Chapter 18

The velvet red cloth covering the piano slid silently to the floor, like a pool of blood.

Ruan Zhen, his lashes damp, his fingertips white from the strain, his voice trembling, said, “Are you really that certain… Second Young Master?”

Song Xiaoyu always spoke politely, maintaining eye contact, and his habit of rubbing his hands gave him an air of sincerity that was somewhat out of place for someone from a wealthy family.

But now, Ruan Zhen couldn’t see his eyes, whether they were as gentle and curved as usual.

“Whatever,”

Song Xiaoyu gripped Ruan Zhen’s throat from behind. “As a son, it’s my duty to be filial.”

“Cough, cough…”

Ruan Zhen’s arms were pinned, his breathing labored. Song Xiaoyu seemed determined not to waste words, avoiding the cliché of villains dying from talking too much, gradually increasing the pressure on his throat.

Not with full force, but gradually, as if savoring the moment—

Song Xiaoyu frowned slightly.

The loose hair was in the way; from this angle, he couldn’t see the face turning red from suffocation, or the desperate, futile slaps on the piano lid.

Some executioners didn’t like a quick kill.

Letting go, stepping on the tail, and waiting for the continuous screams—how exciting that must be.

That was Song Chunfeng’s preference.

Song Xiaoyu, however, was a bit different.

He preferred to crouch down and watch the life fade away.

No pretense, from using a magnifying glass to burn ants as a child to hunting prey as an adult. His illegal gun was hidden in his mother’s study, and whenever he returned to the Lotus Garden, he would take it out, drive to the deep forest, and aim the black barrel at the innocent, bewildered eyes of deer.

So beautiful.

But Song Xiaoyu wasn’t satisfied.

As a child, his mother always taught him to be obedient and not to compete, to win his father’s favor. Song Xiaoyu listened, always sitting quietly in the background while others fought, waiting for his own praise.

But sometimes, he couldn’t hold back.

The earliest was using stones to smash snail shells, watching the sticky mess on the ground, his heart racing.

At that moment, Song Xiaoyu realized something.

He had power.

His destructive urges grew.

In middle school, he started using a homemade bow and arrow to shoot birds in the courtyard.

His mother didn’t say anything, turning a blind eye.

Just some small hobbies, children need them, no problem.

Until one day, during a “hunt,” he accidentally shot a classmate in the eye.

Song Xiaoyu attended an elite school, and his classmates were all from wealthy families. The incident quickly escalated, beyond what his mother could handle. His father rushed over, found some connections, and by the next morning, the matter was quietly resolved.

As if nothing had happened.

The pool of blood had been washed away.

At that moment, Song Xiaoyu understood the power of authority.

It meant you could do whatever you wanted.

Even what you thought was a catastrophic disaster was just a trivial matter to his father.

Over drinks, everything became a mere shadow.

“See, it’s all thanks to us being low-key. Your father cares about us.”

That night, his mother chattered, holding his hand: “So, be good, don’t cause trouble, understand?”

Song Xiaoyu stared at his hands.

He was already much stronger than his peers, his veins pulsing with restlessness and agitation.

“But, I still want to play with these things. What should I do?”

His mother was silent for a moment.

Not because she was shocked by his stubbornness, but because she was thinking hard.

“Why don’t you play with some kittens or puppies? If you want to shoot birds, I’ll have someone buy them for you… In short, don’t go out to play with wild ones anymore.”

Song Xiaoyu exhaled softly.

He looked up, met his mother’s eyes, and smiled innocently. “Okay.”

Now, he was even stronger.

He could easily strangle an adult.

He hadn’t planned to do this. In Song Xiaoyu’s mind, such an ending was too simple for Ruan Zhen.

Not “beautiful” enough.

If only there could be a pool of blood.

Or drowning in a deep, blue sea, surrounded by silver fish… No, that wouldn’t work; he wouldn’t be able to see clearly.

Dying in a white snowfield would be nice, with frostbites and bruises, surely very beautiful.

Song Xiaoyu paused, then forced Ruan Zhen over to see the fear in his eyes.

In that split second, Ruan Zhen suddenly arched his back and swung a punch at him with the agility of a leopard.

Song Xiaoyu didn’t have time to dodge, taking the hit directly.

Ruan Zhen, who seemed soft and slow, had completely transformed, not trying to escape but striking with surprising force.

Blood dripped onto his chin.

Song Xiaoyu wiped it with his palm, his eyes curving.

“Step Mother, I like you.”

