Dai Linxuan never slept deeply. His eyelids wouldn’t open, but his consciousness hovered between dream and wakefulness. He could hear Liao De’s footsteps coming and going, the soft sound of the door closing, and Lai Li’s occasional low murmurs.
He said, “Bro, I can’t live without you.”
Dai Linxuan was always regretting.
He regretted not raising Lai Li into an independent and healthy person, regretted indulging his dependence while enjoying it.
Lai Li murmured again: “Bro, can’t you just be okay?”
From the moment Dai Linxuan was born, he had never had the right to live properly.
If time could rewind to three months ago, he probably would have chosen the same path, just more meticulously, thoroughly erasing those uncontrollable emotions. He would avoid hurting Lai Li while trying to send him far away…
But Lai Li really was a “little mangy dog.” Once he latched on, he couldn’t be pried off. Forcing it would only leave them both bloodied and mangled, no longer human.
Lai Li…
His Lai Li.
Dai Linxuan still remembered the origin of the name. Twelve years ago, he had carried the emaciated Lai Li out of the Slum District. A street vendor was selling candied chestnuts.
Sunlight filtered through the drifting gray oily smoke, making it hazy. The motionless Lai Li in his arms finally reacted, his dark eyes turning toward it.
Dai Linxuan asked if he was hungry. He still didn’t speak, so Dai Linxuan walked over and bought a bag of chestnuts from the vendor.
The candied chestnuts back then weren’t packaged as fancy as now—just a thin paper bag with an opening, slipped into a cheap transparent plastic bag. But they tasted great, fragrant, sweet, and powdery-soft.
Lai Li was so thin that even half a chestnut bulged his cheek, separated by just a thin layer of skin. It made one’s heart ache.
Dai Linxuan went to the police station, trying to help find his parents. But the officer sighed and described the chaos of the Slum District: “The kid’s this skinny—probably ran from some petty theft gang, or he’s a stray. If his parents raised him like this, better not to go back.”
Lai Li stood pressed against Dai Linxuan’s waist, staring at his hand. Suddenly, he reached up and gripped his middle finger.
Dai Linxuan looked down, meeting those dark, focused eyes. A mix of emotions surged in his heart—
Had he, the cuckoo in the nest for years, left the true Dai heir living in a place like this, neither human nor ghost, just like this child?
“You go ahead. We’ll try to look,” the officer said casually. “If not, maybe contact the community to send him to the Welfare Home.”
But the Welfare Home wasn’t much better.
Dai Linxuan made a special trip there. Funding was limited, almost no sponsors. The kids slept crammed in one big room, walls damp and peeling with mold everywhere.
Three or five adults caring for dozens of children could only ensure they ate and had clothes. Nutrition, hygiene—none of that got attention.
Even blood siblings fought; imagine so many kids of all ages together.
Dai Linxuan saw a child pushed into a mud pit, soaked through. The adult just frowned and scolded: “If you can’t beat him, don’t provoke him! Always stirring trouble!”
Lai Li in his arms watched quietly, as if he understood why Dai Linxuan had taken him to the police and the Welfare Home. He never made a sound from start to finish, accepting his fate without complaint or plea.
Dai Linxuan held him like a skeleton; a shove from a bigger kid might end him. He didn’t dare leave him and quietly took Lai Li away. They both seemed to have “nowhere to go,” eventually sitting on a roadside bench.
Dai Linxuan had been through ups and downs lately. First, his father’s car accident—the doctor said he might become a vegetable. Then, a letter from his father before death, completely denying his birth.
Following the letter to the Slum District, he finally saw that beyond the elite circles, there was such a harsh world. His own pain and struggles seemed trivial.
“Want more?” Dai Linxuan peeled a chestnut. “Two more, then we’ll get something hot, okay?”
Lai Li didn’t speak but didn’t refuse the chestnut at his lips.
“You even look like a chestnut.” Dai Linxuan teased. “If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll call you Little Chestnut?”
Little Chestnut looked at him for a while, then struggled to sit up and hugged his neck.
Dai Linxuan froze for a long moment before carefully hugging back the frail body. The void carved by that letter filled a little.
He and this child were the same—lost in the fog ahead. But he could still grope forward; the chestnut in his arms might die any moment.
Dai Linxuan had lived “properly” for eighteen years. His first rebellion was adopting a stray child.
He was an adult. Even without the Dai Family, he could work to support the kid. Maybe not the best life, but better than the Slum District.
But back home, he realized he’d been too optimistic. This wasn’t a kid—it was a living ancestor. Couldn’t care for himself, wouldn’t let the auntie near. Dai Linxuan had to do it all: bathe him, brush teeth, change clothes. Two days later, he fell seriously ill, barely breathing. The doctor said his body couldn’t adapt to the sudden cleanliness.
