When Meng Qingye revealed that he was Meng Jin’s younger brother, the butler, Lester, hurriedly invited him inside. However, the young man stubbornly remained at the doorway like a silent statue, insisting on waiting outside for Meng Jin’s return.
The fading glow of the sunset cast a faint golden halo around him. The brim of his baseball cap was pulled low, obscuring his eyes, yet it couldn’t conceal the air of despair that clung to him, as if he had been pushed to the brink. The veins on the back of his clenched fists bulged, and when he spoke, his dry voice carried an unprecedented humility. “Brother.”
The somewhat unfamiliar address froze the air. “I can join the company. I’ll do whatever you ask east or west, I’ll follow your lead. I…”
A cold, mocking laugh rumbled from Meng Jin’s throat, cutting him off without even lifting his gaze. “Lester, see him out.”
The butler realized he had made another mistake, breaking into a cold sweat as he approached. But then Meng Qingye suddenly lunged forward, too fast for anyone to react, and seized Meng Jin’s arm in a death grip.
“Brother, I’m begging you, just this once.” Bloodshot veins spiderwebbed across Meng Qingye’s eyes, like a trapped beast on the verge of death clutching its only lifeline. “I can’t live without Chen Qinghe… I don’t want anything from the Meng family. I won’t compete with you. I just want my brother back.”
Meng Jin remained noncommittal, expressionlessly prying Meng Qingye’s fingers off one by one. A throbbing pulse beat at his temple. Having no interest in his brother’s schemes, he shot a glance at the bodyguard nearby.
The well-trained bodyguard immediately stepped forward, grabbing Meng Qingye and dragging him outside. Yet, in the midst of this chaos, the familiar sound of a car engine echoed from outside.
Jiaojiao was back.
The thought of possibly being exposed at any moment, risking Chen Jiaojiao’s memories returning, made Meng Jin’s pupils contract sharply. Rage surged within him, and he practically hissed the command through gritted teeth, “Take him to the guest room on the second floor!”
Meng Qingye’s emotions, already teetering on the edge of collapse, suddenly calmed. He sensed something was amiss, his eyes scanning the room, recalling everything he had seen that day.
The swing chair, scattered pet toys, the vibrant flowers at the center of the dining table, the pair of matching slippers neatly placed side by side at the entrance.
Before he could observe more, with a loud “bang,” he was locked inside the room.
Meng Qingye sat on the bed, but his thoughts remained outside. Every detail pointed to one possibility: someone else was living in this house.
And that person was intimately close to Meng Jin.
But didn’t Meng Jin love Meng Xue Yan? Wasn’t he madly, obsessively in love, even resorting to force? How could he possibly shift his affections so quickly?
It was absolutely impossible, unless.
Meng Qingye suddenly looked up and rushed to the window, hiding himself behind the thick curtains.
Down below, Meng Jin was locked in a tight embrace with a young man of elegant demeanor. That person’s figure and aura resembled Meng Xue Yan’s, yet they were distinctly different.
Ever since that incident, Meng Xue Yan would never be this intimate with Meng Jin. So why? The truth seemed almost within reach, yet a thin veil obscured it, making it impossible to see clearly.
While still in the car, Chen Jiaojiao thought he had seen someone else at the house. But when he got out and approached, he only saw Meng Jin standing alone at the doorway, as if waiting for him to come home. This realization stirred a secret sense of satisfaction deep within him.
He had just approached when Meng Jin pulled him forcefully into an embrace. The hug was tight, carrying a hint of unease? Something different from usual.
Perhaps because Meng Jin had always been composed and reliable in front of him, when the emotion of “unease” appeared on him, Chen Jiaojiao was momentarily stunned, feeling a bit at a loss. He imitated the way Meng Jin had once comforted him, pressing Meng Jin’s head against his neck and gently nuzzling his cheek. His voice was soft and gentle, “What’s wrong?”
Feeling Chen Jiaojiao’s warmth, Meng Jin finally suppressed the unease and ferocity in his heart. His voice was muffled against Chen Jiaojiao’s shoulder, “Ran into a difficult client.”
So it was a work-related issue. Chen Jiaojiao breathed a sigh of relief and clumsily comforted him, “Is it hard to handle? Can I help?”
“It’s still within an acceptable range, but I have an online meeting later.” Meng Jin didn’t want to let go, and the two of them remained embraced, moving into the living room in an intimate, inseparable manner. “Of course you can help. Just holding you like this for a while each day is enough to recharge me.”
Chen Jiaojiao’s heart softened, and he hugged Meng Jin back tightly, as if trying to merge into each other’s very bones and blood. Today’s Meng Jin had allowed him a glimpse into a rarely seen side one that could grow tired and show vulnerability. This realization stirred in him a complex mix of emotions, tinged with tenderness.
They held each other for a long time, until the housekeeper finished cooking and left. Only then did Chen Jiaojiao gently push Meng Jin away. Remembering what he had seen when he returned earlier, he glanced around again but didn’t see any guests. “Hmm? No guests at home?”
Meng Jin stiffened slightly, straightening up. His voice carried a note of confusion, “Guests?”
“When I came back earlier, it seemed like there was someone else in the house,” Chen Jiaojiao explained, not thinking much of it. “Maybe I was mistaken.”
Meng Jin led him to wash his hands, carefully pressing the soap dispenser. “Perhaps it was just the housekeeper holding a meeting earlier. You must have seen wrong.”
Chen Jiaojiao didn’t dwell on the matter further. He had only been curious, thinking it might have been one of Meng Jin’s friends visiting.
