Chapter 1

Chen Feng sat on the black leather sofa in the waiting area, holding a copy of Hegel’s *Science of Logic* in his hands.

The moment he flipped open the first page, only three large characters echoed in his mind: “I don’t get it.”

But obviously, if he put the book back after barely two minutes, it would only prove to others that he couldn’t understand it.  

So, much like those museum visitors who pretend to appreciate paintings they clearly don’t comprehend, Chen Feng held the book with a slightly furrowed brow, earnestly feigning understanding.

“Parent of Chen Jiuxing.”

With visible relief, Chen Feng returned the book to the shelf, straightened the expensive rented suit that had cost him 50 yuan, and strode steadily toward the Further Education Guidance Office.

Just as Chen Feng couldn’t fathom why a kindergarten bookshelf would carry *Science of Logic*, he also struggled to understand why a kindergarten would hold a special consultation session about transitioning from senior class to elementary school.

As Chen Feng entered the room, he happened to see his neighbor Wang Baqiang leaving with his daughter in tow.

Wang Baqiang flashed him a grin, causing the three moles on his cheek—arranged in a perfect equilateral triangle—to scrunch together.  

Chen Feng’s gaze involuntarily followed those three moles, and he forced out a less-than-sincere smile in return.

“Your son isn’t suited for advancing to elementary school,” the homeroom teacher said gravely.

Chen Feng looked down at his son. Chen Jiuxing gazed back with a silly grin, drool soaking half his shirt. The blue short-sleeve now displayed deep and light blue patches, creating an oddly artistic effect.

Chen Feng pulled out a tissue to wipe his son’s drool, but after a few swipes, he noticed something dirty on the boy’s face. He crouched down for a closer look and realized three moles had appeared—their arrangement oddly familiar, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.

“Parent of Chen Jiuxing?” the teacher prompted.

Adjusting the glasses he’d worn to mask his laborer’s demeanor, Chen Feng straightened up. “What exactly makes Jiuxing unfit for normal progression?”

The teacher looked at Chen Jiuxing and asked, “Jiuxing, what’s one plus one?”

“One… plus one… plus…” Chen Jiuxing strained to answer but couldn’t get the words out, eventually panting with his tongue lolling in frustration.

Chen Feng comforted him, urging him not to rush.

Finally, his face flushed with effort, Chen Jiuxing blurted out: “E-equals… ten… eleven!”

The teacher heaved a long sigh.

Chen Jiuxing tilted his head, baffled by the teacher’s expression. Chen Feng chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Jiuxing’s so smart—he even knows numbers beyond ten!”

Delighted, Chen Jiuxing bounced up and down, letting out excited whimpers.

The teacher stared at the father and son, thoroughly convinced of their hopelessness.

On the way home, Chen Jiuxing begged to visit an amusement park. Glancing at the meager bills left in his wallet, Chen Feng took his son to sneak into a nearby upscale residential area, where they played on the children’s equipment for free.

Chen Jiuxing was overjoyed, believing it was the real amusement park, his laughter unceasing.

As he slid down the playground slide for the 28th time, a father and son happened to walk past.

Dressed head to toe in high-end designer brands, the son looked up at his father and said, “Dad, I don’t want to ride the Ferris wheel or the carousel today. I want something more exciting!”

Chen Jiuxing didn’t go for his 29th slide. Instead, he trotted over to Chen Feng, tilting his head up with sparkling eyes, and asked, “Dad, what’s a Ferris wheel? What’s a carousel?”

His voice was clear and bright, his expression devoid of any shyness or hesitation—only pure curiosity.

The father and son passing by turned their heads in unison to look at them. The boy, who seemed like a little young master, wore an almost shocked expression.

Chen Feng took Jiuxing’s small hand and said, “Dad will take you to play tomorrow.”

The well-dressed father in a suit cast an appraising glance over Chen Feng and Chen Jiuxing’s outfits from head to toe.

Then he raised an eyebrow, his gaze tinged with understanding, and pulled out his phone to make a call.

Chen Feng couldn’t quite hear what the man said, but he knew something was wrong when, as he and Jiuxing walked out of the neighborhood gate, the security guard suddenly stopped them and warned them fiercely that they were no longer allowed inside.

Chen Jiuxing became visibly dejected.

Even though Chen Feng spent the whole walk praising him as the smartest, handsomest, most adorable kid who could slide down the same slide in the most creative ways, nothing could lift his spirits.

When Chen Feng pushed open the door to their home with Jiuxing in tow, he happened to see their neighbor Wang Baqiang stepping out of his wife’s bedroom, hastily pulling up his pants while wiping sweat from his forehead.

Chen Feng and Wang Baqiang locked eyes.

The air grew slightly awkward.

