BSS CH 22

The Truth

Liang Jingmin couldn’t answer. His mind felt like a complete blank.

When he burst into the hospital room, he hadn’t noticed what department he was in. It was only now that he realized why the doorways in the hallway were adorned with small dolls.

This was the maternity ward. The nurses here would hang a doll on the door of each room—a pink one for a girl, a blue one for a boy—after a baby was born. There was no suffering here, only countless families celebrating the arrival of new life.

But Cheng Jing looked anything but joyful. In fact, if anything, he seemed entirely indifferent to the concept of a “new beginning.”

Liang Jingmin, of course, had no idea that Cheng Jing had recently been ill.

Because of the pregnancy, the doctors hadn’t dared to prescribe any strong medication. Meanwhile, Liang Yulin had issued strict orders: the baby must be protected at all costs. So, everyone simply watched as Cheng Jing’s condition worsened—coughing up blood, burning with fever until he could barely breathe, his voice hoarse and strained. He hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

And yet, the first thing Liang Jingmin asked was a foolish question:
“What happened to your voice?”

Cheng Jing ignored him.

His gaze was distant, pupils unfocused, as if he had detached himself from the sorrow of just moments ago.

He looked terribly frail. Most people put on weight during pregnancy, but upon closer inspection, his condition was peculiar—his midsection had grown heavier, but his face and limbs were gaunt, consumed by some invisible force. It was as though his body was caught in a macabre tug-of-war.

Cheng Jing had always been in poor health, so it must have been incredibly difficult to carry this child.

When Liang Jingmin had arrived, Liang Yulin hadn’t bothered to tell him that Cheng Jing had undergone a procedure for the pregnancy. Since men could only conceive via artificial means, there was an unspoken question that lingered in the room:
Whose child was this?

The perfect mask Liang Jingmin had worn for so long finally began to crack.

He didn’t dare to think about it. There wasn’t even time to try, because just then, Liang Yulin appeared in the doorway.

It had been months since they’d seen each other. Liang Yulin looked unchanged—if anything, he seemed even more radiant, like a carnivorous flower thriving off the anguish of Liang Jingmin’s suffering.

He opened his mouth, seemingly ready to deliver some cutting remark, but before he could, Liang Jingmin’s fist connected squarely with his face.

The punch landed with full force, a heavy thud echoing through the room as Liang Yulin staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor, a sharp cry of pain escaping him.

What followed was chaos.

Liang Jingmin’s punches poured down like a relentless torrent, each blow carrying years’ worth of pent-up fury. The scene devolved into a mess of shouting, scuffling, and frantic attempts to separate them.

Through it all, Cheng Jing sat quietly on the hospital bed, watching the spectacle as if it had nothing to do with him.

His expression was blank, utterly devoid of emotion. Piece by piece, he seemed to be gathering the fragments of his scattered thoughts, piecing them back together like a jigsaw puzzle. The noise around him began to sharpen into focus, but it made no difference. He remained as still as a statue, unmoved by the chaos unfolding before him.

Cheng Jing’s defense mechanism kicked in, wrapping him in his own thoughts. His reactions slowed to a crawl as if he were transforming into a lethargic sloth, shutting off his sight and hearing to escape reality.

He forced himself not to think about whether Liang Jingmin was the one who had brought him to this inhuman, ghostly state. He forced his mind to go blank, to forget the existence of the world.

Yet instinct acted on his behalf. A sudden, sharp pain tore through his abdomen. He struggled to support himself and reach for the emergency call button, but no matter how hard he tried, it seemed perpetually out of reach.

He reached out again, but the motion only caused him to topple, tangled in the wires and devices attached to him. His frail body collapsed onto the floor with a heart-wrenching crash.

The impact was devastating. Kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach, he began to retch violently.

There was nothing in his stomach to vomit up, so he could only dry heave, his body wracked by suffocating spasms. His ears rang loudly, as if struck by the deafening toll of a bell.

The chaos in the distance came to an abrupt halt. Liang Yulin lay unconscious on the floor, his face smeared with blood. Though he had managed to fight back earlier, Liang Jingmin’s face bore the bruises of their shared violence. The brothers’ bloodline intertwined, their pain indistinguishable as it spilled from one to the other.

Through his dazed state, Liang Jingmin called for a doctor, but no one came quickly enough. Desperate, he reached out and lifted Cheng Jing into his arms.

