After obtaining Mo Zhenghong’s death certificate, Liang Qiuchi accompanied Mo Xin out of the hospital and got into the car to go home.

On the way, Mo Xin looked down at the thin piece of paper in his hand, silent.

Vincent kept glancing worriedly at him through the rearview mirror, several times wanting to speak but stopping himself. Seeing Liang Qiuchi silently shaking his head, he redirected his thoughts back to driving.

When the car returned to the Mo family mansion, Wu Yahui heard the commotion and immediately ran out to greet them. Seeing the three people in the car with serious expressions, she knew something was wrong.

She looked at Mo Xin with concern. “You look pale, shall I cook you a bowl of noodles?”

Mo Xin had no appetite.

He went straight to the second-floor bedroom, closed the door, shutting out all greetings and concerns.

Liang Qiuchi said, “Let him be for a while.” He asked Wu Yahui, “Has Mo Qi come back?”

Wu Yahui shook her head. “Not yet.”

Danga was the second-largest federal member unit, with a high degree of autonomy in managing state affairs. Now that the governor had died from the attack, it was bound to cause a stir and have an impact not only in Danga but also throughout the federation.

Mo Qi, as Mo Zhenghong’s eldest son, was overwhelmed with various matters at the moment, unable to take care of everything.

Liang Qiuchi asked Wu Yahui to bring a portable computer, and upon opening the screen, he saw the news of Mo Zhenghong’s death and Reinis’s early inauguration, occupying the headlines of the current affairs news on both sides.

Several media outlets keen on stirring up trouble even intentionally placed photos of these two former political rivals delivering speeches together, the meaning behind it was intriguing.

Liang Qiuchi caught the subtle trend of public opinion.

He felt it was time to fight back.

After pondering over the computer for a while, once he made up his mind, he didn’t delay for a moment, immediately starting to make phone calls to arrange manpower.

When everything was arranged properly, the hands of the quartz clock hanging on the wall in the hall slowly pointed to midnight.

Wu Yahui and Vincent had not yet returned to their rooms to rest. Both of them sat quietly with drooping eyelids, looking exhausted.

Liang Qiuchi told them to go rest. Everyone had been working tirelessly these past few days, physically and mentally exhausted.

“But what about the General…” Vincent worriedly looked towards the second floor.

“I’ll stay with him. You two go rest. There are still many things to be done later,” Liang Qiuchi said.

Wu Yahui nudged Vincent with her knee, indicating for him not to say anything else, then got up first. “Alright, let’s go. Call us if you need anything.”

Liang Qiuchi nodded. After the two of them went back to their rooms separately, he sat alone in the hall for a moment, then got up and went upstairs, quietly pushing open Mo Xin’s bedroom door.

The room was pitch-black, and the night breeze carried the warmth and fragrance of early summer through the curtains, rustling them as it blew through.

On the balcony, faint sparks were burning.

Mo Xin was smoking.

Liang Qiuchi walked up to him, seeing that Mo Xin’s eyes were a bit swollen, indicating he had just cried again. He asked, “Do you have more cigarettes?”

Mo Xin lowered his head and took out the cigarette case, handing it to him.

Liang Qiuchi took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, leaning towards Mo Xin and directly lighting the cigarette between his lips with the burning end of his own.

The two of them leaned against the railing, their bodies slightly tilted, shoulders touching, silently.

No one spoke as they smoked.

The flickering flame of the cigarette was intermittently bright and dim, occasionally with scattered sparks falling along with the ash, drifting into the night sky and disappearing.

Halfway through the cigarette, Liang Qiuchi heard Mo Xin mutter, “Hungry.”

Liang Qiuchi extinguished the cigarette, turned to look at him, and asked, “What do you want to eat?”

Mo Xin shook his head without saying a word.

Liang Qiuchi held one of his hands and said softly, “Then I’ll make something simple for you. Will you eat it?”

Mo Xin uttered a sound of agreement and let Liang Qiuchi lead him out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen.

He sat at the table, quietly watching Liang Qiuchi bustling between the refrigerator and the stove, sniffing his sore nose.

Before long, a steaming bowl of egg noodles was placed in front of him. Liang Qiuchi handed him chopsticks and said, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

Mo Xin used the chopsticks to fiddle with the vegetables in the bowl, the rising steam making his eyes feel hot. “I didn’t expect you to cook.”

“I learned in the past few years. It tastes average, but as long as it fills your stomach,” Liang Qiuchi took out a piece of luncheon meat from the refrigerator, cut it into small pieces, and put it into Mo Xin’s bowl, “You haven’t eaten anything all day, so endure a bit and just eat something to fill your stomach.”

Mo Xin lowered his head and took a bite. “It’s delicious.”

Liang Qiuchi sat beside him and smiled. “If it’s delicious, eat more.”

Mo Xin silently finished the bowl of noodles, even drinking the soup. Then he put down the chopsticks and turned to look at Liang Qiuchi. “I’m fine now.”

How could the grief of losing a loved one be completely digested in just a few hours?

Although Mo Xin’s personality was cold, being cold didn’t mean being heartless. Liang Qiuchi deeply understood that this person who habitually armored himself with a cold, hard shell actually longed intensely for love in his heart.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have persistently pursued him for eight years.

He held Mo Xin’s hand. “Mo Xin, I hope you can rely on me more.” He squeezed his hand slightly tighter. “In front of me, you can be vulnerable, you can cry, you can freely express your emotions.”

Mo Xin pursed his lips, quietly looking at the hand that was holding his own, then after a moment, he said, “I want you to hug me again.”

Liang Qiuchi leaned over and hugged him tightly.

Mo Xin buried his head in the crook of his neck, finding security in his broad and powerful chest.

He muttered, “Qiuchi.”

“I’m here,” Liang Qiuchi responded.

“Don’t leave me,” Mo Xin held onto Liang Qiuchi tightly. “Don’t get hurt, don’t bleed, don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He had been recalling every little detail of his time spent with his father.

In his memory, his father always looked stern with him, which was quite different from the amiable image he presented to the public.

From childhood to adulthood, the time they spent together was not much, and most of it was tense and serious.

But somehow, now Mo Xin couldn’t recall any of the harsh criticisms his father had directed at him. Instead, he remembered the scene where his father had held his trembling wrist with his broad palm, urging him to persevere when he was on the verge of collapse during gun training, and that scene lingered in his mind.

As he grew older, communication between father and son became even less frequent.

Especially in recent years, Mo Xin had been recklessly charging into battle on the front lines and rarely came home. Only because he was shot last year did Mo Zhenghong order Mo Qi to bring him home to rest in bed, allowing them to briefly meet.

Strictly speaking, that was the last time they spent together as father and son.

Mo Xin had always thought that his need for family affection was not as profound as that of an ordinary person. He had even told Liang Qiuchi that he could cut ties with his family and follow him at all costs, as if family was just a light and airy term for him.

However, the reality was not so.

He was sadder, more guilty, and more regretful than he had imagined.

It was only at this moment that he realized Liang Qiuchi had once pushed him away with the reason of “family affection”.

It turns out that people always understand the value of something only after they have lost it.

Mo Xin murmured, regretting the selfish nonsense he had spoken before.

Liang Qiuchi hugged Mo Xin, gently stroking his back, his voice softer than the night wind outside, “You still have me, I’ll always be here.”