Once they were safely back in the room, Rong Qian asked him, “Who was that just now?”

“My mother.”

Rong Qian wasn’t particularly surprised — she had already guessed as much. He and his mother shared some resemblance, though he looked more like his father overall. Having met the adult Shen Yi, Rong Qian could imagine what his father looked like without needing to guess.

But it did strike her as odd. If that was his mother — why hadn’t she come to see him even once these past two days?

From what Rong Qian understood, Shen Yi had emigrated abroad with his family at the age of six. His father was a major figure in business — a wealthy man — which meant Shen Yi was naturally the son of a rich household, the kind who should have been pampered and cherished.

But those two days of getting to know him had left Rong Qian with no such impression.

The atmosphere here was far too oppressive — suffocating, devoid of life. His daily schedule was not something a normal person could sustain. It felt as though he were imprisoned in a cage, constrained, without a shred of freedom.

Rong Qian toweled her hair dry and asked offhandedly, “Do you and your mother not get along?”

He lowered his head. A long silence. Then, at last, he said: “She was raped by a man and that’s how she had me. Every time she looks at this face of mine, she wants to strangle me.”

The motion of Rong Qian’s hand slowed and stopped. She looked at him in shocked disbelief, one thought flashing through her mind: what had he been through?

In the middle of the night, Rong Qian lay on the sofa, unable to sleep no matter what. She gave up and stared at the ceiling with wide-open eyes.

Over these two days with young Shen Yi, Rong Qian had noticed that he showed mild signs of social withdrawal — reticent, rarely speaking, never smiling. This led her naturally to think of the adult Shen Yi: gentlemanly and cultured, graceful and composed, warm yet humble.

It was genuinely difficult for Rong Qian to imagine what kind of journey of growth had transformed the current Shen Yi into that person.

With that thought, she sat up, walked to the bedside, and looked at Shen Yi, who had already fallen asleep. His brow was lightly furrowed, his hands clutched tight around the blanket — he seemed to be having a nightmare, his sleep far from peaceful.

She didn’t know what he had endured at this young age, but she could see clearly that his past had been fractured and incomplete.

Rong Qian felt that she ought to do something. Because if things continued as they were, what he might become — she didn’t dare to think about it.

At six in the morning, Shen Yi woke on schedule. The very first thing he did upon opening his eyes was check the sofa. Not finding Rong Qian there, he panicked and bolted upright!

Then he heard Rong Qian’s voice coming from behind the sofa: “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty…”

Shen Yi walked over to find Rong Qian face-down on the floor doing push-ups. He frowned and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Push-ups. I haven’t exercised in two days, and my joints have gone stiff.” Rong Qian finished the last one and stood up, stretching as she spoke to him. “Come do them with me. Don’t just focus on studying — your body needs exercise too. Haven’t you heard of developing morally, intellectually, and physically?”

He pulled a face and said, “I don’t want to.”

“I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve barely exercised at all. Look at you — you look frail and sickly. Don’t be put off by sweating; sweating feels great!” Rong Qian gave him no room to refuse, dragging him along to exercise, and so bright and early, she worked him into a full sweat.

Shen Yi collapsed onto the floor, exhausted, gulping for air. He looked up — and saw Rong Qian throwing punches, performing high kicks. It was clear from her movements that she had excellent fighting technique.

When Shen Yi had recovered his breath, he asked her, “You’re good at fighting?”

“Of course. Your big sister here is fully trained in kickboxing, boxing, and all-round combat. Only by making yourself strong can you protect the people around you.” Rong Qian looked quite proud of herself.

Shen Yi thought quietly about this. No one had ever said anything like this to him before, and no one had ever encouraged him to keep his body strong. But hearing Rong Qian say it now, he felt a desire to change stir within him.

“Then you…”

“What?” Seeing him hesitate, Rong Qian pulled back the punch she had mid-swing and waited for him to continue.

Shen Yi looked her in the eye with resolve. “Then — can you teach me?”

“Of course!” Rong Qian answered readily. She might as well take on a student — it would be a good way to pass the time and keep the boredom at bay.

From that point on, except for when a tutor was present, Rong Qian spent every free moment in his company.

