On a silent snowy night, far from the bustling city, a small earthen house glowed with a dim white light. White smoke slowly drifted from the chimney, dispersing into the dark night sky.

On such a night, the sound of dogs barking was unusually clear.

Chu Shangluo opened the door and saw Ren Jiaoming standing outside. He had changed into a clean, refined coat, with his right arm wrapped in gauze. The exposed skin was reddened from the biting cold wind.

Chu Shangluo frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Earlier this afternoon, Wen Yan was arrested. I came to check on you,” Ren Jiaoming replied quietly.

He was a man of few words, concealing all his emotions deep inside. When he did express concern, it was through actions, not words. Coming all this way late at night could only mean he was worried the Wen family might retaliate against Chu Shangluo.

Looking into Ren Jiaoming’s eyes, which were no longer as cold as before, Chu Shangluo suddenly understood why he had come.

“I don’t need you checking on me. It’s safe here. Go back,” Chu Shangluo said, closing the door.

He returned to his seat by the fireplace, watching the flames flicker. He felt a strange sense of surprise at how clearly he could now read Ren Jiaoming’s thoughts—something that had always puzzled him before.

He used to want so badly to understand what Ren Jiaoming was thinking, but he could never see through him. Now that he finally could, it felt too late.

What was the point?

Chu Shangluo pulled out a cigarette, lit it with the fire, and then grabbed his phone. He dialed Chu Chendong’s number.

After several rings, the call finally connected.

“What were you so busy with? I’ve been calling you all afternoon.”

Chu Chendong replied, “I was at the temple with your Mom and your brother. Spent the whole afternoon listening to Buddhist teachings. Just come back now.”

Hearing that, Chu Shangluo felt a surge of frustration.

He had been held at gunpoint by Wen Zhengyang that very afternoon, yet his father had been busy chanting prayers for a sin that might not even be his.

Irritated, he said, “I saw Wen Zhengyang today. He gave me a video. Check your phone—I just sent it to you.”

The other end of the call fell into silence.

After a long pause, Chu Chendong finally spoke, “Is it real?”

“The video isn’t edited, but it’s not true either. Think carefully about it!”

Silence returned.

Chu Shangluo had never been a patient person, with a naturally short temper. Having to deal with the silent Ren Jiaoming was already enough, and now his father was acting the same way. He took a deep breath, waiting for his father to respond.

During the long silence, Chu Shangluo grew increasingly anxious. He feared his father would admit to it—and as a son, he had no idea how he would react if that happened.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chu Chendong said, “Shangluo, I can’t think clearly right now. Let me process this. It’s late over there, you should get some sleep.”

His voice trembled.

Chu Shangluo wanted to press for answers, to ask if his father had remembered something, but he lost the nerve.

After hanging up, the more he thought about it, the more alarmed he felt.

The footage Wen Zhengyang had shown him clearly depicted his father hitting Ruan Shu and setting the fire. Even if his father had initially been trying to break up a fight and hitting Ruan Shu was in self-defense, it was still enough for him to face decades in prison.

Chu Shangluo took a deep breath. The thought of his father being arrested, his mother crying herself to exhaustion every day, his brother shouting for their father, and the entire Chu family—who once idolized his father—falling apart, overwhelmed him with exhaustion.

He let out a heavy sigh and decided to step outside for some air.

But the moment he opened the door, he froze.

Ren Jiaoming was still standing there.

“You…why are you still here?”

“Why are your eyes so red?” Ren Jiaoming reached out, gently wiping the corner of Chu Shangluo’s reddened eyes.

The cold touch of his fingertips against the warmth of his skin made Chu Shangluo shudder involuntarily.

He quickly stepped back and batted Ren Jiaoming’s hand away. “You should go back now!”

His mood was a mess, and he turned to head back inside.

But just as he was about to shut the door, it was pushed open.

Ren Jiaoming squeezed inside, his injured arm still wrapped in gauze, his hands stiff from the cold after standing outside for so long. His long eyelashes were dusted with delicate frost, trembling slightly, and his voice was low and sorrowful.

