That woman thought that after all these years, with someone like Su Baiye acting as a substitute, they should have long since moved on from the child they lost back then. Yet, to her surprise, even as their search gradually became more low-key—almost as if they had given up—they had never truly forgotten that missing flesh and blood.
Even after all these years, even as the search grew increasingly difficult, they had never stopped looking—not for the child, nor for the person responsible for their loss.
Fortunately, their persistence over the years had finally borne fruit. The culprit, having grown complacent over time, had left behind faint traces that led them straight to Su Baiye’s birth mother—Wei Zhen, Kong Qintong’s once-close friend.
Su Jun cursed himself for unwittingly inviting a wolf into his home. The memory of his wife’s devastated state after their youngest son went missing still pained him deeply. That child had been their treasure, cradled in their hearts, and the toll it took on her was immeasurable—her spirit broken, her health never fully recovering.
The more Su Jun, a devoted husband, ached for his wife, the more his hatred for the one responsible grew. Even his fondness for Su Baiye plummeted as a result.
Logically, involving a child in adult affairs was inappropriate. If they stooped to Wei Zhen’s level, how would they be any different from the woman they despised? So while their regard for Su Baiye had diminished, they had no intention of acting against him.
Su Baiye would remain their adopted son. But if he ever crossed the family’s moral boundaries, they wouldn’t hesitate to sever ties.
Su Jun and Su Boxiao, recalling the Tan family’s notorious reputation, began strategizing how to separate Su Baiye from Tan Shengjun. After all, the Tan family was far from an ideal match for marriage or lifelong commitment.
With a sigh, father and son shook their heads and turned their attention to tracing their lost child. Thanks to uncovering Wei Zhen’s involvement, they had found promising leads—strong indications that the child had been found by someone.
Whether adopted or placed in an orphanage, at least there was hope he was alive. That alone was a relief compared to the grim possibility Wei Zhen had long insinuated—that the infant had perished before ever truly experiencing the world.
After over two decades of separation, they had learned to temper their expectations. Any sign of life was a blessing.
Meanwhile, as the Su family deliberated over the past, Su Baiye was happily shopping with Tan Shengjun—measuring, selecting styles, and buying clothes. Though they could easily have tailors come to them, the public display of affection was part of the couple’s dynamic.
Or perhaps it served another purpose: reinforcing their relationship—both to outsiders and themselves. For two people who loved themselves more than anyone else, how much of their bond was genuine? Only they knew. And so, they lost themselves in the performance, basking in the envy and admiration of onlookers until even they couldn’t distinguish reality from the act.
Elsewhere in the mall, Yi Lingfan stood resignedly as Pei Zhaohe held up yet another outfit against him. “Pei-ge, you’ve bought enough already,” Yi Lingfan sighed, shooting him a reproachful look. *Men. All talk. Promised just a fitting, and now this.*
As a lab-obsessed introvert, Yi Lingfan’s clothing standards were simple: comfort and sufficiency. The only reason he’d agreed to a suit fitting was for an upcoming event. But Pei Zhaohe, now thoroughly enjoying dressing up his “doll,” was far from done.
Watching Yi Lingfan’s growing restlessness, Pei Zhaohe abandoned dignity and pouted. “Lingfan, am I boring you?”
The sight of the usually rugged man feigning puppy-dog eyes was absurd—yet Yi Lingfan, helpless against it, relented with a silent raise of his arms. *Fine. My man, my rules.*
Pei Zhaohe’s heart swelled. If not for propriety—and their still-undefined relationship—he’d have swept Yi Lingfan into his arms then and there.
Unbeknownst to them, their “subtle” chemistry was anything but. To observers, they were a glaringly obvious couple, radiating affection with every glance.
Later, as fate would have it, the two pairs crossed paths. Yi Lingfan recognized Su Baiye instantly—the man he loathed—but now wasn’t the time. He walked past, feigning indifference. Pei Zhaohe noticed his shift in mood but, trusting him completely, let it go when Yi Lingfan deflected.
Post-shopping, Pei Zhaohe treated Yi Lingfan to a movie—a detective thriller, tailored to his tastes. Leaning close, Yi Lingfan whispered praises about the plot, his breath warm against Pei Zhaohe’s ear, sending the latter’s pulse racing.
The evening culminated in a private candlelit dinner. Pei Zhaohe had wanted grandeur but settled for intimacy, uncertain of Yi Lingfan’s preferences.
And so, beneath flickering candlelight, two stories unfolded—one of hidden grudges and restless searches, another of performative love and unspoken yearning—each unaware of how closely their paths had nearly intertwined.
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