Si Yuan didn’t understand what her living arrangements had to do with him.
“Mom, I’m all grown up now,” Si Yuan said softly.
“And…” she glanced at Lin Shuangyu, “with brother getting married and so many preparations needed at home, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
Only then did Song’s Mother seem to understand, a relieved smile appearing on her face as she gently patted Si Yuan’s hand. “It seems our little Yuan has learned to be quite sensible during her five years abroad.”
She paused, a probing look flashing in her eyes. “In a few days, let me introduce you to some excellent young men, alright?”
Si Yuan’s fingers suddenly clenched the napkin, and she quickly refused: “That won’t be necessary, Mom.”
The dining table fell silent instantly.
Song’s Mother raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Lin Shuangyu’s gaze immediately turned alert.
Song Yan set down his knife and fork, the metal clinking sharply against the porcelain plate.
“Mom, you’re being too hasty,” Song Yan frowned. “Yuan has just returned, she’s still young…”
Song’s Mother countered: “Yuan is almost twenty-two. Isn’t that when people in your circles typically start building marriage connections?”
Seeing the flicker of doubt in Song’s Mother’s eyes, Si Yuan felt her heart turn cold.
She understood – her adoptive mother was testing her, afraid she hadn’t given up on Song Yan yet, worried she would cling to her only son again.
This realization made Si Yuan’s stomach twist painfully.
“I have a boyfriend.”
As Si Yuan’s words fell, everyone became eerily quiet.
Song Yan’s gaze froze, slowly turning toward her.
“Since when?” Song’s Mother’s voice carried clear suspicion. “Why have we never heard you mention a boyfriend?”
Si Yuan’s nails unconsciously scratched the embroidered patterns on her napkin – a habit she developed when her anxiety acted up, making her hands and feet tremble.
“Yes, a boyfriend.”
Song Yan’s gaze felt like a scorching searchlight, almost burning holes through Si Yuan: “Boyfriend?”
“We met in London.” She heard her own voice as if through frosted glass, hoarse and strained. “He’s Chinese, works in finance.”
“What a coincidence, A Yan works in finance too.” Lin Shuangyu suddenly chuckled lightly, affectionately nudging Song Yan’s arm. “You siblings certainly have similar tastes.”
Si Yuan’s breath hitched slightly. She lowered her eyelashes, staring at the food on her plate. “Is that so? Just a coincidence.”
Song’s Mother gave her a thoughtful look before suddenly smiling. “In that case, why don’t you bring him home for dinner sometime? Your brother and Shuangyu could use your input on their wedding preparations too.”
“He’s on a business trip in New York right now.” Si Yuan instinctively lied, her throat tightening. “It might be a while.”
Song Yan suddenly put down his chopsticks with enough force that everyone instinctively looked at him.
His expression remained calm, but his eyes were dark as he asked bluntly: “When did you start dating?”
Si Yuan hadn’t expected him to press further. Her fingertips trembled slightly – she wasn’t good at lying, especially not in front of so many people.
“Six months ago.”
“Six months ago?” Song Yan’s voice was quiet, yet seemed to suppress something. “You were still in London then?”
“Yes.” Si Yuan raised her eyes, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “He often flew to London to see me.”
The atmosphere at the dining table subtly froze.
Song’s Mother seemed to notice something and smiled to ease the tension: “Alright, alright, Xiao Yuan just got back. Don’t interrogate her right away. Let’s eat first—the food is getting cold.”
Lin Shuangyu skillfully changed the subject, bringing up details about the wedding venue decorations and asking Si Yuan, as a designer, if she had any suggestions.
Si Yuan nodded mechanically in agreement, but her taste buds registered no flavor.
After the meal, Song’s Father stopped Si Yuan as she prepared to leave: “Xiao Yuan, come to the study for a moment.”
The study door closed softly, cutting off the laughter and chatter from the living room.
Song’s Father took a kraft paper envelope from a drawer and handed it to her: “These are the things you left with me before you went abroad.”
Si Yuan took it, her fingertips brushing against the hard edge of a photo frame inside. Her heart clenched violently—it was her diary, and a photo with Song Yan, the beginning of her secret being discovered.
Also the beginning of the nightmare.
“Dad…”
Song’s Father sighed and gently patted her shoulder: “All these years, your mother has actually regretted sending you away.”
Si Yuan tightened her grip on the envelope, her throat bitter: “I was the one who did wrong.”
“In matters of the heart, there’s no right or wrong,” Song’s Father’s gaze was profound, “It’s only about timing and position.”
He paused, “But now, A Yan has made his own choice.”
Si Yuan nodded, understanding.
She had no position, no timing, and even less right.
“I understand. Thank you for keeping these for me, Dad, but it’s not necessary anymore. I’ll dispose of everything properly.”
Leaving the study, Si Yuan nearly bumped into someone.
Song Yan didn’t know how long he had been standing there.
Leaning against the wall, he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his gaze heavy as he looked at her: “What did you get?”
Si Yuan looked at his fingers, never having known when her clear-breezed, radiant brother had learned to smoke.
She glanced at the paper envelope in her hand, opened the trash bin, and threw it in.
“Nothing, just some garbage.”
Song Yan fell silent for a moment, the cigarette twirling between his fingers before being slightly crushed.
“Secretly dating behind your brother’s back?”
His voice was low, carrying a barely perceptible threat.
Si Yuan frowned. What did he mean by “behind your back”?
I’m not qualified to like you.
And you’re not qualified to interfere with me.
At least in this regard, it’s fair.
A detached smile touched Si Yuan’s lips: “I’ve grown up. I can date, and Mom has agreed.”
When the word “Mom” came from her mouth, Song Yan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He remembered how Si Yuan used to timidly call her “Auntie” when they were young, but now she had changed how she addressed her.
Yet this “Mom” sounded jarring to his ears.
“Do you even know how to date?” Song Yan suddenly questioned, his voice carrying a reproach he himself hadn’t realized: “Just copying others by getting a boyfriend?”
Si Yuan didn’t know why he was targeting her so much today.
In the past, whether he was kind or cold to her, it always stopped at a certain boundary—he never interfered excessively.
Si Yuan knew that was his aversion and rejection toward her.
But what was this now?
Not even bothering to pretend anymore.
“London is quite liberal. I picked it up through exposure.”
Song Yan’s expression gradually cooled, as if the word “liberal” had struck a nerve.
“Is that so?” He took a step forward, his arm accidentally hitting the light switch. The corridor light went out abruptly, leaving his expression shadowed and unreadable.
“Liberal? Tell me then—you and him, how ‘liberal’ were you?”
He seemed to carry a restrained anger.
Si Yuan looked up, a flicker of astonishment in her eyes, tinged with fear.
She was afraid he would lose his temper.
Si Yuan feared violence, even though she knew Song Yan would never lay a hand on her—she still dreaded his wrath.
“Brother… what do you mean?”