Cheng Jing, once a tall and elegant man, now felt as fragile as a malnourished child. His head tilted weakly to the side as he continued to dry heave, bile mixed with blood staining Liang Jingmin’s shirt.

Ignoring everything, Liang Jingmin carried him out of the room, shouting for a doctor as he ran. He didn’t stop until someone intercepted them halfway.

The hospital staff rushed Cheng Jing onto a gurney and wheeled him away. Liang Jingmin was left kneeling in the pristine, empty hallway, his anguished screams echoing off the sterile walls.

For the first time, he truly tasted the bitterness of his own actions.

---

The fight between the brothers was quietly brushed aside. Liang Yulin’s injuries weren’t serious, and by late that night, Liang Jingmin was already sitting neatly dressed at the desk of Cheng Jing’s attending physician. The topic: terminating the pregnancy.

The doctor hesitated, clearly uneasy. Liang Yulin hadn’t revealed much, and the doctor admitted he hadn’t known the full context when he performed the initial procedure.

“I mentioned before that Mr. Cheng’s health made him unsuitable for a transplant surgery,” the doctor began. “Many of the indicators weren’t ideal, especially since he had just suffered severe injuries when he first came in. But the other Mr. Liang insisted, and Mr. Cheng himself agreed…”

“What severe injuries?” Liang Jingmin asked, his voice low and restrained, trying not to lose his temper.

The doctor pulled up the records on his computer. “In early January, he attempted suicide by slashing his wrists. He was saved, but when Mr. Liang brought him to me, his condition was still very poor.”

Turning to face Liang Jingmin fully, the doctor adjusted his glasses and added gravely, “When I say ‘poor,’ I’m referring to both his physical and mental state.”

“They were adamant. And despite everything, Mr. Cheng cooperated throughout. To be honest, the process was extremely difficult. We failed more than once before reaching a stable outcome. It’s been a miracle to get to this point.”

“The surgery is done, and there’s no turning back now. Given his current condition, terminating the pregnancy would do more harm than good. My recommendation is for a natural delivery. It will be difficult, but at least it won’t be life-threatening.”

The doctor went on at length, emphasizing that termination was not an option. These risks had been made clear to Cheng Jing before the procedure, and he had consented.

Liang Jingmin clenched his fists, resisting the urge to smash something. His voice was dark and oppressive as he asked, “If we perform the surgery now to terminate the pregnancy, what are his chances of survival?”

The doctor exhaled heavily, his expression resigned. “I can’t guarantee anything, but at most, 20%.”

Liang Jingmin nodded, his face a blank slate. He had no more words. Rising from his seat, he gave the doctor a slight nod of thanks before leaving.

When he returned to the hospital room, Cheng Jing was already asleep.

He pulled the blanket back over Cheng Jing’s frail form and adjusted the air conditioning to a more comfortable temperature. In the dim light of the moon, he took a long, silent look at Cheng Jing’s sleeping face.

It had been far too long since he had last seen him, and now, Liang Jingmin couldn’t help but get lost in the sight. Cheng Jing’s sleep was restless—his brows were furrowed ever so slightly, a look reminiscent of the times he’d struggle with a particularly tricky question back in school.

Cheng Jing had always excelled in math and science, but his language skills, particularly in Chinese and English, were notoriously lacking. Liang Jingmin, on the other hand, was a rare all-rounder, good at every subject.

During their second year in high school, after Cheng Jing failed spectacularly on a language test—missing all three questions on the first reading comprehension—Liang Jingmin, as the top student in the subject, was assigned to help him.

Leaning against Cheng Jing’s desk, elbow propped up casually, Liang Jingmin methodically explained the logic behind the first question. But Cheng Jing wasn’t listening. His eyes had wandered to the black mechanical watch on Liang Jingmin’s wrist, and he seemed lost in his own world.

Their desk mate, a girl with a mischievous grin, leaned over and teased, “Cheng Jing, your handwriting is so pretty. How can your language skills be so awful?”

Cheng Jing laughed bitterly and rubbed his temple with a curled finger. “You can’t have it all, can you? Nobody gets to be perfect.”

Halfway through explaining the question, Liang Jingmin let out a brief, amused chuckle. It lasted only a second, but Cheng Jing caught it.

