On the first day of National Day, Lin Yao and Little Deer happily got thrown into the Confinement Room.
The audio recording and Confinement Room video arrived on Shen Leyuan’s phone at the same time, leaving him hesitant to speak, then speaking only to hesitate again. After agonizing over it for ages, he finally sent back a few stiff emojis: [Thumbs up][Thumbs up][Thumbs up]
Lin Yuan: [Handshake][Handshake][Handshake]
Pure awkward chat.
This time back, Shen Leyuan had planned to play it cool, to draw a clear line between himself and the big shot.
But yesterday he’d cried like that, and the big shot had coaxed him, sent a car to pick him up, helped him find the dog, gotten the dog checked out—and today, he’d even added him on WeChat of his own accord, sending over the recording and video like he was offering a way out. How was he supposed to stay cool now?
His inner conflict and hesitation turned into typing and deleting in the input bar, showing up on the other’s phone as “typing…”
Lin Yuan lowered his gaze, quietly waiting for the young man’s response.
It was like a condemned prisoner awaiting the final verdict—suspended sentence or execution today.
A long time later, Shen Leyuan finally crafted a short question: [Mr. Lin, about the surveillance… do you have any explanation?”]
The reply came: [No]
Shen Leyuan took a deep breath. The big shot’s changing, and it’s not easy for him, he thought. Rephrasing, he asked: [You’ve stopped surveilling me further, right?”]
The response was just as curt: [Yes]
Shen Leyuan: ……
He went silent for a bit, then sent over a segment of legal text on privacy rights.
The big shot replied lightning-fast, like he’d anticipated it: a photo of the supervisor’s badge, the application form, and a note: [I’m your guardian. I have surveillance privileges.]
Fine, fine, whatever. You sure know how to piss me off.
If I feel sorry for Lin Yuan even one more time, I’ll be a dog!
Shen Leyuan frustratedly set his phone down, not even bothering with a polite reply.
The notification chimed—another message from the big shot. He didn’t bother opening it. You don’t need my reply anyway. Just watch the surveillance and figure it out yourself.
But the dings were too annoying. After ignoring it for just a few minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. He picked up the phone, ready to argue with the big shot. If that didn’t work, he’d go chat with Hao Mingrui. Why should he, a supervisor himself, be controlled and surveilled by Lin Yuan?
But when he opened it, the most eye-catching thing was a photo.
No, not a photo!
It was live surveillance footage of the big shot, head down, staring motionlessly at his phone, waiting for a reply.
Scrolling down the nearly frozen real-time feed, he saw the messages the big shot had just sent—each one as curt as ever.
[Don’t be mad]
[You have this privilege too]
[You can be my supervisor]
[We can monitor each other]
[Okay?”]
The first few lines were blunt and stiff, but tacked on at the end was a tentative question, like someone desperately trying to boost their EQ.
It didn’t land well, overall.
Shen Leyuan fired back, fuming: [No!”]
Lin Yuan: [?]
Lin Yuan: [You can watch too]
Shen Leyuan: [This isn’t about whether I can or not! I don’t want to be watched, surveilled, every move spied on. I don’t want to worry about… wait, you didn’t install cameras in the bathroom, did you?”]
Lin Yuan: [Yes]
Lin Yuan: [Picture][Picture][Picture]
Each image was labeled with camera positions: over a dozen in the bedroom from every angle, six discreet ones in the bathroom, and for the whole villa, simple counts per room—red dots everywhere, too many to count.
Provocation? Mockery?
Rage surged in Shen Leyuan. He stormed downstairs and burst through the door.
“Lin Yuan, let’s talk!”
Face to face, a thorough, serious talk.
He had to hash it out with this stuffy old man: what was the point of cameras in the bathroom? How much had he seen? Why even under the bed?!
Lin Yuan looked over at him, not understanding what he was mad about this time.
Shen Leyuan pulled up an ergonomic chair and sat, face taut. “What did you mean sending those pictures?”
Lin Yuan: “My honesty.”
An answer Shen Leyuan had never imagined. He froze.
Lin Yuan’s voice was calm, but a closer listen revealed a subtle grievance: “You wanted my honesty, so here it is.
“You wanted me to be lenient with Lin Yao, and I was.
“You hate being surveilled, and I can’t stop. So I gave you the same privileges.
“I haven’t interfered in your life outside the Lin Family. I haven’t pressed you on what you’re hiding from me. I haven’t demanded the same honesty from you…”
He trailed off.
But his eyes clearly asked: I’ve done so well. Why are you blaming me?
Shen Leyuan: ……
His anger evaporated. In that moment, the big shot seemed weirdly similar to Little Deer—both with bizarre thought processes, like some magical creature learning to be human.
He spoke slowly: “First off, thank you for your honesty.”
“Second, Lin Yao is your son, not mine.”
