BSS CH 20

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“What do you mean you don’t know who it is?” Liang Jingmin rapped his knuckles against the desk, producing a low, muffled thud.

The administrative manager of the corporate headquarters stood before him with his head bowed. Cold sweat soaked through his shirt, sticking it to his back.

Although the building’s security team maintained rigorous protocols, someone had clearly breached them. Three guards manned every entrance, and employees had to show ID cards to enter. Beyond that, facial recognition ensured access to the office areas. Yet, the system had failed to stop the intruder.

For instance, the security footage didn’t capture the person’s face. Wearing a plain jacket and a baseball cap, the intruder blended easily into the crowd. Using a valid employee ID card, he entered the office area and went straight to Liang Jingmin’s office. There, he left a document at the door and departed immediately.

Since the incident, Liang Jingmin had reviewed all the footage. He confirmed the individual wasn’t Cheng Jing but still couldn’t identify who it was.

A cross-check of the turnstile logs revealed the ID card belonged to an intern who had left the company a month earlier. She had returned her card, but during her tenure, she had reported losing it once.

The manager, now visibly distressed, apologized repeatedly. “She didn’t deactivate the card after losing it, so it could still work. He slipped in during rush hour when guards couldn’t scrutinize every card closely. This person clearly understands our security protocols and exploited the loophole.”

Hearing this, Liang Jingmin’s face darkened. Propping his head on one hand, he fixed his gaze on the desk. After listening to the manager’s explanation, he waved dismissively, signaling him to leave.

The incident ultimately led to the dismissal of the security team and a full upgrade of the ID system.

Meanwhile, the relentless workload had worn Liang Jingmin down. Although he remained extraordinarily resilient, even he had limits.

Outwardly, he seemed composed and meticulous. However, a closer look revealed dark circles under his eyes and a noticeably leaner face, clear signs of his exhaustion.

Once the manager left, Liang Jingmin leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.

His eyes landed on the divorce agreement on his desk, where Cheng Jing’s signature stood out in the lower right corner.

There was no need for handwriting analysis. At a glance, he recognized it as Cheng Jing’s handwriting—flawless and unmistakable.

Unfortunately, the trail of clues stopped there. Liang Jingmin lightly brushed the paper, his gaze downcast, lost in thought.

The thin sheet of paper seemed to carry a trace of warmth. His hand lingered over Cheng Jing’s signature. For some reason, his mind drifted to the note Cheng Jing had left on the bedside table the day he fled the lakeside villa.

Without hesitation, Liang Jingmin retrieved his wallet and pulled out the crumpled note. Written on a pale yellow sticky note, it bore the creases of anger from when he had crushed it. Fragile like a butterfly on the verge of flight, the writing remained legible:

“Congratulations on your upcoming marriage. I’ll step aside. Please stop tormenting me.”

It was signed, “Cheng Jing.”

Placing the note beside the divorce agreement, Liang Jingmin furrowed his brows. Even frowning, he possessed a striking elegance, like ripples forming on a calm lake. As he studied the two signatures, he sensed something was off.

At first glance, the signatures looked identical.

People often say handwriting reflects personality. In Cheng Jing’s case, it perfectly embodied him—slightly cursive, stunningly beautiful, and as refined as a work of art.

Reaching out again, Liang Jingmin touched the signature, as if confirming a suspicion, and abruptly flipped the page over.

That’s when he noticed the discrepancy. The left radical of the character “程” (Cheng) had been written with extra pressure. The ink pressed so hard it bled faintly through the paper.

On the surface, it seemed insignificant—a mere difference in pen pressure. Perhaps it was a coincidence.

But if it was deliberate, what was Cheng Jing trying to say?

Unable to help himself, Liang Jingmin recalled Cheng Jing’s expression on that stormy night. He thought of the look in Cheng Jing’s eyes when he said, “Let’s not meet again.”

His brows had been damp, his gaze calm—marked by that unique detachment Cheng Jing always carried.

Even during their most intimate moments, Cheng Jing occasionally wore that same expression. It was as if the world around him didn’t matter. He seemed like a soulless, fragile figure—pale and strikingly beautiful—whose kisses felt like desecration.

How ironic. Cheng Jing had told him countless times that he hated him. Yet, none of those words stung as deeply as this simple farewell.

The memory felt like a sharp knife twisting in his heart, slicing open flesh and exposing raw pain that made Liang Jingmin nauseous. His stomach churned violently, and he pressed a trembling hand against it as his shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

The searing pain seemed to clutch at his insides, tightening with an invisible force until it felt as though he might vomit out every organ.

If this excruciating torment was the price for holding onto memories, Liang Jingmin was willing to endure it.

By the time the agony subsided, evening had arrived. The sun dipped low in the sky, and the horizon wore a faint, washed-out veil of faded light. Silent and stoic, Liang Jingmin swallowed his pain, shattering alone and stitching himself back together in solitude.