Chen Feng lowered his eyelids, took off the glasses perched on his nose, and set them on the nearby shoe cabinet before asking, “What are you doing here?”

In the awkward silence, Wang Baqiang slowly fastened his belt.

He wiped his sweat again, glanced at Chen Feng’s muscular build—honed from years of manual labor—and stammered, “I… I was just helping change a lightbulb.”

Chen Jiuxing immediately bowed, his voice bright and cheerful. “Thank you, Uncle!”

Wang Baqiang swallowed hard, forcing an awkward and strained smile onto his face.

Chen Feng patted Jiuxing’s head, then looked directly into Wang Baqiang’s eyes and said calmly, “Thanks for your trouble. Next time, I’ll handle it.”

Wang Baqiang let out a relieved sigh, beads of sweat rolling down from his beady eyes. “No trouble at all, just a small favor, just a small favor.”

As Wang Baqiang left, Chen Jiuxing bowed again. “Goodbye, Uncle!”

Wang Baqiang nearly stumbled, wiped the sweat from his face, and replied with a smile, “Goodbye, goodbye! Feel free to visit anytime.”

Only after Wang Baqiang carefully closed the door did Zhao Linlin, Chen Feng’s wife, saunter out of the bedroom.

Dressed in a sheer strappy nightgown, the soft fabric accentuating her curves, she leaned against the doorframe, one pastel-pink strap already slipping off her shoulder. “You’re back?”

As she spoke, she blew a perfect smoke ring.

Chen Feng stepped forward, plucked the cigarette from her fingers, pinched out the ember with his thumb and forefinger, and tossed it into the nearby trash bin.

“Don’t smoke in front of the child,” he said evenly.

Chen Feng took Chen Jiuxing to the children’s room, brought out his favorite toys, then stepped out and headed to his wife’s bedroom.  

Zhao Linlin was lying on the bed playing with her phone. The curtains were tightly drawn, leaving the room dimly lit.  

Chen Feng flipped the light switch by the door, causing the entire room to flicker erratically, harsh and glaring.  

Wang Baqiang hadn’t replaced the bulb.  

Zhao Linlin glanced up at the light and said indifferently, “Old Wang took a look and said this kind of bulb is hard to find. So he didn’t change it for now.”  

Chen Feng turned the switch off, plunging the room back into darkness.  

Lowering his eyes, he loosened his tie as he walked toward the bed.  

The dimness of the room seemed to amplify every sensation. In the silence where no one spoke, only the sounds of a man and a woman breathing and the rustling of fabric could be heard.  

Zhao Linlin suddenly felt inexplicably restless, her phone screen frozen on one page for a long time.  

The atmosphere grew tense and ambiguous. Her throat involuntarily moved as she slowly, very slowly, turned her body.  

Chen Feng had already taken off his jacket, his left hand undoing the second button of his crisp white shirt. The faint light in the room just barely outlined the sharp line of his jaw.  

Zhao Linlin heard her own throat make an ominous sound in the dark.  

It suddenly occurred to her that her husband’s physique was far better than that of the thirty-five-year-old Old Wang next door.  

She licked her lips and sat up from the bed.  

Picking up a hair tie, she gathered her brown curls into a ponytail, revealing the graceful curve of her neck.  

Her brain fed her an escalating thrill of excitement, drowning out the dissonance and warnings rising from her subconscious.  

Just as she was contemplating what pose to strike, Zhao Linlin saw her penniless husband neatly fold the suit he had taken off.  

“Probably needs ironing… gotta return it tomorrow…” Chen Feng muttered as he pulled on his oversized tank top and shorts. Scratching his head, he pulled a light bulb from the shopping bag and a screwdriver from the toolbox. Yawning, he climbed onto the bed with his messy, tousled hair and began replacing the bulb.  

Zhao Linlin: “…”  

Suddenly remembering what she had forgotten earlier, she was instantly furious.  

With a cold laugh, she said sarcastically, “Chen Feng, I almost forgot—you’re not a real man.”  

Chen Feng’s hand paused on the screw.  

Thinking she had struck a nerve, Zhao Linlin smirked contemptuously, stripped off her pajamas, and changed into a tight-fitting camisole dress in front of the wardrobe. Then, stepping into her high heels, she strode out with her head held high.  

The loud slam of the door sent the screw Chen Feng had just removed clattering to the floor.  

He crouched down to pick it up, then glanced at the dusty lampshade—untouched for at least three months.  

Wang Baqiang hadn’t touched the lampshade. He hadn’t come to change the bulb.  

Chen Feng couldn’t quite understand why Zhao Linlin had suddenly hurled personal insults at him.  

After all, she was the one who had cheated, not him.  

After replacing the bulb, Chen Feng decided he should call up his buddies and head to the Food Stall. A hundred or so skewers and a few crates of beer to drown his sorrows—after all, he’d just been cheated on.