“It’s too cold… Let me stay here for a while.”

At that moment, Ren Jiaoming seemed like a pitiful, abandoned puppy.

Chu Shangluo didn’t know why he would describe him that way.

After all, only the word “dog” suited Ren Jiaoming—he wasn’t pitiful at all. Hasn’t he always gotten everything he wanted?

Chu Shangluo didn’t want to deal with him and sat back down, lighting another cigarette.

Ren Jiaoming moved closer, standing beside him. He glanced at a small dirt-stained stool nearby but didn’t sit down.

Halfway through his cigarette, Chu Shangluo grew irritated.

Having someone just standing there silently, staring at him like a motionless statue, was too much.

“Can you just sit down already? Stop pacing around next to me!”

Ren Jiaoming hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down on the dirty, worn stool, frowning slightly.

Chu Shangluo exhaled a puff of smoke and gestured to the opposite side. “Sit over there.”

Ren Jiaoming didn’t move. He kept his gaze on Chu Shangluo’s weary face, wanting nothing more than to hold him. Earlier, while standing outside the door, he had overheard the phone conversation between Chu Shangluo and Chu Chendong. He understood why Chu Shangluo was upset and wished he could ease his burden and bring him some peace.

In the quiet room, the crackling of the burning firewood echoed clearly.

Chu Shangluo stared into the flames while Ren Jiaoming kept his eyes fixed on Chu Shangluo.

Time passed in silence. Eventually, Chu Shangluo flicked his cigarette into the fire and watched the smoke rise.

“It’s late. Leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”

Ren Jiaoming suddenly grabbed his arm. “About our fathers—”

Annoyed, Chu Shangluo yanked his arm away.

“Yes. Because of our fathers’ issues, Ren Jiaoming, I don’t feel like I owe you anything. But I also can’t be with you.”

Ren Jiaoming stared at him, his chest tightening. He asked softly, “Do you still hate me?”

“It’s not about hate anymore. Even if we were just ordinary friends before all this, do you think we could still be friends after what happened between our families? You might be able to ignore what your father did, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

Chu Shangluo stood up. “Go back. I’m going to bed.”

He turned toward the bed, but the next moment, Ren Jiaoming grabbed his wrist again, this time more gently.

“What if I told you… your father isn’t a murderer?”

Chu Shangluo froze and turned back, staring at him. “What do you mean?”

Ren Jiaoming pulled him back toward the fire. “It’s warmer here.”

Chu Shangluo’s heart pounded loudly in his chest. His hand was still held by Ren Jiaoming, but he had forgotten to pull away.

“Can you just get to the point already?!”

Ren Jiaoming, who rarely lost his temper with Chu Shangluo, simply sighed and explained, “All these years in the Wen family, I’ve been searching for information about my aunt. I recently found her in a nursing home. She’s mentally unstable—sometimes lucid, sometimes not. But during a moment of clarity, she told me your father didn’t commit murder.”

No wonder Ren Jiaoming had seemed so familiar with the nursing home last time—they had clearly been there before, more than once.

While Ren Jiaoming’s words eased some of Chu Shangluo’s fears, they couldn’t completely put him at ease.

“You just said she’s mentally unstable. Do you have any proof?”

Ren Jiaoming hesitated before replying, “She recorded a confession when she first came to my house, but she hid the evidence somewhere in the nursing home. I’ve searched many times but haven’t found it yet. I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t want to give you false hope. If I couldn’t find the evidence, your father would still be seen as guilty, and you’d only hate the Wen family more. I thought once I had solid proof, I could bring down Wen Zhengyang and give you closure.”

Chu Shangluo pulled his hand back, a mix of emotions on his face—anger, confusion, hurt.

“Wow. How considerate of you. So if Wen Zhengyang hadn’t shown me that video, you would’ve kept hiding this from me, huh?”

Ren Jiaoming remained silent.