The sky he had seen as a teenager from his bedroom window had often been this dim. Back then, he hid in the closet or under the bed, listening intently to the sound of his father’s footsteps.

Each step brought his heart pounding harder, his hands clamping tightly over his mouth to muffle his breathing. Sometimes, he would hide for the entire night.

Then another child came into his life. Little Arin, too young to control his fear, often cried out. That’s when Liang Jianzhong would come looking. Liang Jingmin had no choice but to step out, bow his head, and call his father. What followed was always a night of brutal beatings.

Back then, he never paused to question whether it was worth it.

As night fell, haunting memories surged to the surface, making even breathing an ordeal. Each breath of air scraped against his lungs like a dull blade, a cruel reminder that he was alive—and that his suffering had no end.

He recalled curling up in the corner of his room, battered and bruised, trying to fall asleep. In his dreams, someone would always appear, placing their hands gently over his eyes. The figure seemed to embody the dream’s ethereal quality, leaning close to whisper in his ear. Yet when he woke, he could never remember what they had said.

The only detail he could recall was the snow-white eyelashes visible between the gaps of those slender fingers.

---

When Cheng Jing woke, his throat felt unbearably dry, as though he hadn’t had a drop of water in years. Even the air he inhaled was coarse, like sand scraping through his windpipe, threatening to tear it apart with each breath.

The darkness around him was absolute. For a moment, he couldn’t recall anything that had happened.

He gasped for air, trying to sit up, but only then did he realize he was bound to the bed. Thick restraints clamped his wrists, ones he recognized as the kind used to prevent psychiatric patients from harming themselves.

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him, but the moment he tried to recall why, a sharp pain stabbed through his head, blocking the memory.

Frantic, he struggled against the restraints and called out, but his voice came out hoarse and raspy. The name he shouted surprised even himself—Liang Jingmin.

Odd. His throat felt like it might crack from thirst, yet he also felt like he was drowning.

Something nearby seemed to register his presence. The next moment, a soft “click” echoed in the room, and the space was abruptly flooded with light. Cheng Jing gasped for air as the brightness hit him.

“You’re awake,” a voice said.

He turned his head.

It was Liang Yulin.

A ghostly shadow, as persistent and irritating as a mosquito you couldn’t swat away. Cheng Jing closed his eyes, unwilling to look at him.

“Still thinking about him?” Liang Yulin laughed. “Or is it just a reflex after he’s tied you up so many times before?”

“I should warn you not to move too much, but I’m sure you’re already familiar with the rules,” he added with a smirk.

Cheng Jing rasped, “Where is this?”

“Not important,” Liang Yulin replied casually. “All you need to know is that you’re in my hands now.”

With that, he reached out and touched Cheng Jing’s brow, his fingers trailing slowly down the bridge of his nose and along his cheek. The gesture carried a lover’s tenderness, yet it sent an icy chill straight to Cheng Jing’s bones.

Cheng Jing tried to pull away, but the restraints held him in place. His eyes darted around, finally taking in the surroundings. It looked like a hospital. The walls were painted a pale blue, and various medical devices he couldn’t name filled the room. If not for Liang Yulin’s sinister face nearby, it might have even felt comforting.

Liang Yulin continued, his tone almost conversational. “While you were out, I ran a few tests. Thankfully, you’re not exactly healthy, but at least you’re intact.”

The ambiguous words sent a shiver of dread through Cheng Jing. His eyelashes trembled violently as he whispered, “What are you planning to do?”

“No rush,” Liang Yulin said with an unsettling grin. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

As Cheng Jing’s awareness sharpened, the pieces started to fall into place. He recalled how he had fallen into Liang Yulin’s trap that night. Now, with no leverage and no way out, he resigned himself to the situation.

Years of misfortune had hardened Cheng Jing, giving him a grim acceptance of reality.

Liang Yulin circled the bed slowly, his footsteps deliberate. “You probably have no idea how long you’ve been out, do you?”

Cheng Jing sensed it had been a long time but didn’t respond, waiting silently for Liang Yulin to continue.

“While you were sleeping, my dear brother turned Xijing upside down looking for you,” Liang Yulin said with a smirk.

Cheng Jing’s face remained indifferent, though he sighed inwardly. “So what? Isn’t that how it always goes?”

Liang Yulin chuckled. “This time is different. This time, I could do him a favor. If he knew you were with me, what do you think he’d do?”

Predictable. Tiresome. Yet another threat. Cheng Jing felt too drained to reply.

Still, his expression darkened. “Liang Yulin, don’t push your luck. You’ve already threatened me enough.”

“I may care about Liang Jingmin, but don’t think he matters so much to me that I’d tolerate his brother tormenting me year after year.”

His voice cracked with exhaustion, and he barely managed to finish the sentence, his anger barely keeping him upright.

Liang Yulin didn’t get angry. Instead, his smile widened. “Don’t be so hasty to decide. Hear me out first.”