The crowd fell so silent that the sound of the wind could be heard, with hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on the two figures at the doorway.
One was a colonel wearing an old military uniform, his epaulets gleaming under the light.
The other was a girl in a worn-out hoodie, her hair slightly tousled by the night breeze.
They stood facing each other, neither speaking.
After a long while, the man finally spoke, his voice hoarse and strained: “Your hands are so cold.”
Lin Wanwan was taken aback.
He held her hands, his brows furrowing: “Why are you dressed so lightly? Didn’t you know it gets cold at night?”
As he spoke, the man began to take off his military jacket.
Lin Wanwan stopped him: “I’m not cold.”
“Your hands are this cold, and you say you’re not?”
“Your hands are even colder.”
The man was also stunned.
He looked down at his own hands—rough, slightly reddened, with traces of unwashed grime still lodged under his fingernails.
He let go and took a step back, as if afraid his hands might dirty her.
Seeing that gesture, Lin Wanwan felt a sudden pang in her heart.
Xu Jia dispersed the crowd slightly, clearing a path.
Lin Wanwan led the man inside.
Old Zhou called out from outside: “Don’t worry, Chief, we’ll handle things out here!”
The man glanced back at the fans and nodded.
The door closed, leaving only three people in the room: Lin Wanwan, Xu Jia, and the man.
He stood in the middle of the room, surveying his surroundings.
The room was just over ten square meters, filled with cardboard boxes. In one corner stood a folding bed, and on the windowsill lay a withered bouquet of white chrysanthemums.
His brows tightened as he looked at the flowers.
“Who sent these?”
Lin Wanwan didn’t answer.
He walked over, picked up the bouquet, examined it, then set it down again. Turning to face Lin Wanwan, he said, “I’ve heard about the bullet casing and the electric scooter.”
“And there are still people keeping watch outside, right?”
Lin Wanwan nodded.
He fell silent for a few seconds before saying, “I came too late.”
The three of them sat around the small plastic table.
Xu Jia poured a glass of plain water, which the man accepted but didn’t drink, simply holding it in his hands.
He looked at Lin Wanwan for a long time before saying, “My name is Lin Weiguo.”
Lin Wanwan stared at him without speaking.
He continued, “It’s been three years since we last saw each other.”
“The last time we met, you ignored my advice and insisted on entering the entertainment industry.”
“I said, ‘Do as you wish,’ over the phone and hung up.”
He paused. “After that, we never contacted each other again.”
Lin Wanwan remained silent, sifting through the original owner’s memories in her mind.
Those memories were hazy, as if veiled by a layer of fog.
But a few scenes stood out clearly:
As a child, this man had carried her on his shoulders, walking across a long parade ground.
During her school years, he would wait for her at the school gate, holding an ice pop in his hand.
Later, he grew busier and came home less and less often.
Their phone calls dwindled from daily to weekly, then to monthly.
Finally, when the original owner entered the entertainment industry, he had said over the phone, “Do as you wish.”
Silence hung heavily in the room for a long time.
Xu Jia glanced at Lin Wanwan, then at Lin Weiguo, unsure of what to say.
In the end, it was Lin Weiguo who broke the silence. He set down the water glass, placed his hands on his knees, and sat up straight—a posture ingrained from decades of military service, impossible to shake.
“I know you resent me.”
“These past three years, you didn’t contact me, and I didn’t contact you.”
“I thought you were doing well.”
“Until a few days ago, when I saw the news in the barracks…”
He paused, his voice growing hoarse again. “Seeing you living in a place like this.”
“Seeing you receive bullet casings.”
“Seeing someone try to run you over on an electric bike.”
The hand gripping his knee trembled, veins bulging. “At that moment, I thought, what kind of father am I?”
Lin Wanwan looked at him, at the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the white hair at his temples, and the tears welling up in his eyes that refused to fall.
A thought stirred within her, and she activated the Eye of Truth.
Lin Weiguo’s information surfaced:
[Emotions: Guilt 96%, Heartache 94%, Determination 97%. Inner Thoughts: “I was wrong. I can’t make the same mistake again.”]
[Background: Served for thirty-two years, infantry background. Retired last year due to a back injury, now lives in his hometown farming with his wife. However, he will return to the team if summoned. Recently returned to the team for an urgent matter.]
[Hidden Information: His mother passed away from illness three years ago. He and his wife handled the funeral arrangements alone, without notifying their daughter.]
Lin Wanwan’s breath hitched.
Three years ago? The original host’s grandmother—the old woman who had doted on her, cherished her, loved her, and encouraged her to pursue her dreams since childhood…
She spoke, her voice soft. “What about my grandmother?”
Lin Weiguo’s hand trembled—just once, quickly suppressed, but Lin Wanwan caught it.
He remained silent for a long time. Outside, faint voices of fans could be heard. Old Zhou was arranging shifts, someone was boiling water for instant noodles, and the clatter of pots and pans echoed, but inside the room, it was as quiet as another world. Then Lin Weiguo looked up at her, his eyes reddening.
