As lunchtime approached, the office area buzzed with restless energy. The vacuum-sealed glass blocked out the commotion from outside completely, leaving only the whooshing sound effects of a parkour game echoing through the room.
Yan Yuchuan rose from his recliner, walked slowly over to Ge Yue, and sat down on the sofa. “Let me take a look.”
“Almost, almost,” Ge Yue glanced up briefly before her gaze reluctantly returned to the screen. “Just let me finish this round.”
Once the round ended, Ge Yue clicked into the Scooper forum and shared a screenshot of the post with Yan Yuchuan.
The post had been published a month ago, containing only a screenshot of a chat log with ancient, pixelated quality more or less matching what Ge Yue had described. There were 81 replies in total.
3F
My blind guess is the dean of the Platinum University School of Cognitive Science. Wasn’t there gossip before about him keeping a college student?
4F
Replying to the above that dean’s almost 70, isn’t he? Can he even still perform? Hope he doesn’t die in bed one day.
24F
Think bigger, people. YYC came from the slums, how could he afford college and get into the Innovation Camp? Bold guess: he already had a sugar daddy before joining the camp.
62F
How many people from the slums are actually clean? And he’s always marketing himself as a self-made entrepreneur. Maybe he was some old man’s child bride from a young age.
72F
Wait, did you all actually think his sugar daddy was a woman before? Don’t be so stereotypical. Someone like YYC with that cold, aloof vibe would be way hotter to fuck.
73F
The person above has stories to tell. Spill the details.
As for the other, more vicious remarks, Yan Yuchuan only gave them a brief glance before choosing not to read further.
He felt no real disturbance in his heart. He had never hidden his background he made charitable donations every year, helping children from impoverished communities like his own gain access to science and education. As for those malicious speculations, as long as his conscience was clear, he didn’t care what others thought.
“Hey wait, there’s a new post here, from two weeks ago,” Ge Yue said, scrolling through the screen and leaning in closer to look. “Oh my god, this is actually you.”
“What?”
“Here,” Ge Yue held up her phone for him to see. “This is you, right?”
On the screen was a face or more precisely, half of one. The distinctive scar on the brow bone made it easy to identify as Yan Yuchuan. Judging by the surrounding seats and layout, it was a restaurant. Yan Yuchuan was lying on the table asleep, a mosquito perched on his eyelashes.
Yan Yuchuan studied it carefully for a while. He vaguely remembered visiting that restaurant, but couldn’t recall where it was.
The photo had been taken from very close range nearly right in his face. And the fact that he could sleep soundly in front of the photographer meant he had a close relationship with this person, or at least felt no need to be on guard. Yet Yan Yuchuan couldn’t remember who had taken this photo. The more he thought about it, the drowsier he felt, and a piercing pain shot through his temple, making him furrow his brows in discomfort.
Seeing his expression turn strange, Ge Yue tried to lighten the mood. “Well, they know how to take a photo, huh. Look at those lashes long enough to land a mosquito on. But there’s nothing scandalous here. Probably just someone who knew you back in the day trying to ride your coattails now that you’re famous. Nothing to worry about.”
Yan Yuchuan said nothing, continuing to scroll down. Seeing the comment section filled with uniform replies like “OP check your DMs” and “OP, did you join the group yet?”, he asked Ge Yue if she knew what group they were referring to and whether he could join. Ge Yue said she’d ask around later.
“Since when do you care about what people say about you? What’s gotten into you today?” Ge Yue squinted at him in scrutiny, then her eyes flew wide open. “Wait… don’t tell me you actually were kept by a man before?! Is that why you’re homophobic?”
“Of course not.” Yan Yuchuan’s response was decisive, but a shadow flickered in his eyes, like an inexplicable dense fog pressing down on his heart.
Then, catching himself, he asked with genuine confusion: “Am I homophobic?”
“Uh…” Ge Yue’s words froze on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed them back, chewing them over before speaking more tactfully. “Not like politically homophobic or anything. It’s more like… you’re just too straight. Completely incapable of accepting men.”
Yan Yuchuan responded with a flat “Oh.”
Ge Yue pursed her lips and continued: “Don’t you remember how many men you’ve rejected before? Not an ounce of mercy. They all have their own little circles ask around and they’ll tell you: President Yan of Sina, stone-cold straight, homophobic, men need not apply.”
That made sense, Yan Yuchuan thought. After all, he’d had some very unpleasant memories from childhood, so calling him “homophobic” wasn’t entirely off the mark.
