Jiang Mu never expected Chris would come to China alone to find her. When she learned that her mother hadn’t returned with him, she already had a bad feeling.

Before this, Chris had already talked with Jin Qiang for a while, but after Jiang Mu returned home, Chris expressed his wish to speak with her privately.

In a small private restaurant, Chris told Jiang Mu the purpose of his visit to China. He knew her college entrance examination was over and had heard from her mother that she had done well. While congratulating her, he brought another piece of news.

Last March, in the fifth and a half months after Chris and Jiang Yinghan met, she was diagnosed with 78% cardiovascular stenosis. If it continued to develop, there was a risk of complete vascular occlusion. The doctors recommended immediate surgery; otherwise, she could be in danger at any time.

At that time, with only two months left before Jiang Mu’s college entrance examination, Jiang Yinghan couldn’t undergo surgery at such a crucial moment. After understanding the success rate and risks of the surgery, Jiang Yinghan became even more hesitant. Once admitted to the operating room, the lengthy recovery process would overwhelm her only daughter. She even worried that if Jiang Mu went to college in another city, her illness would become a burden to her daughter.

She told Chris about her condition then, thinking their relationship would end there. But to Jiang Yinghan’s surprise, two days later, Chris came to her with flowers and a ring, directly proposing marriage. During those two days, Chris had contacted an old classmate, a renowned cardiovascular specialist, and hoped to take Jiang Yinghan to Australia for surgery.

In the rankings of developed countries’ medical systems, Australia ranked second only to the United Kingdom, particularly in cardiovascular treatment. Chris’s old classmate, Professor Ivek, gave her great moral support. After she sent her domestic medical reports to Ivek through Chris, he provided a detailed surgical plan and hoped she could come to Australia as soon as possible to discuss further treatment in person.

When Jiang Yinghan showed Professor Ivek’s surgical plan to her attending physician, surprisingly, Professor Guo knew Ivek and had attended his presentation abroad over a decade ago. Professor Guo suggested that if she had the means to have surgery with Professor Ivek, it would be a good opportunity.

However, self-funded medical treatment in Australia was very expensive. Considering the need for long-term treatment there, immigration was the most cost-effective choice. Jiang Yinghan considered that accepting Chris and going to Australia for treatment would minimize surgical risks while reducing her daughter’s burden to the greatest extent.

She hadn’t told Jiang Mu about her condition. Jiang Mu was still young and emotionally unstable. Jiang Yinghan didn’t want her to bear too much pressure affecting her college entrance examination. She had planned to find an opportunity to tell her after the examination but hadn’t expected her to discover those immigration documents early. She had to tell Jiang Mu about her relationship with Chris. She knew Jiang Mu would oppose it but hadn’t expected her reaction to be so intense.

Jiang Yinghan felt guilty about her daughter’s poor performance in the college entrance examination. She understood what her daughter was worried about but was more afraid that knowing her survival rate was less than 50% would devastate her even more. Rather than that, she decisively sent her to Jin Qiang’s side. If it weren’t necessary, she wouldn’t want Jiang Mu to have any connection with that side, but given her precarious situation, Jin Qiang seemed to be the only person she could rely on in China – he was, after all, Jiang Mu’s father.

Perhaps Jiang Mu would blame her – blame her for heartlessly leaving at this time to go abroad, blame her for suddenly choosing to marry Chris and immigrate. But Jiang Yinghan didn’t want her condition to affect her daughter’s future. Rather than having Jiang Mu face the risk of a potentially failed surgery and spend half a year worrying at this time, she still chose to keep this matter hidden.

“Your mother underwent heart surgery three months ago,” Chris sat to Jiang Mu’s right. When he told her this news, despite the severe summer heat, an unstoppable chill swept through her entire body. Tears burst forth uncontrollably. She knew her mother had suffered from angina for many years and had been taking medication long-term, but she hadn’t expected the oral medications to become increasingly ineffective, developing to the point of requiring surgery. She anxiously inquired about the situation.

