Chapter 23 Part 2

So the pit had been waiting for him here. Shen Yu was about to refuse when he suddenly remembered the task progress. He pressed his tongue against his teeth and tentatively said, “Sure.”

【Task: Rescue Protagonist Gong He Qian’s Movie Crisis, Completion: 100%.】

【New task about to be released.】

【New task released.】

【Task: Withdraw Funding from “However, However”, Completion: 0%.】

Shen Yu raised an eyebrow slightly and said to He Qian, “Send me the filming location now. I’ll swing by to check it out.”

He Qian had never expected Shen Yu to agree so readily. He nearly suspected Shen Yu was the noble benefactor the fortune teller had mentioned. He immediately exchanged a “we got it” look with Huai Shi, who was eavesdropping nearby.

“Wait—”

Shen Yu finally reacted. “The male lead’s first love… is a guy?”

“It’s not exactly a first love. It’s a very hazy kind of emotion. If we have to label it, it’s socialist brotherhood, you know? Anyway, Little Shen CEO, you can rest a hundred percent assured—there won’t be any content that couldn’t pass review!”

Shen Yu: “……”

This reassurance somehow felt even less believable.

The silver-black sports car followed the navigation and pulled up at the destination. The man who stepped down from the luxury car had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His basic black knit sweater hugged his muscles like a fashion statement. The sexy, mature aura unique to an adult instantly caught the eye of students returning from their lunch break.

“So handsome…”

“Is he an actor? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“He looks fucking hot.” A boy with an extremely arrogant and flamboyant vibe scanned him once over and narrowed his eyes.

One of his buddies teased, “Fuck, turns out you’re into this intense type? But that car… doesn’t look like someone you can just toy with.”

After stepping out of the sports car, a sudden glare stabbed Shen Yu’s eyes from somewhere. He raised a hand to shield them, lifted his chin, and glanced toward the roadside. Tall bushes concealed a wall completely covered in ivy, with a few ornamental trees planted amid it.

Shen Yu raised an eyebrow slightly. His eyes shifted as he withdrew his gaze and looked straight ahead. For a moment, he fell silent.

Two rows of straight holly trees stretched deep into the distance, culminating in a pair of grand, classical gates as solemn and majestic as they had been eight years prior. A chill autumn breeze blew, and the passing students all wore the standard Jingyang three-piece uniform set. Every movement carried the refined air of an elite academy.

Shen Yu now understood why He Qian was always griping about having no money.

He really wanted to know who had given He Qian the confidence to rent Jingyang as a filming location!

Jingyang hadn’t taken on many more students in recent years, but its campus kept expanding. The crew’s set was near Building Nineteen, surrounded by blooming trees. The main academic buildings weren’t in the area, so the filming wouldn’t disrupt classes.

On his way to the set, Shen Yu suddenly recalled Chen Jinyang’s words. Drawing from memory, he changed direction and headed to the lost and found office.

Jingyang’s lost and found was enormous. Since the school’s founding, every lost item from its students had been neatly arranged by date of loss, logged in records, and never discarded even if unclaimed. Over time, it resembled a museum of lost things.

The glass cabinets held wallets, keychains dangling plush toys, black lighters, earphone cords frayed from age, colorful umbrellas, white medicine bottles with faded labels, black glasses, notebooks filled with writing, limited-edition magazines, pens half out of ink, tennis rackets autographed by pros, detached sights from competition recurve bows, finger guards for archery—

Even love letters.

Though who would lose a love letter?

There were simply too many items; a thorough search would take days. Shen Yu gave it a quick once-over before heading to the inquiry counter to ask the keeper teacher.

The keeper was over eighty, a veteran with plenty of experience. He adjusted his reading glasses and sized Shen Yu up and down before pulling the registration ledger from a cabinet based on his description.

Shen Yu waited awhile, idly scrolling on his phone. About half an hour later, the old man glanced up and muttered, “Eh… it’s already been claimed.”

Shen Yu raised an eyebrow. “Claimed?”

“Probably taken by mistake. It’s a pretty common style, after all.”

Shen Yu struck out. He rubbed his brow, didn’t bother asking who had taken it, thanked the teacher, and left.

He had only followed a sudden impulse anyway. Not finding it was no big deal. The set took priority.

The young man’s figure receded into the distance. The old man raised his eyes to watch him go.

His gaze fell back on the ledger as he tried to dredge up the memory. But too much time had passed, and his recall wasn’t what it used to be. He drew a blank for ages until his hand brushed a rough patch on the paper.

His weathered fingers traced over it.

There was a clear water stain at the registration spot. The ink had smeared from the moisture, blurring the claimant’s name. The paper was darker there than elsewhere, marred by faint wrinkles.

Had it been rain?

The old man narrowed his eyes, as if remembering something.

That was right.

It had been a sodden rainy night, indistinguishable from countless others.

Except for one boy.

The administrator, stooped with age, finished tidying the exhibits as usual and reached for his keys to lock up. Rain hammered down relentlessly. Then a tall boy staggered inside.

He wore the school uniform, its White Sail School Badge gleaming even in the rainy night. He reeked sharply of booze and medicine.

Head bowed, he seemed lost, like the restless spirit of a caged beast.

His voice rasped, barely a mumble:

“I can’t find my treasure.”

The old man adjusted his glasses. Catching only the word “find,” he jingled his keys crisply and urged, “Hey, what’re you looking for? We’re closing soon. Go on in and search—register here when you’re done.”

