In the end, Mr. Qi ignored the butler’s desperate pleading and had him shown the door.
The butler knew exactly what that meant. Once word got out in their social circle, the things he had done would be exposed, and he would be finished—no more work, no more standing among the elite. It was, in a way, the consequence of his own choices.
Silence settled in the study after the man was escorted out. It was a long, heavy quiet. When Mr. Qi finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and tired, as if the business-hardened man had aged a decade overnight.
“What do you want to do about this?” he asked.
Mrs. Qi had kept her eyes shut from the beginning. She had been afraid that if she opened them she would unleash all the questions and accusations she’d been holding in—why would someone she had trusted for so many years betray them like this? Her lashes trembled for a long moment before she opened her eyes. They looked empty, as if something inside her had gone numb.
After a long time, a faint light returned to her gaze. She turned slowly to her husband.
“I want her brought back to the house.”
Her voice quavered. The last few days had been a steady erosion; a single small thing could topple her. That she could speak with any composure now was a rare steadiness.
She had learned from talking with Qi Siran that her adoptive daughter’s relationship with Wen Yin had broken beyond repair. If Siran were to do something to hurt Wen Yin, Mrs. Qi could not bear the thought.
“We can’t afford two children?” Mr. Qi’s face flickered with indecision. Mrs. Qi recognized that look; despite everything he had always been indulgent toward Siran. It made sense—after her birth Mr. Qi had been absorbed by the company and had little time for their child until she turned three. When the business stabilized, he had tried to make up for his absence with lavish attention and doting affection. He had raised Siran like a little princess, and her spoiled arrogance had been propped up by the knowledge that her father would always back her.
Mrs. Qi knew she’d given him no room to hesitate. He loved their daughter, but he loved his wife more. And now that they knew Siran was not his biological child, his objections were even less fierce.
She hesitated, thinking of the tangled history between Wen Yin and the others, then spoke again. “You know how Siran treats Wen Yin. If she does something to hurt her—” Her voice broke; she didn’t know how to finish. One was the child she had raised for years, the other her own blood. Yet the two were locked in mutual hostility.
Mr. Qi saw the despair in his wife’s eyes and drew her into an embrace. “Do whatever you think is best,” he said softly.
He might be a doting father, but he had always put his wife first. Mrs. Qi nodded slowly. Perhaps the next time Wen Yin and Siran met would be the moment she reclaimed the daughter she had raised.
—
Shao Yinan came home to find the apartment dark. The lights were off; even the small lamp by the door was unlit. He called out, puzzled. “Yin?”
There was no answer for several seconds, then the muffled sounds of someone sobbing and sniffling from the living room. He flicked on the entry light and found Wen Yin curled into a tight ball in the far corner of the sofa.
“Yin?!” He could tell at a glance she wasn’t all right. He had heard the soft inhalations between her tears. Could she actually be crying?
He dropped beside her and, as if by instinct, pulled her into his arms. She didn’t lift her head; she buried her face into his chest. He felt the dampness of her tears seeping through the cotton of his shirt. It wasn’t until the wetness began to fade that he dared to tilt her chin up.
“You’re home early,” she mumbled, voice raw.
He nodded toward the takeout container on the table. “I thought I’d surprise you. Didn’t expect to be surprised myself.” He reached up and brushed at the lingering salt of her tears.
Wen Yin sniffed; the rims of her eyes were rimmed red, making her look fragile and small. When she’d steadied, she pointed to the folder on the table.
The moment Shao Yinan touched it he felt a sinking certainty. Wen Yin was level-headed and determined—if anyone could find out the truth about him, it would be her. He had always known she had the ability to dig up the facts. That was why seeing her bring him to that place of helplessness now unsettled him.
He opened the folder. Inside was the paternity report—Wen Yin and Mr. Wen. It showed what he had feared. She was not Mr. Wen’s biological child.
“You went and had it checked,” he said, voice low and heavy. He sighed, then softened. “Yin, you didn’t have to go through all that alone. I would’ve helped.”
He looked at the wet tracks on her cheek. “You’ve said you didn’t mind not knowing where you came from. So why are you crying like this?”
She swallowed. “I thought…maybe he knew. Maybe that’s why he treated me differently.” Memories flooded back—being bullied by Wen Zhi and the others, being pointed at and whispered about. The pride and endurance she’d carried through those years collapsed now into raw hurt.
She hadn’t cried when they tormented her in the bathroom, hadn’t cried when they slapped her, hadn’t cried when lies were spread about her. But all that restraint had nowhere to go—until now, until she had someone to lean on.
Shao Yinan held her tighter. “You don’t have to relive it alone,” he said simply. “I’m here.”