He said, “Your grandmother… is gone.”
Lin Weiguo continued, “Three years ago, the same year you entered the entertainment industry.”
“She fell ill, gravely ill.”
“She wouldn’t let me tell you.”
“Said you were just starting out and shouldn’t be distracted.”
He lowered his head, his voice growing softer and softer.
“I… I listened to her.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“When she was leaving, she kept looking at her phone, waiting for you to call.”
“But you never did.”
“And I never called either.”
He looked up, tears finally falling. “I failed her.”
“And I failed you.”
Lin Wanwan sat there, motionless.
In the original host’s memories, there were few recollections of her grandmother.
She only knew she was a gentle woman, soft-spoken, who loved planting flowers in the yard and listening to the original host sing.
She had always thought it was because the original host entered the entertainment industry and cut ties with her family, gradually drifting apart.
But it wasn’t a matter of drifting apart—it was because her grandmother was no longer there.
She opened her mouth to ask something, but her throat felt blocked, and no words came out.
Beside her, Xu Jia’s eyes also reddened. She gently patted Lin Wanwan’s back.
Lin Weiguo wiped his face and took a deep breath.
He pulled a small cloth bundle from his pocket and placed it on the table.
The cloth bundle was old, washed pale, its edges frayed, but neatly folded, as if someone had folded it over and over again.
He said, “Your grandmother left something for you before she passed.”
“She made me promise to hand it to you personally.”
“For three years, I didn’t dare give it to you.”
“I was afraid you’d hate me, and even more afraid you’d hate her.”
He pushed the cloth bundle toward Lin Wanwan. “Now, it’s time to give it to you.”
Lin Wanwan looked down at the light cloth bundle. She reached out, opened it, and inside were a bank card and a note.
The note was written in a woman’s handwriting, the characters crooked and shaky, as if her hand had trembled while writing: “Wanwan, Grandma is gone. This money is the New Year’s money you saved since you were little, plus a bit Grandma secretly saved over the years. It’s not much, but it should be enough for emergencies. Don’t blame your dad—I told him not to tell you. Live well, do what you want to do, chase your dreams. Grandma will be watching over you from the other side.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the note, motionless.
There were several water stains on the paper, now dried, but the traces of tears were still visible.
She held the note tightly, her fingers slowly clenching.
Lin Weiguo continued beside her, “There’s three hundred and eighty thousand in the card.”
“It’s all the New Year’s money you saved since you were little, plus what your grandma scrimped and saved over the years.”
“Even when she was sick, she couldn’t bear to spend it, saying she wanted to leave it for you.”
He paused, his voice growing hoarser. “Before she left, she kept talking about you.”
“She said you’ve wanted to sing since you were little, and now you finally can—she was so happy.”
“She said she wished you could be on TV so she could watch from the other side.”
“She said…”
He couldn’t go on.
Lin Wanwan held the note, her head lowered, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Xu Jia saw this and couldn’t hold back her tears either.
After a long while, Lin Wanwan looked up, her eyes red but holding back her tears.
She looked at Lin Weiguo and asked, “Where is my grandma buried?”
Lin Weiguo replied, “On the back hill of our hometown, the place you used to play at when you were little.”
Lin Wanwan nodded. “Once this is over, I’ll go see her.”
Lin Weiguo was taken aback for a moment, then nodded and said, “Okay.”
Lin Wanwan fell silent for a few more seconds before asking, “How have you been these past three years?”
Lin Weiguo smiled bitterly. “How else? Just staying with the team.”
“I retired last year and went back to farm with your mom.”
He thought for a moment and added, “We farmed two acres of land—enough to get by.”
Lin Wanwan looked at him, at his rough hands, his graying hair, the dust on his old military uniform that hadn’t been brushed off, and the mud stains still clinging to the edges of his shoes.
Suddenly, she remembered the man’s younger self from the original host’s memories.
He had been tall and straight, full of energy, walking with purpose, his voice loud enough to wake up the entire building. Now he was old, his back slightly bent.
Lin Weiguo looked at her, hesitating for a moment before saying, “I know I was wrong.”
“These past three years, I should have looked for you.”
“I should have told you about Grandma.”
“I should have…”
He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I was wrong before.”
“But now…”
He looked at Lin Wanwan, his expression serious, as if giving an order. “If anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to get through me first.”
Lin Wanwan looked at him, studying him intently for a long time. Then she reached out and took his hand.
Lin Weiguo froze.
Her hand was still cold, but he felt it was a little warmer than before.
Xu Jia, watching from the side, quietly stood up and walked toward the door.
Lin Wanwan looked up at her.
Xu Jia waved her hand. “You two talk. I’ll go check outside.”
The door closed again, leaving only father and daughter in the room.
Lin Weiguo held Lin Wanwan’s hand, silent for a few seconds before suddenly saying, “I watched your singing.”
“You sang really well.”
Lin Wanwan was taken aback.
