Ji Chenai never imagined that such a situation would unfold. He thought that after his death, Shen Shuya would continue compromising and enduring her life with Ji Mingzhong as before. But now, seated before him, Shen Shuya was telling him that she no longer wanted to live that way.

Ji Chenai’s death had a profound impact on Shen Shuya. From the moment Ji Chenai’s body was wheeled away under a white sheet, she had been on the verge of breaking down. Her tears hadn’t stopped flowing, not even during Ji Chenai’s burial.

Ji Sumin had once told Ji Chenai that Ji Mingzhong was a selfish man, the kind of person who was terrifyingly self-centered. Ji Mingzhong had proven this point perfectly during the events surrounding Ji Chenai’s death.

Ji Mingzhong offered no comfort to Shen Shuya. He didn’t feel in the slightest that Ji Chenai’s death had anything to do with him. In fact, he even harbored resentment toward Ji Chenai—for tarnishing the family’s reputation.

On the day of Ji Chenai’s burial, only two friends showed up: Yi Wenle and Qin Xiaomu. They offered Shen Shuya a few words of comfort before leaving with red-rimmed eyes.

Because of Ji Mingzhong, Shen Shuya had a strained relationship with her own family. In Ji Mingzhong’s family’s eyes, she was nothing more than an illegitimate mistress, someone without a proper title or position. This disdain extended to Ji Chenai, making his funeral especially cold and lonely.

Shen Shuya scooped up three handfuls of earth and placed them over Ji Chenai’s urn. Whispering apologies under her breath, she looked up and saw Ji Chenai’s photo affixed to the gravestone.

The image of Ji Chenai in that photo was unfamiliar and distant, so cold that Shen Shuya found it hard to breathe.

In that instant, Shen Shuya felt as though certain emotions within her had been severed. She wiped her tears dry, leaned forward, and kissed the gravestone before her.

After the funeral, Shen Shuya decisively divorced Ji Mingzhong. When faced with the divorce papers, Ji Mingzhong flew into a rage. He had never imagined that Shen Shuya would dare to leave him like this. To him, her action was the ultimate humiliation.

Ji Mingzhong, enraged, pointed at Shen Shuya and cursed, “You filthy woman! Don’t think I didn’t know you were cheating on me back then. Now that you think your life is better, you want to stir things up? Let me tell you, divorce is fine, but don’t expect to take a single cent with you!”

Shen Shuya looked at Ji Mingzhong and suddenly felt a pang of confusion. How had she managed to spend so many years with such a man? He was malicious, selfish, and mean-spirited—nothing like the partner she had once envisioned sharing her life with.

Shen Shuya had finally awakened, and with that awakening came liberation. She left the Ji family and embarked on a life that was hers alone. The initial days were undeniably difficult, but she managed to survive.

Ji Chenai could tell that Shen Shuya’s life wasn’t easy. Her rough hands and simple clothing spoke volumes. Yet, in this woman, he no longer saw a trace of weakness. As the saying goes, “A mother’s strength knows no bounds.” Ji Chenai’s death had transformed Shen Shuya completely.

Ji Chenai couldn’t help but wonder: if Shen Shuya had been like this from the beginning, would he still have chosen death? The answer to that question was unknowable. Still, he felt an inexplicable sense of solace.

To have someone shed tears for your death—that alone was a deeply comforting thought.

Ji Chenai looked at Shen Shuya, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a bank card. “Auntie,” he said, “this is just a small token of my care.”

Shen Shuya’s face showed a hint of confusion.

Ji Chenai said, “I hope you can accept this for Ji Chenai’s sake.”

Shen Shuya replied, “How could I possibly? You’re just a student…”

Before she could finish, Ji Chenai interrupted her. “Ji Chenai contacted me before he took his own life.”

Shen Shuya’s expression shifted instantly. Because of Ji Mingzhong’s covert manipulation, the truth about Ji Chenai’s death had been concealed from outsiders, who mostly believed it was caused by heart failure due to an allergic reaction.

The fact that this person could mention such a thing meant Ji Chenai must have truly reached out to him.

Ji Chenai continued, “Some of this money belonged to Ji Chenai. I only rounded it up to an even number—it’s not much, just a small gesture on my part.”

Shen Shuya stared at Ji Chenai for a long time before softly saying, “You really do look so much like my son.”

Ji Chenai’s hand trembled slightly as he held the card, but he ultimately said nothing. Instead, he handed the card to Shen Shuya and said, “The password is six eights. I’ll be leaving here the day after tomorrow, and I doubt we’ll have a chance to meet again…”

Shen Shuya hesitated. “Are you certain this money is something Ji Chenai left for me?”

Ji Chenai nodded, offering no further explanation. He called Zhou Yaoyun to come pick him up. The money he’d just given included part of what Yang Yuyi’s father had given him, totaling one million yuan—enough to ensure Shen Shuya could live comfortably for the rest of her life.

His conversation with Shen Shuya untangled part of the knot in Ji Chenai’s heart. Yet, for Shen Shuya, he found himself unable to summon the feelings of a son toward his mother ever again.

Call Ji Chenai heartless if you will, but as he watched Shen Shuya and listened to stories about himself, he couldn’t help but feel a surreal sense of disconnection, as if he were hearing about someone from another lifetime.

