The mahogany door of the study closed behind him, sealing away that frozen world.
He leaned his back against the cool doorframe and slowly slid down until he sat on the soft carpet of the hallway, burying his face deep into his knees. There had been no shouting, no arguing, and not even a flicker of emotion. Li Chenzhou had used only the calmest tone and the most rational analysis to grind all of his hopes into dust.
Divorce? No. Because of the Li family’s reputation and because of the company’s projects.
But what about him? What did his fear, his despair, and the life he was trying to save count for in the face of those things?
A profound sense of powerlessness enveloped him, even more intense than the moment before he fell to his death in his previous life. At least then there had been anger and determination; now, he felt trapped in an invisible yet incredibly resilient net. No matter which direction he struggled, it only wrapped tighter around him.
No, it couldn’t be like this.
Lin Yang snapped his head up. His eyes were slightly red, but a stubborn light flickered within them once more. If Li Chenzhou wouldn’t agree, was he truly out of options? In his past life, he had been too submissive and too resigned to his fate, which was why he ended up the way he did. Having been given a second chance, he could no longer pin his hopes on someone else’s permission. He had to find his own way.
He needed information and a connection to the outside world. He didn’t trust the flashy phone “kept” for him by Li Chenzhou’s people for “Mrs. Li’s” social life. He remembered that when he first moved in, his old phone—outdated and lacking any important contacts—had seemingly been tucked away in a drawer by a servant.
Lin Yang stood up and took a deep breath, struggling to smooth his expression into one of indifference. He walked down the stairs. The living room was quiet, with only two servants softly polishing furniture in the distance. He walked toward the first-floor storage room as if just passing by. In his memory, items that were rarely used but not yet discarded were kept there.
The storage room was somewhat dim, smelling faintly of mothballs. Lin Yang turned on the light and began rummaging through several storage bins. Most contained brand-new gifts or idle decorations. Finally, in a corner box, he saw it: the familiar old phone with a few fine scratches on the screen, tossed carelessly at the bottom along with its charger.
His heart gave a small leap. He quickly shoved the phone and charger into his pocket, tidied the box, and walked out as if nothing had happened.
Back in the guest room on the second floor. Since his rebirth, he had used “poor sleep” as an excuse to firmly move out of the master bedroom, a move to which Li Chenzhou had been noncommittal. He locked the door and pulled out a portable power bank hidden deep in his wardrobe to charge the old phone.
The wait for it to boot up felt agonizingly long. Finally, the screen lit up and the signal bars flickered weakly. He impatiently opened the contact list, which contained very few names. Taking a deep breath, he dialed a familiar number.
The phone rang for a long time before it was picked up. A slightly raspy and impatient female voice came through. “Hello? Who is this? This early in the morning…”
“Sister So, it’s me,” Lin Yang whispered.
The other end went silent for two seconds before the voice suddenly spiked in volume, filled with disbelief. “Lin Yang?! Oh, my little ancestor! It really is you! Why are you using this number? What about your…”
“Sister So, let’s keep it brief,” Lin Yang interrupted, quickening his pace. “I was serious about what I said earlier regarding returning to work. Are there any opportunities? Anything is fine: small roles, supporting parts, even walk-ons. I’ll take them.”
Sister So seemed startled by his urgency. She paused before saying, “There are some… but this is so sudden. What about President Li?” Her tone carried a cautious, probing edge. Everyone knew Lin Yang was now a member of the Li family; though he seemed neglected, he wasn’t someone she could casually involve.
“Don’t worry about him,” Lin Yang said firmly. “This is my personal decision. If there are opportunities, tell me directly.”
“Alright then,” Sister So said, her natural instinct to manage an artist and make money taking over despite her confusion. “There’s a small-budget web drama set in the Republican era. They’re still looking for the fourth male lead. It doesn’t have much screen time, but the character is quite likable: a progressive student. The audition is next Wednesday. There’s also a beverage commercial looking for a bright, sunny face. I think your temperament is quite a fit, though the pay isn’t high.”
“Sign me up for both,” Lin Yang said without a moment’s hesitation. “Send the audition times and locations to this phone. Thanks, Sister So.”