Chris assured her that the surgery went fairly well. Although there was still some follow-up treatment needed, her life was saved. Now Jiang Yinghan had been discharged, and before he came to China, his eldest daughter had returned home from Malden to care for her and would wait until he returned.

His visit this time was also to seek Jiang Mu’s opinion. If she agreed to study in Australia, he would help her process the study abroad procedures and bring her over. Of course, if she was unwilling, he and Jiang Yinghan would respect her choice. But in the end, Chris patted her hand and said solemnly, “Your mother needs you.”

Jiang Mu looked at Chris through her tears. He seemed to have aged somewhat since she saw him during the New Year. He and her mother were late-life partners, yet he was willing to accept her condition, accompany her to various doctors, and care for her continuously. Meanwhile, she had doubted Chris was a fraud in front of her mother during New Year’s, argued with her about returning to Suzhou for the holiday, and failed to understand why she had sold the house.

Looking back now, everything she had done had been like stabbing knives into her mother’s heart. Jiang Mu was already sobbing uncontrollably. After her parents’ divorce when she was very young, she had always relied on her mother. During those years, her mother never found anyone else, always raising her alone, working hard to pay for her tutoring classes, nurturing her guzheng studies, and taking her to competitions and performances regardless of wind or rain. Since she came into this world, Jiang Yinghan has invested all her energy, love, time, and money in her. Yet when her mother was between life and death, even as she was wheeled into the operating room, she wasn’t by her side. She was alone abroad, without any family members, lying on the operating table with an uncertain fate – how desperate must she have felt!

Jiang Mu buried her face in her hands. What reason did she have to refuse Chris’s proposal? What reason did she have not to return to her mother’s side to care for her? What reason did she have to let Chris’s eldest daughter fulfill this duty in her place?

She had no reason. When she heard about Jiang Yinghan’s condition, she already wanted to fly to her side immediately. The enormous guilt plunged Jiang Mu into endless self-reproach. She only hated herself for not discovering her mother’s illness earlier, hated herself for not being there to accompany her through such a great ordeal, and hated her willfulness that had caused her mother to worry time and again.

She just kept saying, over and over again: “I’m sorry…” Not knowing whether she was speaking to Chris or her mother, or perhaps completely shattered by this sudden news, she unconsciously transformed her guilt into one “sorry” after another.

In the following period, Chris took her everywhere to process overseas procedures and apply to schools. Jin Qiang could hardly help with anything, only inviting Chris home for dinner twice to thank him for running around for Mu Mu.

From understanding school profiles to curriculum settings, major selection, preparing materials, getting certificates from the affiliated middle school, then according to review requirements, going to designated hospitals for physical examination, paying insurance fees, filling out countless forms, taking photos, facial recognition – almost everything was discussed and resolved with Chris accompanying her. If it weren’t for him, at this time, with Jin Zhao missing and her mother’s serious condition, Jiang Mu would have been completely at a loss about what to do next with everything in such chaos.

During this time, she hadn’t stopped sending messages to Jin Zhao’s phone. She told him about her mother’s condition through text messages, telling him she had to go to Australia to visit her mother and might temporarily stay by her mother’s side to study, but these plans for the future were also decided in just a few short days. She was completely confused about the path ahead, feeling anxious and uneasy.

She no longer had time to go to the car shop every day. Lightning was temporarily housed at San Lai’s shop, and San Lai had also been very busy lately – several times when Jiang Mu went to find him, his shop was closed.

After all the procedures gradually came through, Chris booked flights to Melbourne, while Jiang Mu had been out of contact with Jin Zhao for almost a month. When she received the flight information, she stood by the window of the small room, staring blankly at the waning moon. There was no time left – if there was still no news from Jin Zhao, she had no time to keep waiting.