Cheng Jing’s eyes, wide and filled with unspoken curiosity, resembled a young deer’s—clumsy, alive, and impossibly clear. The sight struck Liang Jingmin then, as it did now, standing beside Cheng Jing’s hospital bed. But the vibrant boy he remembered had faded, replaced by a pale, fragile figure. Cheng Jing now seemed as weightless as paper, his breaths and faint heartbeat the only signs of life.

Liang Jingmin felt a sharp ache in his chest, a pain that overwhelmed him, stealing his breath. His heart broke before his tears even had a chance to fall.

The monitor’s sudden beep shattered the quiet, amplifying the sound of Cheng Jing’s labored breathing. His body curled instinctively, caught in the grip of a nightmare.

---

In his dream, Cheng Jing relived the day he was caught by Liang Yulin.

“Don’t rush into a decision,” Liang Yulin had said, his voice smooth and persuasive. “Hear me out. I’m giving you two choices.”

He grinned, a cruelly cheerful expression. “Option one: Remember that news clip you just saw? I’ll make sure it’s plastered across every front page, complete with your battered face. And not just that—your parents, classmates, everyone close to you will get the full package of your miserable past. I’ll make sure they know everything. People love gossip, don’t they?”

“Option two: For the next few days, you’ll do everything I tell you to do.”

Cheng Jing raised his eyes slowly, his voice cold and sharp as ice. “Don’t think for a second I’ll let you manipulate me. I hate being forced.”

Liang Yulin stepped closer, lifting Cheng Jing’s chin with a finger. “Don’t be so quick to call this coercion. Coercion implies you have another option. Look around, Cheng Jing,” he said with a mocking shake of his head. “You’re out of options.”

As his face hovered dangerously close, the resemblance to Liang Jingmin became startling. From the sharp jawline to the high-bridged nose, their features shared an uncanny similarity. In Cheng Jing’s mind, the two brothers blurred together, both equally detestable.

Even in his despair, Cheng Jing refused to back down. Through clenched teeth, he growled, “I’ll never give you what you want…”

“Think carefully before you reject me,” Liang Yulin whispered, his voice dripping with malice. “Think about what happens next. If this gets out, what happens to Liang Jingmin? To you?”

His words dripped like poison, his tone serpentine. “He’ll lose everything—his career, his reputation, all his years of hard work, gone in an instant. And you? You’ll drown in guilt for ruining him. You’ll live with that burden forever, Cheng Jing.”

“You know I’m right. Even years from now, when the truth finally comes out, he might find some meaningless justice, but you? You’ll be sitting in prison, condemned for slander. Everyone will despise you.”

“And your parents,” Liang Yulin added, his voice calm and deliberate, as though he were reading a bedtime story. “They’ve poured so much into you, haven’t they? Do you want all their efforts to go to waste? If you choose the first option, they’ll lose everything, too.”

Cheng Jing’s breathing quickened, his trembling hands betraying the storm inside him. Liang Yulin watched with satisfaction, his eyes narrowing. “Looks like you’re starting to reconsider.”

“I bet you’re dying to know what the second option is, aren’t you? Should I tell you?”

Cheng Jing lowered his eyes, breathing heavily. He looked like a cornered cat held by the scruff of its neck, helpless and terrified.

Leaning closer, Liang Yulin spoke softly, almost playfully. “It’s simple. I don’t plan on getting married or having kids, but my dear old father? He’s desperate for a grandchild. You and Liang Jingmin have been married for years. Don’t you think it’s about time you had a baby?”

Cheng Jing stared at him in shock. “What did you just say?”

“Relax. It’s just artificial insemination. A couple of procedures and voilà.” His tone was casual, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.

The idea was absurd. It made no sense. There was no benefit for Liang Yulin except, perhaps, tormenting Cheng Jing.

Yet every word, every calculated threat, had led to this bizarre proposition.

Why?

Cheng Jing couldn’t make sense of it. His lips parted in a dry, humorless laugh. “And what do you gain from this?”

Liang Yulin spread his hands in mock innocence. “Didn’t I just explain? It’s for my father. I’m a filial son, after all.”

Cheng Jing’s laugh turned bitter. “Everyone knows how much you and your brother despise him. If you want me to agree, at least come up with a believable lie.”

For a moment, Liang Yulin said nothing.

But his silence spoke volumes. In his eyes, Cheng Jing saw mockery—and hatred.

A chilling realization hit Cheng Jing like a wave.

