In the brief moment before the man could respond, Shen Leyuan furrowed his brows. “You told the bodyguards yesterday that you had something to do and were taking the three of them out with an uncertain return date, right?”
Lin Yuan nodded instinctively.
“But,” Shen Leyuan’s gaze sharpened, putting on the stern demeanor of a homeroom teacher, “from what I know, Little Deer and the others went out yesterday. You only came back in the middle of the night, and you didn’t bring them with you. Doesn’t that mean you never actually found them?”
Lin Yuan was stunned by this barrage of rapid-fire questions.
So he doesn’t distrust me—he trusts me too much?
Right, timeline-wise, I told the bodyguards to notify him about heading out after Little Deer had already left. Of course he wouldn’t worry or rush to tell me—he thinks I already know, maybe even that I’ve handled it.
Then why did he suddenly come looking for me in the middle of the night?
Shen Leyuan’s voice cut in right on cue. “I contacted Lin Yao during the day, and the more I thought about it, the more off it felt. You’re always so strict—he should’ve been punished at least a little for yesterday, but his attitude was way too casual. He’s even out wandering around with Little Deer right now.”
Lin Yuan’s attention locked onto those four words: should’ve been punished.
It was as if his long-buried unease had finally eased, his efforts rewarded. The lurking fear in his heart vanished without a trace. He murmured lowly, “I already punished him…”
“So where are they?”
Shen Leyuan asked with a stern face. “Sneaking out like that is a big deal. You’re not even confining them, or bringing them back—you’re just letting them stay out there?”
He looked genuinely pissed, his tone heavy. “Mr. Lin, I know you’re a good guy. Maybe you didn’t want to worry me, but I could help too—coax Little Deer back or whatever. Since you’ve entrusted the kids to us teachers, you should trust us a bit more, right?”
The brief lightness that had risen in Lin Yuan evaporated, leaving him at a loss for defense.
The young man thinks they should be confined too, so he’s no longer worried I’ll reject that. But now a new problem: where’s Lin Yao?
Anywhere’s possible.
Except the Confinement Room, where phones should’ve been confiscated.
From the moment he walked in, Shen Leyuan had seized control of the conversation. He’d braced for a brutal battle, but this parent wasn’t as scary as he’d imagined.
Even, the big shot seems a bit panicked?
Shen Leyuan quietly observed the big shot’s expression, then softened his tone. “Sorry, I think I got a little too worked up.”
“Speaking of which, we haven’t really talked properly about Little Deer…” He pursed his lips, hesitating as he chose his words. “He was born with this… magic that affects people’s minds, makes them like him, right?”
Lin Yuan’s pupils contracted slightly. He hadn’t expected him to say it so directly.
He thought I’d never ask.
Because once I do, new questions follow: Why aren’t you affected? Why is Little Deer obsessed with you? Why do you seem to have a similar, weird, likable magic too?
Are you the same species as Little Deer, with the same goal?
These questions had festered in Lin Yuan’s mind for so long. This was the perfect moment to voice them, but looking at the youth’s hidden unease, he only gave a soft “Mm.”
Right—Little Deer had that magic.
It stirred sticky, fervent, uncontrollable desire in people.
Disgusting.
The most disgusting part was, he could never truly harm Little Deer. Something controlled him. Whenever he wanted to end it once and for all, a voice urged him to stop, and his body would shudder with bone-deep terror, afraid of Little Deer dying.
From eighteen years ago, he’d protected Little Deer until now.
He clearly didn’t want to protect him, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him alive…
Lin Yuan sank into pitch-black self-loathing.
So disgusting.
Things like Little Deer shouldn’t exist in this world.
“You’re so impressive,” came a sigh of admiration. The youth’s eyes shone brightly with awe. “Little Deer must have targeted you, huh? Your build, personality, status, character—everything’s top-notch. If Little Deer is that… that…”
Shen Leyuan gestured vaguely. “That succubus type from stories, then you’re definitely premium prey!”
Lin Yuan met his gaze, held it, stared for a long, long time…
Then quietly looked away.
Hazy, weird. Never felt pleasure this vivid before.
He’s looking at me.
Did he use his “magic”?
Like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, Lin Yuan snapped out of the dreamlike haze. He looked back at Shen Leyuan, voice cool. “Now you know Little Deer’s situation. So what?”
Things were fine just now—why the sudden change?
“So…” Shen Leyuan hesitated. “Did you report it to the country?”
Whoa, hold up!
A memory yanked from his mind made Shen Leyuan’s eyes widen. He blurted, “Handsome chief?!”
Lin Yuan: ???
Shen Leyuan: “The one from when I called the cops—that super young, kinda hot…”
Lin Yuan: “He’s married.”
Shen Leyuan: …?
After a beat of silence, Lin Yuan added, “So he’s not suitable for this task.”
Ohhh, that’s what he meant.
Shen Leyuan felt it was odd but brushed it off, circling back. “So the country found you, handed Little Deer over for you to manage?”
Lin Yuan shook his head. “I reported it, but…”
He frowned tightly, trailing off like he didn’t know how to explain.
From the known facts, Shen Leyuan guessed, “But they all fell to that ‘magic.’ Only you can resist, so Little Deer’s still under your household registry?”
