After a while, the smoke dispersed, and Dai Linxuan’s face clearly emerged in the night.
“Dai Yi told you?” Dai Linxuan tilted his hand, and the cigarette butt fell into the silver ashtray. “She’s just tricking you into bluffing me.”
Lai Li’s heart sank.
Dai Linxuan only said that Dai Yi had tricked him, but he didn’t deny the matter of the rings.
So, that day when he took off the ring and sent it to the auction block, what had Dai Linxuan been feeling? And with what mindset had he kept bidding, ultimately spending twelve million to buy back the pair’s ring that he had personally given away?
Because it was a pair of rings, it had hurt his heart, and only afterward was he unwilling to give him another one, instead using the downgraded excuse of an “opening gift for school.”
“. . . Bro.” Lai Li was silent for a long time. “I didn’t know.”
Dai Linxuan casually propped up his elbow, resting his temple on his hand, and looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “I never told you—where did you hear it from?”
Lai Li furrowed his brows deeply. He didn’t think Dai Linxuan would give a pair of rings to someone else with personal motives before confirming their relationship—it wasn’t the act of a gentleman.
Dai Linxuan looked at him for a moment, then reached out his right hand to cup half of Lai Li’s face, gently rubbing his brow with his thumb. “You might have misunderstood.”
“. . . What?”
“The rings weren’t designed by He Si at my request; she did it on her own initiative.” Dai Linxuan’s tone was even. “They are a pair, but not a lover’s pair.”
With half his vision blocked by Lai Li’s hand, his eyelashes brushed against Dai Linxuan’s palm as they drooped. “Then what are they?”
Dai Linxuan said, “He Si drew inspiration from us to design her final pair of works—one representing you, one representing me—as an inexpensive parting gift. Nothing more.”
The most expensive material in the rings was the black diamond. Even so, the appraised value wouldn’t exceed a million; what made them truly expensive was He Si’s fame. But she probably never imagined this gift would end up on an auction block.
When Lai Li had received the gift back then, it came with He Si’s design sketch, which didn’t mention the design concept, purpose, or inspiration source.
But from the current perspective, the sketch he had was probably only half—or even a third—of the full picture.
Since it was a pair of rings, there had to be a blueprint with both together.
Dai Linxuan’s fingertips were cool, and the rubbing at his brow was quite refreshing. When he withdrew his hand, Lai Li grabbed it and pressed it onto his own knee.
Using it for leverage, Lai Li stood up and leaned in close, staring into Dai Linxuan’s hazel eyes as he softly said, “Since that one represents me, shouldn’t you give it back to me?”
“I already gave it to you at the beginning.” Dai Linxuan pulled back his wrist and smiled faintly. “Auctions work that way—the highest bidder wins. Fair trade. It’s mine now.”
Lai Li took half a step back and straightened up, looking down at him.
Lai Li had no real bond with He Si; they even looked at each other with disdain. Even if He Si had given a parting gift, the disposal rights for both rings must have gone entirely to Dai Linxuan.
Yet Dai Linxuan had concealed one of the rings and given the other to him.
If his intentions were truly pure, why hide it?
If Dai Linxuan still wasn’t telling the full truth right now, then what exactly had happened two years ago?
Lai Li suddenly felt uncertain.
The day in his memory had been sunny and ordinary—no special occasion, nothing interesting had happened.
So he had always treated that ring as an ordinary gift, except that Dai Linxuan was preparing to go abroad the next day, which gave it new meaning as a parting gift.
It coincidentally matched the reason He Si had given it to Dai Linxuan—one a living farewell, the other a farewell in death.
Lai Li slowly said, “Bro, swear to me you didn’t lie.”
Dai Linxuan lifted his eyelids and said good-naturedly, “I swear—if there’s even half a lie in what I said, may I be struck by—”
Lai Li leaned over and covered Dai Linxuan’s mouth. This time, he leaned in even closer, his face devoid of any smile. “If you lied to me—”
Dai Linxuan lowered his eyelids. After waiting a moment with no follow-up, he lifted his gaze to meet Lai Li’s and hummed questioningly, “Hm?”
