Yes—Patriarch Chen Shenhui had finally returned. As always, he first went to the ministry to report, then attended a chain of banquets in his honor. Between glasses of wine and handshakes, he found time to summon his informants to learn about the latest mischief of his two sons.
One couldn't really blame him for acting like he was running a police investigation. His work often kept him away for months, and he had long been a hands-off father. One son was bold to the point of recklessness; the other idle and troublesome. His wife, gentle and indecisive, could control none of them. Every time he came home, it felt like judgment day for the Chen family—roaring, scolding, and the sound of bamboo rods meeting flesh, followed by cries for mercy.
This time, after hearing his secretary's report, the old man nearly fainted with rage. He slammed a stack of documents onto the desk.
"Those two little bastards are out of control! Do they have a death wish?"
That very afternoon, Chen Jin faced "family discipline." Each strike of the rod was accompanied by a shouted curse.
"Chen Zui deserved his punishment—he made his own mess. But what about you, huh? You think you can cover it all up? You think everyone else is a fool?"
"That poor girl has already lost her fiancé—wasn't that misery enough? And you had to make it worse?"
"Do you even realize what kind of trouble this brings for your grandfather and uncles? Are you trying to drag both the Chen and Yuan families down with you?"
"You're both a curse—nothing but trouble!"
Chen Jin said nothing. He didn't want to argue—there was nothing to argue about. His father was right. The logic made sense; the problem was reality didn't work on logic.
Was he supposed to just stand by and watch his younger brother be arrested? Watch him get sentenced, while the dead stayed dead?
To be honest, he didn't think he was wrong. In this world, if you don't look out for yourself, you get eaten alive. People liked to talk about justice and fairness—but only because they didn't have the power to rise above it.
And he wasn't stupid. He'd never take risks that could ruin his family's name or his relatives' political careers. He always took precautions, made sure every move was watertight. This time was no exception—he had looked into Wang Xiao's background, and, by chance, discovered that the man's father had once been involved in a serious criminal case. One phone call, one stack of papers, and the storm had been silenced.
If there was blame to go around, it lay with the world itself—too messy, too dirty. He was merely surviving in the mud.
The old man's fury burned hotter. He jabbed a finger at his son's forehead.
"Where did you hide that brat? If he's got the guts to make trouble, he'd better have the guts to face the consequences. Hiding like a turtle—pathetic!"
Chen Jin kept his silence. You raised him, didn't you? He thought. If he had even half your courage, I wouldn't be stuck cleaning up his messes.
"Tell him not to come back," the old man thundered. "If he does, I won't need a court to sentence him—I'll break his legs myself."
That, Chen Jin knew, meant the matter was closed. His father would never cross certain lines. As long as Chen Zui stayed out of sight, the storm would pass. But it also meant that the old man's anger had found a new target—him.
By the time the punishment ended, the bamboo stick had splintered, and his back was a map of bruises. His mother rushed in, weeping and shielding him with her arms. The old man, exhausted and fuming, could only shake his head and retreat to his study to smoke.
While lying there, Chen Jin's thoughts drifted to Lin Wan.
He had gone to the cemetery that afternoon after the funeral. He told himself it was only right to apologize. From a distance, he saw a woman kneeling before a gravestone, motionless under the rain. Something in him knew it was her—no one else would cling to grief like that.
She was already unconscious when he reached her, her skin burning with fever. He had to pry her fingers from the stone to carry her away.
Her wallet had remained in his car afterward. He could've sent it through someone else—but days later, he took it to her apartment himself. Maybe he didn't want her to know he'd been the one to send her to the hospital. Or maybe, deep down, he just wanted an excuse to see her again. Something about her frailty made him uneasy.
Several days passed before he saw her again—that night in the rain.
She was walking like a ghost, drenched, without an umbrella. He followed from a distance, telling himself he was only checking up on her. Women, he thought, are always drowning in their emotions, chasing some tragic romance to the bitter end.