Shen Shuya watched as Zhou Yaoyun carried Ji Chenai away. Holding the bank card Ji Chenai had given her, she almost wept with joy. She assumed there wasn’t much money on it—perhaps ten or twenty thousand yuan—but it was the last thing her son had left for her.

Shen Shuya had lived through more than half her life, and yet, in the end, she had gained nothing.

The weak always pay the price for their weakness.

Zhou Yaoyun didn’t know what Ji Chenai and Shen Shuya had discussed, but he could tell Ji Chenai was in a good mood. He suggested they go out for dinner that evening.

Ji Chenai agreed happily.

Zhou Yaoyun booked a restaurant, and the two took a car there. Since Zhou Yaoyun was carrying Ji Chenai in his arms, they inevitably attracted some curious and judgmental glances. But Ji Chenai had grown used to such attention and wasn’t bothered.

After ordering, Zhou Yaoyun asked, “In a good mood?”

Ji Chenai nodded.

Zhou Yaoyun said, “Mom’s arriving tomorrow, so I’ll probably leave in a couple of days.”

Ji Chenai’s brow furrowed slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, “Where are you going?”

Zhou Yaoyun smiled. “I thought you didn’t care at all…” After a brief pause, he added, “I’m not sure yet. I’ll see how things are arranged over there.”

In truth, Ji Chenai wanted to ask Zhou Yaoyun about his background, but he had a vague feeling that bringing it up outright wouldn’t be appropriate. Moreover, judging by Zhou Yaoyun’s expression, it seemed like a topic he wasn’t keen to discuss.

Ji Chenai had never been the kind of person who insisted on getting to the bottom of things. Seeing that Zhou Yaoyun didn’t want to talk about it, he decided not to press further.

The recent kidnapping incident had earned Ji Chenai a substantial amount of energy points. The women and children rescued from the traffickers all had their lives drastically changed for the better, and their families were so grateful that Ji Chenai received nearly 2,000 positive energy points from them.

Although Ji Chenai had previously disrupted parts of human trafficking operations indirectly, according to Xiao Qi, indirect actions reduced the amount of energy gained. This time, however, since Ji Chenai had taken direct action to affect these lives, the energy points he earned were equivalent to one or two months of effort.

While this still wasn’t enough to balance out even a fraction of his negative energy, Ji Chenai felt he was inching closer to his goal.

After dinner, the two returned home.

Once Zhou Yaoyun had taken a shower, he suggested that Ji Chenai sleep with him that night. His excuse? “I’m leaving soon. If we don’t seize the chance to chat properly now, we won’t get another.”

Ji Chenai retorted, teasing him, “Why didn’t you suggest this before?”

Zhou Yaoyun, feigning grievance, replied, “You didn’t like me before. But Zhou Yaoqin did, and I didn’t like him, so of course I had to keep my distance.”

Zhou Yaoyun’s reasoning was so convincing that Ji Chenai found himself unable to argue.

And so, under Zhou Yaoyun’s insistence, the two ended up lying down on the same bed.

Zhou Yaoyun began chatting with Ji Chenai about all sorts of random things, asking about the life he used to live and whether he liked the way things were now.

Ji Chenai answered lazily, his replies so half-hearted that he was nearly drifting off to sleep.

However, just as he was on the verge of dozing off, a question from Zhou Yaoyun jolted him wide awake.

“Chenai, why did you choose to end your life?”

The question brought back memories of mocking faces and cold, cutting words. Ji Chenai slowly closed his eyes and murmured. “Forgotten.”

Zhou Yaoyun simply hummed in response and didn’t press further. There was an unspoken understanding between them: If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t force you. Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me.

Ji Chenai kept his eyes closed and didn’t open them again. His breathing gradually became steady, a clear sign he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Zhou Yaoyun, however, remained awake, staring at the ceiling above. Once he was sure Ji Chenai was asleep, he softly called. “Chenai?”

There was no response, as expected.

Zhou Yaoyun turned his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Ji Chenai for a long while. After confirming that he was indeed asleep, Zhou Yaoyun quietly sat up. Leaning closer to Ji Chenai’s face, he pressed a feather-light kiss on his lips—a soft, delicate touch as fleeting as a whisper.

Ji Chenai remained sound asleep, entirely unaware of Zhou Yaoyun’s actions.

Meanwhile, Zhou Yaoyun, having achieved his goal, broke into a radiant smile. He softly said. “Goodnight, Chenai.”

With that, he lay back down on the bed, a look of contentment still lingering on his face as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

That night, Ji Chenai had a rather peculiar dream. In it, he had turned into a plump, fluffy marshmallow, floating aimlessly in the wind. As he drifted along, he accidentally stuck to a window. On the other side of the glass, a familiar face appeared—it was Zhou Yaoyun.

In the dream, Zhou Yaoyun exclaimed. “Marshmallow! I’ve been looking for you forever!”

Without hesitation, he reached out, grabbed the marshmallow Ji Chenai, and opened his mouth as if to take a bite.

Startled, Ji Chenai let out a loud cry for help. That’s when he realized he was dreaming.

Beside him, Zhou Yaoyun had been woken up by the noise. With an innocent and slightly puzzled expression, he asked. “What did you dream about, brother?”

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Ji Chenai forced a sheepish smile and brushed it off. “Nothing important.”

Zhou Yaoyun didn’t press further but gave Ji Chenai a thoughtful look, as if he knew there was more to the story.

=^_^=