After hanging up, Lin Yang breathed a small sigh of relief. At the very least, the first bridge to the outside world had been precariously built.
Next was money. He opened his mobile banking app and entered his account details. When the page loaded, the balance showed a pitiful figure: $12,347.85.
This was his entire life savings from years of being an extra and playing bit parts. To an ordinary person, it might last a few months, but for someone trying to completely break away from the Li family while potentially facing pressure from the Lin family and obstruction from Li Chenzhou, it was a drop in the bucket. Furthermore, could he even use this money? Would Li Chenzhou notice his intentions through bank statements? He stared at the numbers, his brow furrowed.
Just as he fell into thought, a soft knock came from the door. Startled, Lin Yang quickly stuffed the old phone and power bank back into the depths of the wardrobe. He took a deep breath, adjusted his expression, and went to open the door.
Standing outside was Li Chenzhou’s chief special assistant, Cheng Wei. The man wore an impeccable dark suit and gold-rimmed glasses, his hair combed without a single stray strand. He exuded an aura of elite rigor and detachment. In his hand, he held a black card.
“Good morning, Mr. Lin.” Cheng Wei nodded slightly, his tone respectful but devoid of warmth. “President Li has instructed me to give you the supplementary card to this account. There is no credit limit. You may use it for any spending needs you have.”
The black card gleamed luxuriously in the hallway light. It was something countless people dreamed of, representing unimaginable wealth and privilege. In his past life, Li Chenzhou had also given him one, but he had almost never touched it. Subconsciously, he felt it was a clearly defined form of charity; using it felt like he was truly accepting his role as a caged canary.
Now, the appearance of this card felt exceptionally jarring right after he had checked his own meager balance. What was this? A sweet date after a bitter slap? Or was it Li Chenzhou’s way of offering “aftercare” to keep him quiet and compliant in his role as “Mrs. Li”?
Looking at the card, Lin Yang felt a surge of anger and a sense of humiliation. He could almost imagine Li Chenzhou’s expression when giving the order to Cheng Wei; it likely differed very little from the way he handled an insignificant document.
“No need,” Lin Yang said, his voice cold and hard. He didn’t even reach out to take it. “I don’t have anything I need to buy. Thank President Li for his kindness, but I’ll decline.”
A flash of surprise seemed to flicker behind Cheng Wei’s lenses for a split second, but he quickly returned to normal. He didn’t pull his hand back, simply maintaining the offer as he added steadily, “President Li said this is what you deserve. It covers daily expenses, clothing, social activities, and so on. If it’s inconvenient for you to go out, you can let me know what you need, and I will arrange for someone to deliver it.”
“Deserve?” Lin Yang almost laughed out loud. What exactly did he deserve? A maintenance fee for a pawn? This meticulous “care” felt more like omnipresent surveillance and control. He even suspected that the moment he swiped the card, the transaction record would land on Li Chenzhou’s desk.
“I said, I don’t need it.” Lin Yang’s attitude grew more resolute. He even took half a step back to distance himself from the card. “I have my own hands and feet, and I have an income. President Li should save his kindness for someone who needs it more.”
Cheng Wei looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds. His gaze carried a professional scrutiny, as if trying to judge whether Lin Yang’s words were sincere or merely a performance. Finally, seeing that Lin Yang looked serious and wasn’t faking, he slowly withdrew his hand and put the coveted black card back into his inner suit pocket.
“I understand,” Cheng Wei nodded again. “I will convey your message to President Li. If you change your mind, you can contact me anytime.”
With that, he said no more and turned to leave, his pace steady and efficient, as if completing a standard work procedure.
Watching Cheng Wei’s back disappear at the stairs, Lin Yang closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. His palms were damp from the tension. Rejection brought a moment of satisfaction, but the reality of his problems remained: he needed money, he needed a job outside of Li Chenzhou’s control, and he needed a real plan to leave.
The road ahead was difficult, but he had at least taken the first step toward self-reliance. He walked to the window and watched the gardener pruning shrubs in the garden below. The sunlight was beautiful, but he knew that what trapped him wasn’t this magnificent cage, but the pervasive power and control represented by that cold man.
The old phone in the wardrobe vibrated slightly. It was likely the audition information from Sister So. Lin Yang clenched his fists.