The interior of the study followed the same luxurious style as the rest of the manor: a massive mahogany desk and bookshelves that reached the ceiling, lined with various volumes and art pieces. It exuded an aura of cold detachment.
Xi Zhenbang walked behind the desk and sat down, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
Xi Liye sat as instructed.
“Liye,” Xi Zhenbang finally began, his voice slow. “I know you harbor resentment toward this family—toward me.”
Xi Liye remained silent, watching him steadily.
“What happened when you were a child… it was an oversight on the part of your mother and me. We failed you.” It was rare for Xi Zhenbang to bring up that old wound, and his voice was strained. “Then your mother passed away… and I… In short, I failed in my duty as a father.”
He paused, seemingly hoping to catch a glimmer of emotion on Xi Liye’s face, but Xi Liye’s expression remained as calm and unruffled as a pool of stagnant water.
Xi Zhenbang felt a surge of disappointment, but he quickly adjusted his emotions and cut to the chase. “Regardless, you are my son, the hope for the future of the Xi family. We cannot change the past, but we can plan for the future.”
“Medicine… I know you like it, and I won’t force you to switch fields immediately.” Xi Zhenbang adopted a conciliatory posture. “But you cannot only care about your own little interests. Someone eventually has to take over an estate as vast as the Xi family’s. You are young now and can afford to be willful, but sooner or later, you must return and shoulder this responsibility.”
“I know,” Xi Liye replied, his tone remaining flat. “I will eventually take over your company; after all, it was the life’s work of you and my mother. But not now.”
Xi Liye had no intention of letting what belonged to the Xi family fall into anyone else’s hands. In his bones, he possessed a fierce sense of territoriality and a desire for control; he would never allow another person to touch what was his. However, he had chosen medicine, and he was never the type to leave things half-finished.
“You…” Xi Zhenbang opened his mouth to speak, but realized he could no longer use absolute authority to pressure his son as he once had. Ever since that incident in his childhood, this son had become fundamentally estranged from him.
Ultimately, his father simply let out a heavy sigh of helplessness and waved him away. “Fine, I understand. As long as you know what you’re doing. You may leave.”
Xi Liye didn’t say another word. He gave a slight nod, stood up, and turned to leave the study without a hint of lingering attachment.
Stepping out of that room didn’t bring him a sense of relief; the air in this mansion was always heavy enough to suffocate a person. He walked briskly down the hallway, only to run into Xi Yunchuan.
Xi Yunchuan was truly terrified of Xi Liye—he had been since they were children. That fear was rooted in his bone marrow, a mix of the giant gap and sense of inferiority he felt as a young child entering the Xi family and looking up at this polished, cold “Young Master.”
An even deeper fear stemmed from a chance observation in their youth. He remembered it clearly: a stifling summer afternoon. He had been hiding behind dense bushes in the garden when he saw Xi Liye sitting alone under an old tree. In his hand was a small, glinting knife of unknown origin, and his face was expressionless as he dissected a sparrow that had long been dead.
There was blood on Xi Liye’s hands and on the blade.
In that moment, the young Xi Yunchuan was so terrified he nearly forgot to breathe, his body turning ice-cold. He had glimpsed something chilling beneath Xi Liye’s calm exterior—an essence that was utterly incompatible with the normal world.
Back then, he knew Xi Liye wasn’t a normal person at all, yet he still maintained this facade of being calm, self-controlled, and excellent. It was the same now; it was disgusting.
These emotions churned violently in Xi Yunchuan’s chest.
“Brother,” Xi Yunchuan squeezed out a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Done talking with Dad? It looks like… it wasn’t very pleasant?”
“Move,” Xi Liye said, his voice carrying an unquestionable coldness.
Xi Yunchuan was stung by the dismissal, and his fake smile wavered. He didn’t move aside immediately; instead, he took a small step forward and lowered his voice.
“I heard… you’ve got a little girlfriend lately, Brother? You seem quite invested. You’ve even missed several family dinners for her. I didn’t think someone like you would have a girlfriend. I just wonder if she’d still stay with you if she knew your true character.”
Xi Liye listened quietly until he was finished, his face still devoid of expression.
“My affairs are not for you to question. Mind yourself, Xi Yunchuan. It seems you haven’t fully learned the lesson from a year ago.”
His tone was level, yet it carried an immense sense of pressure.
Xi Yunchuan’s face turned a pale shade of blue-green from the blatant contempt. He instinctively took a half-step back, the forced bravado from a moment ago instantly evaporating. The fear of being casually “designed” into being sent abroad a year ago resurfaced in his mind.
Back then, he had merely snatched a cat away from Xi Liye, only to be schemed against and thrown out of the country. This was a grudge Xi Yunchuan still held close to his heart.
Xi Liye didn’t look at him again, walking straight through the gap Xi Yunchuan had opened.
Once inside his car, Xi Liye had already tossed that insignificant hallway interlude to the back of his mind.
While he didn’t care about family matters, being subjected to them repeatedly was inevitably irritating. His phone had died earlier; after plugging it into the charger and turning it on, a series of pings began to chime incessantly. Every single one came from one person: his girlfriend.
He looked through Wen Chu’s messages, tracing the shift from her initial excitement to her anger at his lack of a reply. His eyes landed on her final message:
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: Xi Liye, you’re still not replying to me, are you? You’re finished!
In the dim interior of the car, only the light from the screen illuminated half of his face. His eyes, usually characterized by a cold detachment and lack of ripples, looked different now. He felt a sense of amusement as he read through the evolution of Wen Chu’s emotions—from excitement to anxiety to pouting—from beginning to end.
Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curled up.
The lingering stagnation and irritability in his chest from the ancestral home melted away like thin ice under sunlight the moment he saw those vivid messages. In its place was a strange, tickling sensation.
He… rather liked the feeling of Wen Chu’s emotions being swayed by him.
He reached up and changed Wen Chu’s contact name to “Exploding Fur,” and then, with a light tap of his finger, he began to reply to the person who had declared him “finished.”