While Su Tang spoke, he was reviewing the strategy provided by the Heartthrob System.
The guide explained that to capture Song Linyu’s heart, he needed to play the tsundere role—tough on the outside but soft within—using the pretext of running an errand for him to take Song Linyu after school to places the boy had never been able to visit before. In doing so, Su Tang would brighten the gloom of Song Linyu’s life and become the proud little ray of sunshine in his heart.
Su Tang decided to give it a try.
He crossed his arms and glanced left and right. At his cue, the pack of obedient thugs under his control stepped forward to block Song Linyu’s path. They flashed ingratiating grins that didn’t reach their eyes. “Student Song, what’s the rush?” one of them said.
“You got my book dirty today,” Su Tang said, channeling his “pretends to hate you but secretly loves you” persona to perfection. He issued the command with deliberate awkwardness. “Come with me to buy a new one. If you’re good about it, I won’t shortchange you.”
Song Linyu’s throat bobbed sharply. He wrenched himself free from the hands gripping him—a rare moment of him initiating conversation with Su Tang. His voice came out hoarse and ragged. “No, I really have something urgent today. My mom—”
“Parent-teacher night doesn’t start until seven. What’s the hurry?” Su Tang waved his hand impatiently, signaling his lackeys to drag the boy away. But in a flash, Song Linyu twisted their wrists in reverse, drove an elbow into the circle of bodies around him, vaulted over the railing, and leaped down to the floor below.
Su Tang’s eyes went wide. Used to being treated like an emperor in this world, he hated nothing more than defiance. Forgetting everything else, he ignored the Heartthrob System’s warnings and flung out a shower of points. Everyone near him fell under his control in an instant. The whole school mobilized, chasing Song Linyu down. They would tie him up if they had to and drag him back.
…
Two hours later, in the shrubbery behind the school building.
Song Linyu huddled in the shadows behind an electrical box. Sweat trickled from his forehead, stinging the raw scrape on his temple as it slid down his collar. Only when the chaotic footsteps faded into the distance did he pull out his phone. It was on silent, and the screen bore a fresh crack from some mishap.
Amid the missed calls sat a callback from Song Lingyi.
Song Linyu redialed her number and flipped over the perimeter wall, hurrying home. But all he got was a busy signal.
Meanwhile, Su Tang was growing increasingly irritated in his search. He’d planned to seize Song Linyu up close and bend him to his will, forcing the boy to tag along on his outing. But Song Linyu was nowhere in sight.
From what the others reported, Song Linyu had taken five or six punches and still managed to slip the net. The kid’s resilience was infuriating.
Su Tang had been standing around long enough that even he was bored. Besides, parent-teacher night was about to start, and the teachers who’d gone out for dinner were trickling back. Even with plenty of points to spend, there was no need to cause such a commotion.
Weighing his options, Su Tang finally gritted his teeth and let Song Linyu go home. He swore to himself that tomorrow, he would conquer the strategy—no matter what.
…
Song Linyu arrived at the neighborhood gate, panting for breath. The moment he skidded to a halt, his hands instinctively braced on his knees. A thick, rust-like tang of blood welled up in his throat.
The call he’d returned went unanswered. For some reason, a chill of dread and unease gnawed at Song Linyu.
That premonition turned real the instant he spotted the ambulance.
Its red-and-blue lights flashed at breakneck speed, emitting a piercing wail of grief. Paramedics emerged from the stairwell carrying a stretcher draped in white. A pale, emaciated wrist protruded from beneath the sheet, swaying limply like duckweed adrift.
“The patient has a history of heart disease. Acute episode, no time for medication,” the doctor said matter-of-factly to the frantic teenager who’d run up. His eyes, visible above the mask, held no emotion. “And you are…?”
Song Linyu’s mind went blank. He barely registered the words, only hearing his own voice ring out with unnatural clarity. “Can I… see her?”
“What’s your relation to the patient? Her family is over there. Go talk to him.”
Song Linyu followed the doctor’s pointing finger. Standing by the ambulance was a man he’d never seen before.
A cluster of sharply dressed bodyguards and assistants flanked him. An expensive overcoat draped his shoulders, and his affable face was etched with regret and sorrow.
Nearby, a police officer double-checked details on his notepad, reciting the diagnosed cause of death and circumstances. “Mr. Song, when you opened the door, Ms. Song had already stopped breathing. And your bodyguards and assistants can corroborate that, correct?”
“Yes,” the man replied, lowering his gaze. Sorrow laced his tone, impossible to hide. “She was the little sister I doted on most as a child. We weren’t blood-related, but I never imagined this would happen… I should have visited sooner. I should have come more often.”
The officer patted his shoulder. “Mr. Song Wen, our condolences. We all know you’re busy with work, but no matter how busy, family comes first…”
He was Song Wen.
Song Linyu’s pupils contracted sharply. The name triggered a flood of memories—Song Lingyi’s venomous curses, spat through gritted teeth in her nightmares.
Song Linyu’s dazed, rooted stance quickly caught the man’s eye from across the crowd.
He wove through the onlookers toward Song Linyu. Pausing, he studied the face so like Song Lingyi’s, then broke into a gentle smile.
Song Wen bent down and ruffled Song Linyu’s hair. His eyes crinkled warmly. Leaning in, he murmured into the boy’s ear, “No wonder she clung to life. It was because of you.”
A shrill ringtone cut him off. Song Wen straightened and nodded to his assistant to take the call.