She picked up her phone, clicked on Jin Zhao’s avatar, and composed a long message about her plans for the future, when she planned to return, and their future together. But looking at those pale words, Jiang Mu suddenly realized there was no point – none of it had any meaning. As long as Jin Zhao didn’t appear, no matter how perfectly she planned, it would all be meaningless.

She deleted all the content and only sent him one message: “I’m leaving. If you can see this, please contact me as soon as possible. Missing you, Mu Mu.”

She thought this message would sink into silence like countless others before it, with no reply, but at three-thirty in the morning, the phone by her pillow suddenly lit up. As if sensing it, she opened her eyes almost simultaneously and stared at the illuminated ceiling for a moment before reaching for the phone. That account that had never shown any response suddenly replied with a message.

Zhao: Tomorrow morning I’ll have San Lai pick you up. Let’s meet.

Jiang Mu suddenly sat up, staring at that message and reading it over and over again, so excited she thought she was hallucinating. After that, Jiang Mu couldn’t sleep anymore and was already dressed and contacting San Lai as soon as dawn broke.

She remembered that day wasn’t particularly good weather – heavily overcast since early morning, even somewhat cold, truly unusual. She wore a light-colored dress, arms tucked in, waiting by the roadside very early. San Lai came to pick her up in his white car.

The car drove for a very long time, so long that Jiang Mu thought they were leaving the province, but it was just over two hundred kilometers. With an anxious heart, Jiang Mu kept her eyes fixed on the window throughout the journey. The car exited the toll station and entered another city, the only place nearby with an airport. Compared to Tonggang, this area was slightly more developed, with relatively more high-rise buildings. As the car entered the urban area, shopping malls, and office buildings could be seen everywhere. The address Jin Zhao sent to San Lai was in an alley, and they got stuck for a while before driving in. It was a one-way street inside, and San Lai parked the car by the roadside. On the right was a leisure bar with a blue facade.

He told Jiang Mu, “You Jiu said it should be this place.”

Jiang Mu turned her head to look at the “Welcome” wooden sign hanging on the door, and suddenly spoke: “You’ve been in contact with him all along, haven’t you?”

San Lai didn’t speak. Jiang Mu turned to look at him: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

San Lai stared blankly ahead, then suddenly shrugged: “You Jiu instructed so. Ask him yourself.”

Jiang Mu’s brows gradually furrowed. San Lai reminded her, “Go up, he’s on the second floor.”

…

This was a leisure bar serving desserts and cocktails, though there were few people around noon. The first floor was for ordering, the second and third floors were reception areas. Jiang Mu climbed the stairs one floor at a time to the second floor.

The second floor was still empty, all tables and chairs vacant, except for a man in a white shirt sitting on the sofa by the window. When he heard Jiang Mu’s footsteps, his gaze slowly turned back from the window.

The dappled sunlight filtered through the paulownia leaves onto his body, the pristine white shirt like a canvas catching those slightly trembling, delicate shadows. Beneath his neat, sword-like eyebrows were deep, ink-dark eyes, and in that instant when he looked at her, those pitch-black pupils held countless untold years.

Many years later, Jiang Mu could never forget that scene. That was… her last impression of Jin Zhao.

She remembered that meeting – after she sat down opposite Jin Zhao, they just smiled at each other, without any words, gazing deeply at one another. There was joy of surviving a catastrophe, excitement of reunion after a long separation, and sadness of impending parting.

She also remembered Jin Zhao ordered her a coffee, a vanilla latte with a hint of cinnamon.

He spoke first: “You must have been worried sick during this time?”

Better if he hadn’t mentioned it – as soon as he did, all the grievances in Jiang Mu’s heart and eyes poured out. She asked him, “Is your mission over?”

Jin Zhao clasped his hands around the coffee cup handle and told her, “Almost.”

His shirt was borrowed temporarily and didn’t quite fit. To prevent Jiang Mu from noticing anything amiss, he had rolled up the slightly short sleeves to his elbows, which looked fresh and clean.

She asked again, “Did you see the Night Zhenzhu that evening?”

