On that late November day, Gu Congli received a call from Gu Lin.

He didn’t have the habit of saving phone numbers—there were only a handful stored in his contacts. Gu Congli was still at the editorial department, walking out of the conference room when he answered casually, “Hello.”

The other party remained silent for a moment before slowly speaking. “It’s me.”

Gu Congli froze mid-step.

The editorial department was bustling with its usual overtime chaos. Phones rang incessantly around him, but Gu Congli said nothing, and the line on the other end remained quiet as well.

After a few seconds, Gu Lin finally asked, “Where are you? Why is it so noisy?”

“At work,” Gu Congli replied coolly, returning to his desk. He set down what he was holding, leaned back into his chair, and opened his computer. “What do you want?”

“At work?” Gu Lin repeated slowly. “What exactly are you doing?”

Gu Congli chuckled, his tone languid as he gazed at the desktop screen. “You really don’t know what I’m doing?”

Of course, he knew precisely what Gu Congli was up to.

Gu Congli had always thought he was eerily similar to Gu Lin.

The power of blood ties was terrifying. From a young age, he felt that in certain ways, he was an exact replica of Gu Lin.

Their shared indifference toward unimportant matters, their emotional detachment, and their overwhelming need for control—it all mirrored one another.

Gu Lin was the ruler of his kingdom, where no one dared to defy him.

In comparison, Gu Congli believed his own condition might be slightly milder.

At least it wasn’t beyond hope.

After a brief silence, Gu Lin suddenly said, “I visited your mother.”

Gu Congli stiffened.

Still leaning back in his chair, the faint smile vanished from his face entirely. His lips tightened, and his gaze turned cold. “Who told you to go there?”

Gu Lin seemed completely unfazed by his son’s harsh tone, continuing in that same calm, emotionless voice. “My assistant informed me that you took her out?”

Gu Congli’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “Your assistant seems remarkably well-informed.”

He had taken her out six months ago. There was no way Gu Lin didn’t already know.

Gu Lin sighed deeply, as though lamenting his son’s stubbornness. “You shouldn’t have taken her out. She was receiving the best treatment over there—”

“Psychopath.” Gu Congli hung up.

For ten minutes, he sat silently in his chair. Then, abruptly rising, he grabbed his coat and car keys and strode out.

Once inside the car, he called Aunt Cao.

The sound of chaos greeted him on the other end—shrieks, overturned furniture, and voices overlapping incoherently. Gu Congli couldn’t make sense of anything.

The next second, someone snatched the phone away, and then there was silence.

Bai Lu’s gentle voice came through softly. “Ali, I dreamed about your father today.”

Gu Congli pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

From the other end, Bai Lu laughed lightly, almost dreamily. “I dreamed he stood at the doorway. He saw me and then turned to leave.”

“I tried talking to him, but he ignored me,” she murmured, her words disorganized and tinged with sorrow. “Even in my dream… why wouldn’t he acknowledge me? I kept insisting he was here, but they all said no, they lied…”

“Ali, Ali, when will you come home from school? Mom baked a cake for you. If you don’t come soon, it’ll get cold—and cakes aren’t tasty when they’re cold.”

Gu Congli’s throat felt dry and tight. He couldn’t utter a single word.

Closing his eyes briefly, he spoke softly. “Mom.”

Bai Lu continued cheerfully, rambling without pause. “I also made an apple tart this afternoon. I put so many apples in it! There’s one piece left—I saved it especially for you, didn’t let anyone else touch it. You must try it when you come back.”

“Do you want to see a doctor?”

Her voice cut off abruptly.

Gu Congli patiently coaxed her. “You’re sick, just like having a cold. When you have a cold, you see a doctor, and afterward, you feel better. I’ll take you to see a doctor, alright?”

“I’m not…” she whispered, suddenly breaking into soft sobs. “I’m not sick! Why should I see a doctor? Ali, Ali, don’t you love me anymore? Are you abandoning me too?!”

“You’re leaving me! You’re sending me away!”

She screamed, and the next moment, the call disconnected.

Fifteen minutes later, Aunt Cao called back. “Madam has been given a sedative and is now asleep.”

Gu Congli tilted his head back, leaning against the seat. He responded indifferently with a faint “Mm.”

Aunt Cao sighed. “We need to approach her treatment gradually; we can’t rush it. She’s very resistant to the idea right now. This kind of conversation needs to come from you—our words won’t reach her.”

“I understand,” Gu Congli replied in that same detached tone, betraying no emotion.

Aunt Cao sighed again, adding a few more words before preparing to hang up. Just before disconnecting, she hesitated and called out to him.

Gu Congli didn’t respond.

After a pause, Aunt Cao said gently, “Take care of yourself too. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Things will get better.”

Sitting in the car, Gu Congli lowered his gaze and suddenly smiled.

Such a dysfunctional family.

Such abnormal parents—a father and mother who could never truly be normal.

And perhaps another one, himself, equally far from being okay.

Shi Yin observed Liang Qiushi for two full weeks before finally confirming that something was indeed off.

Not just a little off—he was completely out of sorts. Shi Yin couldn’t believe how oblivious she had been, as if her IQ had dropped to negative five ever since she started dating.

For instance, there were no more fruits or snacks from “Ball Ball” in the fridge. No more idle chatter during breaks after finishing a page of storyboarding. Liang Qiushi had grown significantly quieter, and at times, Shi Yin even felt he was deliberately avoiding her.

Finally, one afternoon, after receiving yet another storyboard background with glaring perspective errors, Shi Yin couldn’t hold back any longer. She looked at him pensively and asked softly, “Ball Ball, are you in love?”

