Qiao Che slipped his hands into his pockets, his mood evidently light. “Since Fourth Brother’s so decisive, we shouldn’t waste time either. Let’s go.”

Duan Heng didn’t respond to him. Instead, he bent at the waist toward Qiao Si. “Fourth Master…”

Qiao Si didn’t appear agitated. He sat there expressionless—not so much devoid of anger as he was absent of warmth altogether.

“Fourth Master, I never meant to deceive you. Everything I told you was sincere.”

The young man spoke earnestly, yet Qiao Si remained composed and indifferent. His gaze slipped past him as though he no longer wished to listen, his ears shut him out just as his eyes did.

Qiao Che chuckled. “Duan Heng, if you plan to coax him, that won’t happen in mere moments. We might as well take care of business first. The longer we delay, the greater the risk of things falling apart.”

Duan Heng fell silent for two seconds before speaking again. “Fourth Master, wait for me to return.”

That night, the two of them departed, taking Qiao Bo and a group of men with them. Qiao Si remained in his room, guarded closely. Any movement he made was enough to summon someone inside under the pretense of delivering tea or water.

At this point, their vigilance toward him hadn’t lessened in the slightest, though he wasn’t surprised. He knew that even if they succeeded, they would never—as Qiao Che had implied—set him free in exchange.

But neither would they dispose of him immediately. That he would live through the night was a certainty, and he harbored no fear of it.

Qiao Si took his medicine and retired to bed. All of this was routine by now.

The effects of the drug lulled him into sleep, and in his dreams, Duan Heng appeared once more. The young man stepped through the doorway, his usual faint smile lingering, and sat at the edge of the bed. His hand gradually came to rest gently on Qiao Si’s head.

“I’m back, Fourth Master.”

“But I have to leave again.”

“…”

“I can’t bear to leave you.”

“…”

“But—”

Bang!

A deafening sound ripped through the air—and before the young man could finish, he vanished into nothingness.

Qiao Si’s eyes flew open. 

The door had been flung wide, and the cold night air rushed in, carrying a chill that seeped into his bones.

He pulled the blanket tightly around himself before sitting up, fixing his gaze on the uninvited guest who had just broken through the door. The man was drenched from the rain, his tall and striking features still evident despite the grime staining his clothes and the streak of blood on his cheek. He looked utterly disheveled.

Qiao Si said nothing, merely leaned back against the headboard and watched him. The man was panting heavily, his face pale. For a while, the only sound in the room was the ragged rhythm of his breathing.

“He’s dead!”

Qiao Si looked at him.

“Duan Heng’s dead.”

Still, Qiao Si remained silent.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Qiao Che paused, then continued, “You saw this coming?”

“…”

“The tip-off to Ren Ningyuan and the others—of course, it came from you.”

“You were testing us…” Qiao Che stopped again, shook his head, and let out a dry laugh. “No. Even if I hadn’t said those things to provoke you, the outcome would have been the same, wouldn’t it?”

“…”

“You sent Duan Heng to his death from the very start and tried to take me down with him. Well, too bad I’m not that easy to kill.”

Qiao Si sat there, his expression unchanged, showing neither joy nor panic as he faced the man’s increasingly twisted features.

“I never imagined you’d actually join forces with Ren Ningyuan. How… pragmatic of you.”

“To get back at us, you didn’t hesitate to bring in outsiders to destroy us. Have you lost your mind?”

The man in the blanket was pale and gaunt, but his expression remained composed. There wasn’t the slightest trace of madness in his eyes.

Qiao Che glared at him, and slowly, a strange smile spread across his face. The sound of his laughter was unsettling, carrying an odd mix of resentment and genuine amusement.

“Fourth Brother, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You’re ruthless,” Qiao Che said, his voice trembling slightly, though it carried a tone of reluctant admiration. “You’re even crazier than I am.” 

With that, Qiao Che seemed to regain his composure. He paced the room, shedding his soaked coat and calling for a towel and hot tea. Once he had warmed himself, he sat down at the edge of Qiao Si’s bed.

“Fourth Brother, do you think you’ve won this time?”