Liang Yulin wasn’t trying to help anyone. This was about vengeance. The child would bind Cheng Jing and Liang Jingmin together forever, a permanent chain neither could break. And that innocent baby would become just another pawn in Liang Yulin’s twisted game of revenge.

The hatred burning in Liang Yulin’s gaze left no doubt—he wouldn’t stop until Liang Jingmin’s life was in ruins.

Liang Jingmin was almost invincible—unyielding and without apparent flaws. The only unpredictable element in his life was Cheng Jing.

Cheng Jing weighed his two impossible choices with a sense of utter despair.

He remained silent for a long, long time, so long that the motion-sensor hallway lights turned off and on again, and Liang Yulin paced back and forth, growing impatient.

Cheng Jing’s eyes seemed to have been dry for a thousand years, yet in the dim yellowish light, his gaze shifted slightly, glimmering faintly like flickering lanterns in a red rainstorm. It was the look of someone caught between overwhelming anguish and searing resolve.

“Fine,” he finally said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll choose the second option.”

Liang Yulin clapped his hands, grinning with satisfaction. “Good.”

“But untie me first. I need to use the bathroom.”

Liang Yulin wasn’t foolish enough to let him move freely without precautions. But knowing the room was surrounded by his men, he saw no harm in loosening Cheng Jing’s restraints.

He made sure to issue a warning, though: “Don’t bother trying anything stupid. There’s nowhere to run, and if you even think of defying me, I’ll make sure you lose even the illusion of choice.”

Cheng Jing simply stood up quietly, his face unnervingly calm, and walked into the hospital room’s bathroom.

His eerie composure gave Liang Yulin a moment’s pause. Had Cheng Jing truly understood the gravity of his words?

Then, a memory of Cheng Jing’s gleaming, determined eyes flashed through Liang Yulin’s mind, triggering a strange, creeping unease. Acting on instinct, he rushed to the bathroom door, only to find it locked.

Frantically, he forced the door open.

He was too late.

Blinding light filled the small space as Liang Yulin stepped inside, where Cheng Jing stood, staring at him with a faint, almost childlike smile. In his hand, he held a jagged shard of glass, freshly broken from the mirror.

“Stop!” Liang Yulin shouted, panic lacing his voice.

Cheng Jing met his gaze, his expression shifting to one of complex calm—a mix of pity and resignation.

Without hesitation, he turned the glass shard on himself, slashing deeply across his wrist. Bright red blood spurted out, staining everything in its path.

The room was suddenly awash in crimson—a horrifying testament to the cost of coercion. Cheng Jing had sent his message with unmistakable clarity: no amount of pressure could force him to comply.

Perhaps Liang Yulin should have known. Cheng Jing wasn’t the type to yield.

Maybe it was because he loved Liang Jingmin too deeply to allow himself to be used as a weapon against him.

Or maybe, after years of being treated as a pawn, always trapped in fear and anxiety, he had grown weary. Death, in a way, was its own form of freedom.

As Cheng Jing’s body crumpled to the floor, Liang Yulin realized he might never know the full answer.

---

Cheng Jing jolted awake, gasping for air.

The vividness of the dream had dragged him back to that moment—reopening the wounds of despair and pain. His right hand pressed tightly against his left wrist as he panted heavily, his chest heaving.

Liang Jingmin rushed forward and clasped his hand, his voice low and urgent: “Cheng Jing, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Wake up.”

But when Cheng Jing’s eyes locked onto Liang Jingmin’s face, fear consumed him. He recoiled violently, as if the mere touch of his skin was unbearable.

The shock in Liang Jingmin’s expression was fleeting but palpable. He quickly released Cheng Jing’s hand, stepping back like a man who feared his presence alone might cause harm. His face darkened with a flicker of silent hurt.

He regained his usual stern expression and took two steps back. Once Liang Jingmin moved a bit farther away, Cheng Jing’s tense body relaxed slightly. He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and took a few sips.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, easing the dry rasp in his throat. He frowned, glancing at Liang Jingmin.

The night softened the earlier turbulence between them, and both seemed calmer, with the sharp edges of their confrontation dulled.

“Why are you still here?” Cheng Jing asked coldly, his words clipped, likely because of his sore throat. “Get lost.”

