When Shen Chi returned, Rong Qian was already hiding in Shen Yi’s room.
She cracked the window open and peered down. The first thing she saw was a row of several classic vintage cars from the previous century — and in the very center, a Lamborghini Miura.
That model had only just gone into global production in 1967. That alone said everything about what kind of man Shen Chi was — a genuine wealthy tycoon.
A dozen or so black-clad bodyguards stood in a single row. The sight of it called to mind the kind of scene you’d find in a gangster film.
But as a modern young woman of the twenty-first century, Rong Qian couldn’t help mentally rolling her eyes. This whole setup looked like a crime syndicate welcoming their boss. Were they filming a movie? Was this for real?
Later on, she would see a scene just like this one again — but centered around Shen Yi.
The spectacle would be equally impressive, and yet Rong Qian wouldn’t find it the slightest bit excessive. It wasn’t that she was being inconsistent — it was simply that when a figure of Shen Yi’s stature appeared in public, only this level of escort could possibly match him.
But that was all still in the future.
Exactly as Rong Qian had suspected, Shen Chi bore a striking resemblance to the adult Shen Yi. The only difference was in their temperaments and the air they carried about them.
One was warm and refined. The other was cold-blooded and brutal.
From the moment he appeared, Shen Chi gave off the impression of a villain — expressionless, eyes sharp with menace. Calling him a tyrant would not be far off; the kind of man who, when angered, would lash out without restraint.
All of a sudden, Shen Chi raised his head and glanced in her direction.
The distance between them was considerable — he couldn’t possibly see her — and yet Rong Qian instinctively averted her gaze and pressed herself to the side of the window frame.
She turned her head — and saw Shen Yi’s thin frame trembling slightly, his expression strained and unnatural.
Rong Qian could see it plainly: he was afraid of Shen Chi.
By the time Shen Chi came upstairs, Rong Qian had already retreated into the wardrobe. This time was different from before — she didn’t dare make a single sound. She held her breath, drew herself in tight, curling into a ball in the corner, perfectly still.
This was all because Shen Chi was extraordinarily perceptive. Rong Qian was certain: if she made even the slightest sound, he would detect it immediately — and she would be hauled out on the spot.
When he entered, Shen Chi said very little to Shen Yi. He simply picked up a sheet of piano music at random, flipped to a page, and told Shen Yi to play it for him.
The moment Rong Qian heard the introduction, she was stunned. Shen Chi, that sadist — was making a twelve-year-old play Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata.
She had heard Shen Yi play before. He wasn’t yet polished — it came out halting and uneven — but at least he could play through it from start to finish. Clearly, however, this performance did not satisfy Shen Chi.
Rong Qian had assumed that at worst, Shen Chi would bark a few harsh words at him. She could never have anticipated that Shen Chi would simply raise his hand and strike Shen Yi across the face. Even from inside the wardrobe, the sound of it made her wince in imagined pain.
Her fists clenched involuntarily. Rong Qian gritted her teeth and restrained herself, not allowing a single sound to escape.
“Useless.”
With just those two words, Shen Chi left without a backward glance. The door was slammed shut behind him with a loud crash.
Then Rong Qian heard Shen Chi instructing Felita not to bring Shen Yi any food for the entire day. Her fists tightened further.
Was this man a sadistic lunatic? Starving his own son for a whole day? The boy was still growing!
Only once the sound of footsteps had faded did Rong Qian emerge from the wardrobe. She saw Shen Yi still sitting in his chair, playing through the Pathétique over and over.
She walked over to him. His head was bowed, making no sound. Rong Qian wanted to tell him to stop playing, but her outstretched hand froze in midair and then slowly withdrew.
Rong Qian sat down right there. She said nothing, asked nothing, and simply kept him company.
Whenever he stopped playing, that was when she would stand up.
True to Shen Chi’s order, Felita brought no food the entire day. Going hungry for a day was nothing to Rong Qian — but Shen Yi couldn’t go without eating.
So that night, once everyone was asleep, Rong Qian crept quietly down to the kitchen to find something to eat.
The only things available were bread and baguettes. Rong Qian helped herself to some, and also quietly took two cans of milk.
It had started raining outside — heavily, with rolling thunder — and as Rong Qian was making her way back, she suddenly heard a woman let out a piercing, harrowing scream.
Rong Qian’s step halted. That sound — it was coming from Yan Qingyao’s room, Shen Yi’s mother’s room…
The further Rong Qian walked toward it, the clearer the sounds became: the woman’s agonized, gut-wrenching cries, the sounds of objects being hurled and smashing against things, then the woman’s pained whimpers and moans, and other muffled noises alongside them.