She played several rounds of go with him and lost every single time. Each loss sent her into a fit of good-natured complaining, and yet — skill-deprived but hopelessly addicted — the more she lost, the more she insisted on playing. Eventually Shen Yi let her win on purpose, and Rong Qian was so pleased with herself she strutted around in triumph for an entire day.

Shen Yi was utterly baffled. What was there to celebrate about beating an elementary schooler — especially when he had let her win deliberately?

But there was no denying it: seeing her cheerful, bright-eyed delight, Shen Yi’s own mood would lift without him even noticing, and he gradually grew accustomed to having Rong Qian chattering and laughing beside him.

And the room that had once made him want to escape — it had begun to feel a little less frightening.

Just like that, a full month passed with Rong Qian staying on.

During that month, Rong Qian hadn’t been idle either. In the dead of night she would quietly get up and familiarize herself with her surroundings, until eventually she had mapped out the entire estate.

Strictly speaking, this was a manor rather than a mere castle — but it wasn’t heavily staffed. Seven or eight maids, one gardener, two cooks, and as for the butler who had gone away on that trip — he simply refused to come back, nearly driving Rong Qian to despair.

From what Rong Qian had gathered, the only people actually living here were Shen Yi and his mother.

It all felt very strange — as though they were being kept by some wealthy patron, spending their days tucked away in this place, hidden from the world.

Rong Qian was actually very curious about what he had mentioned before — that his mother had been raped by a man and that was how he had come to be born. What exactly was the story there? But he didn’t want to talk about it, and Rong Qian wasn’t going to force him.

Then, by chance, Rong Qian happened to overhear Felita and some of the other maids gossiping. They mentioned Shen Yi’s mother, and from their chatter, Rong Qian learned the identity of that man.

He was Shen Yi’s father: Shen Chi.

Shen Yi’s mother, Yan Qingyao, was a woman from the south — born into a family of scholars and intellectuals. But as is often the lot of great beauties, fate had not been kind to her. The turning point in Yan Qingyao’s life came when she went abroad to study.

The story itself was rather commonplace. While studying overseas, Yan Qingyao fell in love with a man — and as it happened, the man loved her in return. That man, however, was not Shen Chi.

He was another man, called Xu Zhiwei.

Shen Chi had taken Yan Qingyao from Xu Zhiwei by force. Unlike the refined and cultured Xu Zhiwei, Shen Chi was a man who believed in doing whatever it took.

What he set his sights on — whether person or possession — he would allow no one to take from him. Push him far enough, and he would sooner destroy it than let another person have it.

This was the method Shen Chi had used: forcing Yan Qingyao to become pregnant with his child, then compelling her to marry him.

Yan Qingyao felt no love for Shen Chi — only hatred. She had tried to escape many times, and every time she was dragged back by Shen Chi. This was no romance novel; every single escape attempt ended in domestic violence, leaving her beaten until she coughed up blood.

It was in this environment that Shen Yi had grown up.

He had watched with his own eyes as his mother was beaten. He had watched with his own eyes as his mother wrapped her hands around his neck, her expression twisted and frenzied, cursing him — why won’t you just die?

The way Yan Qingyao looked at Shen Yi had always been with loathing.

She was consumed with hatred for him. The sight of this face, growing more and more like Shen Chi’s with each passing year, would drive her to madness — hysterical screaming fits, her mental state deteriorating. Something had already gone wrong in her mind.

All of this was what Rong Qian had pieced together from scattered fragments — but testimony of this nature couldn’t count as evidence, and the possibility that fabricated details had crept in could not be ruled out.

In other words, whether this account was entirely true remained to be verified.

As a criminal investigator, she couldn’t draw conclusions from a few overheard words. But regardless of what the full truth was, Shen Yi was the greatest victim of everything that had happened here.

Was Yan Qingyao pitiable? Yes — pitiable. But was she blameless? That was far harder to say.

The wounds she inflicted had fallen squarely on her own son. On that point alone, Rong Qian could feel sympathy for her — but she could not feel pity.

Rong Qian had assumed the days would simply continue like this, unchanged, until Butler Fu returned — with no unexpected upheavals. But one morning, Shen Yi told her that the man had come back.

Rong Qian didn’t register it at first. “Who came back?”

“Shen Chi. My father.”

Rong Qian froze. Shen Chi had returned?