Moments earlier, Liang Jingmin’s face had shown concern, but Cheng Jing’s words quickly erased it. His demeanor shifted to detached professionalism as he announced, “I’m here to inform you that the doctor said your emotional state was unstable today. You’ll need to stay under observation for a few more days. Once things are stable, we’ll head back to the villa in two or three days.”

In the past, hearing the mention of returning to the villa would have left Cheng Jing breathless with dread. This time, however, he seemed almost indifferent, asking hollowly, “What for?”

“To rest and recover,” Liang Jingmin replied.

Cheng Jing’s lips curved into a mocking smile. He repeated slowly, with a trace of disdain, “To rest and recover.”

His voice was calm and deliberate, as if he had resigned himself to the reality of the situation but found the phrasing bitterly ironic.

Cheng Jing fixed his gaze on Liang Jingmin’s eyes, his breathing so faint it was almost inaudible, waiting for the usual explosion of anger that would send Liang Jingmin charging toward him. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Liang Jingmin stayed where he was, the distance he’d retreated earlier now feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.

Under the faint glow of the night, his cold eyes seemed to hold a sorrow too complex to put into words—a sorrow that, inexplicably, made Cheng Jing’s chest ache.

An illusion, surely.

Suddenly, Liang Jingmin reached out and switched on the hospital room’s lights. The stark, white brightness flooded the space, and tears rolled silently down Cheng Jing’s face.

Perhaps it was just the glare—his eyes had always been sensitive to light, often tearing up because of it.

He pulled his left hand out from under the blanket, placing it beside him and showing it to Liang Jingmin. A fresh, angry scar ran across his wrist, raw and jarring.

Liang Jingmin stared at the scar before stepping closer. He pulled up a chair, sat by the bed, and placed his hand gently over Cheng Jing’s.

Cheng Jing’s voice was quiet, tinged with a deep sadness. He asked, almost absently, “Why are you only coming to me now?”

Liang Jingmin was silent for a long time before finally responding, “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

Cheng Jing gave a bitter, restrained smile.

On the bedside table sat a basket of fresh fruit. Liang Jingmin reached over, picked out a folding knife from among the fruits, and handed it to Cheng Jing.

The knife was compact, more like a sharp dagger than a simple fruit knife.

“If you have nightmares,” Liang Jingmin said in a low voice, “holding onto this might make you feel a little safer.”

Cheng Jing looked at him skeptically but ultimately accepted the knife, holding it close to his chest.

---

Whether by coincidence or something more, Cheng Jing fell into a rare, dreamless sleep that night. For the first time in ages, he woke up feeling somewhat rested.

It was almost noon when he finally stirred fully awake, finding that Liang Jingmin was no longer in the room.

Sensitive to light, Cheng Jing noticed the curtains had been drawn, casting the room in a soft, muted glow that gave it a warm atmosphere. Turning his head, he saw a small bouquet of freshly cut roses placed by his bedside.

As if on cue, a nurse walked in and noticed Cheng Jing looking at the flowers. She remarked stiffly, “I bought them this morning. Nice, aren’t they?”

Cheng Jing glanced at her without a word, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t need to guess—he knew the roses had been left by Liang Jingmin.

Cheng Jing couldn’t quite recall when he first realized Liang Jingmin had a fondness for such things, but the knowledge came to him instinctively.

He remembered the recent fireworks display in Xijing. That evening, he’d brought roses to Liang Jingmin, determined to see him.

Cheng Jing picked out a rose from the bouquet, droplets of water falling onto the pristine white sheets.

At some point, the idea of roses and burial—two seemingly unrelated concepts—had become intertwined in cliché romance novels. It was as if roses only achieved their eternal romantic symbolism when laid in a cemetery as part of a tribute.

Cheng Jing raised the rose to his face, inhaling its fragrance. The red petals reflected in his eyes, resembling the sun sinking into the sea.

Flowers? Cheng Jing thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. So Liang Jingmin could be this sentimental after all.

He lowered his gaze, admiring the flower with an expression of peace that the young nurse had never seen on him before. For a moment, she froze, unable to move.

During his bedrest, Cheng Jing often passed the time playing mobile games. When he grew too fatigued for intense focus, he’d turn to simpler games like Hopscotch or Snake.

These games required no special skills, had no complicated rules, and didn’t demand teamwork, yet they were enough to while away the hours. And Cheng Jing had plenty of time, enough to master even these trivial games.