Qiao Si didn’t look at him, his gaze drifting out the window as if lost in thought.

“You’re right. I’m still alive, but Duan Heng’s dead. You’ve avenged yourself—at least halfway. Are you pleased?” Qiao Che paused, his voice softening. “You know, ever since I was old enough to understand what people were saying, they’ve been teaching me that I must find ways to make you suffer. The more pain, the better. If I could drive you to utter despair, that would be ideal.

“Every time I managed to hurt you, do you know how much joy it brought me? Fourth Brother, I truly wanted that money. I would have done anything to pry it out of your mouth. But Duan Heng… he genuinely loved you.”

At last, Qiao Si turned his head and looked at him. Qiao Che had dried himself off, but the chill of the rain still lingered on his lips in a bluish pallor. Their eyes met, and Qiao Che smiled faintly.

In just this short span of time, the earlier chaos—his near-death escape and burning rage—had all been tucked away. The look he gave Qiao Si was once again lofty and pitiful. Danger and shock would never make him lose composure. Recovering from a misstep was as effortless for him as wiping oil from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. In moments, he was polished and presentable once more.

It was the Qiao family’s signature trait. They were, after all, brothers.

His younger brother poured himself another cup of tea to chase away the cold. After drinking it, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, sat down at the edge of the bed, and gazed down at Qiao Si from a higher vantage point.

“You knew all along that Duan Heng was working with me from the start. But, of course, it wasn’t entirely as you imagined. We each had our own agenda. As for mine… well, by now, I’m sure you know exactly what it was.”

“As for Duan Heng,” Qiao Che continued, “he only ever wanted your attention.”

Noting the slight furrow in the other man’s brow, Qiao Che adopted a tone of pitying gentleness: “What? Does that surprise you?”

“…”

“Fourth Brother, it seems you truly have no idea just how arrogant and cold-hearted you are. Your eye has always been fixed on the heavens. Only those you deem worthy exist to you; everyone else might as well be nameless shadows. No matter their loyalty or shared history, you forget their faces the moment they leave your sight.”

Qiao Si tried to summon images of the people who had once stood beside him—those loyal, steadfast subordinates of his—and to his surprise, their faces had all faded. What remained were vague traits, and fragments. Even the ones he had cherished, indulged, and protected… their features had become blurred.

He strained to remember. He had never thought of himself as heartless. Yet, as he reflected, he realized that more than one subordinate had taken a bullet for him, and he had never even bothered to learn their names.

“Well? Am I wrong?” Qiao Che smiled faintly. “Back then, what was Duan Heng to you? When he wasn’t in front of you, you probably couldn’t even remember what his nose looked like.

“I told him I was the only one in this world who had ever captured your heart. I knew the only way to get your attention, and I offered to help him get close to you—if he’d do me a few small favors in return.

“Of course he agreed. Everything went smoothly after that. He became your golden boy far faster than I expected. As promised, he gave me some of the information I wanted.

“But don’t get the wrong idea—the intel I asked for wasn’t anything too critical. It was just enough to line my pockets a little. The truly important stuff… he wasn’t ready to share with me back then.”

He paused, a sly smile playing on his lips. “What he didn’t know was that I could piece together the full picture from various sources, including what he gave me. He handed me the key, so to speak. Calling him my most valuable partner isn’t an exaggeration, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course, he eventually started to suspect me. I’ll admit, I was a bit worried at the time.” Qiao Che rested his fingers against his chin, his smile widening. He was a handsome man, and the gesture didn’t seem affected. “Luckily, you played along and handed him over to me. Only then did I truly have the chance to win him over.”

“All thanks to you, Fourth Brother.” His tone turned abruptly venomous. “Look at yourself. Suspicious. Ruthless. Impossible to please. Who in their right mind could stand you? Is it really so surprising that he agreed to work with me to drag you off your throne?”

“Of course, don’t go imagining him as some noble figure either. He had his doubts. With your temperament, if he had let slip what we were up to back then, would you have let him live? Still, I don’t know what you fed him later, but whatever it was, it almost worked. He was this close to walking away from it all. That would have ruined everything.”