“Third, I’m mad because your control freak side is over the top. At minimum, no cameras in the bathroom.”
“Finally, after I quit, it’s only right you don’t interfere in my life. And you can press me on what I’m hiding, demand the same honesty.”
Lin Yuan looked up: “I…”
Shen Leyuan: “But I might not answer. Might not give you that honesty.”
Lin Yuan lowered his gaze, murmuring softly: “Mm.”
Help, the big shot really seems aggrieved!
Shen Leyuan coughed lightly, meeting Lin Yuan’s eyes, drawing out his words: “So…”
Lin Yuan: “Sorry. I demanded too much.”
Shen Leyuan: ……
He couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out, tilting Lin Yuan’s chin up, and declared: “So ask already! Is surveillance all you know? Can’t you say it to my face—what you want, what you need to know?”
Lin Yuan held his gaze for a long moment.
Long enough that Shen Leyuan belatedly realized what outrageous thing he’d done. His palm and cheeks heated up. He withdrew his hand, sat up straight, and mumbled: “Go ahead and ask. Anything.”
Lin Yuan looked away, silent for a bit, like pondering some life-altering question.
Finally, he spoke: “Do you…”
Shen Leyuan tensed.
What would he ask? About his past? What kind of aberrant being he was?
Lin Yuan: “…hate me?”
Shen Leyuan: Huh?
Lin Yuan objectively assessed himself: “I’m rigid, harsh, stubborn. Not a good person by common standards. Not a good father. Not normal. And set in my ways, unwilling to change.”
He stared into the young man’s eyes: “Do you hate me?”
Gazed at like that, Shen Leyuan felt inexplicably important.
He shifted uncomfortably, seriously pondering it before meeting his eyes again. Honestly: “Sometimes, yeah, I do hate you.”
“When I learned you’d hurt a kid. When you stubbornly called Lin Yao a monster. When I found out you’ve been surveilling me. And just now, with those camera maps.”
Lin Yuan’s eyelids drooped, staring quietly at the floor.
For some reason, Shen Leyuan wanted to laugh.
Not for nothing they’re father and son—cut from the same cloth. Look away when they hear what they don’t want, only stare when they’re pissed.
Somehow, he wasn’t nervous anymore. Relaxed, he said: “But sometimes I like you too.”
The scorching words hit Lin Yuan’s ears. He looked over.
Shen Leyuan made a heart gesture: “Boss, you look so hot when you pay up!”
Oh.
Likes the money, not me.
Lin Yuan didn’t notice his own disappointment, but Shen Leyuan saw it clear as day: Aww, big shot’s staring at the floor again!
Biting back a laugh, Shen Leyuan teased: “You tricked me with that contract—I searched forever and couldn’t find it. You called me a monster, said I wasn’t normal. You don’t trust me, even putting cameras under the bed. Pretty normal to dislike you, right?”
Lin Yuan nodded calmly: “Yes, normal.”
He paused, brow furrowing as he looked up to counter: “I never called you a monster.”
“Right, I called you one back then.” Shen Leyuan chuckled. “I apologize—I shouldn’t have said that. But you apologize too—you were too harsh!”
Lin Yuan: “Sorry.”
Shen Leyuan laid all his cards on the table: “You should apologize to Lin Yao too. You were wrong to treat him like that.”
The atmosphere chilled to freezing.
But Shen Leyuan wasn’t afraid anymore. Tilting his head at the nearby surveillance feed, he said: “It’s not the surveillance I can’t accept. It’s the presumption of guilt. You assumed I was guilty from the start, no fair judgment.”
“Like now—the vibe’s good, you’re tolerant and gentle, the version I like. But behind my back, you’ll doubt yourself, doubt me.”
“I don’t want to be the next Lin Yao.”
Lin Yuan fell silent.
His fingertips pressed hard, inflicting a subtle pain on himself. These words reminded him of his “abnormality.” He tried to suppress the suspicion, but his racing thoughts wouldn’t obey.
He was used to restraint and calm, used to self-scrutiny.
But lately, he’d been losing control so often…
Shen Leyuan sighed, watching him: “See? There it is again.”
“You’ve given me enough honesty, boss. But not trust.”
“I get your doubts, and I hope you get my fears. If you hold my privacy, safety, freedom in your hands—and you’re always doubting me—how can I dare give you the honesty you want?”
“You could electrocute Lin Yao; you could do it to me. You could turn Little Deer into a caged bird; you could restrict me. You’re so stubborn that if we clash in the future, I can’t convince you… So I quit. Chose to stay away.”
With each question, Lin Yuan’s face paled inch by inch.
Shen Leyuan felt awful too, saying softly: “I thought about sweet-talking you with ‘I like you,’ but that doesn’t fix it.”
“I’m sorry. I used to like you. But not anymore.”
“Belated honesty and trust you can’t give? Worthless to me.”
