Capital City Airport.
The evening rush-hour crowd streamed past amid the clatter of rolling suitcases. Rong Yichen stood in the shadows near the arrivals exit, idly tapping his fingertips against the handle of his suitcase.
He wore a loose white T-shirt and black trousers. His lips parted slightly as he spoke to someone through his earbuds, his tone casually indifferent. “I’ve landed.”
The person on the other end said something.
Rong Yichen gave a derisive laugh and raised an eyebrow. “What difference does it make whether you come or not?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the other person hung up angrily, leaving a piercing busy signal in his ear. He pursed his lips helplessly, swiped his finger across his phone screen twice, and said with a smile, “You’re so petty.”
Just then, a black Audi rolled to a stop in front of him, its bodywork gleaming with a hard, cold sheen in the dusk. The driver’s door opened, and a young man in a sharply tailored suit hurried out, his leather shoes striking the pavement with crisp clicks.
“May I ask if you’re Young Master Rong Yichen?” The man bowed slightly, wearing a practiced professional smile. “I’m Wang Yi, Assistant to President Rong.”
The careless look vanished from Rong Yichen’s face in an instant, replaced by an obedient, gentle expression. The corners of his mouth curved into just the right smile, and he nodded lightly. “Yes. Are you here to pick me up?”
“Yes, yes, Second Young Master.” The man hurried over to take his suitcase. “Please get in, Second Young Master. The Old Master and everyone at home are waiting for you.”
Rong Yichen stepped aside to avoid his hand. He put the suitcase in the trunk himself, then opened the door and got into the back seat. His fingertips brushed lightly over the leather upholstery, and a trace of impatience flickered in his eyes.
He felt miserable. Just thinking about going to the Rong family’s home made him miserable.
The car pulled smoothly away from the airport and headed toward the outskirts. As dusk deepened, the upturned eaves of the Rong family ancestral residence seemed ever more imposing.
Rong Yichen leaned against the car window, watching the trees flash past. This was his second time returning to that residence, which symbolized the Rong family’s power, since he was five years old.
The car stopped in front of the carved gates, where the butler was already waiting. Rong Yichen followed him through the covered walkway. The servants along the way kept their heads down; their manner was respectful, but their eyes held a measure of curiosity and disdain.
He took it all in without betraying any reaction, still wearing that obedient, harmless expression.
In the dining room, the crystal chandelier’s light spilled across the redwood table, making the feast laid out on it look even more exquisite. The low conversation fell silent the moment Rong Yichen pushed open the door. Every eye turned toward him.
Rong Jingtang, Rong Yichen’s grandfather, sat at the head of the table with a kind smile. He waved him over. “Yichen, you’re back. Come and eat. We’re all waiting for you.”
Rong Yichen smiled and nodded obediently. His gaze swept discreetly over the dishes that had already been touched, and he gave a quiet laugh.
He walked over and sat down. Apart from Rong Jingtang, Rong Yichen knew only Rong Zheng, seated to his left, and Rong Linchuan, seated to his right.
Rong Zheng, his biological father, held a teacup, tapping its rim lightly with his fingertips. His eyes were as cold as ice, his lips pressed into a thin line. He made no effort to conceal his disgust. Rong Yichen could clearly feel the rejection radiating from him, as though he were something filthy.
Rong Yichen despised the old womanizer and silently moved farther away from him.
Rong Linchuan, his half-brother, meanwhile, looked utterly unconcerned. He toyed with the silver cutlery in his hand and gave Rong Yichen a detached glance. There was neither dislike nor warmth in his eyes, as if he were looking at an inconsequential stranger.
Watching him take his seat, Rong Jingtang asked with a smile, “Yichen, how did the paperwork go?”
Rong Yichen lowered his eyes slightly, his voice gentle and compliant. “It’s all taken care of. I can start school in a couple of days.”
“Good boy. Let’s eat,” Rong Jingtang said with satisfaction.
“Yes, Grandpa.” Rong Yichen picked up his chopsticks and unhurriedly took a chopstickful of greens, eating in small mouthfuls and maintaining his obedient, honest, well-behaved persona throughout.
But he was, after all, an assassin who had lived on the edge of life and death. The hostile looks fixed on him were impossible to ignore. They pricked at his skin like needles, making Rong Yichen feel uncomfortable all over.
Rong Zheng turned his head to look at him. His gaze grew colder and colder, openly contemptuous, as if he were looking at a shameless intruder.
Rong Linchuan sipped his soup indifferently, unmoved. This younger brother who had suddenly appeared was neither a threat nor family to him, merely one more of the Rong family’s many nuisances. As long as he didn’t disrupt Rong Linchuan’s life, he didn’t care.
Rong Yichen knew perfectly well that the Rong family had never welcomed him, an illegitimate son—a stain left behind by Rong Zheng’s one-night fling. But he had no desire to stay in this revolting place, either. He had returned to the country as a young master of the Rong family for two reasons: first, to make his background seem less conspicuous and avoid anyone investigating his true identity; second, to fit into this circle more easily and gather more information.
After the meal, Rong Jingtang took Rong Yichen to the reception room. The redwood furniture gave off a heavy, oppressive air. Seated on the sofa, Rong Jingtang spoke in a tone that left no room for argument. “Yichen, while you’re here on exchange for these six months, stay at the Rong family home. I’ve had the servants prepare a guest room for you.”
Rong Yichen wore an obedient smile and gently shook his head. His voice was mild but firm. “There’s no need, Grandpa. I’ll stay in the dormitory. It’ll be more convenient at school.”
He sneered inwardly. His grandfather could have simply said he had prepared a room. Did he have to emphasize that it was a guest room, as though he were afraid people might forget Rong Yichen was an outsider?
Rong Jingtang’s expression darkened slightly. “Then it’s up to you, Yichen.” He paused, then seemed to remember something. “The Academy of Sciences thinks highly of what you’ve accomplished in medicine, Yichen. Make sure you keep up the good work.”
Rong Yichen nodded, unwilling to keep going around in circles with the old man. He glanced at the darkening sky outside, then rose with polite reserve. “Grandpa, it’s getting late. I’ll head to school now and get my things settled.”
“Go ahead. Be careful,” Rong Jingtang said, waving him off.
Rong Yichen turned away, and his smile vanished in an instant. His eyes were as cold as ice. He walked slowly toward the exit. With his exceptionally sharp hearing, as he passed the garden he clearly heard the spiteful gossip of the relatives from the dinner table.
“An illegitimate son will always be an illegitimate son. He cowers like a quail—not fit to show his face in respectable company.”
“He’s good-looking, though. What a shame he was born so low.”
“How does an illegitimate son have the nerve to enter the Rong family home? Shameless.”
Rong Yichen didn’t break stride. A mocking smile curved his lips. Idiots.
He took out his phone at an unhurried pace, swiped the screen open, found a number, and called it.
He was no longer the obedient, gentle Second Young Master he had been in front of the Rong family. The corners of his eyes lifted slightly, and his voice carried a lazy, casual lilt. “Busy? Either way, come pick me up.”