Chapter 7: Anger

“……”

Song Cheng’an looked at him, tilting his head slightly as if admiring something beautiful.

Lin Jianxi thought of the injuries on him and felt even sadder.

He never blamed the kid for being so cruel or wicked. Perhaps the world was simply unfair to Song Cheng’an.

Nor did he want to ask why he hadn’t come back even once in three years. Song Cheng’an probably didn’t understand emotions at all.

Let him do as he pleased.

As long as he grew up alright.

Lin Jianxi wanted to ruffle the other’s hair, but his phone buzzed. Seeing the number, his fingertip hovered above the screen for a moment before he picked up.

“Mm, I’m heading back now.”

Lin Jianxi glanced at Song Cheng’an, who was still watching him. He took the other’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze to signal that he had to go.

Then he walked toward the exit while still on the call. Song Cheng’an’s gaze followed him until his figure was about to vanish down the corridor. He tugged his cap brim lower and trailed slowly behind.

~~~

Lin Jianxi first bought a folding fruit knife from the supermarket downstairs, then bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door with his key—all in one smooth motion.

This wasn’t his home. It was the original host’s.

Lin Jianxi had once heard Gu Heng say that his past self had been spoiled rotten, throwing tantrums left and right, obsessed with money to the point of sneaking Gu Heng’s bank card in the dead of night. Lin Jianxi had found it funny at the time. “My head’s full of nothing but money now, too.”

Gu Heng had taken his hand, his expression grave. “If I had my way, I’d want you spoiled like that again. But now…” Gu Heng gave a wry smile. “It’s my failing toward you.”

Lin Jianxi had always assumed the original host’s spoiled nature stemmed from doting parents and a cushy life. But he’d overlooked the bank card theft.

Now he understood: the original host hadn’t been spoiled because life was good or his parents loving. It was because the entire family’s worldview was warped.

The instant Lin Jianxi pushed open the door, an ashtray came flying, smashing into the wall beside his eye. Shards sliced his hand. He glanced at the blood welling on the back of his hand, then slowly lifted his head. There were his aged parents—and several hulking men.

Before the men could speak, his father snarled, “You have the nerve to show your face here? I told you to divorce that loser, but no, you stuck with him. Look at us now—you blind or just heartless?”

Lin Jianxi crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “Does your mess have anything to do with him? You’re just pissed he can’t cover your gambling debts anymore.”

Gu Heng had quietly paid off five years of their gambling debts. Lin Jianxi only learned about it after Gu Heng hit rock bottom and the parents came knocking.

The two elders burst into wailing sobs, cursing him as heartless while shoving at the burly men. The men grew visibly impatient and kicked them aside. The crying only grew louder until the neighbors pounded on the door.

In the deafening chaos, one of the men approached Lin Jianxi. He looked up at the man, who fell silent for three seconds before muttering, “We don’t have a choice. We’re just working for the boss.”

Lin Jianxi smiled faintly. “I get it. How much do they owe?”

The man: “Seven figures.”

The elders’ howls filled his ears, but Lin Jianxi’s face remained impassive. “From luxury to thrift—it’s always the hardest. And you still bet that big in a hole like this.”

“…” The man said, “You can’t pay it, Mr. Lin.”

Lin Jianxi nodded without protest. “Mm. I can’t.”

The man: “You—”

Before he could finish, Lin Jianxi rose slightly on tiptoe and leaned in close to his ear, where a black Bluetooth earpiece nestled.

Lin Jianxi let out a soft chuckle first. Then: “Are you listening?”

The man froze. Lin Jianxi’s breath ghosted over his earlobe, warm and faintly ticklish.

“Sir,” Lin Jianxi continued, “it’s awfully noisy here. Where would be convenient for us to meet?”

Lin Jianxi’s voice was lovely—always measured, with a soft, rising lilt. Even amid the shrill curses and sobs, it rang clear and almost musical. The man’s heartbeat stuttered to a halt. He heard laughter from the boss in his earpiece and relayed the words like a machine: “Tell Mr. Lin: tonight at HW Restaurant. Candlelight dinner on me.”

“…”

Lin Jianxi smiled suddenly. “Mm. I heard you, sir.”