Dai Linxuan was stretched thin, gradually forgetting his identity woes… His mind was full of how to keep Lai Li alive, no room for self-pity.
—At eighteen, Dai Linxuan lost his sense of family belonging, but heaven gave him a chestnut as compensation, giving his life new direction.
At first, the pain made Dai Linxuan shiver, but the ancestor hugged too tightly, like a furnace warming him all around. Cold sweat turned to hot.
His stomach didn’t hurt anymore, but he was pinned, unable to move an arm.
Before opening his eyes, his lips were captured. The other’s tongue probed idly, less a kiss, more a puppy marking its owner.
“Bro…”
Dai Linxuan finally freed an arm, pressing Lai Li’s chin. His voice was hoarse: “Just woke up—not hygienic.”
Lai Li chased his lip seam: “Hygienic. Sweet.”
“…” Dai Linxuan patted his shoulder. “Let me up first. I need a shower.”
But Lai Li latched onto his chin, burying his head to lick down his neck and collarbone. Dai Linxuan arched back involuntarily, goosebumps rising.
“You… hmph.” Suddenly bitten, he frowned. “Dirty.”
Lai Li looked up displeased: “Bro, you’re not dirty.”
Dai Linxuan wondered if their senses differed, or if Lai Li’s condition caused sensory issues.
“Didn’t you want a recheck? Go call Doctor Ye. I’ll shower and be ready.”
Lai Li stared for a moment, silent, arms tightening: “Still hurt?”
“Much better.” Dai Linxuan said. “Spasmed once before—stomach inflammation symptoms. I’ve been on meds.”
Lai Li: “When?”
After a staring match, Dai Linxuan looked away with a soft sigh: “Mid-Autumn night.”
“Because of me…”
“No.”
“…” Lai Li’s lashes cast deep shadows on his face.
“Or not entirely… No clear trigger.” Dai Linxuan explained slowly. “Remember? We went to the Old Residence that night and stayed over.”
Lai Li hummed.
“I’m not Dai Enhao’s child, so no blood tie to… Grandpa.” Dai Linxuan said. “He’s pushed me and Mom for power these two years. We talked that night; I felt off after returning to my room.”
Lai Li would never forget that day—the sulfuric acid nearly splashed on Dai Linxuan.
That night, he climbed out the Old Residence window, into Dai Linxuan’s room. His bro sat on the living room sofa, smoke thick, several butts nearby.
He thought his bro was up to no good at night. Actually, the pain was unbearable.
He hadn’t noticed, kept pressing about the Ring.
“Sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for? Haven’t I hurt you enough?” Dai Linxuan reached out, rubbing the scar on Lai Li’s shoulder. “I should apologize—for hiding things… and hurting you.”
Lai Li’s face darkened: “You’re doing it again!”
Dai Linxuan was baffled: “What?”
“Don’t talk to me like that. I hate it.” Lai Li’s chest heaved. “Makes me uncomfortable.”
“…That’s just normal talk.” Dai Linxuan said helplessly. “I mean you don’t need to apologize. I do.”
Lai Li nodded: “Right. You owe me.”
Dai Linxuan: “You want…”
Lai Li interrupted: “Twelve years ago, you brought me home—you should’ve raised me forever. Why abandon me midway?”
Dai Linxuan frowned: “I didn’t abandon…”
Lai Li: “You did.”
After staring, Dai Linxuan pushed up from Lai Li’s lap: “I thought you could live well alone. Materially, you lack nothing…”
Dai Linxuan always knew accidents happened. He couldn’t guarantee lifelong company, so giving Lai Li independence was key.
From Lai Li’s adulthood, he’d bought properties, shares, low-maintenance assets to ensure he thrived alone.
“Of course, that’s past thinking.” Dai Linxuan rubbed Lai Li’s eye corner; redness had faded but lingered.
He repeated softly: “From now on, as long as you don’t hate me or need me, I won’t leave.”
Lai Li grabbed the retreating hand, suppressing anger: “Why think I’d hate you?”
Dai Linxuan paused: “—No one can guarantee loving only one person forever.”
Lai Li stared: “Not even you?”
“…” Say no, and Lai Li would explode. Say yes, contradict himself.
Dai Linxuan was helpless: “Spare me, young master.”
Lai Li was silent, then said: “Bro, besides me, you let everyone down.”
Dai Linxuan: “…Mm.”
Lai Li: “You only need to be responsible to me.”
Dai Linxuan followed: “How?”
“See doctors when sick, take meds, get back to normal. I’ll stay with you.” Lai Li said darkly. “No more self-harm. No thoughts of dying.”
“Okay, call Doctor Ye.” Dai Linxuan complied. “I really need a shower—sweaty and gross.”
Lai Li wanted to say “lie down, I’ll wipe you,” but the pain was gone; Dai Linxuan could move fine.