Chu Shangluo pressed further, “So you knew from the beginning that the Wen family wasn’t innocent either? You were just pretending to side with them?”

Ren Jiaoming nodded slowly and replied, “Yes. I used to believe that your father and Wen Zhengyang had conspired together to destroy my family, so I hated the Wen family just as much.” He paused, looking at Chu Shangluo seriously. “Why would I help the Wen family hurt you?”

Such a simple explanation, yet it had taken so long to be revealed.

For a moment, Chu Shangluo wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by Ren Jiaoming’s ability to keep up such an act or frustrated by how long he had concealed the truth.

Suddenly learning that his father wasn’t a murderer felt like an emotional rollercoaster, but despite the relief, he still couldn’t feel happy.

Ren Jiaoming gazed at him for a while before speaking again, as if carefully choosing his words. “I want to find the evidence that proves your father didn’t kill anyone.”

He remembered the day their house caught fire. Hidden inside a cabinet, he had watched his father rush in, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders.

“Remember this—Wen Zhengyang and Chu Chendong set us up. Take your brother and escape through the window, quickly.”

After that, his father had run back out the door. The smoke had been too thick. Both he and his younger brother had inhaled so much that they lost consciousness.

For years afterward, he had suffered severe trauma, reacting intensely to the smell of smoke and fire.

To his twelve-year-old self, his father’s words had been like a sacred decree. For years, he had firmly believed that Chu Chendong and Wen Zhengyang were responsible for his family’s ruin. Because of this, he kept his distance from Chu Shangluo, treating him coldly.

Now, as he longed to get closer to Chu Shangluo, he also began to fear that Chu Chendong might truly have harmed his family. If that were the case, he knew he could never be with Chu Shangluo. So, he set aside his hatred for the Wen family and focused all his efforts on finding proof that Chu Chendong was not involved in harming his family.

Chu Shangluo, however, had no way of sensing the internal struggle and affection behind Ren Jiaoming’s actions. Ren Jiaoming had lived with hatred for most of his life, driven by a desire to destroy both the Chu and Wen families. Yet in the end, he had only taken back the antique shop that rightfully belonged to him while already holding evidence capable of bringing down the Wen family. This bias, this partiality, was something even Ren Jiaoming himself hadn’t realized at the time.

The room remained silent as Ren Jiaoming reflected on his aunt’s words. Chu Chendong hadn’t been the one to personally kill his father, but he wasn’t entirely innocent either—he had made mistakes and bore some responsibility. However, his aunt’s account had been fragmented and confusing, leaving Ren Jiaoming unsure which parts were true. He knew he could only be certain once he found the missing video evidence.

Until then, he preferred letting Chu Shangluo think he had been mistaken, even foolish, rather than burden him with more uncertainties.

After a long silence, Ren Jiaoming hesitated before speaking softly:
“There’s nothing left between us from the previous generation’s conflict. Will you give me a chance?”

Chu Shangluo turned to face him, meeting his sincere gaze. His eyes quickly shifted away as he took a deep breath, suddenly craving a cigarette.

He added more wood to the dying fire, causing smoke to rise, stinging his eyes. Rubbing them, he replied, “You asked me before if I hated you, right? I can choose not to hate you. I can even forgive you. But I can’t be with you. From now on, let’s be strangers.”

Ren Jiaoming froze for a moment before suddenly pulling Chu Shangluo into a tight embrace, his voice desperate:
“You still love me. I know you do.”

Pressed close to him, Chu Shangluo felt more sadness than anger. Perhaps Ren Jiaoming was right—maybe he did still love him. And that was why it hurt so much.

The smoke from the fire was overwhelming, making his eyes sting and redden. He grasped Ren Jiaoming’s arms, trying to push him away.

“You know I’m proud and stubborn. But what you don’t know is that for most people, losing once means trying again and winning next time. But I’m not like that. I can’t face failure—not even once—because it drains me completely. So even if you’re standing here wanting to come back, every time I see you, I’ll be reminded of my failure. And I can’t find any joy in winning this time either. So leave.”