Warm breath sprayed onto Lai Li’s palm. He instinctively pulled back his hand, still without a trace of a smile. “You’ll find out when that day comes.”
“That’s scary.” Dai Linxuan sighed lightly and played along. “Are you going to tear me apart with five horses?”
Lai Li slipped his hand into his pocket and looked out at the inner courtyard. “Do you want to go back on your word?”
Dai Linxuan didn’t follow the rhythm. “What?”
“You said to pick something from the auction catalog as an opening gift for school.” Lai Li said, “Since the ring isn’t what I thought it meant, giving it to me as a school opening gift should be fine, right?”
Dai Linxuan looked at him for a moment. “Isn’t it too expensive?”
Lai Li just looked at him silently.
Dai Linxuan was surprised by Lai Li’s fixation on this ring. He recalled, “If I remember correctly, my exact words that day were ‘Remember to look at the auction catalog and pick anything as a gift.'”
Lai Li’s expression instantly soured—the ring added at the last minute wasn’t in the catalog.
Dai Linxuan: “So it doesn’t count as going back on my word.”
Even if it did count, so what? On what grounds did Lai Li expect him to fulfill every promise? Adults occasionally lied or failed to follow through—it was perfectly normal.
Dai Linxuan thought this but didn’t say it aloud.
He asked calmly, “Suppose I hadn’t bid that day, and it fell into the hands of another collector, like Madam Jing. How would you get it back then?”
Lai Li didn’t entertain the hypothetical. Instead, he zoned out, his mind flashing to what Dai Yi had said at the family banquet: “Once Big Bro changes his mind, you’re nothing.”
After a moment, Lai Li snapped back. “No chance of that. You definitely bid.”
Dai Linxuan laughed for a good while, even choking and coughing into his hand twice.
As expected from the little brother he had raised—even without knowing anything, he instinctively knew how to pin him down.
“Go to sleep.” Dai Linxuan stood up and patted Lai Li’s arm. “I’m suddenly feeling sleepy.”
Without waiting for a reply, he headed to the bathroom.
“Some things depend on fate. If it’s not meant to be, let it go—being obsessed is pointless.” Dai Linxuan undid his shirt buttons. “Seriously, pick a different school opening gift. Any price, as long as I can afford it.”
Lai Li didn’t agree; all other gifts felt dull to him. Watching Dai Linxuan’s back, he asked, “Why did you move out?”
“It’s inconvenient living at home.” Dai Linxuan said. “First, it’s too far from the campus. Second, I wanted some personal space.”
Lai Li asked softly, “What about me?”
“You’re an adult now, with several properties under your name. If you don’t like them, buy more. Or do you want a house as your school opening gift?” Dai Linxuan shed his shirt. “—At my age, few people live alone with their siblings.”
The night shrouded Lai Li’s face in a hazy black mist, making it hard to discern. Something seemed poised to erupt, but moments later, it was forcibly suppressed, as if nothing had happened.
“Forgive me, Little Chestnut. I need a lot of personal time to let go of… feelings.” Dai Linxuan said jokingly. “Besides, isn’t there a saying? The best way to get over one relationship is to start a second one. As a thirty-year-old single man, it’s normal to have some private life I don’t want people knowing about, right?”
The second half of the sentence felt like a preemptive disclaimer.
There was no sound from behind. Just as Dai Linxuan was about to turn around, he heard Lai Li say calmly, “Got it.”
Dai Linxuan smiled and closed the bathroom door.
When he came out after his shower, the bedroom was empty. Dai Linxuan wasn’t surprised and lay down on the bed he had slept in for over a decade.
Sleepiness had vanished again.
He was even more fickle than Lai Li.
His phone had a new message—
【Whose Little Mongrel Dog】: The herbal prescription really is for regulating sleep. I didn’t tamper with it. Since you’re not living at home anymore, find someone else to brew it for you.
【Whose Little Mongrel Dog】: Poor sleep is agonizing. Don’t get mad at me over this.