He lowered his eyes and smiled faintly: “I did.”

Jiang Mu excitedly grabbed his hand: “So you weren’t in the car? You weren’t in the car when it exploded, right?”

Jin Zhao casually lifted the coffee to his lips, also imperceptibly avoiding Jiang Mu’s touch – a subtle movement, yet it made Jiang Mu’s heart inexplicably sink.

She stared at him with a tense expression, her eyes brimming with barely concealed sadness. He took a sip of the bitter coffee, put the cup back, and with a lowered gaze told Jiang Mu, “I’m not a god, I’m just an ordinary person too.”

Jiang Mu’s gaze began to flicker uneasily. She asked, “What do you mean?”

Jin Zhao raised his eyes to look at her anxious appearance – her face was small, to begin with, and she had lost so much weight recently that only her cheekbones remained prominent. His brows furrowed slightly, then quickly shifted his gaze to the window, hiding the emotions in his eyes just in time, and asked her, “How’s your mom?”

Jiang Mu lowered her head, her voice choked: “The surgery is over. Although it went fairly well, she’s still in recovery. We’ll know the specific situation after I get there.”

Jin Zhao was silent for a moment, then nodded: “Go there soon. When people are sick, it’s better to have family around.”

Tears welled up in Jiang Mu’s eyes: “Before, I was asking if you wanted to go to Nanjing with me, but now I can’t go myself. Will you blame me?”

Jin Zhao turned his gaze back, his dark eyes filled with tender light, his voice very low and deep but firm as he told her: “You’re still young, we’ll have plenty of time in the future, but your mom can’t wait. After major surgery, a person’s mood is very important. Having you by her side will make her feel better, which will also help with recovery.”

Jiang Mu pressed her lips tightly together without speaking, listening as he continued: “That time you asked about my plans, I told you I’d give you an answer in a few days.

Actually, I’ve been thinking about this question all this time, thinking about our relationship, which always feels somewhat against convention when you think about it.

I never thought about developing anything with anyone at this time – the timing isn’t right, and I don’t have the energy either, but it’s you, not someone else.

You say you’ve been used to acting up with me since you were little, being quiet and proper outside but crying and throwing tantrums in front of me – what can I do with you? You want to be with me, and you know I can never refuse you. Have I ever refused anything you wanted since you were little?”

Jiang Mu listened to his words intently, her grip on the cup growing tighter and tighter. He just smiled at her, a shallow, indulgent smile.

He told her: “But how much of this is a habit, and how much is actual feeling toward the opposite sex – I find it hard to distinguish too. Besides your classmates, you haven’t had any other male friends since childhood. You’ve probably only really known me as you’ve grown up. It’s normal for you to be dependent on me. Like when you were 8 or 9, you would get angry seeing me walking with female classmates who ignored you. Was that love then? Of course not. So have you thought about whether what you feel for me is the kind of feeling there should be between a man and a woman, or do you just want me to be a brother who can accompany and take care of you?”

Jiang Mu’s heart was in chaos, unable to untangle Jin Zhao’s concept-switching rhetoric, just caught up in the emotions stirred by his words.

Jin Zhao sighed softly, lifted his coffee for a small sip, put down the cup, and watched the slightly swaying liquid as he told her: “I am, after all, a man, and I have urges beyond just emotions. What I did with you before was rash of me. Let’s both cool down while you’re abroad.

If your mom knew about us, it wouldn’t help her condition at all. You should understand that she… has certain views about me that won’t change overnight. Don’t use me to trouble her or make her angry, understand?”

Jiang Mu held her emotions tightly in check, her eyelashes trembling constantly.

Jin Zhao lowered his gaze, his throat tightening, but he still said to her: “You should also go out and meet more people. Maybe you’ll find there are many people better than me.”

Jiang Mu’s vision went from clear to blurry. She couldn’t help but open her eyes wide, trying not to let the tears fall, but when she spoke, her voice revealed her emotional breakdown, trembling as she asked: “Are you breaking up with me?”