When Zhao Duning arrived with a child in tow, Cheng Jing had just woken up and was sitting on the stark white hospital bed, playing Hopscotch on his phone. He’d just crossed the 1,000-point mark.

The rumor Zhao Duning had shared with Liang Jingmin—that Cheng Jing had appeared at the previous hospital—was true.

At the time, Cheng Jing hadn’t settled on a hospital for his delivery, so Liang Yulin had taken him to visit several doctors. It was during one of these visits that they’d run into Zhao Duning, who had brought Diandian for a checkup.

Curious about Cheng Jing, Zhao Duning had seized the chance to approach him. Surprisingly, after a brief conversation, neither of them found the other unpleasant. Two people who seemed ill-suited to friendship became friends, and that connection remained.

Sensing from Cheng Jing’s tone that he still harbored feelings for Liang Jingmin, Zhao Duning had resolved to help. She wasted no time passing the information along.

What she hadn’t anticipated was that Liang Yulin had foreseen her move. He switched hospitals while she was abroad, carefully ensuring that staff at the previous hospital would inform him immediately if Liang Jingmin came searching.

Liang Yulin had set a meticulous trap, waiting for someone blinded by emotion to walk right into it.

Zhao Duning had only just returned to the country the day before and hadn’t had time to reconnect with friends. Upon hearing about Cheng Jing’s condition, she rushed over.

Noticing her arrival out of the corner of his eye, Cheng Jing casually finished his game and looked up to greet her.

The child holding her hand turned out to be none other than Diandian, whom Cheng Jing hadn’t seen in a long time. The little boy, dressed in an immaculate kindergarten uniform, still exuded the same lively energy. The moment he saw Cheng Jing, he flung himself onto him. With his cherubic face close to Cheng Jing’s, he said sweetly, “Uncle, you’re so handsome!”

Cheng Jing, still recovering from an episode the previous day, wasn’t in the best condition to handle a boisterous child. Before entering, Zhao Duning had been warned by the nurse, and seeing this scene made her heart race. She immediately put on a stern expression, raising her voice, “Diandian, get off him right now!”

But Diandian, all charm and mischief, clearly captivated Cheng Jing. With a slight shake of his head, Cheng Jing signaled to Zhao Duning that it was fine.

Chastised, Diandian climbed down reluctantly but stayed perched on the edge of the bed. He poked Cheng Jing’s stomach with a tiny finger and asked in a whisper, “Do you have a baby in there?”

The child, unaware of the tangled web of events that had led to this moment, innocently voiced what no one else dared to mention.

For a moment, Cheng Jing stiffened, unable to respond. The room fell into a brief, uneasy silence.

Zhao Duning broke into a cold sweat from the child’s blunt question, silently cursing how children seemed to be little debt collectors from past lives. Her tone grew sharper as she scolded, “Diandian!”

Diandian’s big, grape-like eyes blinked rapidly, showing a mix of fear and confusion.

Cheng Jing intervened gently, “It’s okay. Don’t be too harsh on him—he doesn’t know any better.”

He looked down at Diandian, who was leaning against him, and reached out to lightly touch the boy’s soft cheek. With a faint smile, he said to Zhao Duning, “He’s so good-looking, just like you.”

Zhao Duning couldn’t help but laugh. She stepped forward, reaching out to guide Diandian off the bed. “Just don’t say his personality is like mine—I’m not nearly as troublesome as he is.”

Diandian still refused to budge. Cheng Jing chuckled. “It’s fine, let him stay. He’s not bothering me.”

Relenting, Zhao Duning nodded and softened her tone. “Uncle is recovering, Diandian. You need to be good and listen.”

Diandian obediently nodded but soon turned to Cheng Jing with another question. “Why is your hair that color?”

Cheng Jing patiently explained, “I was born this way. I dyed it black before, but now it’s growing out a bit, so it looks strange.”

“Why are you a man? Everyone’s moms are women.” Diandian’s voice was soft and innocent, full of curiosity.

To a child, the world revolves around their own little bubble. Diandian knew only his mom and his friend Cindy’s mom and assumed that everyone who had babies had to be women. Cheng Jing, thin and unusual-looking, and most importantly a man, was something entirely outside the norm in Diandian’s small universe.

Cheng Jing didn’t answer right away. A sudden wave of emotion swelled in his chest, leaving him feeling both sour and achingly hollow.

What was he now, really?