Assistant Xiaoyu: “Eh?!”

Liang Qiushi nearly choked on his saliva. “What?! Why would you suddenly ask that?”

Shi Yin blinked innocently. “Then do you have something on your mind?”

Liang Qiushi’s expression remained blank. “No.”

Shi Yin nodded, then swiftly sent back several files, tossing the work he’d just handed over. Putting down her pen, she leaned back into her chair. “Alright. As your friend, I was concerned about you. Since you don’t want to talk about it, let me address this as your employer—the person paying your salary.”

Her tone hardened. “You’ve been my assistant for almost two years now. Errors like these shouldn’t happen repeatedly. Mistakes once or twice can be forgiven, but this has been going on for weeks. Even Xiaoyu’s background characters are better than yours right now.”

Xiaoyu glanced between them awkwardly, realizing now wasn’t the time to bask in praise.

Liang Qiushi’s face darkened. After a brief silence, he murmured bitterly, “You know, I’ve been your assistant for nearly two years.”

Shi Yin frowned, sighing wearily. Her voice carried a note of exhaustion. “Ball Ball, I always hoped you’d create your own work someday. But this isn’t the attitude a mangaka should have.”

“And what exactly is the ‘attitude’ a mangaka should have?” he shot back. “Don’t you always procrastinate until the last minute to start drawing? Are you telling me that’s the correct way to work? I’ve taken care of you for nearly two years—not because of the extra pay you give me. It’s not like I need the money. But I don’t want to be an assistant forever either. I want my own fans and works too.”

Shi Yin froze.

Liang Qiushi forced a bitter smile. “Have you ever paid attention to what I think? I entered the newcomer’s competition recently but got eliminated in the second round. Did you even know that? In your eyes, I’ll always just be your assistant. Have you ever thought that I might also want to create my own work?”

The air grew heavy. Xiaoyu quietly shrank into the corner, trying to make herself invisible.

After a pause, Shi Yin said softly, “I never thought of you as just my assistant… From the day we met, I told you to let me know when you have your own work. I’d definitely introduce you to my editor.”

“No need,” Liang Qiushi turned back to his computer screen, his voice indifferent. “It’s my fault that personal issues affected the quality of my work. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Shi Yin furrowed her brow, sensing something still amiss. However, Liang Qiushi clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation, leaving her no choice but to return to work.

True to his word, Liang Qiushi adjusted his state. His revised drafts were flawless, and his efficiency improved. By evening, when they left together, his demeanor appeared calm, showing no signs of distress.

Shi Yin wanted to call him back to talk things through properly, but seeing his expression, she decided today wasn’t the right time.

Maybe another day.

After seeing them off, Shi Yin returned to finish the final page of inked main characters. Just as she set the pen down, the doorbell rang.

She stood up and walked to the living room. The door was already open, revealing Gu Congli leaning against the doorframe, gazing at her coolly.

Shi Yin double-checked—it was indeed a weekday—and blinked. “Why are you here?”

Gu Congli didn’t respond. His lips were downturned, and his expression seemed shadowed.

She approached him, leaning slightly past him to close the security door behind him.

A soft click echoed.

December brought shorter days and earlier nights. Her living room lights were off, with only faint illumination spilling from the study.

The familiar scent of coconut mingled with milky sweetness and fresh laundry detergent lingered in the air.

Her bath products and detergents hadn’t changed in all these years.

And after all this time, he still couldn’t forget that smell.

Once the door was secured, Shi Yin rested one hand on his shoulder and reached to turn on the hallway and living room lights.

With a soft click, the room brightened.

Gu Congli squinted slightly.

Standing before him, Shi Yin gently poked at the corner of his lips. “Are you unhappy?”

He adjusted to the light, lowering his gaze. “No.”

She stood there in her white fleece pajamas, small and pale, her almond-shaped eyes dark, bright, and clear.

Gu Congli thought of Gu Lin, Bai Lu, and Aunt Cao’s cautious reminders.

Suddenly, he wondered if pulling Shi Yin so recklessly into his life was the right decision.

She was so pure, so lovely. Her family must be happy—loving parents who doted on her. One day, a kind and simple man would surely come along to cherish her.

He shouldn’t think about it.

The mere thought of her standing beside someone else, nestled in another man’s arms, embracing, kissing, sharing intimacy—it made his nerves scream.

He might end up killing that man, then binding her to his bed, locking her away at home.

Letting her see only him.

That wasn’t right.

She wasn’t his possession; she deserved freedom.

But where was the wrong in his desires? To obtain what he wanted, no matter the cost—that was what Gu Lin had taught him.

Gu Congli bowed his head, dark thoughts wrestling with reason. His long lashes veiled every flicker of emotion in his eyes.

Suddenly, someone leaned gently against him.

Delicate, warm hands encircled his neck, tugging lightly.

Gu Congli lifted his lashes.

Shi Yin pulled him closer, tiptoeing to brush her lips lightly against his. A fleeting kiss, then she retreated.

Releasing her arms, she rested her forehead against his chest, nuzzling affectionately like a wronged little animal. “I’m upset. I argued with a friend today. I feel terrible. Thank goodness you’re here.”

Her voice was soft, low, and tinged with grievances, sounding both sad and dejected.

Gu Congli closed his eyes briefly.

All other thoughts faded away.

Whatever was right or wrong—none of it mattered anymore.

She could only belong to him.

The name Shi Yin would forever be intertwined with his, across lifetimes.

If he was destined to remain trapped in hell, then he’d drag her down into it too.