When a wife cheats, it’s common knowledge—and the most basic respect for a broken marriage—for the man to go out and drink himself into oblivion.  

But Chen Feng patted his wallet, glanced at his son’s bedroom door, and decided to skip drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Better to save the money and take his son to the amusement park tomorrow.  

He pulled out his phone and called his boss to ask for a day off from the construction site.  

Then, after giving his son a bath, he curled up as usual and slept beside him on the child’s bed.  

Chen Feng hadn’t slept in the master bedroom since being discharged from the hospital a month ago.  

Zhao Linlin wouldn’t let him.  

She claimed that after his accident on the construction site years ago, he’d developed some hidden condition.  

Because of that, she despised him.  

Often calling him “not a real man.”  

Truth was, Chen Feng had noticed his so-called “condition” had disappeared after his hospital stay.  

But he never told Zhao Linlin.  

Because he still didn’t feel close to her. Even though he repeatedly reminded himself that she was his wife, emotionally, he couldn’t bring himself to be intimate with her.  

There was a reason Chen Feng felt unfamiliar with Zhao Linlin.  

A month ago, while showering barefoot, he’d slipped on a bar of soap.  

They said his head had hit the toilet lid just right—hard enough to wipe out all his memories.  

The amnesia was thorough. At first, he didn’t even remember his own name, let alone recognize Chinese characters.  

For a while, he struggled with basic tasks, often staring blankly at his unfamiliar wife and home.  

But amid all the strangeness, his son, Chen Jiuxing, was the one thing that felt oddly familiar.  

Every time he ran his fingers through Chen Jiuxing’s hair, his heart would settle like a cloud drifting peacefully in the wind.  

Maybe that was the magic of blood ties.  

Chen Feng stroked his son’s head, comforted by the thought.  

But tonight, no matter how many times he combed through Chen Jiuxing’s hair, sleep wouldn’t come.  

His son was already deep in dreams, yet Chen Feng remained wide awake.  

The night was dark—so dark it felt like the pure black pupil of a bear’s eye.  

He closed his own eyes.  

Suddenly, he sensed warm breath against his face.  

As if someone was hanging upside down above him.  

In that hazy moment, he could almost feel stray strands of hair brushing against his neck—tickling, chilling.  

Chen Feng’s eyes snapped open.  

And met a glowing red eyeball.  

Chen Feng: “!”  

He bolted upright in bed.  

Only to realize what he’d seen was just a dream.  

The night was silent. Chen Jiuxing’s breathing was steady and even. Just an ordinary, peaceful night.  

Drip. Drip. Drip.  

The sound of water.  

Chen Feng threw off the covers and followed the noise to the kitchen.  

Sure enough, the faucet wasn’t fully closed, dripping steadily into the sink.  

He tightened it and went back to bed.  

Ten minutes later, the dripping returned.  

In the dead of night, each drop seemed amplified—plunging like water into a deep pool, echoing like a sound in an empty valley.  

Frowning, Chen Feng went back to the kitchen and shut the faucet again.  

It had already been turned as tight as possible.  

So he twisted it even harder.

If Chen Feng had turned on the light, he would have seen a black, slimy creature clinging to the ceiling above the faucet. Its dark, filthy, densely packed tentacles suctioned onto the wall like leeches, while its tongue lolled out, dripping sticky saliva from its blood-red surface—saliva that seemed moments away from landing on Chen Feng’s head.

But Chen Feng didn’t turn on the light. He merely yawned and thought:

*I should find time to fix the faucet tomorrow.*

Zhao Linlin had run away.

Before fleeing, she had emptied their savings account of its last 3,674 yuan.

And left Chen Feng with a debt of 100,000 yuan.

When the debt collectors came banging on the door, Chen Feng was putting shoes on Chen Jiuxing, preparing to take his son to the amusement park as planned.

Though the fact that Zhao Linlin had run away, leaving Jiuxing motherless, weighed heavily on him, this was his only day off this month. He couldn’t waste it—he *had* to take his son to the amusement park.

The men barged in wielding axes, clubs, and kitchen knives.

Chen Jiuxing burst into terrified wails.

Annoyed by the child’s crying, the man with the axe pressed the blade against Jiuxing’s head and growled, “Shut the hell up, brat, or I’ll chop you up!”

Jiuxing immediately fell silent.

*My son isn’t stupid, at least.*

Chen Feng pulled Jiuxing into his arms and asked, “What’s going on?”

That was when he learned about the 100,000-yuan debt.

Pay now, or they’d sell his son to settle it.

Chen Feng didn’t have 100,000 yuan on hand. “If I sell the house—”

“Your bitch already mortgaged it to us!” the axe-wielder snapped.

