When they arrived at the hospital for stitches, Ren Jiaoming remained completely composed, while Chu Shangluo spent the entire time pitifully allowing Chu Shangyue to cover his eyes.

As Chu Shangyue covered his eyes, he tried to comfort him, whispering, “Don’t cry, I’ll give you candy.” Chu Shangluo couldn’t help but feel utterly humiliated. This time, the usually composed and authoritative Chu Shangluo had sustained a serious injury, and because of his fear of pain, he had avoided injuries for many years.

Chu Shangluo ended up needing ten stitches, while Ren Jiaoming only needed three. What’s more, the injury on Ren Jiaoming’s arm wasn’t even inflicted by the thugs—it was caused by Chu Shangluo pushing him out of harm’s way with such force that Ren Jiaoming, unprepared, hit a sharp nail on the door. The attempt to save Ren Jiaoming had not only caused him to get hurt but also left Chu Shangluo severely injured. This embarrassing act of heroism was something Chu Shangluo didn’t even dare to brag about.

By the time the stitching was done, it was almost midnight. Unwilling to go through the hassle of leaving, Chu Shangluo decided to stay in a VIP hospital room. The room had two beds, which conveniently meant one for him and one for Ren Jiaoming. The extra person, Chu Shangyue, had to be sent home, so Chu Zong came to pick him up.

When Chu Zong arrived, he brought steaming bowls of tangyuan (sweet rice dumplings) for them, though he couldn’t avoid getting smacked on the head multiple times by Chu Shangluo. Now back to his commanding self, Chu Shangluo scolded him, “I’m warning you, if you lose Chu Shangyue again, I’ll take your head off and use it as a soccer ball.”

Chu Zong sheepishly rubbed his head and replied, “Cousin, I was already prepared to let you use my head as a soccer ball today.” Chu Shangluo found him annoying and quickly sent him and Chu Shangyue away.

The hospital room finally quieted down.

Chu Shangluo was hungry, but every time he got hungry, his old stomach condition would flare up, making it even harder for him to eat anything. He rubbed his stomach, eyeing the tangyuan on the table, debating whether to eat a bite.

Ren Jiaoming, not forgetting his instincts as an assistant, got up, served the tangyuan, and handed it to Chu Shangluo.

Chu Shangluo took the bowl but didn’t know what to say. The day had been so eventful that he didn’t even know where to start. The two of them sat in silence, each with one arm bandaged, slowly eating tangyuan. Surprisingly, a peaceful and strangely warm atmosphere filled the room.

Chu Shangluo gazed out at the brightly lit city beyond the window. For the first time in two years, someone was spending the holiday with him. And the person accompanying him wasn’t just anyone—it was the person he liked but had been trying to let go of: Ren Jiaoming.

After a long silence, Chu Shangluo finally spoke, “Secretary Ren, did you have someone at home to spend the holiday with today? Was it Young Master Wen?”

“…” There was no response.

Forget it. Chu Shangluo didn’t expect Ren Jiaoming to answer anyway.

After finishing the bowl of tangyuan and finding his hand too sore to light a cigarette, Chu Shangluo heard Ren Jiaoming quietly say, “No one. No one has ever spent a holiday with me.”

Chu Shangluo withdrew his hand from the pack of cigarettes. In the quiet hospital room, on a day meant for family reunions, two injured individuals found themselves in an unexpected moment of shared solitude.

There was a certain sense of mutual reliance and empathy between them at that moment. Perhaps it was the sharp pain in his arm, the dim lighting in the hospital room, or Ren Jiaoming’s simple words—“No one has ever spent a holiday with me”—that stirred something in Chu Shangluo’s heart.

He thought about how Ren Jiaoming had risked his safety to help him save Chu Shangyue, proving himself reliable when it mattered most. That reliability gave Chu Shangluo a sense of security he hadn’t felt in a long time. Was it just professionalism on Ren Jiaoming’s part? Or could it be that Ren Jiaoming felt even the slightest bit of affection for him?

Turning to face him, Chu Shangluo hesitantly asked, “Secretary Ren, would you like to have someone with you on every holiday from now on?”

His face carried a casual smile, his tone playful, all of it carefully masking the anticipation in his eyes. Proud as he was, Chu Shangluo couldn’t allow himself to lower his guard to Ren Jiaoming again. Yet, at the same time, he wasn’t willing to give up on him either.

Ren Jiaoming looked toward Chu Shangluo by the window. He was about to refuse when a firework shot up and burst behind Chu Shangluo, illuminating the dark night sky in an instant. The light reflected in Chu Shangluo’s eyes, sparkling like countless stars.

The light faded, and the night returned to its usual stillness. Ren Jiaoming pursed his lips, shifted his gaze away from Chu Shangluo, and said nothing.

In the end, Chu Shangluo did light a cigarette. Opening the window, he leaned against the sill, letting the cold wind hit his face as he slowly exhaled the smoke. He stared at the glittering cityscape and said, “Ren Jiaoming, you saved my brother. When you leave, I’ll make sure you get a generous payout.”

Ren Jiaoming replied, “There’s no need. Young Master Chu, you saved me too.”

Chu Shangluo let out a cold laugh. “So you want everything to be even, is that it? Grateful and duty-bound Secretary Ren, keeping everything meticulously balanced just so you can leave without any guilt, right?”

Ren Jiaoming didn’t respond. That was exactly what he meant, but he refrained from saying it outright, out of respect for Chu Shangluo.

But Chu Shangluo was the kind of person who, even if he understood, needed things laid bare. The atmosphere, which had been relatively calm, was suddenly shattered by Chu Shangluo’s growing irritation at Ren Jiaoming’s deliberate distancing. Every time Chu Shangluo tried to take a step forward, Ren Jiaoming seemed to retreat two steps back, and this delicate balance infuriated him.