Qiao Che poured himself another cup of tea, his smile returning. “Fortunately, I forced your hand first, so he didn’t ruin my plans.”

Seeing the look on the man’s face, Qiao Che grinned. “What? Don’t remember? Otherwise, how do you think that disk ever made it into your hands, with me involved?”

After two cups of tea, Qiao Che seemed to have spoken his fill. He reached out and lifted Qiao Si’s chin, inspecting his face with something like disdain. “Tell me, why would he trade all that territory just to get you back? Were you really worth it? He even agreed to the surveillance conditions.”

“To bring you home, he was willing to do all of that. Does that make you happy? Oh, I almost forgot. There are no cameras in your bedroom. Was that thoughtful of him? Touching, right? Someone going to such lengths just for you…”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock regret. “Too bad he’s already dead.”

As he turned to leave, Qiao Che added, “How pitiful. No one has ever truly loved you. The only one who wanted you—you killed him.”

Qiao Si lay motionless in the bed, the room already dark. He remained in that silence, in the heavy black.

Now that he thought about it, Duan Heng had always been a clever boy—sensible, too.

Qiao Si had believed him no different from others in this ruthless circle—clear-minded, goal-oriented, never wasting time on what was meaningless or unprofitable.

He had seen countless people fall for Duan Heng, but never once had he seen Duan Heng fall in love. He had assumed the boy was self-disciplined, immune to feelings, just like himself.

They both lived with clarity; they both wore masks.

Duan Heng’s mask was his performance; Qiao Si’s was his power. Power was his finest and most necessary adornment. Like beauties afraid to remove their makeup, he dared not shed his armor.

They both knew; that only someone who loved one weary, unadorned face loved truly. Yet neither dared take that risk. From behind his own layers, Qiao Si had watched Duan Heng, convinced that such perfection could only be a facade.

As it turned out, it never was.

When he awoke, drifting somewhere between sleep and awareness, he could feel someone brushing his hair in slow, tender strokes that reminded him of the young man’s touch.

“Fourth Master.”

Qiao Si abruptly opened his eyes. The shadowy figure had already vanished, leaving only the blue-eyed cockatoo perched quietly on his pillow.

The parrot, unaware of anything amiss, chirped sweetly, “Fourth Master, Fourth Master.”

He got out of bed, rinsed his mouth, and washed his face. With Duan Heng gone, the routine of moving him from the upper floor to the lower one became more cumbersome. In the end, it took two men to carry him down, chair and all.

Judging by the mood at the breakfast table, Qiao Che had no intention of making trouble for him today, so he ate at ease, picking through the food with a calm, unaffected air. No matter the situation, taking care of himself came first. The death of a man didn’t seem to have affected his appetite in the least.

Before long, he heard Qiao Che descending the stairs.

Qiao Che had spent the night here without the slightest sense of intrusion. With Duan Heng gone, there was no need for formalities. The house was now his, in every sense.

Yet he showed no triumph. Not even feigned regret.

Halfway through his bowl of porridge, Qiao Si realized something strange. Qiao Che hadn’t uttered a single word to mock him.

Across the table, Qiao Che stared back with naked astonishment. “You—”

“What?”

For a long moment, Qiao Che only gaped as if seeing a ghost. It took a moment before he replied, “Nothing.”

It wasn’t until his usual time outside by the lake, breathing in the morning air, that Qiao Si caught his reflection in the water.

He studied the reflection, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the stark strands. The dead youth seemed woven into them now.

The contrast was eerie.

He stared at the man on the rippling surface for a long while.

What he had refused to acknowledge, what he had buried, what he had endured—had finally become something he could no longer conceal.

He raised a trembling hand to touch it. The young man who had died… it was as if he still lingered in those strands of white.

In the days that followed, Qiao Che actually treated him well. He was given good food and drink, not once mistreated. Likely because there was too much unrest outside, too many fires to put out. For now, there was no time to torment him.

Now, he was Qiao Che’s prisoner alone. And Qiao Che himself still seemed uncertain what to do with him.