Dai Linxuan was speechless. Who was mad? He stared at the contact name for a moment, a faint gentleness tracing his brows and eyes before vanishing in an instant.
Over the next few nights, Lai Li didn’t obediently stay at school either. He returned to the manor and slept in Dai Linxuan’s bedroom several times.
“What are you doing? Big Bro moved out, and you’re here mooning over his stuff instead of finding him?” Dai Yi leaned against the doorframe. After a moment, she realized, “Big Bro didn’t tell you where he lives, did he?”
Unexpectedly, Lai Li didn’t get angry. “You know?”
Dai Yi spread her hands. “Nope, he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”
Dai Linxuan’s room felt even emptier than the two years before he returned. Many things were gone.
Lai Li pondered for a long time, as if unsure how to broach it.
Dai Yi waited patiently for three minutes before hearing Lai Li ask something completely unrelated: “Do you remember that camera I had before?”
“You mean the Phase One Big Bro gave you the year he graduated?” Dai Yi said. “I’d forgotten if you hadn’t mentioned it. Haven’t seen you use it in ages.”
Lai Li suddenly tensed. “Where is it?”
“It’s your stuff—why ask me?” Dai Yi tsked lightly. “Even though Big Bro gave it to you, he gave me one too. No need to hide yours.”
Lai Li: “That’s not what I meant.”
Dai Yi was mildly shocked. “. . . Did someone possess you?”
In the past, they’d be at each other’s throats by now, jabbing sore spots. Lai Li would never explain.
“You’re not playing around because you lost the camera these past two years?” Dai Yi suddenly got it and was impressed. “Big Bro, you lost it two years ago and only now think to look? Isn’t that too late?”
Lai Li wasn’t sure exactly when it went missing, but Dai Yi said he hadn’t played with it in two years.
Two years ago again.
Lai Li only knew he needed something to record with, but wasn’t sure what—maybe the Recording Pen, maybe a virtual account. After fruitless searches, he inventoried his belongings and realized that as a playboy proficient in eating, drinking, and fun, he didn’t even have a camera.
Lai Li suddenly looked straight at Dai Yi. “How do you know I haven’t played with it in two years?”
“We move in the same circles.” Dai Yi sighed. “As my nominal second brother, even if I don’t pry, people will volunteer updates on you. I even know how many people on the confession wall have been asking if you’re up for dates since school started.”
Lai Li hadn’t even known that.
He typed “camera” into his notes app.
September ended quickly, and the weather grew cooler, to the point where long sleeves were necessary.
One week remained until Dai Corporation’s board meeting.
On the first day of the October long holiday, the results came out regarding the sulfuric acid incident at the Welfare Home.
After police investigation, the full name of the Welfare Home staffer who threw the acid was Zeng Wenzhi—no family, his only daughter had committed suicide in her teens after suffering sexual violence, which made him harbor special hatred for pedophiles.
There had been no anomalies in his financial transactions over the past three years.
As for the sulfuric acid, he had stockpiled some from his previous job at a fertilizer plant, originally to retaliate against the rapist who killed his daughter. But before he could act, the police arrested the man, so the acid had sat unused until he “witnessed” Dai Linxuan molesting another child.
Lai Li drove straight into the Dai Corporation Campus and burst into Dai Linxuan’s office. “You—”
There were others in the office, giving a work report. Probably the first time they’d seen someone barge in without knocking, they exchanged stunned, bewildered glances.
Dai Linxuan calmly reassured them. “I’ve got the gist. Email me a copy and head out.”
Once they left, Lai Li approached the desk and leaned on it. “Did you see the investigation results?”
“Coffee?” Dai Linxuan stirred with a spoon. “If you mind that I’ve drunk from it, have the secretary make a fresh one.”
Lai Li’s emotions settled a bit as he took the coffee and sipped.
It was undrinkably bitter.
Dai Linxuan pulled out a stack of documents. “Zeng Wenzhi’s background is all here. I had someone check his finances for the past decade—no anomalies. He lived in abject poverty.”