Lin Weiguo continued, “That thing… the countdown? I watched it several times.”
“And that white chrysanthemum song you sang.”
He scratched his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t really understand these things, but I think it’s nice.”
“Your grandmother would be so happy if she could see this.”
Lin Wanwan looked at him, her nose suddenly tingling with emotion.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside.
Old Zhou’s voice came from beyond the door: “Lin Wanwan! Someone else is here! This time it’s…”
Before he could finish, the door was pushed open, and several people in military uniforms stood at the entrance.
They wore dark training uniforms with arm patches on their chests, standing ramrod straight.
The leader, a man in his early thirties, saw Lin Weiguo and snapped a crisp salute. “Regiment Commander Lin!”
Lin Weiguo stood up and returned the salute. “What is it?”
The leader glanced at Lin Wanwan, hesitating to speak.
Lin Weiguo said, “Go ahead, she’s one of us.”
The leader nodded and handed over a document. “The old chief asked us to relay a message to you…”
He paused. “Regarding your daughter’s situation, someone higher up is keeping an eye on it.”
“Tell her to investigate with confidence.”
“The backers of those people won’t be able to touch her.”
Lin Weiguo took the document, flipped through it, and frowned. Then he looked up at the leader. “Who sent you?”
The leader replied, “The old chief.”
Lin Weiguo was momentarily stunned, then nodded and closed the document. “Understood.”
The leader saluted again and left with his men.
Lin Wanwan looked at him and asked, “What’s going on?”
Lin Weiguo remained silent for a few seconds before handing her the document.
Lin Wanwan took it and read it. The document was an internal notice, its contents brief: Zhao Tai of Taihe Capital was suspected of involvement in multiple economic cases and had been placed under investigation. Relevant individuals, including Jiang Man, had been restricted from leaving the country.
At the end was a handwritten line: “Regarding Lin Wanwan’s matter, tell her to investigate with confidence. If anyone tries to move against her, they’ll have to get through me first.”
The document was signed with a surname Lin Wanwan didn’t recognize.
But when she saw Lin Weiguo’s eyes redden at the sight of that surname, she understood its significance.
Lin Weiguo put the document away and looked at Lin Wanwan. “The person you’re investigating is named Zhao Tai?”
Lin Wanwan nodded.
“And Jiang Man?”
She nodded again.
Lin Weiguo fell silent for a few seconds before saying, “I’ve heard of these two.”
“That Zhao Tai has his fingers in many pies—entertainment, real estate, investments. He’s everywhere.”
“Jiang Man is his person, handling matters that are… inconvenient.”
He looked at Lin Wanwan. “Do you know why they’re targeting you?”
Lin Wanwan shook her head.
“It’s not just because you sued Xingyao Media.”
Lin Weiguo paused. “It’s also because of your grandmother.”
Lin Wanwan froze.
“Because of my grandmother?”
Lin Weiguo took a deep breath. “Your grandmother’s maiden name was Jiang.”
“Jiang Man is the daughter of your grandmother’s younger brother.”
“You should call her your aunt.”
The room fell so quiet that heartbeats could be heard.
Lin Wanwan sat there, her mind blank.
Jiang Man—the one who sent people with bullets, the one who tried to run her over, the one who made Xu Jia wait for ten years—was her aunt?
Lin Weiguo looked at her and continued, “Your grandmother watched Jiang Man grow up.”
“Later, Jiang Man moved to the city and entered the entertainment industry.”
“After that, they gradually lost contact.”
“When your grandmother was ill, Jiang Man came once.”
“I didn’t let her see your grandmother.”
“Why?”
Lin Weiguo was silent for a few seconds. “Because I felt something was off about her.”
“Your grandmother was so ill, and when she came, she didn’t say much before starting to ask about you.”
“She asked where you were, what you were doing, and who you were associating with.”
“I thought it was strange at the time.”
“Later, when you were blacklisted, I suspected her.”
“But there was no evidence.”
He paused. “Now there is.”
Lin Wanwan remained silent.
She recalled the surveillance video where Jiang Man stood before the original owner, sneering coldly.
She remembered the text message: “The game has just begun. Don’t die too soon.”
She thought of the USB drive, the blacklisting agreement, the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, and the bloodstained bullet casing.
She remembered the person with a knife outside her window in the early hours of this morning.
It turned out the one behind all these incidents wasn’t a stranger but a relative.
She suddenly felt like laughing, but couldn’t bring herself to.
Lin Weiguo looked at her and said, “I know it’s hard for you to accept right now.”
“But you need to know about these things.”
“Why does Jiang Man want to make your life difficult?”
“It’s not just because you’re investigating her.”
“It’s also because of your grandmother.”
“Your grandmother knew too much about her.”
“She was afraid your grandmother might have told you.”
Lin Wanwan looked up. “What did my grandmother know?”
Lin Weiguo shook his head. “I don’t know either.”
“But before Grandma passed, she told me one thing.”
“She said…”
He paused before continuing, “Keep Wanwan away from Jiang Man.”