Dai Linxuan grabbed clean clothes and entered the bathroom, bracing the wall as he turned on the shower.
Stomach still twinged, but controllable.
Fearing Lai Li’s mood swings if he waited, he showered fastest, hair half-dry, back to the bedroom.
Lai Li sat on the bed, same pose.
Ye Qingyun had arrived a while, chatted with Lai Li unknown what. She smiled: “What about your leg?”
Lai Li hadn’t wanted to answer, but hearing the door, turned. Seeing his bro dressed neatly—not pajamas—his face eased. He hummed.
Dai Linxuan sat bedside: “Leg numb? Want me to rub it?”
Lai Li glanced at Ye Qingyun, unsure if she’d overthought their daytime scene. Instinctively: “No need.” “You two talk. I’ll shake it off.”
“Alright.” Dai Linxuan took the scale from Ye Qingyun, filling it out again.
Filling the scale aided diagnosis. Ye Qingyun observed: Dai Linxuan paused evenly per question, no overthinking, answers smooth.
Lai Li stared fixedly, checking for collusion.
Normally, results took time, but with ongoing care, Ye Qingyun gave it quick:
“From the scale alone—moderate depression leaning.”
Dai Linxuan furrowed his brow imperceptibly, then immediately relaxed it when Lai Li looked over. He lowered his eyes, accepting the result.
Ye Qingyun said, “Lai Li, I’d like to speak with your brother alone.”
From the moment he heard the result, Lai Li’s nerves had been stretched to the breaking point. Trying to send him away right now was nothing short of a pipe dream—
Without a second thought, he shot back, “Impossible!”
A flicker of amusement appeared in Dai Linxuan’s eyes.
Ye Qingyun said with a headache, “Actually, psychological assessments often aren’t suitable with outsiders present…”
Dai Linxuan’s eyelid twitched. Sure enough, Lai Li immediately bristled like a lit fuse, his voice icy as he demanded, “Who’s the outsider?”
“Anyone besides the patient and the doctor.” Ye Qingyun replied calmly. “With a third party there—especially someone close—the patient might get tense and start ‘performing’ on the spot. It makes it hard for the doctor to gauge their true first reactions from the questions.”
Lai Li’s expression darkened even further. Just as he opened his mouth to argue, Dai Linxuan pinched his calf. “I’m a bit hungry.”
Lai Li: “Let Liao De…”
“I want the noodles you make.” Dai Linxuan scratched the palm of his hand. “Can I have two perfectly fried eggs?”
“…”
After a tense standoff, Lai Li supported his numb legs as he slid out of bed. He limped to the door and slammed it shut with a loud bang.
Only then did Ye Qingyun speak up. “You seem surprised by the ‘moderate depression’ result?”
Dai Linxuan denied it. “No, I…”
“Mr. Dai, I appreciate your sponsorship, but I’m a doctor first.” A hint of anger surfaced on Ye Qingyun’s face. “Even if you calculated the score with perfect precision, you’re not a trained professional—errors are inevitable. Besides, my scales have subtle differences from the standard ones on the market!”
Dai Linxuan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Let’s set aside whether you’re actually sick for now.” Ye Qingyun tapped the assessment sheet. “Just because your brother is convinced you are—and to put his mind at ease—you plan to become a patient? Taking meds every day, coming in for appointments?”
In Dai Linxuan’s original plan, the assessment should have shown mild depression. From there, he would have gone along with medication or therapy.
Dai Linxuan asked, “So what do you think I should do?”
Ye Qingyun studied him for a moment before asking softly, “Do you really believe there’s nothing wrong with you?”
Dai Linxuan paused slightly, unconsciously grinding his fingertips together.
That was exactly what infuriated Ye Qingyun. Taking medication when you weren’t sick—or the wrong medication when you were—could lead to serious consequences. Dai Linxuan’s deliberate manipulation of the results was self-harm, no different from instructing someone to douse him with sulfuric acid.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.” Ye Qingyun said, courteous yet firm. “I don’t know what you hoped to achieve by having someone throw sulfuric acid on you, but I hope you’ll seriously consider this: back then, was there really* no other way to reach your goal besides that kind of self-destruction?”
“…”
There had been.
The sulfuric acid incident had achieved Dai Linxuan’s intended effect, but it lacked staying power—
Lai Li simply couldn’t accept that he liked men, let alone something as twisted as “pedophilia.” Lai Li had even laid down the law: “Either don’t touch anyone, or only touch me.” That rendered Xu Yanzhou—the “pawn” Dai Linxuan had planted ahead of time—completely useless.
To spare Lai Li further pain and breakdown, Dai Linxuan had settled for a suboptimal path: one with less visible damage on the surface, but far higher risk.
He lowered his gaze and glanced at the crook of his arm.
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