“Ren Jiaoming, since you’re so eager to leave, I won’t stop you. Don’t worry—I won’t cling to you or make things difficult. Once I find a new secretary, you’re free to go.”

Having said his piece, Chu Shangluo’s fingertips trembled slightly.

Damn it. Why does this heartless dog never warm up no matter what I do?

Ren Jiaoming had always been indifferent to pointless arguments and insults, never paying them any mind. But somehow, the words Chu Shangluo had thrown at him struck a faint chord, creating a ripple in his otherwise calm demeanor.

Yet that ripple was fleeting, vanishing before Ren Jiaoming could even make sense of it.

This Lantern Festival passed in utter silence. Chu Shangluo had imagined that spending the holiday with someone he liked would be warm and sweet. But when the day came, there was neither warmth nor sweetness. Even the argument, if it could be called one, was just a monologue on his part.

The only thing that accompanied him throughout the night was the relentless pain in his arm—a sensation that stubbornly refused to leave.

The next morning, Chu Shangluo opened his weary eyes to find that Ren Jiaoming was already awake. He was dressed in a fresh suit, impeccably clean, and his hair neatly styled—clearly, he had already freshened up.

Sitting up, Chu Shangluo glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even time for work yet.

Chu Shangluo asked, “Where did you get new clothes?”

Ren Jiaoming replied, “I usually keep a few sets in the car.”

Looking at Ren Jiaoming’s composed and meticulous demeanor, Chu Shangluo was momentarily at a loss for words.

Fine, he thought. Ren Jiaoming is a man of refinement—down to being a perfectionist with a touch of obsessive cleanliness. It made sense.

By comparison, Chu Shangluo realized how unrefined he was. His car didn’t even have bottled water, let alone spare clothes. His previous secretary, being thoughtful, had always stocked his car with essentials—cold water in summer, insulated bottles and hand warmers in winter, even a thick coat in case he felt cold.

But with Ren Jiaoming? Chu Shangluo had stopped expecting such considerations. He just hoped his next secretary would be both loyal and attentive.

At that moment, the door to the hospital room swung open. Chu Zong walked in, carrying breakfast in one hand and holding a lively Chu Shangyue by the other.

Seeing Chu Shangyue, Chu Shangluo frowned. “Chu Zong, why didn’t you take him abroad?”

Chu Zong explained, “Cousin, I just finished taking him to give a statement. We can’t leave yet. Although the five men who bullied him have been caught, their leader is still at large. Once he’s caught, Shangyue will need to identify him.”

Chu Shangyue bounded over to Chu Shangluo, hugging his uninjured arm tightly and refusing to let go.

Irritated, Chu Shangluo scratched his head. “How long will this take? Fine, for now, make sure he’s under constant watch. If necessary, assign more people to guard him. Just don’t bother me!”

Chu Zong placed the breakfast on the table, then looked at Chu Shangluo with a contemplative expression. After a moment, he said, “There’s something I’ve been wondering about. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Chu Shangluo asked, “What is it?”

Chu Zong glanced at Ren Jiaoming, who was lying on the other bed, and said, “It’s about Cousin Yue.

Ren Jiaoming stood up. “I’ll step out.”

Chu Shangluo waved his hand dismissively. “No need. With your arm like that, don’t go wandering around the hallway and embarrassing yourself. Just sit down and eat. And make sure to pour my porridge into a bowl to cool.”

Ren Jiaoming replied, “Alright.”

Chu Zong walked over to Chu Shangluo’s side and lowered his voice. “When Cousin Yue giving his statement at the police station today, he suddenly said that he had seen their boss before. Not when he was abducted—he said he saw him two years ago.”

As he spoke, Chu Zong pulled out his phone and showed a picture of the gang leader to Chu Shangluo. The man in the photo had dark skin, and half of his face was covered in grotesque, uneven burn scars that made him look both horrifying and menacing.

Chu Shangyue, noticing that Chu Shangluo and Chu Zong were intently examining something, curiously leaned over to look. The moment he saw the photo, he shuddered and immediately grabbed onto Chu Shangluo.

Chu Shangluo felt the fear emanating from his brother through his trembling grasp. It wasn’t superficial—it was a deep, visceral terror.

Tossing the phone aside, Chu Shangluo pulled the shivering Chu Shangyue into his arms and gently stroked his back, murmuring words of comfort. “Don’t be scared, Ge. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Chu Shangyue continued trembling, muttering incoherently, “Luo Luo! Luo Luo! Scared!”

“Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared. I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Chu Shangluo reassured him.

The connection between the brothers ran deep, and seeing Chu Shangyue like this sent a chill through Chu Shangluo’s heart.

Chu Zong’s mood also grew somber. After all, Cousin Yue had once been the pride of their family—a prodigy. In school, he was a model student; in business, he was a legend. Whether it was stock trading, investments, or risk assessment, he was practically a beacon in the financial world and the dream of many men and women.

But now, Cousin Yue’s intellect had regressed, leaving him unable to live independently. He relied on a cocktail of medications just to maintain emotional stability.

Because of it, Chu Shangluo had given up his carefree life, taking on the management of a business he had no love for. As a result, Chu Shangluo’s own emotional state had deteriorated. He, who had once been so carefree and bold, now lived under the weight of guilt and obligation. Once, he had fought with both his family and his brother for his freedom, but now all that remained was his constant guilt and concessions for Chu Shangyue.

It took a long time before Chu Shangluo managed to calm Chu Shangyue down. In a soft voice, he asked, “Ge, don’t be scared. Can you tell me why you’re so afraid of him?”

Chu Shangyue trembled slightly but didn’t react as violently as before.

Gently holding his brother’s pale face, Chu Shangluo looked into his eyes and asked again, “Can you tell me?”