Why?
The question circled wildly in his mind like a curse.
Why that sudden, explosive rage? Why that palpable fear? Why hand him the towel and the sobriety pill? Why check for injuries with such a clumsy, almost frantic posture?
This was not the Li Chenzhou he knew.
The Li Chenzhou of his memory was cold, indifferent, and looked at him as if he were nothing—or, at most, displayed a high-handed sense of protectiveness over a possessed object. It was like maintaining a car or an antique; he simply wouldn’t allow others to touch or defile what belonged to him.
But the Li Chenzhou from just now was different.
That forceful protective stance, that flash of near-uncontrolled worry and lingering dread in the depths of his eyes, it was too real. It was so real that it filled Lin Yang with both terror and confusion.
He closed his eyes, and the scene on the balcony replayed vividly. The sudden appearance of Li Chenzhou’s icy silhouette, the ruthlessness with which he crushed President Qian’s wrist, the heavy, rapid heartbeat against Lin Yang’s ear when he was pulled into that embrace, and the low, raspy interrogation: “Are you alright? Did he touch you?”
“He doesn’t drink.
” — ”
Wipe your face.
” — ”
It’s not alcohol. You’ll feel better if you take it.
” — ”
Does it hurt?”
Those stiff, almost awkward words and actions created a massive rift between this man and the cold, indifferent image he projected daily.
In a daze, buried fragments of broken memories from his past life began to struggle to the surface of his consciousness.
It was another gala. The lights were flashing, and figures moved like ghosts. He was surrounded by people pressuring him to drink, glass after glass. His stomach burned, and his head spun. Instinctively, he had looked toward the only man who could rescue him from the predicament.
Li Chenzhou was standing not far away, at the edge of the light and shadow, holding a glass and talking to someone. He seemed to sense the gaze and turned his head. The lights were blurry, and Lin Yang couldn’t see his full expression, but he remembered those deep eyes. In the flickering shadows, there had seemed to be a fleeting flash of something—an emotion resembling irritability mixed with worry.
It was faint and fast, so fast that he had assumed it was an illusion brought on by the alcohol. Then, Li Chenzhou had looked away and continued his conversation, never glancing back at him again. Lin Yang’s heart had chilled then; he was certain it had been a hallucination. How could Li Chenzhou worry about him? The man probably wanted his eyesore of a “wife” to make a fool of himself.
Later… later, he seemed to have been led away from the venue while still dazed. It was Li Chenzhou’s assistant, Cheng Wei, who had come for him, citing “President Li’s instructions.” At the time, Lin Yang was in a fog and only thought that Li Chenzhou found him embarrassing. He hadn’t given it a second thought.
There was another time when he was sick with a high fever, lying in bed in a stupor. He was parched in the middle of the night and struggled to get water but lacked the strength. In his blurred vision, someone seemed to enter the room, helping him up with stiff movements to feed him water. The person’s palms were hot, and the movements were far from gentle—clumsy even, making him cough several times. He had struggled to open his eyes and saw only a blurred, familiar cold profile flash by under the dim bedside lamp, followed by the sound of the door closing.
He was so delirious with fever then that he assumed it was a hallucination or perhaps a servant. How could Li Chenzhou visit him in the middle of the night? Let alone feed him water?
These minor details—deliberately forgotten or perhaps buried by the despair of his past life—now became exceptionally clear due to Li Chenzhou’s abnormal behavior tonight. They violently attacked Lin Yang’s perceptions.
What if… what if it wasn’t an illusion?
What if, in his past life, beneath that frozen exterior, there had once been a sliver of twisted, incomprehensible concern?
Once the thought took root, it grew like a wild vine, wrapping around him until he could barely breathe. But why? If there was even a shred of care, why had he treated him so coldly? Why did he choose to turn his head away when Lin Yang most desperately needed help? Why did he ultimately allow or even personally push him into that abyss?
Countless questions and chaotic emotions tore at his mind. Fear, confusion, suspicion, and a tiny, wavering doubt that he didn’t even dare to examine. The foundation of his understanding that Li Chenzhou was a cold-blooded animal who felt only disgust and utility for him began to crack.
But this crack brought no relief; instead, it plunged him into a deeper panic. If Li Chenzhou was not who he imagined, then where did his rebirth, his escape, and all his hatred and fear belong? How many secrets was this man hiding?
Lin Yang buried his face deep into his knees. The cold touch of the wet towel against his temple couldn’t cool his chaotic, burning thoughts.
Faint movements came from outside the door. It sounded like Cheng Wei’s calm, methodical voice handling the aftermath. President Qian’s unpleasant wailing had long since vanished. The gala seemed to be continuing; the music was faintly audible, but it all felt as if it were in another world. This small restroom had become a bizarre sanctuary, temporarily isolating him from the storm outside.
And the man who had brought him here, locked the door, handed him the towel and pill, and clumsily checked for injuries… he was the eye of the storm itself.
After an unknown amount of time, there was a soft knock on the door. Lin Yang snapped his head up, his heart tightening again.
“Mr. Lin.” It was Cheng Wei’s usual calm, restrained voice. “The matter has been handled. President Li is waiting for you in the car. If you need more time to rest, I can.”
“No need,” Lin Yang interrupted, his voice still a bit raspy. He didn’t want to stay here alone, and he didn’t want to face the prying eyes outside.
He took a deep breath, braced himself against the wall to stand up, and tidied his slightly wrinkled suit and messy hair. The person in the mirror was still pale, but his eyes held something complex and difficult to discern.
He opened the door. Cheng Wei stood respectfully outside, his face devoid of any unnecessary expression, as if the conflict on the balcony had never happened.
“Please follow me.” He led Lin Yang through a relatively secluded passage directly to the hotel’s underground parking lot.
The black Rolls-Royce was waiting silently. Cheng Wei opened the door for him. Lin Yang bent over and sat inside. Li Chenzhou was already seated on the other side of the rear seat. The window was halfway down; he was looking out, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. The lines of his profile looked exceptionally hard and distant in the flickering light.
Hearing the movement, he turned his head. His gaze fell on Lin Yang—deep and unreadable. Those intense emotions from before seemed to have been completely suppressed, leaving only his usual indifference.
Their eyes met briefly. Lin Yang was the first to look away, but his heart uncontrollably skipped a beat. Li Chenzhou put out the cigarette and rolled up the window. The car filled with a faint scent of tobacco mixed with his cold, woody fragrance.
The car moved smoothly out of the parking lot and joined the nightly traffic. They drove in silence. An oppressive quiet filled the cabin once more, but this time, the silence seemed to thrum with unresolved questions and an indescribable tension.
Lin Yang turned his head toward the window. The city’s neon flowed past his eyes but couldn’t reach his heart. His entire mind was still immersed in the shock and the chaotic memory fragments. He could feel the man’s gaze occasionally falling on him—light and fleeting, yet possessing an immense presence.
For the first time, he felt a massive, genuine doubt regarding this familiar yet strange husband. And he wondered if there were truths he didn’t know behind his desperate death in his past life.
The thought made him shiver.