“Then I’ll borrow it.”

Chen Feng picked up his phone and started making calls.

He had brothers—close ones. His best friend, with over a decade of history between them, had once sworn over drinks that he’d go through fire and water for Chen Feng.

“Brother Zhang, it’s Chen Feng. Do you have any—”

His brother didn’t go through fire or water. He just said the signal was bad and hung up.

The others were either “in Africa,” “just went bankrupt,” “under the wife’s strict control,” or “lost 200,000 in stocks.”

Not a single one could lend him money.

“Figured you couldn’t pay up. Just hand over your plump little boy, then.”

“My son’s mentally challenged. No one would buy him,” Chen Feng added calmly. “He doesn’t even know what one plus one is.”

The axe-wielder looked skeptical. He leaned his pockmarked face toward Chen Jiuxing. “Kid, what’s one plus one?”

“…T-two… Waaah! Daddy, I’m scared!”

Chen Feng: “…”

Now Chen Feng genuinely wasn’t sure if his son had brain damage.

“You lying bastard!” the axe-wielder roared, raising a hand to strike.

Chen Feng ducked. The man’s palm slammed into a solid wooden chair, leaving him hissing in pain.

Seizing the moment, Chen Feng scooped up his son and bolted for the door—only to find more thugs blocking the elevator, armed with various weapons.

Panicked, Chen Feng took the stairs, but more were waiting below. With no other options, he ran upward—only to be cornered on the rooftop five minutes later.

Chen Feng’s apartment was the cheapest in the entire building—a top-floor unit. Now standing on the thirty-third floor rooftop, the wind was so strong it nearly blew him off.  

Chen Feng glanced down, his throat dry and tight, his heart pounding wildly.  

He had acrophobia—the serious kind. Living on the thirty-third floor, he usually avoided going near the windows unless absolutely necessary.  

The group advanced step by step, forcing Chen Feng to retreat while clutching his son tightly.  

As he fended off Axe Guy, Chen Feng surveyed his surroundings.  

The building had thirty-three floors. His own apartment didn’t have air conditioning, but Wang Baqiang’s did.  

The vertical distance to Wang Baqiang’s AC unit was about three meters.  

If he could jump onto the unit, he might be able to pry open Wang Baqiang’s window and escape through his apartment.  

The problem was, he was holding Chen Jiuxing in his arms, and he was no Spider-Man.  

There was a chance he could make it—but an even greater chance he’d slip and fall to his death.  

But if he didn’t jump…  

Chen Feng looked down at Chen Jiuxing, who was trembling in his arms, on the verge of tears. His chest tightened, and he hugged the boy closer.  

This was his child, his own flesh and blood, his closest family.  

When Chen Feng had woken up two months ago with no memories, the entire world had felt alien—except for this child, who gave him a sense of familiarity.  

That rare connection made him feel anchored to the world.  

He absolutely could not—would not—let Jiuxing be taken from him.  

Axe Guy rubbed his bald head, hefting his weapon as he strode toward Chen Feng with a smug grin. “Stop struggling. Hand over the kid, and I’ll spare your worthless life.”  

Chen Feng had nowhere left to retreat.  

It’s fine, he told himself. The AC unit was only three meters away.  

Three meters. He could make that jump. He had to.  

But the men kept advancing.  

Gritting his teeth, Chen Feng glanced at the AC unit one last time, closed his eyes, and leaped.  

…Wait.  

Did I just close my eyes?  

And so, without even grazing the AC unit, Chen Feng plummeted straight down, still clutching Chen Jiuxing.  

The rushing wind sliced at his face like blades. Then, unexpectedly, Chen Jiuxing slipped from his arms.  

The boy leaped nimbly—like a monkey—landing squarely on someone else’s AC unit.  

Chen Feng stared in disbelief as his son grew smaller in the distance.  

—Was that speed and agility even possible for a human child?  

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it.  

Because he was about to become a splatter on the pavement.  

Gazing up at the sun, Chen Feng suddenly realized how short his life had been—just one month and three days of remembered existence.  

So short, he didn’t even know what to write on his tombstone.  

—Oh, right. Dead people don’t write their own epitaphs. And graves were expensive.  

See? Near death, and his thoughts were already scrambled.  

“Tsk. You can’t die so carelessly.”  

A lazy male voice suddenly spoke.  

Chen Feng felt himself caught in a pair of cold arms.  

Someone had scooped him up mid-fall, slowing his descent abruptly.  

The blinding sun was swallowed by darkness, leaving only the vast, silken expanse of black wings and the sharp jawline of a young man in his view.  

Before Chen Feng could get a proper look at his rescuer’s face, a single black feather drifted down, obscuring his vision entirely.

——So even angels shed feathers.

That was Chen Feng’s last thought before he blacked out.