The boy stumbled about, snatched something from the shelves, and clutched it tight. He kept his head down the whole time during registration, fingers white-knuckling the pen as if holding himself back. His chest heaved wildly as he scrawled the name under guidance.

The downpour outside drowned everything out. With his poor hearing, the administrator only caught the roar of thunder mingled with rain—boom after boom—plus the patter of drops on banana leaves, drip by drip, splashing like boiling water.

Snapping back to the present, the old man’s fingers halted on the paper.

He realized too late: those droplets on the page weren’t rain at all.

Zhou Jinsheng led a group of black-suited bodyguards out of the building. An autumn gust lifted the hem of the man’s coat. A cigarette dangled unlit from his lips, his inky eyes cold and listless, radiating a fearsome pressure.

Their BOSS’s presence was overwhelming. The bodyguards trailed him in tense silence, not daring to speak.

Zhou Jinsheng ducked into the car, with Song Shi taking the passenger seat.

The red dot on the tablet crept farther from the origin, impossible to pin down.

Impossible to catch? Zhou Jinsheng shut off the tablet, his eyes narrowing faintly. “Song Shi—if I’m not mistaken, Zheng Keqin’s fiancée is a designer?”

Song Shi paused to think. “Yes.”

Zhou Jinsheng ordered, “Get someone to contact her.”

“Need her to design something.”

Many years ago, Old Madam Zhuang tended countless flowers in the second-floor sunroom of Zhou Mansion. Each bloom was a beauty, yet none drew admirers.

Old Madam Zhuang waited and waited until a special guest arrived—

A butterfly.

Silvery-white as snow, its wings parted and folded like the nacreous layers of a pearl shell, scattering soft blues and purples in the sunlight.

Not human, but Old Madam Zhuang was overjoyed regardless. She welcomed it warmly, placing a shallow basin of water in the corner for safe sips. She even planted butterfly favorites like orchids and marigolds in self-watering pots, coaxing the flowers to vibrant perfection.

The butterfly’s antennae sensed freedom; the sky was its eternal domain. It often fluttered from the greenhouse only to return the day before a storm, alighting on a nutrition log.

Once, it vanished for nearly half a month. A deluge hit during that time, leaving the courtyard sodden and the world steaming with mist.

Old Madam Zhuang grieved. Butterflies lived but a year—beautiful, yet so fragile. After that storm, who knew if her special guest would return.

Just as they despaired of its return, one afternoon it glided in on shimmering sunbeams and landed on a marigold.

It flapped its wings in greeting.

Zhou Jinsheng spotted it entering. His eyes narrowed, and he swiftly clapped a butterfly cage over it.

The marigold bent under the weight. The butterfly thrashed in panic. The cage was finely woven—not glass, but airtight. It pinned one wing’s edge, trapping it fast.

What would a butterfly’s cry sound like? Butterflies had no voice, but if it could, its plea would have been heartbreakingly pitiful.

It ceased struggling and tucked away its right wing in misery. The cage dropped. Zhou Jinsheng flipped it over and locked it with glee.

Pleased with his prize, Zhou Jinsheng squatted to inspect the captive.

Confined to that tiny space, the butterfly remained exquisite.

—Merely pitiful now, no longer aloft.

Zhou Jinsheng’s dark eyes fixed on it. He tilted his head.

A moment later, a smile crept across his face. “So that’s it—you’ll behave if I do this?”

“What are you doing?” Old Madam Zhuang pushed open the door and saw Zhou Jinsheng crouched there. Sensing kindness, the butterfly darted toward her in the cage, only to smack against the mesh.

Old Madam Zhuang’s brows furrowed. She shot a glare at Zhou Jinsheng, who gazed up at her. “The key.”

Zhou Jinsheng froze mid-tilt. “Grandma—”

Her face turned icy in an instant. She frowned. “The key. Give it to me.”

Zhou Jinsheng blinked in shock. He rarely saw her like this. Even her sternest scoldings never carried this edge.

He felt deeply wronged. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Under her stare, Zhou Jinsheng gritted his teeth and reluctantly handed over the key.

Old Madam Zhuang snatched it and unlocked the cage with swift efficiency.

The butterfly burst free, embracing liberty once more. Its pristine, iridescent hues danced through the room. It flitted to the winter butterfly house she had prepared, then to the courtyard’s shrubs and trees, back to the greenhouse to tour the blooms, and finally settled on the rocking chair swaying in the sunlight.

Zhou Jinsheng scowled, seething inside. He snatched up the cage again in a flash.

“Pa da”—

A ruler cracked down on the back of his hand, leaving a red welt that burned fiercely. Ignoring the pain, Zhou Jinsheng looked up at Old Madam Zhuang in disbelief.

Her gaze held complex emotions Zhou Jinsheng couldn’t parse—much like the look his mother had given him through a long corridor in harsh daylight, when she could no longer save his father.

Old Madam Zhuang sighed and said nothing. With a cold expression, she directed Zhou Jinsheng to practice piano.

Zhou Jinsheng stayed silent. So did his grandmother.

After a long, heavy silence, Zhou Jinsheng clenched his jaw, sat wordlessly at the piano, head bowed. But his eyes bored into the carefree butterfly nearby.

They darkened.

He wasn’t wrong.

The disobedient deserved to be caged.