That evening, Qiao Che returned in good spirits and even brought up a food box. When the lid was lifted, the scent wafted out in rich, heady steam, enough to make one dizzy with longing.

“It’s your favorite.”

Qiao Si glanced inside. Qiao Che had already taken the seat beside him, accepted the utensils from a servant, and waited as the dishes were laid out one by one.

“You do remember these crabs, don’t you?”

Qiao Si’s memory wasn’t as poor as anyone would imagine. The last crab feast had not been long ago. But the person who had sat beside him then, diligently cracking open the shells, was now gone from this world. Looking back, it felt like nothing more than the blink of an eye.

“Eat. Why aren’t you eating? Do you need me to feed you?”

Qiao Che actually seemed sincere in his invitation. His tone wasn’t warm, but neither was it mocking.

Qiao Si picked up his chopsticks, briefly wondering whether the food had been poisoned. But in his current state, whatever was placed before him had to be eaten. Better to savor it calmly than to waste energy on suspicion.

The meal passed without incident. Qiao Si found that slightly baffling.

Once the dishes were cleared, the table wiped, and a round of warm water brought for rinsing mouths and washing hands, the servants finally retreated and shut the door behind them.

Qiao Che, still in a good mood, had had a few drinks—nowhere near drunk, but his porcelain-pale face had taken on a gentle flush. His lips were tinged with red, and his eyes, usually somber, were now black as ink, dark and quiet. When he noticed Qiao Si looking at him, he smiled faintly.

Qiao Si watched as his younger brother leaned in, lifted him gently from the chair, and carried him to the bed.

He was thinner now, lighter. Half-disabled. Lying there, he had no strength to resist, no ability to struggle.

Qiao Che hovered above him, tilting his chin with two fingers, studying his face for a moment. Then he smiled, let go, and reached down to pull open his own collar.

He said nothing.

But his intent was unmistakable.

This wasn’t the first time. Qiao Si wasn’t surprised. Once one was well-fed and cared for, the blade inevitably followed. Pain was always part of the arrangement—what part of the body suffered, ultimately made little difference.

In fact, compared to the tortures that broke bones and torn tendons, mere sex might even be the lesser evil.

But this time, he fought back.

His legs were useless, but his arms still held power. He struck out with a flurry of blows—over a dozen moves before Qiao Che finally managed to pin him down and slapped him hard across the face.

“Have you lost your mind?” Qiao Che growled.

While he turned away to retrieve something to strike him with, Qiao Si slipped free again. Another slap followed, inevitable now. His wrists were bound tightly, the knots brutal in their precision. Even so, he refused to settle down.

That, more than anything, ignited Qiao Che’s fury.

He yanked off his belt and began to beat him with all the strength he had, over and over, until his arm grew numb. Only then did the man beneath him finally go still.

Breathless, Qiao Che threw the belt aside and undid the bindings on his wrists. Now that resistance had ceased, undressing him was effortless. His clothes, and the bedsheets beneath, were soaked in blood. And yet, he made no sound of protest—only gasped faintly, trembling amid the filth.

Qiao Che spread his legs and shoved his fingers inside with a cruel, unrelenting force. Even that nearly lifeless body jolted involuntarily.

“You should save your strength,” Qiao Che said coldly, pushing in another finger. “You might suffer less. Don’t tell me you still don’t understand that much. What’s this sudden defiance for?”

Qiao Si had never been the brittle type. When necessary, he could bend further than most. Nothing, nothing was more important than survival. Had he behaved as he once did—recognized the futility of resistance and submitted—this might even have been a tolerable encounter. Certainly preferable to all this blood.

His defiance now, so irrational and blind, only fed Qiao Che’s rage.

“It’s not like I haven’t fucked you before,” he sneered. “What’s the point of pretending to be pure now? Have you gone mad?”

The man’s chest rose and fell with silent, steady breaths—alive, but eerily wordless.

Qiao Che stared at the streaks of blood caught in his stark white hair. For a moment, he ground his teeth.