“But if you really want to know, I’ve never actually seen you accept any woman either. Ah no wait, I keep forgetting you’re getting married!” Ge Yue shoved his shoulder accusingly. “It’s all your fault. When are you going to introduce your fiancée to us?”
Yan Yuchuan pulled his thoughts back and said calmly, “Soon. Met her yesterday things are progressing well.”
Ge Yue’s eyes held deep suspicion. “Something feels off about this. Are you sure it’s not a business marriage? If it is, just admit it no one’s going to laugh at you.”
“It’s not,” Yan Yuchuan denied flatly, then asked in turn, “What feels off to you?”
“It feels like you two aren’t that familiar with each other, like you’re negotiating a deal.”
“…” Yan Yuchuan couldn’t argue with that.
After a moment of silence, he asked in genuine earnest: “Then how do we get more familiar?”
Ge Yue inwardly scoffed still insisting it wasn’t a business marriage with that attitude but seeing that Yan Yuchuan did seem genuinely troubled, she decided to be kind and not expose him. She only asked: “Do you two not see each other often?”
Yan Yuchuan lowered his gaze.
Based on his own memory, they had met exactly twice.
Based on Ming Rao’s memory. there was no way to know. Every time Yan Yuchuan tried to pry into the past, Ming Rao would threaten to call off the engagement. He could sense that Ming Rao had deep unresolved feelings about this matter, so he didn’t dare touch it lightly.
Saying “we’ve met exactly twice” sounded too alarming, so Yan Yuchuan substituted it with “we’ve met twice in the past two weeks” which wasn’t exactly a lie either.
“Then do you usually chat? Video call?”
“We chat.”
“About what?”
Yan Yuchuan pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, opened his chat history with Ming Rao, and while scrolling up, gave a summary: “Good mornings, weather, coffee, outfits, trending posts on Little Sweet Potato…”
Ge Yue rolled her eyes so hard she nearly lost them, and finally snatched the phone right out of his hand. The moment she looked at it, she was dumbfounded.
Over the past two weeks, Yan Yuchuan had sent no fewer than ten messages to the other party every single day. Just this morning alone, he’d already sent five
[Good morning]
[A typhoon is expected to make landfall in Port Platinum tonight, remember to head home early]
[Link—Little Sweet Potato trending share]
[Image—the latte art coffee I had today.]
[Good afternoon, busy today?]
And that fiancé of his had replied to Yan Yuchuan with exactly two messages in total
[Do you have time for a call? Let’s discuss the prenuptial agreement]
[Okay]
[Something came up, I might be late. I’ll call to explain]
[Oh]
Ge Yue was stunned speechless. Now she believed they weren’t in a business marriage.
Yan Yuchuan the industry-famous golden bachelor who had sent countless handsome men and beautiful women packing, so aloof and hard to please that people suspected he was a humanoid AI had actually been secretly acting like
A, total, simp, for someone?!
When the call from Yan Yuchuan came in, Ming Rao had just stepped one foot out of the pet hospital’s entrance. His mop of a cat had been hospitalized for urinary blockage and needed three days of IV fluids; tomorrow would be the last day.
The wind was strong on the street, whipping his camel-colored trench coat into a fluttering dance. He squinted against the gusts, raised his phone, and saw the caller ID on the screen.
Three days had passed since the meeting to discuss the prenuptial agreement, and Yan Yuchuan remained as relentless as ever with his message bombardment. Ming Rao glanced at them sometimes, ignored them other times, but never replied. However, Yan Yuchuan never called without giving prior notice that was the last shred of precious boundary he had.
Now that this unspoken rule had been abruptly broken, it left Ming Rao somewhat at a loss. He stood beneath a roadside tree whose leaves were rustling noisily in the wind, and pressed answer.
Yan Yuchuan’s opening pleasantries were no different from his messaging style, how have you been, what are you busy with, how’s the weather today. A phone call, after all, wasn’t like chatting behind a screen; letting silence drag on would be awkward, so Ming Rao patiently answered. Finally, Yan Yuchuan asked if he had any plans tomorrow.
What was he supposed to do on this random Wednesday that sat between nowhere and nowhere? Ming Rao was full of suspicion and answered vaguely: “I need to go to the hospital to pick up my cat.”
“Can I come with you?”
The reply came without pause, delivered like a pre-programmed routine, as if no matter what Ming Rao’s plans were tomorrow, he was going to tag along.
After a brief silence, Ming Rao said in a muffled voice: “Don’t you have work?”
“We have flexible working hours.”
Ming Rao gave a wooden “Oh.” Something felt off very off but his mind was scrambled by the wind, and he remained in a daze, unable to put his finger on it.