Lai Li flipped through the pages. “Could someone have threatened his life?”
Dai Linxuan said, “He has no relatives.”
And could a father whose daughter died due to a pedophile possibly frame someone else as one just to save his own skin?
Others might think it impossible, but Lai Li never trusted human nature.
Dai Linxuan leaned back in his chair, watching him steadily. After a moment, he suddenly asked, “Didn’t it ever cross your mind that he might be telling the truth?”
Lai Li jerked his head up. “Bro, let me say it one more time—don’t talk to me like that.”
“Okay.” Dai Linxuan helplessly spread his hands. “Just from the police’s perspective, the odds are high that he’s telling the truth.”
Lai Li thought back to the results of their previous investigation into Jin Ming—those playgrounds of the rich kids were rarely peaceful places. They needed solid achievements to climb the ranks.
In an instant, a slew of conspiracies flashed through his mind.
But framing a young heir from a powerhouse family—one with an almost spotless reputation, backed by wealth, influence, and connections—wasn’t that too risky? And a personal crime like this wouldn’t rack up much in the way of “achievements” anyway.
Lai Li flipped to the next page of the report. His gaze froze at the first line.
He looked up at Dai Linxuan. “Zeng Wenzhi used to live in the Slum District of the West Bank District?”
It had another name now: Saibo City. That was where Lai Li had spent ten years of his life.
Dai Linxuan propped his chin on his hand and hummed in affirmation. “That’s where his daughter met her fate. After the rapist got caught, he moved out, started volunteering at welfare homes all over, keeping company with kids who’d lost their parents.”
Lai Li narrowed his eyes. “Bro, you don’t feel sorry for him, do you?”
“Even the most hated people have their pitiable sides—one thing at a time.” Dai Linxuan glanced at Lai Li’s shoulder, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. “He hurt you. He pays the price.”
Lai Li pored over the documents several times but found nothing out of the ordinary.
For him, though, the biggest red flag was Zeng Wenzhi claiming he’d seen Dai Linxuan molesting other children with his own eyes.
Lai Li furrowed his brow. “He worked at the fertilizer plant thirteen years ago?”
“Yeah, back when he was still living in the West Bank District—what everyone called the Slum District.” Dai Linxuan tilted his head. “Why?”
In a flash, inspiration struck Lai Li. He vaguely recalled something—but the next second, the office door flew open, slamming into the doorstop with a resounding bang.
Lai Li shot an expressionless glance that way. No knocking. What an asshole.*
Jiang Qiujun didn’t spare him a look. Her face was frosty as she stormed in and slapped her phone down in front of Dai Linxuan. “Explain this!”
Dai Linxuan stayed perfectly composed—probably a trait he’d inherited from her. Twelve years in the Dai Family, and this was the first time Lai Li had seen Jiang Qiujun lose control like this.
The phone on the desk was playing a video.
The footage was dim. Several men lounged in a lavish private room, cigarette smoke curling thick around them, blurring their figures and voices into hazy silhouettes.
One held a long wooden box lined with velvet, packed with cigar-sized “cigarettes.” Some smoked them, others clutched them between their fingers, the glowing red embers burned down halfway.
Their moods were electric, euphoric, floating on a dreamy high.
At the edge of the frame, a man reclined on the sofa, chin tilted up slightly, eyes half-lidded as he gazed offscreen. He wasn’t joining the chatter, but he had one of those “cigarettes” clamped between his lips. The haze softened his aloof features, lending them an unexpected touch of allure.
Then, a boy of indeterminate age drifted into view from the direction of the man’s stare—slender and dressed in something innocently thin.
He sank slowly to his knees in front of the man. Faintly audible: “Mister…”
The video cut off there, leaving plenty to the imagination.
The office fell deathly silent.
Lai Li’s blood turned to ice, his body temperature plunging.
The man’s face was obscured by the smoke, but just as Jiang Qiujun could spot her son in an instant, Lai Li recognized his brother on sight.
—The man at the edge of the screen was Dai Linxuan.