After dinner, he took Nian Gao out for a walk. Knowing Meng Jin had a meeting that day, he didn’t ask him to come along.
Watching Chen Jiaojiao’s retreating figure, Meng Jin’s gaze gradually turned cold. He stepped onto the staircase, his presence heavy and intimidating.
When he pushed the door open, Meng Qingye was leaning lazily by the window, watching Meng Jin with a composed, almost smug expression, as if he had caught him in a trap. He crossed his arms, “Meng Xue Yan isn’t dead, but she’s lost her memory.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement, delivered with certainty.
Meng Jin let out a cold laugh, looking at his brother, whose demeanor had shifted dramatically. He leisurely sat down on the sofa, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. “So?”
Meng Qingye’s heart raced. He strode over to Meng Jin, planting his hands on the table and looking up at him. “Meng Jin, you don’t want Meng Xue Yan to find out, do you?”
Silence filled the room.
After a long moment, Meng Jin chuckled softly. Without room for refusal, he pinched Meng Qingye’s chin, pressed the half-burned cigarette to his lips, and then patted his cheek a gesture that wasn’t painful but was deeply humiliating. “My dear brother, if you ever want to see Chen Qinghe again in this lifetime, keep pushing your luck.”
Meng Qingye shoved Meng Jin’s hand away, grinding the cigarette out on the tabletop. His eyes blazed with anger, but he was powerless. At this moment, he was nothing.
“Good brother.” Meng Jin slowly stood up, like a truly caring elder brother, and took the initiative to straighten Meng Qingye’s clothes. “Wait until you’re in my position, then you can challenge me, alright?”
“Until then, keep your tail tucked in. From now on, the Meng family will be handed over to you. Learn how to be an heir, including continuing the family line for the Meng family.”
Meng Qingye clenched his knuckles until they cracked. He spoke calmly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his emotions. “Why? You and Meng Xue Yan have had it hard too. You understand this feeling, so why can’t you let me go?”
“Why? Why should I pay the price when I’ve never enjoyed the benefits of the Meng family?”
After all, they were brothers born of the same mother. Meng Jin sighed as he looked at the bandage on Meng Qingye’s wrist. “What else can you do besides crying, making a scene, and threatening suicide?”
“Do you know why Father doesn’t give me a hard time?”
He paused after saying this. “Because I’m no longer the controlled Meng Jin, and you haven’t grown up yet.”
“Crying and making a scene won’t keep someone, but wealth and power can, to some extent.”
At this moment, Meng Jin didn’t yet know how many countless tears he would shed in the future because of this very mindset.
Meanwhile, Chen Jiaojiao had finished walking Nian Gao, washed up, and read for a while, but Meng Jin still hadn’t returned. He lay in bed and unknowingly fell asleep.
After some time, he woke up thirsty. Groggily, he reached toward the side of the bed it was empty. There was no warm water cup on the table as usual.
Overwhelmed by thirst, Chen Jiaojiao half-opened his eyes and walked downstairs barefoot without even putting on shoes. He saw two figures outside they didn’t look like servants, and their silhouettes felt strangely familiar.
Just as he tried to get closer for a better look, Meng Jin, who had just returned from outside, scooped him up in his arms.
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” Meng Jin’s voice carried a barely noticeable tension. He skillfully blocked Chen Jiaojiao’s line of sight with his body, wearing a concerned expression as he deliberately guided the conversation. “Are you sleepwalking?”
“Who’s outside?” Chen Jiaojiao, still drowsy and with sore eyes, tried hard to recall. “That silhouette… I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere.”
“Just some bodyguards. I was giving them instructions.” Meng Jin calmly carried him upstairs, trying to change the subject. “Jiaojiao, why did you come downstairs?”
“I’m thirsty.” Chen Jiaojiao swallowed, his lips dry, and complained a little. “There was no water on the table today.”
He had a habit of drinking water in the middle of the night, so Meng Jin always made sure to leave a glass of water on the table for him before bed.
Meng Jin chuckled softly, his tension easing slightly. “It won’t happen again.”
“But I really feel like I know him.” For some reason, Chen Jiaojiao was unusually persistent today and brought up the topic again, racking his brain to remember. “Is it a friend from back home?”
Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Meng Jin’s expression growing increasingly grim.
Meng Jin’s eyes darkened as he whispered, “Maybe it’s just someone with a similar build. I’ll look into it tomorrow. Don’t think too much about it tonight, my dear. It’s very late.”
Just as Meng Jin placed him back in the room and went to fetch water, Chen Jiaojiao suddenly slipped off the bed and curled up on the carpet. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his head throbbed as if pierced by needles sharp, agonizing pain. His face turned pale as he moaned unconsciously, “Brother, brother.”
When in pain, people always call out the name they subconsciously rely on the most to ease the suffering. Some may call for their mother or father, but Meng Xue Yan always called out “brother.” From childhood to adulthood, it was always this way whether happy or sad, he would call for his brother. To him, his brother was a guardian angel.
Even though he had now become Chen Jiaojiao, the word “brother” remained deeply important in his subconscious, as if the two characters had been carved into his very bones and blood.
The moment Meng Jin entered, this was the scene he witnessed. The water cup shattered with a crash, and he rushed over, tightly embracing the person in his arms, his voice trembling uncontrollably. “Jiaojiao, don’t be afraid. We’re going to the hospital.”
Chen Jiaojiao clung desperately to Meng Jin’s clothes, his eyes flickering with a moment of clarity and coldness before turning blank and hollow again. He murmured to himself, “No… not brother.”
Not brother?
If not brother, then who?