Jin Zhao showed a faint smile, leaned forward, and said to her: “Come here.”

Jiang Mu leaned over the table, bringing her face closer. He raised both hands to cup her cheeks, his gaze moving from her tear-filled eyes to her reddened nose tip, lingering on her trembling lips. His cold fingertips tightened slightly – several times he wanted to pull her over regardless of consequences, but in the end, he just wiped away her tears, his breath warm as he told her: “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Jiang Mu could no longer speak a single word, her wet eyelashes lowered, listening as he said: “When you get there, try to get along well with your stepfather’s family. If you can’t, at least keep up appearances. Don’t make things difficult for your mom. I hear there are many beautiful places there – go out and explore when you have time, don’t just stay in your room sleeping. Make new friends, don’t be afraid to greet people. Everyone becomes familiar after meeting once or twice, foreigners are no exception.

If you meet a suitable boy, don’t go home with them right after meeting – not many men have as much self-control as your brother here.”

Tears rolled over Jin Zhao’s fingertips as he patiently wiped them away again and again. She mumbled to him: “You think I’d go to just anyone’s home? I wouldn’t go home with anyone else. I only go to your home because… because your home is my home, isn’t it?”

Throughout, Jin Zhao maintained a very faint, gentle smile as he looked at her. His ease made Jiang Mu feel as if this separation would be brief, that she was just going to study, and when she grew up a bit more, she could come back and tell him more firmly, “See, I’m in my twenties now, and I still haven’t forgotten you – it must be true love, right?”

But she was also very afraid, afraid that once she left, their lives would be turned upside down again. They weren’t children anymore; they didn’t have another nine years for separation.

She raised her wet lashes, biting her lip hard as she stared at Jin Zhao before her, and asked: “If I leave and you end up with someone else, I’ll cut ties with you and never return to China, making you regret it for life, you know that?”

Jin Zhao pulled his mouth into a helpless smile: “Wouldn’t that be a waste of my good looks?”

Jiang Mu sat up straight in anger, glaring at him fiercely, her tear-stained face looking so fragile as if the whole world had betrayed her.

Jin Zhao couldn’t bear to tease her anymore and promised: “I won’t be with anyone else until I’m sure you’ve started a new relationship.”

Only then did Jiang Mu feel reassured. Holding the small jade bead between her collarbones, she asked him: “Then, do I need to return this to you?”

Jin Zhao looked at her careful yet reluctant expression, his gaze softening: “Keep it.”

They didn’t stay long, just the time it took to drink a coffee before Jin Zhao told her: “The car’s illegally parked downstairs, San Lai must be suffering in the car. Let’s go.”

Jiang Mu looked at him for a long time, stood up, and walked toward him. Jin Zhao’s expression showed a barely perceptible panic, but he quickly steadied himself and looked up at her. Jiang Mu stopped beside him, raised her arms, and asked: “Can I have a hug before I leave?”

Jin Zhao’s knuckles tightened continuously, as if about to crush the cup, but he just wore a faint smile and told her: “Better not. Next time we meet, I’ll give you plenty of hugs. You go first, I’m waiting for someone.”

Jiang Mu’s hands fell empty, like someone who had given up struggling after drowning, finally surrendering to defeat.

…

After the footsteps on the stairs disappeared, Jin Zhao kept staring out the window. Jin Fengzi came down from the third floor, walked to Jin Zhao’s side, and told him: “You’ve done it now. Didn’t you tell me you could get a prosthetic? Dr. Gu just gave me an earful on the phone, saying it would take at least half a year after the wound heals before you can get fitted. You even fooled me. He said if you don’t want a second surgery, you better get back to the hospital.”

Jin Zhao’s gaze didn’t move from the window, his voice revealing undisguised loneliness: “No rush. After they leave, I’m just… afraid she’d notice, right?”

