Chapter 2: Rosebud

After Yuan Cheng seized power, his life suddenly became busy. With the recent regime change, personnel reshuffling was extensive. The local government had subtly and overtly tested the waters several times—many were curious about how Yuan Cheng's arms policy would compare to that during the old patriarch's rule now that he had come to power.

Yuan Cheng had just turned thirty this year. Yet his political cunning and methods were almost no different from those of his father at sixty. Over the course of his life, he had introduced many sweeping, revolutionary changes in his field. But upon ascending to power, he made no moves at all. It felt as if the same patriarch had returned—everything proceeded as usual, calm and stable, without the slightest ripple.

This man gave others a deceptive sense of ease and complacency. But if you truly let your guard down around him, he would seize the perfect moment to strike—swift and lethal—crushing your power in one clean blow and swallowing everything whole into the savage jaws of the Yuan family. His tactics were lightning fast—before you could even react, he would already have you in the palm of his hand.

Yuan Cheng was a man of exceptional initiative, but also extreme patience. This trait wasn’t obvious in any of his other descendants—only Lang Bai had inherited it in full, faithfully and thoroughly.

If Lang Bai hadn’t come from such a lowly background—even if he were just the child of an ordinary woman—Yuan Cheng might have placed more importance on him.

Yuan Cheng’s ten-year-old eldest son, Yuan Zhui, had just been escorted back from Taiwan by his maternal relatives.

Yuan Zhui wasn’t as clever and endearing as his deceased younger brother had been, but he was very mature for his age—like a little man.

On his way to his father’s study in the grand family estate in Hong Kong to pay respects, he saw a beautiful child sitting on the veranda railing. The child wore an oversized white cotton T-shirt, which made his skin look even paler and his hair even darker. He sat silently, gazing at the lotus-filled pond. His profile was small and thin, giving off a profound sense of loneliness.

At just ten years old, Yuan Zhui was very curious and quietly asked the nanny, “Who’s that little sister?”

The nanny curled her lip in disdain and replied with contempt, “Don’t ask about him, young master. That boy’s mother was no good—not someone who can even compare to yours.”

Yuan Zhui became even more curious.

The nanny brought him to the study. Yuan Cheng had allotted his eldest son thirty minutes for their meeting—he had more important matters to attend to. Besides, he believed boys didn’t need to cling to their parents; as long as they had teachers and servants, that was enough.

Yuan Cheng asked about his studies—what books he had been reading recently, how his health was, and what his teachers had been instructing him in. The thirty minutes passed quickly, and Yuan Zhui finally couldn’t help himself and quietly asked, “Father, who’s that little sister outside in the corridor? Do you know her?”

“Little sister?” Yuan Cheng paused. “...That’s your younger brother.”

Yuan Zhui’s overwhelming curiosity overpowered everything else. All the children he played with were sons of Yuan family subordinates—rowdy, mischievous boys rolling on the ground. In his mind, only delicate little girls looked like that—quietly sitting alone, watching the water and the flowers, watching for hours.

Yuan Cheng casually instructed his eldest son, “Your younger brother is a bit weak. You’re family. As the older brother, you must look after him, protect him.”

A strong sense of responsibility burst forth from Yuan Zhui’s young heart like a fountain. “Yes, Father! I understand!”

When Yuan Zhui left his father’s study, he deliberately turned to look toward the lotus pond. The sibling who looked even more beautiful than a little sister was still sitting on the railing—lonely and frail.

Yuan Zhui opened his mouth, wanting to call out to him and ask what he was doing.

But before he could speak, Lang Bai suddenly turned his head and glanced at him coldly.

Lang Bai’s eyes slanted slightly upward, their depths shimmering like water. Even from this distance, that brief glance gave off a strange sense of cold detachment—so cold it was almost chilling.

Yuan Zhui was still young, and he involuntarily shivered. He vaguely sensed that this younger brother didn’t seem too fond of him.

That look seemed full of distance—and perhaps even a trace of resentment.

Why doesn’t he like me? Yuan Zhui wondered in confusion. I clearly like him very much…

Lang Bai jumped down from the railing and went to the tea room outside the study. He carefully poured a cup of Pu’er tea and held it with both hands, cautiously entering the study.

Yuan Cheng took the teacup and praised him with a single word: “Good.”

Lang Bai nodded and obediently sat down on the small couch beside his father’s desk.

Lang Bai wasn’t like Yuan Zhui. Yuan Zhui had status and legitimacy—he was the heir apparent, the entire family treated him like a little deity. Even if Yuan Cheng never said a word, others would rush to serve him. Lang Bai had nothing. He wasn’t even given the Yuan surname. No one in the household took him seriously—except Yuan Cheng.

Yuan Cheng had once instructed him to move into his own quarters—a separate courtyard behind the Yuan family mansion. Lang Bai didn’t cry or complain. He quietly packed up and moved. But on the very day he moved in, half the servants left—running off to flatter the newly returned heir.

At lunch, the remaining few servants asked him, “Young Master Bai, what would you like to eat for lunch?”

Lang Bai was silent for a moment. Whatever he was thinking, he finally replied in a light tone, “I’m not hungry. Do as you please.”

Of course, the servants were more than happy to take the easy route. Since the young master himself said he wasn’t hungry, no one bothered about his meals again. They immediately scattered—some went shopping, some gathered to play cards.

And that very afternoon, by coincidence, Yuan Cheng came to visit his younger son.

As soon as he stepped into the house, he saw cold pots and empty stoves. Lang Bai, such a small child, sat all alone in his room reading—he didn’t even have a sip of water!

