Days slipped by in a rhythm of silent war and quiet reconstruction.
From the privacy of the Lin family estate, Lin Yuhan built his next move with the cold precision of someone who had been shattered once and would never allow it again. His mornings were consumed by encrypted messages and discreet transactions, reshaping his future one digit at a time. The digital art auction win had snowballed into a series of strategic investments in tech and renewable energy—industries he remembered would skyrocket soon.
But this wasn't just business. This was reclamation.
> "Every coin I earn is a reminder that I don't need them anymore. I never did."
Meanwhile, Lin Meili was flailing. The whispers Yuhan had carefully planted—just fragments of truth laced with suggestion—were doing their work. Her polished persona was cracking.
At a high-profile gala, hosted in a marble-and-gold hall lined with society's most dangerous smiles, Meili's mask finally slipped.
She cornered Yuhan near the grand staircase, her champagne flute trembling slightly in her grip. "So this is your grand return? Sabotage and scandal? You're not better, Yuhan. You're just bitter. A discarded toy looking for attention."
Yuhan raised one eyebrow, adjusting the dark cuff of his silk suit. He looked her over slowly, like someone inspecting expired fruit at a market.
> "Bitterness is for people who lose things they want. I didn't lose anything. I let it go," he replied calmly. Then he leaned in just enough that only she could hear, his tone dropping like a blade. "By the way, I picked up the textile factory you told Mother to abandon. You know—the one you said was 'bleeding money'? I'm reviving it. And with real charity funds, not… whatever vanishes under your supervision."
Meili went still. Her face blanched. "You wouldn't dare."
> "Oh, but I did. Don't worry—it'll be in the headlines tomorrow. A redemption story. You should read it. Might learn something."
He straightened his lapel. "Like how not to get caught."
Her hand twitched like she wanted to slap him, but she didn't. She couldn't. Not with that many people watching.
Yuhan walked away without sparing her another glance.
---
The next day, the quiet buzz around the textile factory revival had grown louder. Business blogs whispered about Lin Yuhan's name resurfacing—bold, mysterious, and profitable.
That evening, Shen Mochen arrived at the estate unannounced. He found Yuhan in the sunroom, legs crossed, reading a legal draft with a glass of strong cold brew beside him. He looked up slowly as Mochen entered, framed by the sunset behind him like a ghost from the past.
> "Mochen," Yuhan said evenly, not offering a seat. "You usually text."
> "You usually disappear for years," Mochen replied.
There was silence.
> "We need to talk," Mochen added, voice rougher than usual. He hesitated. "The textile move… that was smart. Very smart."
> "I didn't do it to impress anyone," Yuhan said without looking up. "Least of all you."
> Mochen stepped forward, the tension radiating off him. "I know. But I can't ignore it. You're not the Yuhan I remember."
> "That Yuhan is dead," he said, finally meeting Mochen's gaze. "He was quiet. Soft. Willing to believe people meant it when they said forever. I don't have the luxury of softness anymore."
Mochen stared at him. His jaw tensed. "You're stronger. Colder. But you're still—"
> "Don't finish that sentence," Yuhan cut in sharply. He set the papers down. "You want to understand what changed? Fine. I stopped letting people like you define me."
Mochen looked like he'd been struck. But instead of retreating, he moved closer.
> "Then let me get to know this new version of you," he said. "I don't want to rewrite the past. I want to build something now. Something real. If you let me."
Yuhan exhaled slowly. There was a flash of something vulnerable in his eyes—but it vanished just as quickly.
> "You want in now? After everything? After silence, after standing by while I burned?"
His voice was soft, but it scorched. "You don't get to want me now just because I stopped bleeding."
Mochen swallowed hard. "I didn't know how to fight for you then. I do now."
Yuhan stood up, moving past him with practiced ease. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder.
> "Then fight. But don't expect me to wait. I'm not yours to chase. I'm not anyone's safety net anymore."
He smiled faintly, bitter but clean. "If you want to be by my side, prove you're not just here because you missed the old me. Because that boy's gone. This one doesn't need saving."