with roses and other flowers. Ruan Zhen had moved into a small, quiet bedroom at the back, while the young masters lived on the second floor.

Ruan Zhen locked his door and went to bed early.

The room was warm, and he slept soundly.

He was woken up later than expected.

“Bang, bang, bang!”

At two in the morning, the sudden, chaotic knocking sounded like a lost, hungry ghost randomly picking a victim.

The person inside slept soundly.

Song Chunfeng’s heart beat fast. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long time. Just thinking of Ruan Zhen lying in bed, possibly in his pajamas or even naked, made him tremble with excitement.

He wondered if his father had touched him before he died.

For Song Chunfeng, he hoped so.

A cake that had already been tasted was more appealing, and a ripe peach that had begun to rot was more tempting to step on.

“Splat—”

To trample it wantonly.

Could a stepmother who hadn’t been on his father’s bed still be called a stepmother?

“Stepmother, are you asleep?”

Song Chunfeng swallowed. “It’s like this, Dongbai always kicks off his blankets at night. Could you please go check on him and scold him a bit?”

There was no response, and the room was silent.

Song Chunfeng didn’t give up, continuing to knock. The poor excuse didn’t matter; he just needed to get the door open to see Ruan Zhen, disheveled and just waking up, to satisfy his desire—

Now wasn’t the time to truly claim him.

Good things come last.

He was patient, skilled at waiting, listening for the approaching footsteps.

The door opened.

Song Chunfeng’s chest heaved with excitement, but he managed to keep his composure. He remembered the lesson from when Song Qiuguang, the fool, couldn’t control himself and reached out to touch Ruan Zhen, only to be stabbed with a pair of scissors. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.

But the room was empty.

The door had opened as if by the wind’s whim.

Song Chunfeng stood at the door, not daring to enter, peering cautiously inside.

It was too quiet.

The room was dim, the curtains tightly drawn, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to seep through, not enough to see clearly. He could only make out the outline of a figure on the bed, facing away, breathing steadily.

“Stepmother?”

Song Chunfeng called out tentatively.

No response.

But sometimes, silence was an invitation.

Song Chunfeng stood there, heart racing with joy, trying to keep quiet to avoid waking his brothers downstairs—

He closed the door behind him.

He barely restrained himself from pouncing.

At that moment, the figure on the bed let out a low, hoarse sound, as if enduring pain even in dreams.

Song Chunfeng quietly sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the end of the blanket.

He saw it.

On the black velvet mattress, a pair of bare feet.

They weren’t as small or as white as he had imagined, but Ruan Zhen was a man, and Song Chunfeng could understand. He was so excited he couldn’t control his greed, grabbing the feet and kissing them.

“Ah!”

The sleeping beauty finally woke up, but before she could scream, Song Chunfeng silenced her.

He grabbed the trembling ankle with one hand and pulled the blanket over the person’s head with the other. “Don’t be afraid, it’s me, it’s me!”

The person muffled sobs, mumbling incoherently, but Song Chunfeng ignored it, pressing down and touching wildly, babbling incoherently.

He said his father was old… no, his father was dead!

He said the stepmother was still young and beautiful!

To his surprise, the person struggled fiercely, not the coy resistance of a tease or the aggressive slap, but a strange, indescribable struggle.

But the room was too dark.

Song Chunfeng was too excited.

It wasn’t until he saw the blood-soaked bandage on his hand that he froze, heart stopping.

He stared at his younger brother, who was crying and sniffling.

“Brother,”

He sobbed. “I said stop, but you didn’t. You kept touching me…”

The person was disheveled, with messy hair and mysterious marks on his face.

Song Chunfeng gritted his teeth. “Shut up!”

He scrambled off the bed, his expression cold. “Don’t say a word!”

Song Qiuguang continued crying. “My wound opened up…”

“Then go see a doctor!”

Song Chunfeng was angry, anxious, and embarrassed. “I can’t heal you!”

He had been careless, never expecting to find someone other than Ruan Zhen under the blanket.

He was relieved that nothing truly unspeakable had happened. Though Song Chunfeng’s morals weren’t high, it was his own brother!

And now, his brother was holding his bandaged hand, looking almost shy. “But, Eldest Brother…”

Song Chunfeng’s scalp tingled, and he roared. “What do you mean, but? Shut up!”

“I just have one last question.”

Song Qiuguang raised his arm, wiping his tears, his cheeks flushed.

“Brother, what is our relationship now?”