Not quite a mother, yet far from what anyone would call normal. And when the child growing inside him was finally born, would they look up at him with the same innocent curiosity as Diandian? Would they ask why their parent wasn’t like the other moms, why they seemed so lonely, different, and ugly.

Cheng Jing fell silent.

Diandian noticed his discomfort and seemed to sense that he had said something wrong, though he couldn’t quite figure out what. He curled his small body closer, leaning into Cheng Jing’s embrace. With a tiny hand, he gently patted Cheng Jing’s arm and said, “Uncle, are you feeling bad? When Cindy’s mom was having her little sister, she always felt bad too. Let me pat you—don’t feel bad, Uncle.”

Outside, the wind was soft, carrying with it a stillness. Even Zhao Duning’s eyes softened, a mix of tenderness and sadness flickering in her gaze.

Her back was damp with cold sweat, torn between panic and heartbreak. She wished she could seal Diandian’s mouth shut. Instead, she hastily changed the subject. “Where’s Liang Jingmin? Didn’t he rush here? Where is he now?”

Cheng Jing shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.

At that moment, Liang Jingmin had just finished a remote conference call. He was sitting in Liang Yulin’s hospital room, peeling an apple.

His apple-peeling skills were clearly lacking; the skin came off in jagged, uneven chunks, as though he were more focused on killing time than the task at hand.

Liang Yulin’s face was wrapped in gauze, revealing only his eyes and mouth. One of his eyes was bruised, giving him a pitiful appearance, though his injuries weren’t severe.

The sharpness he usually carried had diminished significantly. For once, his tone was neutral as he said, “You’re here.”

Liang Jingmin glanced at him but didn’t say a word.

Liang Yulin smirked. “It’s the first time you’ve ever really fought me.”

Ignoring the comment, Liang Jingmin asked directly, “Why is Cheng Jing pregnant?”

Liang Yulin didn’t answer, instead speaking to himself. “When you hit me, you looked just like Liang Jianzhong. No matter how hard you try to distance yourself from him, despising the father-son bond, the two of you are exactly the same.”

He repeated the words, emphasizing each one. “Ex-act-ly the same.”

Liang Jingmin’s patience ran out. He tossed the mutilated apple into the trash and grabbed Liang Yulin by the throat. “Answer my question.”

Liang Yulin, too weak to fight back, winced as the movement pulled at his wounds. “We made a… small deal.”

“What deal?”

Through gritted teeth, Liang Yulin replied, “Why should I tell you?”

It was obvious he wasn’t truly unwilling to speak but was savoring the chance to provoke Liang Jingmin. But Liang Jingmin wasn’t in the mood for games. He picked up the small fruit knife and pressed it against Liang Yulin’s thigh. Just as the blade touched his skin, Liang Yulin panicked and said, “Wait! I’ll tell you!”

Liang Jingmin released him, watching as he caught his breath.

Finally, Liang Yulin spoke, dropping a bombshell. “I agreed to keep some of his secrets. In exchange, he agreed to carry my child.”

Though most of his face was obscured by gauze, his eyes sparkled with sly amusement.

Seeing Liang Jingmin’s stunned expression, he chuckled. “Liang Jingmin, you didn’t seriously think the child was yours, did you?”

In their social circles, it wasn’t uncommon for people of their generation to have frozen samples stored as a precaution against the unexpected. Liang Yulin, with his connections, wouldn’t have had any trouble using one.

Subconsciously, Liang Jingmin had assumed the child was his. He’d told himself he didn’t care either way and hadn’t dwelled on it. Yet, deep down, he had quietly hoped that it was his and Cheng Jing’s child.

Family and children had never been something he longed for. Even during his years of marriage to Cheng Jing, he had never brought up the idea. Perhaps he didn’t care enough, or perhaps he didn’t see the need.

Conception is a significant medical procedure. While it doesn’t cause permanent harm, the pain and energy required are enormous. When Liang Jingmin first heard about it, his immediate reaction was to terminate the pregnancy. Only after consulting with the doctor did he abandon the idea.

Liang Yulin didn’t like Cheng Jing. Why would he go to such lengths?

“What’s the point of all this?” Liang Jingmin’s voice carried clear anger. “To torture him—and me too?”

Liang Yulin laughed.

Liang Jingmin remembered when his brother used to be a cheerful child. But now, every one of his smiles sent a chill down the spine.