“Stop being ridiculous, will you?” he spat. “Is this your way of mourning him? What was he, really? And what are you? He was never stronger than me, never smarter than me, never more capable. He’s dead. So what? What’s there to grieve?”

Naturally, there was no response.

Qiao Che clenched his jaw and glared down at him. After a long silence, he lowered his head into the crook of Qiao Si’s neck.

“Back then, you told me… you never regret what you’ve done. Neither do I.”

Qiao Si once again made no response.

“You didn’t regret what you did to me then. You shouldn’t regret this now.”

It was true—he had long since let go of regret.

In a life filled with choices large and small, there had been countless wrong turns. But what was done, was done. Time did not rewind. Pain, no matter how often replayed in the mind, never changed the past. Regret only deepened the wound.

The self-denial that came from wishing one could start over—that only made a man weak. And he had chosen strength.

Perhaps now… he was older. No longer quite so strong. There were no heroes who didn’t one day fade.

This time, his injuries took some time to heal. During that period, Qiao Che didn’t beat him again—but he was far from gentle when it came to intimidation. After what happened, Qiao Che took to binding him carefully every time. With all resistance removed, there was far less trouble for either of them.

Back when they first began, Qiao Si and Qiao Che had kept their relationship hidden, cautious to the point of paranoia.

After all, they were brothers. With their father still alive back then, such unnatural acts could never be tolerated under his watch. If discovered, even his own sons wouldn’t be spared—one would have to be eliminated. And that one would certainly not be Qiao Si.

Thus they had always restrained themselves, moving through the world with caution. Apart from that single violent exception, later on, their relationship had remained as chaste as schoolchildren’s. But now, Qiao Che’s actions toward him knew no such restraint.

Even if no one spoke of it, the frequency made it impossible to ignore. There were no secrets that did not eventually leak, and evil traveled fastest of all. Soon, the rumors were everywhere.

Fraternal conflict was considered a private affair. So long as one picked the right side and backed the winner, even bloodshed was not especially shocking. But incest—especially between brothers—was revolting to most. Even outsiders couldn’t pretend to look the other way.

Some of the elder statesmen, long-serving members of the gang, could no longer stomach the scandal. Shaky with age, they tried to call a meeting, hoping to “discipline” Qiao Che and urge him to set things right.

Qiao Che’s answer was simple—he had them all killed.

After that, no one dared to tell him “no.” Not to his face, anyway.

Behind closed doors, it was another matter.

The organization experienced a period of great instability. Pressure from the Rong family continued to mount, and Duan Heng’s death had only made things worse.

Qiao Che offered no reassurance to those beneath him—on the contrary, he began stripping assets and enforcing control with brutality far beyond Qiao Si’s reign. It was clear the organization was not headed in a good direction.

Even Qiao Si eventually remarked, “You will never earn their loyalty like this.”

Qiao Che laughed, “People live for their own comfort. As long as they fear me and obey, why should I care whether their loyalty is genuine?”

“Oh, and by the way—” Qiao Che said suddenly, with a smile that did not reach his eyes, “you didn’t actually think that by taking your place, I somehow feel obligated to grow this organization, to make it great?”

“…”

“What that old bastard left behind—do you think I cherish it? That I’d guard it like some legacy?”

“…”

“But don’t worry.” Qiao Che’s voice lightened, almost playful. “When it is time for me to leave, I will take you with me.”

He chuckled when Qiao Si gave no reply.

“After all, you’re still sitting on a fortune.”

Qiao Che grew increasingly busy, his actions made it clear he intended to strip the Qiao family bare before his departure. Though the family’s fortunes had declined, their foundation remained solid with numerous holdings. The sheer scale of assets, combined with the need for discretion in liquidating them, would keep him occupied for some time.

With the way it was being gutted, the fall of the Qiao family was no longer a matter of if, but when. Qiao Si could not claim to be surprised.

After all, it had been he who brought in Ren Ningyuan—an outsider—to strike against his own brother and Duan Heng. It was no different from inviting the wolf into the fold, and he had been prepared, in part, to pay the price. 