Jin Fengzi wiped his nose: “Not telling her even after they’ve left – aren’t you afraid she’ll find some foreign boy and leave you?”

These words finally caused Jin Zhao’s eyes to fluctuate violently. Everyone has desires – it’s fine if you’ve never tasted sweetness, but once you have, how can you bear to let go?

His throat moved slightly as he buried those unwilling emotions deep in his heart, his voice very deep as he spoke: “She just found out about her mom’s illness, she must be quite shocked. If she knew about my situation too, what do you think she’d do – stay to take care of me? Or go to be with her mom? It’s already hard enough for a teenager, and she still has college ahead. Can’t hold her back. Better one person be free than both suffering.”

Jin Zhao endured the pain in his left leg as he watched Jiang Mu get into the car. He didn’t blink, afraid that one blink would mean a lifetime.

He was just grateful that he hadn’t touched her that night – she could still start her life fresh and pure.

Jiang Mu lowered the car window, her fair small face peering out as she looked up longingly in his direction.

He was someone without tear ducts – wandering for over twenty years, nothing through all the ups and downs could strike him down, but the moment that white Honda drove away, his eyes finally reddened.

…

On the way back, Jiang Mu felt very uneasy. When she was young, partings with Jin Zhao always felt temporary, like they’d see each other again in the blink of an eye. Only now that she’d grown up did she understand how terrifying distance could be. They could lose contact even separated by just a few provinces; now with the Pacific Ocean between them, they would return to orbits that could never intersect. The road ahead was distant and long, without end.

When they drove back to Tonggang, San Lai asked her: “What date are you leaving?”

Jiang Mu came back to herself and told him: “The 28th.”

San Lai fell silent.

Jiang Mu remembered something and said: “Oh right, I’ve checked about Lightning. Its vaccines are about to expire so it can’t enter the country with me. Could you help get its vaccinations done next month and send it over? I’ll arrange the pet carrier for it.”

San Lai gripped the steering wheel without speaking. After a while, he suddenly said: “Mu Mu, I might have to tell you some bad news.”

Jiang Mu sat up straight and asked: “What?”

“Lightning is missing.”

Jiang Mu thought she had misheard, asking in shock: “What did you say? Missing? How is that possible?”

San Lai glanced at her and said: “Didn’t I tell you earlier it would be better to get it neutered? Once it went into heat, it ran off who knows where. Last night I thought it would come back after running around back there, but when I went looking, I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

As he spoke, San Lai stopped the car below Jin Qiang’s building. Looking at the distressed Jiang Mu with apologetic eyes, he said: “It’s my fault for not watching it properly. Don’t worry, I have experience with dogs in heat. It might have been lured away by some alluring female dog nearby. It might come back after a few days of wandering – dogs know their way home. Who knows, it might even bring back a bride for you. If it comes back later, I’ll let you know.

And if it doesn’t come back, I’ll have Xi Shi give birth to an even more handsome pup to send to you later, okay?”

Jiang Mu wiped her eyes and turned toward the window. After raising it for so long, she had grown attached and wanted to take it with her. How could she not be anxious that it couldn’t be found right at this time? But she couldn’t blame San Lai either.

Jiang Mu sniffled and said: “Then please keep an eye out. You must tell me if it comes back.”

San Lai stared at the windshield, nodding with an obscure expression.

Jiang Mu turned to look at San Lai’s flowing little curls that he had grown long, looking increasingly like a Japanese wastrel. She couldn’t help but ask: “We’ve known each other for so long, but I still don’t know your full name.”

San Lai hesitated, then simply tossed her the vehicle registration card. Jiang Mu opened the little booklet and saw “Lai Hamo” written in the name field. She exclaimed in surprise: “Your name is Lai Hamo?”

“…Not important.” San Lai snatched back the registration card and tossed it aside again.

To tell the truth, his inexplicable grudge with Old Lai probably began when he was named at birth, which was why he never let people call him by his real name.