Lin Yuan nodded.
“Wow, badass!” Shen Leyuan’s already bright eyes lit up even more. “You’re amazing—resisting Little Deer’s… flowery temptations. Maybe you’re the only one in the world!”
Not the only one—you can too. You aren’t affected at all.
Lin Yuan stared at him intently.
Shen Leyuan relaxed, propping his elbow on the table, chin in hand, gazing at him with pure admiration. “I suspected something was off with Little Deer before, but I never realized how tough it was for you. Must’ve been exhausting all those years, but you stuck it out.”
That light, floating pleasure returned—the kind that made it hard to meet his eyes.
This time, Lin Yuan didn’t look away. He forced his cold expression to hold, replying flatly, “Mm.”
Shen Leyuan: “So, any leads on our magical deer wandering outside?”
Lin Yuan: …
Slick talker—what do you mean “our”?
Only then did he register the question. He led Shen Leyuan downstairs to the basement and pulled up the feed from Little Deer’s room.
At this hour, the boy was fast asleep, his little face flushed, eyelids even redder.
Shen Leyuan quietly eased a third of his worry.
He voiced the remaining two-thirds. “What about Lin Yao? He hasn’t come back yet, has he?”
In the Confinement Room—but I can’t say.
Lin Yuan tried coaxing the youth another way. “He doesn’t have magic.”
Implying: Him wandering out there is no big deal. No need to worry.
But Shen Leyuan’s eased heart jumped back up, straight to his throat. Something’s off with Lin Yao—otherwise the big shot could’ve just pulled up his feed like Little Deer’s.
“How could I not worry? I couldn’t sleep at all—that’s why I’m bothering you at this hour.” Shen Leyuan furrowed his brows on purpose. “His resistance to Little Deer isn’t as good as yours, and his personality’s too immature. I’m scared he’ll sulk with you and cause trouble.”
“How about this,” Shen Leyuan said. “You must have access to surveillance, right? I’m not sleeping anyway—I can help look.”
Hearing the first half, Lin Yuan nearly thought he’d been exposed.
Amid the inexplicable tension, the second half made him relax—but also uncomfortable. Shen Leyuan’s paying too much attention to Lin Yao. My stand-in son thrives abroad—does he really need this worry?
But he couldn’t dissuade him; the youth’s compassion was always overflowing.
After a moment’s thought, Lin Yuan relented. “I already have a lead. I can bring him back tomorrow.”
Shen Leyuan hesitated. “This late at night…”
“Mr. Shen,” Lin Yuan’s voice cooled. “He’s eighteen, not eight.”
He won’t starve.
Shen Leyuan coughed lightly, dropping attempts to lighten Lin Yao’s sentence. He put on a show. “Then how about I chat with him, see if I can coax him back?”
Lin Yuan lowered his gaze. “Mm.”
They ended up chatting half the night, topics refusing to end.
Lin Yuan didn’t know what was going through his mind. His body was exhausted, head throbbing painfully, yet he couldn’t put down the phone. Part of him resented the youth’s overly intimate tone; another part thrilled at the stolen closeness.
This isn’t good.
But it’s just chatting.
He convinced himself: I haven’t even checked the surveillance. That’s restraint.
It wasn’t until Shen Leyuan noticed he hadn’t eaten breakfast and showed up to check on him that Lin Yuan realized with a start it was morning.
Am I going overboard?
Shen Leyuan eyed the big shot’s haggard face, conscience pricking. “Why don’t you rest first? I’ll go look with the bodyguards.”
Yes, he was here to nudge progress.
Ah, feels like the big shot wilted even more at that.
Lin Yuan gave him a faint glance before separately pulling up the surveillance feeds for Lin Yao’s and A Si’s confinement rooms. They had the same setup—clean but sparse rooms containing only a bed and a chair. At that moment, A Si was sitting in the chair writing something, while Lin Yao was squatting in the corner, his expression dark and inscrutable. Shen Leyuan ignored A Si, focusing on Lin Yao.
The big shot’s overly strict with his own kid—more grandfatherly toward A Si. That’s why he’s never worried about A Si.
The young man hadn’t changed, still in that short-sleeved shirt from the video. His exposed skin bore no marks, not like he’d been punished—just in a poor mood, posture screaming insecurity.
“Relieved?” Lin Yuan asked.
Shen Leyuan cleared his throat. “As long as he’s back. Don’t confine him too long—two or three days max.”
Much better than I feared—not severe.
As long as the big shot didn’t fish Lin Yao out of somewhere horrific. Given Little Deer’s situation… Lin Yao was too reckless this time. He needs the lesson.
In that instant of thought, he saw the young man on-screen glance up.
His fiery red hair seemed to droop. Lin Yao’s eyes were bloodshot—not with the anger he’d expected.
Those eyes, sometimes furious, mocking, or lost, brimmed with tears he’d never imagined. They trailed down his handsome, almost sharp-cheekboned face, making him look so pained, so pitiable.
He’d clearly been crying a while—his eyes no better than Little Deer’s.
Before Lin Yuan noticed, Shen Leyuan dropped his gaze, hiding the uncontrollable ache in his heart.
Crying like that—what grievance could be this bad?
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