In the next second, he grabbed Ruan Zhen’s wrist and yanked him down—

Ruan Zhen was thrown heavily onto the sofa.

Song Xiaoyu stretched his neck. “Actually, I didn’t plan to touch you.”

He approached Ruan Zhen step by step.

“Or rather, I didn’t want to be the first to touch.”

“I like picking up what Eldest Brother has played with, what the younger brothers don’t want anymore.”

Ruan Zhen lay on the sofa, seemingly drained of energy, his shoulders rising and falling, a blanket beneath him, now crumpled and wrinkled.

“But today,” Song Xiaoyu smiled, “I feel like something’s missing if I don’t touch you.”

He tore off his bloodstained shirt and threw it to the ground.

Excitement made him talk more.

“Please, struggle and resist as much as you can.”

His knee was half-kneeling on the sofa, close enough to see the trembling in Ruan Zhen’s eyes.

Such beautiful eyes.

But the expression still wasn’t right.

Song Xiaoyu reached out to lift Ruan Zhen’s hair—

But suddenly felt a cold sensation in his abdomen.

He looked down and saw a silver dinner knife, already embedded in his stomach.

Not painful, just cold, and incomprehensible.

Song Xiaoyu’s eyes widened instinctively, his mouth open. “I…”

“Yes, that’s the expression.”

Ruan Zhen, holding the knife that had appeared at some point, increased the pressure. “You like this expression, don’t you?”

The silver blade disappeared completely.

Song Xiaoyu couldn’t make a sound.

He only clutched his wound, making silent howls.

Ruan Zhen stepped on his knee, preventing him from getting up, even twisting the knife handle half a turn!

Blood flowed down, soaking the sofa and the blanket, the wet area expanding quietly.

“Don’t you like it?”

Ruan Zhen laughed, the blood on his lashes already dried, his vision a blur of red.

“If you like it, why aren’t you smiling? Speak!”

“Help, help!”

Song Xiaoyu’s strength drained away, his limbs weak, the blood loss faster than he imagined. His panicked voice finally broke through: “Help, someone’s killing me!”

But the room was empty.

To act against Ruan Zhen, he had waited for his brothers to leave and dismissed all the servants. The car in the courtyard was still running, the trunk lined with black plastic bags, all prepared for Ruan Zhen.

“I know your father had feelings for his late wife.”

His mother stood by the window, speaking to herself. “I just didn’t expect that before he passed, he would… It wasn’t loyalty, just that he hadn’t met the person he truly wanted to marry.”

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke.

Song Xiaoyu listened for a while, raised his hand to his face, and found himself smiling.

But the smile lasted too long, his mouth muscles stiff, looking ugly.

Just like his heart.

He wanted to ask his mother why, after all the years of his father’s infidelity, she still believed in his loyalty.

How ridiculous.

Such a hollow loyalty.

But his mother’s tears were real, hot, like blood.

Song Xiaoyu’s fingers itched.

If Ruan Zhen was just a secret toy, it would have been fine, but he had entered the Song family openly, demanding status, wealth, and respect—

Song Xiaoyu returned quietly.

He heard the commotion in the music room.

But he didn’t expect it to become his own death trap.

The knife handle was still turning.

Ruan Zhen laughed loudly. “Since Third Young Master likes it, I’ll comply.”

Song Xiaoyu clutched his abdomen, his earlier bravado gone, filled with fear and panic. “No, no!”

Too late.

The dinner knife was yanked out and poised to strike again!

As the bright red blood spurted out, Ruan Zhen’s eyes were covered from behind.

“Who… let go!”

He saw red, struggling wildly, his hands gripping the knife, the room a cacophony of noise—so much so that he didn’t hear the hurried footsteps and urgent voices.

“Too much blood loss, quick!”

“Call the hospital, they’re ready!”

Ruan Zhen couldn’t hear.

He was held from behind, his trembling wrists and kicking legs restrained, but no matter how fiercely he resisted, he didn’t let go of the knife.

It seemed this stranger’s embrace allowed him to hold the bloody knife without fear of being hurt.

Ruan Zhen’s chest heaved, his breathing heavy.

The smell was unbearable.

He hated the unclean, sticky, dirty, and dark desires.

Someone was calling his name.

“Ruan Zhen, Ruan Zhen?”

Just repeating his name, no other content.

The room gradually quieted, the windows opened, the nauseating smell fading.

Replaced by an indescribable woody scent.

“Ruan Zhen.”

Song Shuling patted his arm, the trembling slowly subsiding.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s over.”