After Jiang Mu bid him farewell and got out of the car, San Lai suddenly lowered the window and called out to her retreating figure: “Jiang Xiao Mu.”

She turned back, her beautiful face catching the light – this was her most beautiful age, having come here and left her graceful shadow.

San Lai looked at her, smiling with a hint of something undetectable beneath his usual irreverence: “If You Jiu doesn’t want you in the future, and you’re not happy abroad, come back. San Lai’s brother wants you. I guarantee to feed you big chicken legs every day and keep you plump and fair.”

Sunlight streamed down in rays through the cracked clouds, casting the glory of youth in her pupils.

…

From the hospital balcony, you could see the silk trees below. In summer, when the silk trees bloomed, their light pink compound flowers had a fuzzy, soft feeling in the gentle breeze. Jin Zhao sat in his wheelchair, clearly for several hours at a stretch. He kept thinking of those two nights when Mu Mu slept beside him, how her short hair ends tickled his face just like this, making it hard to sleep all night, yet bringing an extraordinary sense of peace. In the future, there would be nothing.

The door opened. Jin Zhao didn’t turn around or move. Since seeing Jiang Mu that day, he has become indifferent to everything around him.

San Lai walked onto the balcony, leaned against the side, glanced at the untouched food, and heaved a long sigh.

Jin Zhao didn’t raise his eyes, only asked: “Has she left?”

San Lai fiddled with his flip-top lighter, making it click, and replied: “What else – stay for New Year?”

Jin Zhao fell silent again, his whole person seemingly frozen.

“I heard you got a prosthetic leg when you met Jiang Mu? That was reckless. Don’t rush to stand, wait until you’re properly healed.”

“No rush anymore. Now that she’s gone, I’m not in a hurry anymore.”

After a long while, San Lai suddenly said: “Iron Rooster has been caught.”

Iron Rooster’s real name was Wang Mu. In March, one night after Jin Fengzi had been drinking with his brothers and went back to the car shop to get something, he saw Boss Wan’s Audi while looking for a taxi nearby. As the car flashed past, he saw someone in the back seat who looked very much like Iron Rooster, but he hadn’t mentioned it. He had been drinking heavily that night and wasn’t sure if he had seen wrong, afraid of hurting the brothers’ feelings with baseless talk.

Oxn the day of the race, when Jin Fengzi saw Iron Rooster suddenly leaving and asked where he was going, Iron Rooster nervously said he was going back to the car shop to get something. When Jiang Mu and San Lai arrived later saying Iron Rooster hadn’t gone back at all, he finally felt something was wrong, but by then it was too late.

Years ago when Jin Zhao was in legal trouble, his family was busy with his sister’s illness. It was his brothers who stood by him, even pooling money to send him cartons of cigarettes.

Later when he had a falling out with Boss Wan, many loyal brothers also left Wan’s shop. When he decided to start his own business, Wang Mu knew he needed money and put up funds to partner with him without asking a single question.

Leaving Wan’s shop was one thing, but running a car shop with Jin Zhao meant openly opposing Boss Wan. Yet Wang Mu still stood up for him when he needed it most.

Jin Zhao was someone who valued relationships deeply. Through all these years, he had cherished his brothers greatly, but he was also just an ordinary person, with emotions and vulnerabilities.

He had known Wang Mu since high school when they both worked at Wan’s shop. After years of working together, they were as close as real brothers. Precisely because Wang Mu knew him so well, he knew how cautious Jin Zhao was, and also knew his meticulousness and focus with cars. He and Jin Zhao had supported each other for years – there couldn’t be another Iron Rooster.

At the race track, he was Jin Zhao’s most trusted partner. They took turns eating, smoking, and using the bathroom, all to ensure no one else could tamper with the car.

That’s why Wang Mu waited until the final pre-race inspection to act. By then Jin Zhao had no time left to test the car. When the engine output torque reached maximum, the car would inevitably fail.