The blame was his to bear. What he had not foreseen, however, was that faced with external threats, Qiao Che wouldn’t only make no attempt to defend their position, but would instead shut the doors and plunder the house himself. The damage wrought by betrayal from within far outweighed any enemy at the gate, and even Qiao Si had been caught unprepared.

What had once been a difficult situation had now become irreparably lost. For Qiao Si, this was far worse than simply losing control of the gang. To have everything taken from him was one thing, but to watch it all be shattered in an instant was something entirely different.

Qiao Che had no obligation to take responsibility for the Qiao family; as long as he could live the rest of his life in pleasure and ease, that was enough for him. But for Qiao Si, it was different. Whether he held power or not, he was the true master of this family.

Every day, he watched as the legacy left by his father slowly crumbled, soon to be reduced to nothing. Those under him were either dead or scattered, and those left behind to endure had no promising future. As for himself, reduced to this state, it was hard to put into words what kind of feeling it was.

He was barely in his 30s, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already nearing the end of his journey in this world.

Qiao Che’s return was becoming later and later, and his time at home was dwindling. More often than not, he would collapse into bed as soon as he arrived, with no energy left to bother him. Thanks to this newfound busyness, Qiao Si found his life a little easier—at least he no longer had to endure daily torment.

He was undoubtedly a mentally resilient person, yet this constant captivity and torment had still left its marks on him. Apart from his white hair, he appeared older than before.

With Duan Heng dead and the family business in decline, he often found himself waking in the middle of the night, lost in thought, unable to fall back asleep.

In the midst of the exhaustion brought on by his busyness, it was clear that Qiao Che was in high spirits.

“Once this deal’s done, I’m leaving this damned place,” he said to the man in the wheelchair. “It’ll be in the next couple of days.”

Originally, Qiao Si was slouched in the chair, indifferent and unconcerned. However, upon hearing this, he opened his eyes and frowned. “Two days? They’re negotiating with the Rong family. There’s no way they’ll be back that quickly.”

Qiao Che smiled. “Indeed, they won’t be back that quickly. But who said I have to wait for them to return?”

Qiao Si paused for a moment before replying, “Those brothers have given their all for you. You can’t treat them like this.”

Those men had been the most loyal to Qiao Che, believing in him the most. Yet, Qiao Che’s promise to take them with him when he left had been nothing but a lie.

Despite his cold nature, Qiao Si at least had a sense of duty. He may not have cared for those beneath him, but he ensured they had food to eat. Though he couldn’t remember all the subordinates who had given their lives for him, each one had been generously rewarded with money, and their families were cared for by the gang. 

Qiao Che, however, didn’t even possess that faint trace of warmth.

“You should give the brothers in the gang a chance to survive. At the very least, don’t just abandon them like this.”

“Fourth Brother, mercy is not always a virtue,” Qiao Che replied, his expression unreadable, before offering a small smile. “What use do I have for them?”

“I’ll be out on business for the next couple of days,” Qiao Che said, leaning down and tapping his finger on Qiao Si’s nose. “Don’t even think about doing anything foolish, or you’ll regret it.”

Qiao Si remained silent, leaving it to Qiao Che to judge the likelihood of his “foolishness.”

After a long moment of eye contact, Qiao Che finally spoke, “Just wait for me to return.”

The man’s face drew closer, his breath brushing against Qiao Si’s skin. For a brief moment, Qiao Si almost believed he was about to kiss him.

When their lips were just an inch apart, Qiao Che suddenly straightened up, gripping his chin. “Take off your clothes.”

Qiao Si remained motionless, and Qiao Che smiled again. “Why is it so hard for you to understand what it means to be sensible?”

Then came the ropes, and despite Qiao Si’s resistance, he was bound securely. There was no practical need to restrain his feet, but for the sake of the desired tableau, they were forced apart and secured, leaving him displayed in a posture of utter submission.

When a hand slipped inside his trousers, Qiao Si instinctively flinched, the resistance immediately met with a controlled slap to his cheek.

“At this point,” Qiao Che murmured, squeezing him with one hand and raising the corner of his mouth, “you’re on your own now.”