Softly, almost mockingly, Liang Yulin said, “Exactly, brother. Isn’t it obvious?”

“I don’t just want those precious bargaining chips of yours. More importantly, I want Cheng Jing to hate you for the rest of his life.”

“Remember when you were fifteen?” A flicker of memory clouded Liang Yulin’s eyes, and his voice slowed.

“Back then, we were both suffering under Liang Jianzhong. One night, I whispered to you under the covers, ‘Let’s run away. We’ll take a bus out of Xijing and escape that hypocritical madman. We can survive together in a small, faraway town.’”

“But what did you say to me? Coldly, you replied, ‘It’s impossible. We’ll never escape.’ And yet, just a month later, you went to Yuecheng all by yourself.”

“At first, I couldn’t understand why you left like that without even saying a word to me. How ridiculous—I even thought you had some kind of hidden reason.”

Suddenly, his tone sharpened, voice cutting like a blade. “But later, I understood. You’re nothing but a liar! You ruined my plan while secretly scheming your own escape. You left me behind to dangle like bait for Liang Jianzhong. Liang Jingmin, you really are a master strategist!”

Liang Jingmin stared at him coldly, his gaze unreadable.

When Liang Yulin didn’t continue, Liang Jingmin spoke. “I thought about taking you with me, but I couldn’t.”

What he didn’t say was how he had meticulously planned to transfer Liang Yulin to Yuecheng once he was settled—even finding a school for him. But Liang Jianzhong, attending a parent-teacher meeting, intercepted him and crushed the plan, leaving Liang Jingmin to pay a steep price for his efforts.

By the time he had the means to bring Liang Yulin to his side, his brother had become someone he no longer recognized.

But what was the point of explaining now? The affectionate A-Lin who once loved him was gone. Liang Jingmin wasn’t one to do meaningless things. Instead, he retorted sharply, “Besides, you were so weak back then, you’d spill everything with just a slap. If I’d told you, do you think we’d have gotten anywhere?”

Liang Yulin laughed bitterly, closing his eyes as though trying to suppress some emotions.

When he opened them again, they were bloodshot, his expression manic. “What happened back then doesn’t matter anymore. Now, I just want you to pay.”

Liang Jingmin’s hands trembled, his suppressed emotions finally breaking free. He grabbed Liang Yulin’s throat, his voice a low, furious roar. “You want me to pay? Then come at me! All these years, haven’t you been scheming every second to make me pay? My dear brother, always tripping me up, always dragging me down—isn’t that enough?”

“I’ve endured you for years, indulged you—and fine, I can live with your hatred. But why drag him into this? Why do this to him? What does torturing him gain you? Why can’t you just leave him alone?”

Liang Jingmin’s voice trembled with emotion as his grip tightened. Liang Yulin’s breathing became labored, his face reddening, yet his expression remained disturbingly calm. Straining, he rasped, “You must hate me now, don’t you, brother?”

With a roar, Liang Jingmin let go, hurling Liang Yulin backward. His head struck the wall with a dull thud.

Catching his breath, Liang Yulin’s expression only grew more unhinged. “I want you to watch as the person you love the most and the one you hate the most become forever tied by blood. This child will be my dagger, lodged in your heart. As long as he lives, you’ll suffer.”

“You won’t kill this child—I know you can’t. You came to me because you thought you still had a chance. But deep down, you know, from this moment on, you’ve already lost.”

“You’re insane.” A haze clouded Liang Jingmin’s eyes as he shook his head slowly.

Liang Yulin sneered, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his face. “Seeing you like this today already brings me some comfort. But I know there’s so much more to come.”

“Liang Jingmin, the day you kneel before me and admit defeat, willingly and completely—that’s the day I’ll be satisfied.”

Then, tilting his head slightly, he added softly, “No, actually, I don’t think I ever will. I want to watch you struggle and suffer for the rest of your life, a thousand times worse than my despair back then. Only then will I be satisfied.”

“You think I’m a monster now, don’t you, brother? Don’t forget—you’re the one who created this monster with your own hands.”

Liang Yulin’s laughter was venomous, but his gaze shifted suddenly. Following his eyes, Liang Jingmin turned—

To see Cheng Jing standing pale in the doorway, staring at him with a calm, distant expression.

That look, so familiar to Liang Jingmin, carried the coldness of winter.

His heart clenched with panic. “Cheng Jing… how much did you hear?”