Ruan Zhen blinked, his lashes still bloody.

“Clang.”

The knife fell to the floor.

When he woke up, it was already dusk.

His body ached as if he had been beaten.

Ruan Zhen struggled to open his eyes, then closed them again.

He was in the hospital.

Scattered memories flooded his mind, piecing together the complete picture.

Song Xiaoyu had tried to kill him, and he had attacked with the dinner knife.

Luckily, he had taken the luggage upstairs and left the silver knife.

Originally meant for self-defense at night, it had truly protected him. When Song Xiaoyu had him pinned, he had tried to reach the sofa and grab the knife hidden under the blanket.

Ruan Zhen opened his eyes again, looking at the bandage on his hand.

He knew life would be difficult once the Song family targeted him, but he hadn’t expected such deadly malice.

“Awake?”

A calm male voice, devoid of emotion.

Ruan Zhen used his hand to prop himself up, trying to sit up, but a sudden pain shot through him—

“Ouch…”

He winced in pain.

Song Shuling’s gaze, now complex, met his. “Don’t be a baby.”

Ruan Zhen: “…”

The second time.

He suspected Song Shuling was too harsh, having never seen genuine pouting.

Would he be misunderstood even when breathing normally?

“Scrapes on your forehead and hand,”

Song Shuling continued, “Nothing else… Also, Xiaoyu is being treated.”

It must be a top-tier private room, the space decorated like a five-star hotel. The golden sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft, honey-like glow, creating a serene atmosphere.

Ruan Zhen replied calmly, “That’s too bad.”

His tone was sincere, genuinely regretful.

Saying in front of his uncle that it was too bad he hadn’t killed his nephew.

Song Shuling put down his book, speaking about something else. “That blanket is mine.”

“Huh?”

Ruan Zhen was confused. “What blanket?”

A blood-soaked blanket.

When taking Ruan Zhen away, the stubborn boy had clung to it, saying he was cold, half-conscious, trying to wrap it around himself.

The driver looked at him helplessly. “Sir…”

He had spoiled him.

Song Shuling roughly pulled the blanket away. “It’s dirty.”

He was about to throw it away.

“No!”

Ruan Zhen clung to the edge of the blanket, mumbling incoherently, but Song Shuling only caught two words.

“I’m cold.”

He hesitated, feeling an inexplicable reluctance.

So, he let Ruan Zhen hold the dirty blanket all the way to the hospital, where he finally let go when he fell asleep.

“Should we throw it away?”

Song Shuling didn’t look back, his eyes downcast. “Wash it.”

He wouldn’t tell Ruan Zhen this.

“I’m just telling you the blanket is mine,” Song Shuling’s thin lips parted, “I’m not giving it to you.”

Ruan Zhen was taken aback, scrambling out of bed.

“How can you be so petty!”

“A little dirt can be washed off. It’s expensive, isn’t it?”

The person who hadn’t reacted much to hearing Song Xiaoyu’s name was now filled with intense dissatisfaction.

His expression was indignant.

Song Shuling averted his gaze, thinking, quite lively.

Ruan Zhen cursed and complained for a while, but seeing no reaction, he gave up and returned to the previous topic. “By the way, why did you come back?”

Was Song Shuling so twisted that he had installed a listening device in the music room designed for his elder sister-in-law?

“Wire,”

Song Shuling looked at him again. “The wire for the ball fell here, causing a fuss. I came back to get it.”

Ruan Zhen was silent for a moment. “Just that?”

“Could there be anything else?”

Song Shuling retorted, “Should I have come back later so you could stab him a few more times?”

Seeing that familiar harsh expression, Ruan Zhen finally relaxed.

Otherwise, he would have thought it was some kind of telepathy, which would be scary.

The sunlight sank further, the breeze rustling the curtains. Song Shuling, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, picked up his book again.

He hadn’t lied.

But he had hidden a small truth.

Not long after leaving, Song Shuling felt something was off.

People who had been through the world had an instinctive intuition.

The driver noticed and asked respectfully, “Sir, should we go back?”

“No need.”

The parrot, Ball, was dozing on his shoulder. Song Shuling looked out the window, his expression cold.

He was just using Ruan Zhen’s hands to root out the rotten parts of the Song family.

Some things, he couldn’t do himself, but giving them to Ruan Zhen was perfect.

Mutual benefit.

As for why he turned the car around, Song Shuang couldn’t explain it.

He just knew he had to go back.

And the parrot, clearly agitated, was whining.