Yan Yuchuan: “What time are you going?”
“Afternoon, I guess. I have to go to the gallery in the morning.”
“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
Ming Rao rolled his eyes. “I have a car, thanks. The pet hospital is twenty minutes from my place.”
“Then send me your location, and I’ll wait for you at your place.”
A few exchanges later, the call ended. A withered leaf, blown loose by the wind, drifted straight into Ming Rao’s mouth. He grimaced in disgust and spat out the grit, standing at the mouth of the biting gale when it suddenly hit him he had just agreed to a meeting with Yan Yuchuan that was meaningless, valueless, and utterly pointless.
At nine in the evening, the industrial park was ablaze with lights, a flowing ribbon of illumination cast across the glass curtain walls all the silhouettes of workers striving within.
Before entering the underground parking garage, Yan Yuchuan turned back for one last look at the city’s only brain-science cluster industrial park the one he had personally spearheaded into existence. A complex surge of emotions welled up in his chest, vanishing in an instant, and his steps lightened accordingly.
He had booked a flight for early the next morning and had been busy with the handover until now, so he needed to hurry back and pack.
Yan Yuchuan lived in a commercial district about five kilometers from the company. His colleagues from the industrial park had all tacitly bought apartments clustered there to look out for one another.
The apartment was a duplex with enough space to house four generations, yet it felt empty and hollow one glance made it clear this was just a temporary stop. He indeed didn’t stay here often, sleeping at the office at least three nights a week.
As soon as he stepped inside and was about to change into his slippers, Yan Yuchuan noticed an unknown liquid staining the beige floor tiles.
It was dark-colored, and at first glance it looked like blood, making his heart tighten. After turning on the lights, he judged by the smell that it was soy sauce.
A knocked-over bottle of soy sauce had dyed the tiles a patch of ochre, yet at this moment it was the most homely thing in this lonely house.
Yan Yuchuan didn’t understand how the soy sauce had been knocked over, nor did he want to dwell on it. He silently picked up the broken bottle shards. Walking further in, another smell drifted into his nose one he knew all too well: the scent of alcohol.
Part of it came from the beer bottle sitting open on the coffee table, but the greater, more nauseating portion came from the murky breath of the hunched figure on the leather sofa.
Standing in the shadows, Yan Yuchuan called out, “Uncle Lin.”
The wall-mounted TV was on, playing a social news program. The pale fluorescent glow fell on Lin Zhenxing’s sallow, bark-like wrinkled face, illuminating his red-rimmed eyes and two cloudy, vacant pupils.
Compared to the last time they’d met, Lin Zhenxing’s belly was bigger, yet his wrinkles hadn’t increased whether because his face had reached the limit of what human skin could bear, or because Lin Zhenxing had cleverly escaped the toll of time.
Yan Yuchuan believed in biology, but sometimes he couldn’t help wondering if Lin Zhenxing might never age. From the age of seven, the Lin Zhenxing in his memory had always looked exactly like this.
If he never aged, would he never die? This question occasionally surfaced in Yan Yuchuan’s mind.
At such moments, he would look at Lin Zhenxing’s belly, and countless causes of death from obesity would flash through his mind quickly and calmly: fatty liver, hypertension, hyperlipidemia, coronary heart disease, myocardial infarction.
Soon he would realize such thoughts were wrong, and he’d repeatedly tell himself that Lin Zhenxing deserved boundless blessings and longevity, that Lin Zhenxing had shown him immense kindness, and that he should repay it in full, faithfully fulfilling his promise to the Lin family.
Yan Yuchuan said softly, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until next month.”
Lin Zhenxing’s mouth twisted, his face contorted with rage: “If I’d come back any later, would you have already fathered a son with some outside slut?”
Yan Yuchuan stepped across the rattan rug, walking slowly toward him. A clinking sound came from under his feet. Looking down, he saw liquor bottles scattered all over the floor. He bent down one by one to pick them up, lining them up neatly on the coffee table.
“Did Zhihao tell you about my engagement?”
“Engagement?” Lin Zhenxing burst into wild laughter, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. “Yan Yuchuan, you’ve got some nerve now, going out to find women behind my back. Only been at it a few days and she already wants to marry you? She’s that easy, why not let me have a go?”
Yan Yuchuan’s nails dug into his palms as he forced his voice steady: “I wasn’t hiding it from you. I just hadn’t had the chance to tell you. Please also show some respect for my fiancée.”
“Fiancée? Fine, you’ve grown wings now, daring to talk back to me. I’ll beat you to death”
With that, Lin Zhenxing swung a slap at him, but Yan Yuchuan caught his wrist with effortless ease. Lin Zhenxing struggled to break free, failed, and hung his head in gnashing frustration.