He sank onto the room’s threadbare sofa, idly toying with the folding knife. He was slender, his wrist bones sharp, knuckles pronounced.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s anything valuable in this place.” Lin Jianxi closed his eyes. “Just people left. Quiet down. Keep this up, and the neighbors will boot you out. Then you’ll owe even more for rent.”

The elders did fall silent, but the curses kept flowing. Divorce and find someone new, then it wouldn’t be like this—all his fault, raised a useless waste, might as well die… Lin Jianxi felt little himself, but sorrow stirred for the original host.

He sat listening quietly, mind turning over plans for the evening.

Knock knock knock.

Someone rapped at the door again. Lin Jianxi rubbed his brow, steeling himself to apologize to the neighbors. But when he opened it, he froze—four men in black suits stood there.

More debt collectors? How many casinos had they hit?

Lin Jianxi stepped aside to let them in and returned to the sofa’s edge. The men moved with drilled precision, hands clasped behind their backs as they lined up against the wall. Then a tall young man stepped forward from behind them.

Song Cheng’an was on his phone.

“Eight million?”

“Mm. Got it. The assistant will contact you shortly.”

The man with the earpiece seemed to overhear something; shock flickered in his eyes as he glanced at Song Cheng’an.

Lin Jianxi frowned faintly, watching it all unfold in silence.

Song Cheng’an crouched by the door, pinching up a shard of the ashtray with his fingertips. He scanned the room. “Nothing valuable here, yeah. Smash it.”

His casual words hit like thunder. In the blink of an eye, every breakable thing in the room lay in pieces; pots and pans from the kitchen were stomped to ruin. Song Cheng’an tapped the table. A man stepped up to smash it, but Song Cheng’an raised a hand to halt him. “Don’t disturb the neighbors. Compensate them for emotional distress.”

The man got it at once. He signaled, and someone hauled in a box, flipping it open. It brimmed with cash. The room went deathly still. Lin Jianxi eyed the money, then quietly stepped aside. He fished out a cigarette, tried the lighter a few times—no spark. He gave up and started to tuck it away when a flame leaped up beside him.

Song Cheng’an held it steady to light his cigarette, his left hand cupped against the draft.

Lin Jianxi looked up into the other’s eyes. Song Cheng’an didn’t meet his gaze, only lowered his own as he pocketed the lighter.

The two elders immediately realized that this was a wealthy young man, and one who clearly shared a close relationship with Lin Jianxi. They scrambled to their feet from the floor, paying no mind to the battered men, and fawningly asked Song Cheng’an how old he was and what his connection was to Lin Jianxi.

Lin Jianxi found the whole exchange irritating. “I’m not getting divorced,” he said bluntly, “and I’m sure as hell not marrying him.”

The elders’ faces soured toward Song Cheng’an at once. “Then what the hell do you mean by that?!”

Song Cheng’an turned his gaze on them. From Lin Jianxi’s angle, he couldn’t see the other man’s expression, but the two old men froze in place, suddenly speechless.

“I’m in a bad mood,” Song Cheng’an said. “You got a problem with that?”

…

Silence.

For the first time, the house fell into utter stillness—a quiet so profound it set everyone’s nerves on edge.

Song Cheng’an’s gaze shifted to him.

Lin Jianxi started coughing again. Not wanting to look like a complete mess in front of others, hacking up a lung and all, he sidestepped Song Cheng’an and slipped out the door. He steadied his breathing just outside the apartment.

The weather was pleasant enough, if a bit too hot; the sun beat down painfully on his skin.

Lin Jianxi closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the chirping of birds nearby, when footsteps approached from behind.

“Song…”

Before he could finish, the cigarette was plucked from his lips. Lin Jianxi blinked in surprise—it was the first time in years anyone had handled him like that. He turned to face Song Cheng’an.

Those eyes beneath the brim of the cap fixed on him, brimming with icy malice.

“Lin Jianxi,” Song Cheng’an sneered, “do you get off on playing the big brother? Feel sorry for everyone you meet?”

—Are you pitying me?

—How could I not? You’re so young, and you’ve already been through all this.

Lin Jianxi recalled their conversation from before and turned his head to cough a few times.

Song Cheng’an leaned in close, the edge of his cap nearly grazing Lin Jianxi’s skin. He seized Lin Jianxi’s chin with one hand, forcing his face forward. The vicious glint in those eyes was no act.

“If you dare set foot in this house again, I’ll smash the place to bits every single time.”