But as he watched her soaked figure, that strange feeling rose again—something he couldn't name but couldn't resist. He'd never been able to stand seeing her so fragile. There was something painfully beautiful about it.
Then she dropped her bag. Bent to pick it up—and didn't move again. He hesitated, but finally stepped out with his umbrella. And after that… everything spiraled.
He swore he hadn't planned anything. He'd only wanted to help. But then he saw her—the way the wet fabric clung to her skin, the tremble of her lips, the helpless light in her eyes—and his restraint began to crumble.
When he kissed her, the sensation was maddeningly real—too real. And when she struggled, the pain of her nails digging into his wounds set off something raw and ugly inside him.
Maybe it hurt more than the beating his father had given him. Maybe that pain was just an excuse to unleash everything he shouldn't. Either way, by the time he realized what he was doing, it was already too late to pretend he was in control.
Inside the car, the air grew heavy with rain and breath. Lin Wan's hair clung to her cheeks, her shirt torn open. Chen Jin's hand trembled against her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. She didn't move—not because she'd surrendered, but because she couldn't.
"Why so quiet now?" he murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
Her whole body shook. When he reached forward to switch on the light, she screamed. He only wanted to see her face, but the motion pulled at the lashes on his back, and he hissed through his teeth. She flinched. Her eyes—wide, wet, terrified—met his. Under the glow, she looked heartbreakingly human.
He swallowed hard. "You really are beautiful," he said hoarsely.
The words startled even him. By any measure, Lin Wan was just a pretty woman, nothing extraordinary. But right now, with her tears, her trembling, and that mix of fear and defiance—she was devastatingly beautiful.
He cursed himself for the thought. What are you doing? He scolded inwardly. You're not some hormone-crazed boy. But the thought came too late. He bent toward her again.
Her breathing weakened; she could barely move. Panic and despair blurred her senses until she barely knew where she was.
And then—he stopped.
She wasn't resisting. Her eyes were open but empty, tears streaming silently. The sight hit him like a blow. This wasn't surrender. This was despair—the lifeless stillness of someone who'd given up completely.
He froze. His hand hovered over the metal button of her jeans. That tiny click could seal everything, the point of no return.
"Why aren't you fighting?" he asked roughly. "Why don't you beg?"
Lin Wan turned her head away, staring at the roof of the car. Her voice was faint, almost fragile.
"Because today… is his birthday. Wang Xiao's birthday."
It was like being doused with ice water. His pulse slowed. The heat drained from his body, leaving only the weight of what he'd almost done.
Even if he forced her now, she'd still be thinking of another man—someone dead, yet more alive in her heart than he'd ever be. What satisfaction could there be in that?
The thought sickened him. His pride wouldn't allow it. Forcing a woman who looked that hollow—it would feel like violating a corpse.
He drew back, breathing hard. A small, bitter laugh escaped him. What now, Chen Jin? Proud of your self-control, or ashamed you almost lost it?
Lin Wan didn't move. Her mind couldn't quite catch up. Maybe it was divine mercy—or maybe another cruel trick. When he barked from the front seat, "Get out! Or do you want me to change my mind?"—she finally jolted into motion.
She scrambled out of the car and ran—barefoot, breathless, into the rain.
The downpour continued, washing the street in silver light. The car sat idling at the curb, its back door still open. In the driver's seat, Chen Jin stared straight ahead, his face shadowed and tight.
He finally slammed the steering wheel and spat out a curse, fury burning in his throat. The black car roared to life and tore down the flooded street, swallowed by the storm.
Upstairs, behind a locked door, Lin Wan collapsed to the floor. Her clothes clung to her; her chest still held the ghost of his touch. It all felt unreal, a fever dream—but it had happened.
She pulled her shirt closed with trembling fingers and whispered to herself,
"Lin Wan… are you still going to keep fighting him?"