After a silent standoff, Yan Yuchuan released his grip, then went to the balcony to fetch a mop, cleaned up the soy sauce stain on the floor, and gathered the liquor bottles from the coffee table into the trash can.
Lin Zhenxing settled back onto the sofa, changed the channel, and the TV began playing a popular urban drama. Before long, unwilling to be treated like a ghost, he dumped all the bottles out of the trash can, kicking them forward and stomping them down, shattering them one by one on the floor with a tremendous racket.
Hearing the noise, Yan Yuchuan came out of the bathroom to glance over, said nothing, and went back to washing the mop.
Coarse, angry curses traveled through the hallway, pouring into his ears word for word: “You remember this, Yan Yuchuan you’ll be nothing but a dog for the Lin family your whole life. If it weren’t for Haohao’s kind heart back then, begging me to fund your schooling, you’d have had to sell yourself! Oh no, wait you’re the kind nobody would even buy, the one who got returned!”
Yan Yuchuan let him rant, thinking numbly that Lin Zhenxing must be too drunk drunk like a big factory that only follows trends, having lost the ability to iterate and innovate, reduced to repeating the same words Yan Yuchuan had heard since childhood, words that had long grown calluses on his ears, utterly devoid of any power to hurt.
It didn’t matter, Yan Yuchuan thought as he picked up the shards back in the living room. He had given Lin Zhenxing the key to this house. He had given Lin Zhenxing the right to come and make a mess here. This was his choice, and his responsibility.
As long as Lin Zhenxing knew to come to him, he wouldn’t harass Lin Zhihao and Lin Zhimiao that was the rule they’d established from the start.
As long as he didn’t harass Lin Zhihao and Lin Zhimiao, his forbearance wasn’t meaningless; everything was going according to his plan.
“Do you really think you’ll ever accomplish anything in this life? You don’t actually believe someone would genuinely like you, do you? What else could they want from you besides your money?”
Yan Yuchuan turned a deaf ear, efficiently restoring the living room to its original state, then climbed the marble stairs to the second floor and pulled out a large suitcase from the walk-in closet.
He didn’t know how long he’d be staying this time maybe he’d need to come back in just a few days but he still planned to pack a few extra clothes to create the ceremonial feel of a housewarming. He stuffed two winter coats into the suitcase, yet it still looked empty. In the end, he realized he really didn’t have much to take with him. He locked the suitcase and set it by the door.
He glanced at the time 10:30. Still enough time to reply to a few emails, so he headed downstairs toward the study.
At the foot of the stairs, just as he took a step forward, a tremendous force struck him from behind like a thunderbolt landing squarely on his shoulder blade.
His foot missed the step, and he tumbled down the stairs, bouncing off the cold, hard marble edges, staggering and rolling all the way to the bottom.
Despite his best efforts to adjust his posture arms wrapped around his head, hips taking the brunt of the fall a searing pain shot from his spine down to his fingertips, leaving him unable to move, his features twisted in agony.
Looking up, he saw Lin Zhenxing standing at the top of the stairs, holding a half-empty liquor bottle, his belly protruding as he looked down at him with contempt.
Lin Zhenxing knew that in terms of physical strength, he was no match for Yan Yuchuan, so he’d been lying in wait in the spare bedroom at the corner of the second floor, ready to launch a sneak attack.
He stomped heavily down the marble steps, swaying unsteadily under the influence of the alcohol, nearly missing a step himself. His belly jiggling, he half-walked, half-stumbled his way down to where Yan Yuchuan lay.
Lin Zhenxing raised the bottle, took a leisurely swig, and let out a satisfied smack of his lips. Then he lifted his foot, and the hard sole of his shoe came down on Yan Yuchuan’s right shoulder.
Yan Yuchuan’s forehead beaded with sweat from the pain, and he nearly bit through the flesh of his cheek, but he never made a sound. He tried desperately to dodge, but the round-toed leather shoe ground down harder, twisting as if stubbing out a casually discarded cigarette butt.
“Don’t you forget you agreed to this yourself from the start. You’d do whatever I say. If I hit you, you don’t fight back. If I curse you, you don’t talk back. And now you want to abandon our Lin family, go get married, have kids? Don’t you fucking dare! You’ll never marry anyone else in this life. When I can’t walk anymore, you’ll carry me around everywhere. When I’m bedridden, you’ll wipe my ass and clean up my piss and shit. Even in death, you’ll die in the Lin family!”