The resistance he encountered that night was noticeably less than usual. The feeling of taking what wasn’t freely offered was agreeable, to which Qiao Che found himself satisfied.

Qiao Si was now little more than a half-broken remnant, his former power eroded. The figures who once surrounded him were gone, scattered by death or circumstance. The influence he once wielded had vanished—his former holdings were gone, and his aging body presented a picture of faded strength and growing irrelevance.

Qiao Che had always been wary of him—guarded against the day he might strike like a coiled viper. 

Indeed, when the moment came, he landed a swift and ruthless blow when they least expected it.

However, after that one time, his venomous fangs seemed to have disappeared. All his remaining sharpness and malice stayed with the young man he had bitten and left him entirely.

It is only through pointless struggles at the beginning that one truly reveals their weakness, and Qiao Che understood this principle all too well.

The Qiao Si who could endure any torment in silence was the one Qiao Che truly feared; conversely, the Qiao Si who offered futile resistance and defiant words brought him a strange sense of relief.

In Qiao Che’s estimation, his brother was almost finished. The slide from a panicked state to complete listlessness was a short one, and with a little more pressure, the final traces of his wild untamed nature would surely be extinguished.

As he prepared to leave, Qiao Che instructed his men to bring Qiao Si a dessert, ensuring it was laced, as always, with ingredients designed to relax his muscles and cloud his mind. He further instructed the servants to indulge his every whim, granting his requests without question, lest they provoke his displeasure.

Having just tortured him severely the night before, Qiao Che decided that today, he wanted to offer him a little sweetness, hoping to ease his tension and prevent him from staying too wound up.

A whip followed by a gentle rub—that was the basic form of discipline.

After Qiao Che left, Qiao Si didn’t stir up much trouble. He only felt his mouth was too dry and craved some fresh bayberries to moisten it. But to his surprise, the house didn’t have any stocked, so he searched the kitchen thoroughly, only to find none. Frustrated, he threw a small tantrum and then lost all energy, retreating to his room to rest and recuperate.

He now acted more old-fashioned than before. He draped a blanket over the window and sat in the sun, slowly drifting into a drowsy state.

Yet he hadn’t truly slept. The house had fallen silent around him when Qiao Si stirred, blinking awake as if emerging from some half-dream. He checked the time with mechanical precision, then turned his wheelchair toward the door with quiet determination.

Footsteps echoed outside. Qiao Si stilled his chair as the door swung open.

“Fourth Master.”

The visitor froze mid-step upon seeing him, surprise flashing across a face weathered beyond its years. Once-neat hair now bore unruly streaks of silver, betraying time’s relentless passage.

Qiao Si exhaled slowly. “You should’ve stayed away after escaping. Why risk returning?”

The man bowed deeply. “I trust no one else with your care. My place is at your side, Fourth Master.”

Indeed, Qiao Bo stood apart in his devotion—unrivaled, unquestionable. Though bound by servitude, his loyalty transcended duty, carrying almost paternal protectiveness where protocol might have permitted less.

Decades ago, when Qiao Bo was still a street urchin running with gangs, he had briefly been a young father. But in those chaotic times, the child never survived. Had it lived, it would have been only slightly younger than Qiao Si himself.

Since Qiao Si was seven or eight, Qiao Bo had attended him – yet his devotion transcended mere servitude. It was the protective instinct of an elder, tinged with unspoken emotions too bold to name.

Such bonds prove most enduring. Through every trial, Qiao Bo never wavered. Now, he was all Qiao Si had left.

Their escape met no resistance—the entire household lay in drugged slumber. Though they’d all shared the same meal, none had noticed the subtle substitution. The sedatives meant for Qiao Si’s food had been discovered and replaced long ago, saved for this moment. 

With his extensive knowledge of medications, swapping them for harmless ginseng tablets had been simple enough. The kitchen staff, after all, weren’t particularly meticulous about separating such similar-looking substances.

With insider coordination, the rest proceeded smoothly. Qiao Bo still had allies to call upon.

They boarded the waiting car, secured their necessities, and then transferred to another vehicle.

When night came, Qiao Si was already aboard the ship.