The veins on the back of Rong Qian’s clenched fist stood out. Shen Chi, that lunatic — was violating his wife.
Then Rong Qian looked up — and there, at the far end of the corridor, stood a slight, slender figure. A flash of lightning cut through the darkness: Shen Yi, motionless, completely still.
He had heard everything…
Something shifted in Rong Qian’s expression, and in a single swift stride she charged forward, hoisted him up, and sprinted back toward the room.
She shut the door, set him down, and covered his ears. Throughout all of this, Shen Yi’s face had shown no expression whatsoever — his eyes hollow and blank.
Rong Qian looked at him, her gaze steady and resolute. “Shen Yi, listen to me. Every person makes their own choices, and every person must pay the price for those choices. Life is the same — that is their life, not yours. So don’t think too much about it. None of that has anything to do with you. There are many things that the you of right now isn’t meant to know yet.”
Shen Yi still showed no reaction. Rong Qian pulled him close in a tight embrace, patting his back gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll be with you.”
“Will you really stay with me always?” Shen Yi spoke then, unexpectedly.
Rong Qian paused. She didn’t know how to answer that. But in this moment, this was the only promise she could give him. She nodded. “Yes. I will.”
Shen Yi fell asleep holding Rong Qian’s hand. Looking at the tightly furrowed brow on that small sleeping face, Rong Qian let out a long sigh. What was she going to do about him?
If she left — could he take care of himself on his own?
Rong Qian didn’t sleep that whole night. At half past seven in the morning, she heard the sound of a sports car engine turning over. Walking to the window, she looked down: Shen Chi was driving away.
Shen Yi slept a little later than usual today, only waking at eight — but he still insisted on his daily run. His self-discipline gave Rong Qian peace of mind. A student this hardworking — who wouldn’t be pleased with him?
While he was out running, Rong Qian stretched herself out and was just about to steal a few minutes of rest when, all of a sudden, she heard footsteps approaching.
Her eyes snapped to the bedroom door with a sharp, alert look. Without a second thought, she slipped into the wardrobe.
The very instant she hid herself inside, the door was pushed open at the same time. Through the narrow gap, Rong Qian saw a woman walk in — wearing a nightgown, her hair loose and disheveled.
Her neck and arms bore wounds. Blood stained the corner of her mouth. Her face was covered in bruises. In her grip was a fruit knife, her expression twisted and ferocious — contorted almost beyond recognition, like a person who had gone completely mad.
It was Yan Qingyao.
Yan Qingyao stumbled into the room, her expression savage as she looked around, apparently searching for someone. Finding no one, she vented her fury by destroying things — sweeping every book from the shelves and sending them crashing to the floor. She let out hysterical screams. Then she seized the fruit knife, lunged at Shen Yi’s bed, and began to slash the pillow repeatedly, with frenzied, stabbing cuts!
In her eyes, it was as though that wasn’t a pillow at all — but a living person. One slash after another, she tore into it like a woman possessed.
“Enough!”
Rong Qian seized her wrist and stopped her. Yan Qingyao’s whole body went rigid. The madness drained out of her and she seemed to lose her bearings entirely. She turned her head — and looked at Rong Qian.
Rong Qian’s brow furrowed slightly. Without a word, she struck her unconscious.
Yan Qingyao went limp, and Rong Qian caught her as she fell. She lifted the woman into her arms — Yan Qingyao was far lighter than she had imagined. She couldn’t have weighed even ninety pounds, utterly gaunt.
Not wanting Shen Yi to come back and find the scene, Rong Qian carried Yan Qingyao back to her own room.
The moment she stepped inside, Rong Qian averted her eyes, unable to bear the sight. Utter devastation — a scene too wretched to look at directly. The bedding was bloodstained and in complete disarray. Rong Qian glanced down at the woman in her arms: a great beauty who had been reduced to a shattered porcelain doll — one touch away from falling apart entirely.
What she had endured the night before required no imagination to grasp.
In her heart, Rong Qian mentally hurled every curse she knew at every ancestor Shen Chi had.
There were clean sheets and bedding in the closet. At the risk of being discovered, Rong Qian made sure Yan Qingyao was settled properly before returning to Shen Yi’s room.
She got back just before Shen Yi returned from his run, tidied the room thoroughly, and made sure he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
There was not much Rong Qian could do. All she could was protect him as best she was able — so that his childhood might hold a few fewer dark memories…