The conversation dragged on. When it ended, the assistant shot Song Wen a troubled look. “President Song, Young Master Song says he’ll handle his sister’s affairs himself. If you interfere, he’ll…”
“And?” Song Wen chuckled lazily. “Song Lingze, that dying weakling, actually thinks he’s part of the Song family. If he weren’t half in the grave, I never would’ve found Song Lingyi.”
“But Young Master Song still holds—”
“Never mind.” Song Wen glanced at Song Linyu without a shred of feeling, his gaze that of one eyeing dust ready to be swept away. Coldly, he added, “Some stray mongrel she raised. Inherited her brains, too. Won’t stir up any trouble.”
“Yes, and Young Master Fu just messaged—he’s off to shoot a movie…”
“Fu Yanzong? Let him. His parents anyway…”
They ignored Song Linyu completely, chatting idly as they departed. Not a glance spared for him, as if he truly were insignificant, not worth the effort to deal with.
The ambulance siren faded into the distance. The clamor of the crowd died away, like a play crashing from climax to curtain call, leaving the performer to boos.
Song Linyu stumbled home on stiff legs and pushed open the door. His report card still lay amid the clutter on the coffee table. Then his phone buzzed with a message from his teacher. Unable to reach him by call, the homeroom teacher had texted:
“Linyu, is your mom still coming to parent-teacher night tonight? I was hoping she’d share her insights on raising such a top student. Is she unwell again?”
The teacher had no idea this was the one parent-teacher night Song Lingyi had prepared for—and the one she never made it to.
Revisiting old haunts never lifted the spirits. Song Linyu entered his room and opened the window.
The desk held the same old setup: knickknacks on the bookshelf, a photo of Song Lingyi, and front and center, a worn student ID.
It showed Fu Yanzong as a child, beaming with radiant joy. Song Linyu gazed at the card in silence, memories flooding back of his time at Song Lingyi’s side.
Song Lingyi clearly felt nothing like love for Song Linyu’s biological father. Wise as he was, even Song Linyu couldn’t grasp what love meant. Though he’d instinctively sought maternal warmth and familial bonds from her, she had slipped away too soon.
Too soon for anything but resentment and thoughts of revenge to take root in him.
He’d assumed his life would grind on that way: topple Song Wen, make him pay for his crimes. Shake free of Su Tang’s grip and repay his torment a hundredfold.
But along the way, he’d crossed paths with Fu Yanzong again.
What did he feel for Fu Yanzong?
It started with that smiling student ID from their youth, sparking curiosity that led him to watch from the shadows for years.
Did he hate him? Far from it. Where Su Tang embodied the opposite, Fu Yanzong’s privileged life had shaped him into a genuinely good person—willful at times, but always respectful. Song Linyu knew he was beloved by many, and deservedly so.
Was that love?
When had it become love?
When Fu Yanzong said he could cry in front of him? When he offered a hug? On every birthday with gifts arriving? Their first kiss?
Or earlier still—before Fu Yanzong even registered Song Linyu’s existence? Back when Song Linyu sat alone in his room, solemnly rewatching Fu Yanzong’s films on mute, slowing his steps whenever someone mentioned him?
There were ten thousand ways to secure Dongyu’s shares. None seemed to require staying by Fu Yanzong’s side—learning to match his outfits and accessories, grieving when he grieved, rejoicing when he rejoiced.
Su Tang’s family businesses had all been handed over by Song Linyu last year. It didn’t matter if he had meddled in them or not—Song Linyu was confident he had plenty of ways to ensure Su Tang could never make a comeback. That dream of stardom at film academy? It would all come at a price for what had happened back then.
So, couldn’t he take it a little slower? Did it have to be so rushed?
A chill wind drifted slowly through the window. Song Linyu pulled open the drawer, his fingers lingering as they rummaged through the jumble of items inside. At last, he found a box of cigarettes, half-used and already damp.
The metal lid popped open silently in the darkness, drawing what little warmth there was from his fingertips. He gave a faint smile, turning sideways to shield the flame. The lighter’s wheel scraped, sparking a fleeting orange glow, and finally, shakily, he lit the soggy, outdated cigarette.
He didn’t put it between his lips. It was just like the poor little girl selling matches in the fairy tale—lighting a single bright flame for solace.
Song Linyu’s pale eyes flickered in the firelight, rising and falling, as if a spark of fireworks had lodged within them.
On the desk sat a photo of Song Lingyi. It wasn’t some polished portrait from a funeral; it was a snapshot from long ago, taken with a discarded old phone while Song Linyu stealthily captured his mother asleep.
She lay there under a thin blanket, utterly serene, bridging time and space to pull Song Linyu back to that sweltering afternoon when he hadn’t dared disturb her rest.
But now, he could speak.
“Mom,” Song Linyu murmured, gazing at her. “I don’t want to deceive him. I don’t need any of his things. I just…”
I just want to stay by his side.
If he knew I’m not the obedient, gentle, innocent type he likes, would he still choose me?
Song Linyu didn’t know Fu Yanzong’s answer.
What he did know was that people never tired of weaving justifications for their actions, crafting elaborate explanations to soothe their consciences, then losing themselves in the delusion of self-conviction.
So Song Linyu wouldn’t make excuses for himself anymore. The reasons for hiding were just fear and inferiority, but he could tell Fu Yanzong: Bro, I’ll treat you right. If you choose me, I’ll give you everything you could want.
Song Linyu stubbed out the cigarette—that makeshift prayer—into the ashtray. He switched on the lamp and sat down at the desk. Pulling out his tablet, just as he had on so many late nights spent diligently studying, he began compiling a report that held nothing back.
He planned to send it to Fu Yanzong and tell him: This is everything I have. This is the real Song Linyu.
So, please—give me a chance.
…Please consider letting me stay by your side.
