“Mom.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“Uncle hasn’t eaten breakfast yet.”
“You’re worrying too much.”
“But his stomach will hurt.”
Xiao Niangao said very seriously, “You said before that not eating breakfast will make your stomach hurt.”
Shen Luning took a deep breath.
She realized her son had a special talent.
He could take any unrelated matter, twist it through eight hundred turns, and ultimately bring it back to Lu Sihan.
“Xiao Niangao, do you really want him to come up?”
Xiao Niangao hugged the new rabbit that cost thirty-nine ninety, resting his chin on the rabbit’s ear, and stayed silent for a moment.
“Mom,” he said, “I don’t want him to come up. I want you to be happy.”
“I am very happy right now.”
“You’re lying.”
“Lu Xingye.”
“You sigh every night before sleeping. Not exactly sighing, but that kind of… long breath.”
Xiao Niangao buried his face in the rabbit, his voice muffled, “You’re not happy. Happy breathing is different from unhappy breathing.”
Shen Luning stood still.
On the TV, a pink pig and her little brother jumped around in a mud puddle, making exaggerated laughter.
Everything was ordinary, quiet.
“Xiao Niangao.” Her voice was a bit hoarse.
“Hmm.”
“When did you learn to read breathing?”
“A long time ago.”
Xiao Niangao looked up, his eyes bright, “When you’re happy, your breath goes ‘hu—’. When you’re unhappy, it’s ‘ai—’.”
Shen Luning walked over and sat on the sofa.
Xiao Niangao immediately leaned against her, his small body pressed close, his head resting on her arm, like a little animal finding its nest.
She bent down and kissed the top of his head.
His hair still carried the scent of last night’s shampoo—strawberry-flavored, bought on sale and stocked up.
“Xiao Niangao, tell me, besides searching his name, what else have you done?”
Xiao Niangao’s body stiffened slightly.
“Xiao Niangao.”
“…I also watched his interviews.”
Xiao Niangao’s voice grew softer, “In one interview, a reporter asked if he had someone he liked. He said yes. The reporter asked what kind of person she was, and he said she was a very special person.”
Shen Luning didn’t respond.
“There was another interview,” Xiao Niangao continued, his voice almost inaudible, “The reporter asked him what his biggest regret was. He said it was not chasing after her five years ago.”
Not chasing after her five years ago.
Shen Luning remembered that rainy night.
She dragged a suitcase out of the Lu family villa’s gate. The rain was so heavy she couldn’t see the road. She didn’t know where to go, just mechanically walked forward, forward, forward.
She walked for a long time until the suitcase’s wheel got stuck in a crack in the road and broke. Only then did she realize she had reached the highway entrance.
She didn’t look back. She didn’t know if Lu Sihan had chased after her. She thought he hadn’t, but maybe he did?
Maybe he stood at the second-floor window, watching her walk away, watching her figure slowly swallowed by the heavy rain.
She always thought he hadn’t chased after her.
“Mom,” Xiao Niangao’s voice pulled her back, “Uncle said not chasing after you was the biggest regret of his life.”
Shen Luning blinked.
Her eyes felt a bit dry.
“Do you know?” She looked at the pink pig on TV, her voice very soft, “That’s also the biggest regret of my life.”
Xiao Niangao looked up at her.
“He didn’t chase after me,” Shen Luning said. “I didn’t look back. Neither of us did what we should have done.”
“And now?” Xiao Niangao asked.
Shen Luning didn’t answer.
Downstairs, inside a black SUV, Lu Sihan was eating a convenience store sandwich.
The sound of tearing open the wrapper was loud, jarring in the quiet of the car.
He took a bite, chewed twice, and felt like it had no flavor at all.
It wasn’t that the sandwich was tasteless—he just couldn’t taste it.
From last night until now, his sense of taste seemed to have vanished. Everything he ate felt like chewing paper.
But he kept eating because he had promised that child he wouldn’t skip breakfast.
He didn’t remember when he had made that promise, but when the child looked at him with those eyes, he felt that skipping breakfast would mean betraying something.
His phone vibrated.
Not a text—a call.
The screen displayed: Jiang Wan.
Lu Sihan stared at the name for three seconds, then pressed decline.
The phone vibrated again—Jiang Wan once more.
Decline. After a moment, it vibrated again, this time with a text: Sihan, I know Shen Luning’s address. The reporters know too. You’d better tell her before she leaves the house.
Lu Sihan immediately dialed a number: “Attorney Chen, help me check which media outlets are following up on last night’s incident. Once you find out, call them one by one and tell them that Lu Corporation’s legal team will pursue anyone who reports on this.”
After hanging up, he dialed another number: “Manager Li, I need twenty people, now, immediately, to go to that residential area from yesterday. Seal off all entrances and exits. Don’t let any reporters in.”
A third call: “Assistant Zhang, find out where Jiang Wan is right now. Let me know once you have the information.”
After making the three calls, he leaned back in his seat, his palms drenched in sweat.
His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from anger.
Jiang Wan—that name had nearly destroyed everything for him five years ago.
Now she was coming back. He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let what happened five years ago repeat itself.
“President Lu,” the driver turned around, “it looks like a few people have arrived outside the residential area…”
Lu Sihan straightened up and looked out the car window.
A white van was parked at the entrance of the alley, with “XX News” printed on the side.
A man was holding a camera, aiming it at the sixth-floor window.
“Damn it.”
Lu Sihan cursed under his breath and pushed the car door open.
As he stepped out, his knee was still aching, but he didn’t show it.
He strode toward the van with long, determined steps.
“Hello.” He knocked on the van’s window.
The window rolled down, and a young reporter poked his head out. The moment he saw Lu Sihan, his expression shifted from “Who’s this?” to “Holy crap.”
“P-President Lu…”
“There’s no news for you here.”
Lu Sihan said, his voice quiet but cold. “Please leave.”
“President Lu, we’re just…”
“I said, please leave.”
The reporter looked at him.
He was wearing the same white shirt from yesterday, the bloodstain on the collar already dried into a dark red, hardened patch.
A yellow Winnie the Pooh bandage was stuck to the side of his neck, completely mismatched with his overall aura, yet somehow evoking an indescribable sense of pity.
He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, his shirt was wrinkled like pickled vegetables, and there were obvious dust marks on the knees of his pants.
This man, who stands at the pinnacle of the wealth pyramid in City A, now looks like an ordinary person who has spent a night wandering the streets.