But between family and brotherhood, Wang Mu chose family. This time, Jin Zhao was betrayed by his most trusted brother – it was an unavoidable, fatal blow for him.

Wang Mu paid the due price for his choice, but in exchange gained his family’s safety. In this world, how many decisions are made unwillingly, and how many paths that seem to offer choice leave no choice at all?

In the end, the same hand that builds can also destroy.

After Jin Zhao’s accident, suspicion was diverted from him. The man who placed second was targeted – Officer Lu and his team arrested him first, interrogated him secretly overnight, and then released him the next day. Later this man began frequent contact with Boss Wan and leaked certain information, causing higher-ups to become suspicious of Boss Wan.

Once Boss Wan’s supply chain was interrupted, Jin Zhao’s channels would open up, giving him access to a much larger list of names. This proved decisive for the case’s progress, but he forever lost his left leg.

The fireworks Jiang Mu set off saved Jin Zhao’s life, buying him two seconds – those two seconds that allowed him to undo his seatbelt.

When Officer Lu and his team arrived, Jin Zhao had already lost consciousness. Tonggang didn’t have good medical facilities, so they had to rush him to a larger city hospital overnight. He was unconscious through two surgeries. His left leg developed ischemic necrosis, and amputation was necessary to save his life.

He wasn’t a god, neither invincible nor omniscient. He was just walking each step carefully on what he believed was the right path.

Gains inevitably come with prices to pay.

…

San Lai looked at Jin Zhao and asked: “Will you press charges?”

His usually unbreakable gaze finally showed cracks. He stared fixedly at some point, and San Lai didn’t know what he was thinking of. But in the end, he said just two words: “Let it go.”

San Lai knew he was hurting, as was he.

He put the lighter down on the balcony edge and said: “Jin Fengzi called me to drink last night, crying like anything, saying he’s sorry, he was careless. I asked him to come today, but he said he couldn’t face you.”

Jin Zhao lowered his eyes and shook his head: “Tell him I’ll need his help with quite a few things later. He can’t avoid seeing me.”

San Lai nodded, then suddenly joked: “Before Mu Mu left, I told her if you don’t want her and she’s not happy over there, she should come back and I’ll take her. Guess what she said?”

Jin Zhao’s gaze finally shifted slightly as he turned to look at him. San Lai pulled at the corner of his mouth: “She said you wouldn’t want her.”

They both fell silent after that. After who knows how long, San Lai’s expression grew serious, and he asked somewhat earnestly: “You’ve decided?”

Jin Zhao looked at the azure sky beyond the balcony, falling into some memory: “When her mother was pregnant with her, she wasn’t well. She was born prematurely at eight months plus, weighing just over four pounds at birth. Her father and I watched her lying in the incubator through the glass, and I wondered then if such a tiny person could survive.

So I’ve tried to accommodate her whenever possible since she was little, always feeling it wasn’t easy for her to grow up. She was picky with food and ate so little, always getting fevers and colds, having to rush to the hospital every change of season. She cried so easily, would want me to hold her at the sight of any bigger bug, could cry for half a day from being scared.”

San Lai leaned against the balcony, listening quietly, his mouth curving slightly at the image. As Jin Zhao recalled how Mu Mu was as a child, some light finally returned to his eyes: “She was easy to console though – just change the subject and she’d smile. When she was little, I thought whoever she married in the future would have to know how to comfort her, know her temperament, what she likes to eat, what she doesn’t like to eat, what she fears, what she hates. If she ended up with someone who made her suffer, I’d beat him to death.”

Jin Zhao’s expression gradually darkened, his whole person enveloped in shadow, desolate and lonely, a bitter smile playing at his lips: “Tell me… I can’t beat myself to death, can I? Keep her by my side, let her live off disability benefits with me in the future?”

“San Lai, I’m a useless man now…”

He slowly raised his head as the breeze rustled the silk tree flowers, and further away the sunset’s radiance gradually faded into darkness—