Chapter 27: Sorry… Part 2

Wei Tingxia didn’t look away; their gazes met. He said softly into the phone, “I’ll give you an address. It’s a warehouse with four people locked inside. They orchestrated a car accident five years ago. You might want to see them.”

After he spoke, silence fell on Mrs. Yan’s end, as if she were doubting or simply stunned speechless by the news.

A long while later, the call ended.

Wei Tingxia silently pocketed his phone and strolled over to Yan Xinfeng, tilting his head to appraise his expression.

He remarked, “You look like a bomb just exploded in your mouth.”

At that, Yan Xinfeng said nothing, grabbed the back of Wei Tingxia’s neck, and pulled him close before leaning down to kiss him deeply and forcefully. Soon, Wei Tingxia felt out of breath and struggled for a while before pushing him away.

“What the hell?”

Yan Xinfeng watched him until he caught his breath, then expressionlessly mimed an explosion with his hands while making a sound from his mouth: “Boom—”

Such a childish guy, retaliating just because Wei Tingxia said he looked like he’d eaten a bomb.

“How old are you?” Wei Tingxia asked. “Just wait—you’re definitely getting an earful when you go back.”

Yan Xinfeng didn’t argue. He simply pulled out his phone, opened his chat with his mother, and handed it to Wei Tingxia.

Wei Tingxia took it and saw the conversation had ended two months ago. Mrs. Yan had told Yan Xinfeng to find a wife soon or not come home, and he’d replied with an “okay.”

Yan Xinfeng said flatly, “I haven’t gone back in two months.”

“…”

Wei Tingxia looked up wordlessly, admiring Yan Xinfeng’s commitment to his word.

“You’re definitely getting hit.” He stated it with certainty.

Yan Xinfeng didn’t deny it; he thought the same.

It would take time for his mother to find the warehouse and bring those four out. Yan Xinfeng looked up at the sky, where leaden gray clouds loomed heavily.

It would rain hard tonight.

“Back to the room,” he said. “Rain’s coming.”

…

At eight in the evening, fine raindrops began to fall sporadically. The steward of the Old Mansion called, hoping Yan Xinfeng could come back and take a look.

“After Madam went out, her mood has been very poor,” the old man who had served the Yan family for half his life asked. “Do you want to come back and see her?”

The two exchanged a glance. Wei Tingxia jumped off the sofa, found a windbreaker and umbrella for going out, handed them to Yan Xinfeng, and earnestly instructed, “Kneel if you need to—don’t be stubborn.”

The mission situation was looking great now, and Wei Tingxia was genuinely afraid Yan Xinfeng might get beaten to death.

“I know.”

Yan Xinfeng nodded and kissed Wei Tingxia.

Just as he was about to leave, Wei Tingxia still felt uneasy. “How about I go with you?”

Yan Xinfeng paused and turned back to confirm, “You sure?”

Wei Tingxia thought for a moment and shook his head. “Forget it. Go by yourself. I won’t get involved.”

Otherwise, someone was bound to end up in the hospital tonight.

“Then I’m off.”

Remembering what he had planned to do, Yan Xinfeng realized it would indeed be more convenient without Wei Tingxia around, so he didn’t press further and turned to leave.

Wei Tingxia sat back down on the sofa.

He had thought the evening would pass without any more business of his own, but not five minutes after Yan Xinfeng left, Mrs. Yan called.

“I underestimated you.”

That was the first thing she said after the call connected.

It was very quiet on Mrs. Yan’s end, her breathing barely audible. Wei Tingxia turned off the projector and silently gazed out the window.

Heavy rain poured down.

“What are you saying?” he said softly. “It was no trouble at all.”

“No trouble at all…”

Mrs. Yan repeated his words, then let out a cold laugh after a long pause. “Do you really think we’re family now?”

Wei Tingxia replied, “To be frank, whether you accept me or not doesn’t affect me much.”

Because Yan Xinfeng wouldn’t let go. No matter how much Mrs. Yan disliked Wei Tingxia, it wouldn’t threaten their marriage.

Wei Tingxia knew this full well, and Mrs. Yan knew it even better. She wasn’t meeting her son for the first time; she knew his stubborn nature well—once it flared up, not even twenty oxen could pull him back.

She chose not to dwell on it. “I don’t harbor that much malice toward you. I just want to know one thing—why did you leave back then? Since you left, why come back? How could you be so heartless?”

Her voice grew heavier with each sentence, culminating in a hoarse, desperate accusation. Mrs. Yan had witnessed Yan Xinfeng’s despair and dejection over those five years. As a mother, no pain cut deeper than that heart-wrenching agony.

“Our Yan family never did anything to wrong you, you…”

That was precisely why she couldn’t understand why Wei Tingxia had to come back and torment her son. She feared it was a long-planned revenge, convinced in her heart that it was. She couldn’t decipher the goodwill and gifts; she only worried they were the last meal before execution.

“Madam.”

Wei Tingxia, who had been listening silently, finally interrupted her questioning.

“You got one thing wrong. Yan Xinfeng never did anything to wrong me. The Yan family did.”