When he burst into the music room, he thought Ruan Zhen had gone mad.

Covered in blood, holding a sharp knife, about to stab his nephew.

Song Shuling covered his eyes.

Fortunately.

He made it in time.

Looking into his eyes now, they were still clear, a bit sluggish and lazy.

“It was Song Xiaoyu who tried to kill me,” Ruan Zhen tugged at his lips. “I was forced to defend myself.”

Song Shuling flipped through the pages. “I know.”

“The dinner knife was from the kitchen, very sharp.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ruan Zhen tilted his head slightly. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Song Shuling didn’t look at him, his attention seemingly on the book. “No.”

Such a pretentious person.

Ruan Zhen secretly thought.

Clearly not nearsighted, yet wearing glasses, pretending to read—

Clearly just watching him.

“If there’s nothing else,” Ruan Zhen laughed, “can you leave so I can take a shower?”

He was wearing a hospital gown, changed at some point, feeling uncomfortable.

Song Shuang stood up cooperatively, nodding slightly. “Sure.”

But his gaze quickly swept over Ruan Zhen’s wrist.

A red string.

When Ruan Zhen was unconscious, he had been holding a small peach basket, mumbling a name.

But it was too faint.

As if cherished for years, never even blown on, now covered with a thin layer of dust.

Song Shuang grasped the doorknob but couldn’t resist turning back.

“Who gave you the red string?”

Ruan Zhen was about to get out of bed, but he paused. “What do you mean?”

But he quickly understood.

“Did you also read the will, requiring me to mourn for three years?”

Ruan Zhen scoffed. “Sorry, it’s not a love token. It’s from my grandfather.”

“No,”

Song Shuang’s eyes were calm. “I was just asking. Also, get well soon.”

He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

The sky grew darker.

Ruan Zhen jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

His forehead was also bandaged, and he wasn’t sure if it had been stitched, but Ruan Zhen didn’t care. His mind was entirely occupied by Song Shuling’s words from a moment ago.

“Who gave you that red string?”

The faucet was turned on, and the gurgling water filled the silence. Ruan Zhen stared silently at his reflection in the mirror.

He hadn’t lied just now.

The red string was indeed a gift from his grandfather.

But he had withheld a small detail.

Ruan Zhen had never been in a relationship, but that didn’t mean no one had ever entered his heart.

It was during a distant summer, long ago.

A tall figure had loomed over him.

On a narrow path behind the school, when he was being bullied by older students, a boy in a school uniform had stepped in front of him.

He reached out, wiping the blood from Ruan Zhen’s face.

Before Ruan Zhen could thank him, the boy turned around and swiftly punched the guy who had tried to sneak up behind him.

Ruan Zhen leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold in a daze.

In the end, the boy picked up the red string that had been torn off during the struggle and tied it back around Ruan Zhen’s wrist.

“It’s okay, I saw it. They started it.”

“You were brave too, fighting back. You did well.”

Only then did Ruan Zhen start to cry softly, not making much noise, just his small face turning red and his thin shoulders trembling.

Why.

Why was he the one being bullied?

The boy seemed unsure of how to comfort him, standing awkwardly in front of him. After a while, he reached out and gently pulled Ruan Zhen into his arms.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“It’s all over now.”

Back then, Ruan Zhen was so young that he cried until he couldn’t breathe, until he was so exhausted that the boy had to carry him home.

He clung to the boy’s neck. “Big brother, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The boy was tall, his body just beginning to fill out, a world away from the “adult” Ruan Zhen aspired to be. He didn’t know when he would grow up.

Growing up, it was such a long journey.

As they stepped into Liupo Alley, the sunlight filtered through the soapberry trees, casting golden speckles on the ground. Amid the noisy cicadas, the boy looked into his eyes.

“This isn’t your fault. Don’t cry.”

But a moment later, he added, “Forget it, cry if you need to.”

Ruan Zhen’s lip trembled, and he started crying again.

“Big brother,”

He sniffled, “I want to grow up faster.”

The boy set him down at the door, smiled, his expression gentle. “Okay.”

Years later, Ruan Zhen had forgotten the boy’s face, but he still remembered the strong arms and the gentle smile.

He wasn’t afraid anymore, and he had grown up bravely.

Ruan Zhen extended his hand, the one with the red string, and wiped away a smudge on the mirror.

He looked at his reflection, his expression calm, his eyes bright.

No matter what the original plot was, no matter how dirty and dark the future might be—

“Come on,”

Ruan Zhen smiled.

“Let’s take on this world together.”