His words fell, plunging the surroundings into dead silence. Only the pattering rain outside remained, water droplets trailing down the glass like tears accumulated and revived over years of drought.

Mrs. Yan’s voice sounded as if she had swallowed a lump of raw iron. “You knew.”

“It’s hard not to know,” Wei Tingxia said lightly. “I was really upset back then.”

“So you got revenge on him—!”

Mrs. Yan’s emotions completely broke down, her voice shrill and piercing. “You abandoned him when he lost his father and had nothing left, all because you hated him! You thought he betrayed you, so you made him taste the betrayal of his closest, most trusted person! Wei Tingxia, what is your heart made of?!”

“Why couldn’t I be heartless?!”

Wei Tingxia’s voice suddenly rose, the fury surging in his eyes no less than Mrs. Yan’s. “Mrs. Yan! If you truly care for your son, if you don’t want him to suffer this, then back then, before your husband came to me with his nonsense, you should have stopped him! Not stand here now blaming me! I didn’t cause the problem!”

“He just thought you two weren’t a match!” Mentioning her late husband, Mrs. Yan’s voice finally carried a sob. “He thought our child deserved better. You were just, you were just…”

Her throat choked up, and the hurtful words wouldn’t come out.

So Wei Tingxia calmly finished her sentence. “And I was just a greedy villain obsessed with money.”

Revisiting the past, the anger that once burned his lungs had cooled completely, replaced by a deeper, icier shame of being played for a fool.

He let out a short, light laugh, ethereal like a murmur in a dream, yet edged with chilling sharpness. “You should be glad I was in a good mood back then. Otherwise, in a moment of impulse, thinking he was going to marry behind my back, I might have stabbed him dead.”

Chaos erupted on the other end of the line—something toppling over—not just because of Wei Tingxia’s words, but because Mrs. Yan realized he wasn’t joking.

In truth, she had regretted it long ago. Years before, when her husband insisted they couldn’t be together and decided to talk to the boy dating her son, she should have spoken up, said to let the young ones handle their own affairs, instead of silently acquiescing.

The bitter fruit came swiftly and harshly.

She had never seen her son so utterly lost.

Yan Xinfeng stood like a soulless shell in the center of that apartment they had once lovingly decorated. When she pushed the door open, he merely lifted his eyelids woodenly, his vacant gaze sweeping the surroundings before falling back into emptiness.

The home they had so carefully arranged had become dull and lifeless. In just a year, both had lost the love of their lives.

Mrs. Yan looked at the dull, grayed silver ring on her son’s finger and felt it was like a meticulously planned revenge—for her inaction.

The rain outside seemed fiercer, hammering the glass like countless tiny hammers chipping away at her already overburdened defenses.

Trembling breaths crossed the spatial barrier into Wei Tingxia’s ears.

Mrs. Yan asked cautiously, “So why did you come back this time…?”

“Nothing in particular,” Wei Tingxia said casually. “I won’t take revenge on him anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

At that, Mrs. Yan let out a short, hoarse laugh. “Even if you did, I couldn’t stop it.”

Yan Xinfeng was clearly set on enduring hardship, determined to swallow every bitter fruit Wei Tingxia offered. He was courting death, bringing suffering on himself—no one could stop him.

“That old phone card of yours was never deactivated. He sent you a lot of messages, made a lot of calls. He didn’t want me to see, but I glimpsed them a few times occasionally. There must have been more behind my back…” Her voice trembled. “Did you ever hear them?”

Back then, he had withdrawn from the world—how could he have heard?

Wei Tingxia denied it. “No.”

“Then listen to them,” Mrs. Yan said. “If you want.”

She hesitated, her tone faltering, clearly holding back what she really wanted to say. Wei Tingxia waited silently.

Only when the rain outside suddenly intensified, thunder booming like a heavy hammer on a drum, did Wei Tingxia hear her next words.

“Sorry…”

Mrs. Yan’s voice was lighter than her breath. “This should have had a good ending.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Wei Tingxia said, lowering his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault.”

In the end, Mrs. Yan wasn’t a bad person. She had just been overly concerned and misguided; she had never truly harmed Wei Tingxia.

The one truly responsible was already dead, and Wei Tingxia had no interest in troubling a corpse.

Estimating the time in his mind, Wei Tingxia said, “He should be arriving soon. You two talk. I won’t disturb.”

After hanging up, a faint buzz lingered in his ears. Wei Tingxia frowned slightly and stood up.

Perhaps from sitting awkwardly earlier, his legs now felt weak and sore, his chest stuffed with a damp, rotting clump of cotton that weighed him down with dull pain.

The surroundings were dimly lit. Yao Ling had tactfully left when he answered the call. Now, all was quiet except for the clamor of rain.

Wei Tingxia stared out the window for a long time, repeatedly recalling Mrs. Yan’s words.

Had Yan Xinfeng… contacted him so many times?

Without seeing or hearing it himself, there would be no answer. After a brief adjustment, Wei Tingxia quickly left the media room and headed straight to the master bedroom on the third floor.

In the walk-in closet, the black box held the phone, fully charged and ready to power on.