Yuan Cheng asked if he had eaten, and Lang Bai shook his head.

He asked where the servants had gone, and Lang Bai shook his head again.

Yuan Cheng erupted with fury: “Where the hell are they all?! Leaving such a young child without food or water all day—are they trying to starve him to death?!”

Lang Bai immediately burst into tears. “Daddy, please don’t be mad… Mumu and the others went to see big brother. I was hungry, so I didn’t go with them.”

That explanation only fueled Yuan Cheng’s rage—he nearly ordered the servants dragged over and choked to death on the spot.

In a black-market family with a century-old legacy like this, the servants knew exactly who to curry favor with and who could be safely ignored. If Yuan Cheng hadn’t been particularly fond of this youngest son, Lang Bai might have been tormented to death without anyone knowing or caring.

Lang Bai was… a little different to Yuan Cheng. After all, he was still so small—soft, fragile, more delicate than a daughter.

In his fury, Yuan Cheng immediately dismissed all the nannies from the Yuan household. The only reason no blood was shed was because Lang Bai was still young—and it wasn’t good for children to witness violence. 

Yuan Cheng brought Lang Bai back to his own mansion and had a small bedroom prepared just outside his master suite. The father and son slept in adjacent rooms. Sometimes Lang Bai would be scared of the dark and would clutch his little pillow as he knocked softly on his father’s door, calling out in a small voice, “Daddy… Daddy…”

One night, Yuan Cheng was in bed with his mistress when Lang Bai knocked again, crying like a frightened kitten: “Daddy… I had a nightmare… Daddy, please…”

Yuan Cheng’s temper flared. “Get back to bed!”

But Lang Bai began to truly cry. “I’m scared… please, Daddy…”

Yuan Cheng quickly finished up, hastily dismissed his mistress, and opened the door to find Lang Bai standing there in just a thin nightshirt, hugging his Winnie the Pooh pillow, trembling so hard he’d gone pale.

The sight of tears in his son’s eyes instantly melted Yuan Cheng’s anger away.

Lang Bai lunged forward and hugged his father’s waist, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. “Daddy, I’m scared… I’m really scared…”

“What are you scared of?”

“Ghosts… dead people… so many dead people lying on the ground…”

Yuan Cheng picked him up and tossed him onto his big bed. “Don’t be scared. Daddy’s here.”

He turned to take a shower, but Lang Bai grabbed his sleeve and refused to let go. “Don’t leave… stay with me… I’ll be good…”

Yuan Cheng had never seen a child this clingy—every word was “Daddy,” as if he were the boy’s only anchor in the world. His eyes saw no one else. It was as if Yuan Cheng was his entire universe.

Yuan Cheng felt a subtle warmth rise in his chest, though he only allowed a faint smile to appear. “You’re a boy—how can you be this timid? What’ll you do when I’m not around?”

The mistress, now dressed after her shower, tiptoed out to say goodbye. She had been with Yuan Cheng for years, but this was her first time seeing his precious, pampered youngest son. She couldn’t help reaching out to touch Lang Bai’s face. “Oh my, how beautiful! I thought he was a little girl!”

Lang Bai stared at her warily and pulled his face away slightly.

Yuan Cheng smiled and waved the woman off. “Don’t touch this child. He’s spoiled.”

The mistress quickly withdrew her hand, smiling awkwardly. She dared not linger even a moment longer and hurried off.

At this point, Lang Bai was nearly ten years old. Most boys in the underworld were already quite precocious by then. Yuan Cheng himself had had his first woman at thirteen or fourteen—gifted to him by his own father.

But precisely because of this, Yuan Cheng didn’t want Lang Bai exposed to such things too early. He always felt the child was still too young—and more importantly, too pure.

He didn’t seem like a boy raised in a crime family at all.

Yuan Cheng was gradually consolidating control over southern arms trafficking and had even started developing heavy weaponry himself.

This strategic move laundered nearly half of the Yuan family’s operations. But with reform always comes blood—without thoroughly purging the old-guard conservative factions, there was no way the Yuan family could go clean.

That afternoon, Yuan Zhui went to report his studies to his father. Coincidentally, Lang Bai was also there to see Yuan Cheng, and the two ran into each other at the door.

By now, Yuan Zhui was a confident, charismatic young man, while Lang Bai’s features and frame hadn’t yet matured. Standing side by side, they hardly looked like brothers just a few years apart.

Lang Bai’s face was still expressionless. He politely bowed and said, “Big Brother.”

Yuan Zhui quickly nodded. “Ah, it’s you.”

Yuan Zhui couldn’t help wondering—Is he really my little brother and not a sister? Could Father be so fond of boys that he’s raising a daughter as a son? He’d grown up at Father’s side, hadn’t he? Was someone mistreating him? He should be old enough by now… so why does he still look like a stiff wind could blow him away?

Before Yuan Zhui could finish these thoughts, a loud bang! came from inside the room, followed by the heavy thud of something falling.

Yuan Zhui knew that sound too well—it was a gunshot.

Lang Bai startled and loosened his grip. The teacup he was holding fell and shattered on the ground.

Yuan Cheng’s voice boomed from inside the study: “Who’s out there?!”

In the next instant, a bodyguard flung the door open.

Yuan Zhui glanced inside and froze. It was the first time he had ever seen his father kill someone.

The man lying on the floor was someone he knew—he held a fairly high position within the arms syndicate. A hole had been blown into his chest, and blood was still gushing out.

Yuan Zhui had handled guns before, but this was his first time seeing a corpse up close—especially one just killed by his own father.

He spun around and vomited.

The bodyguards immediately pulled the young heir away and helped him onto a couch. Yuan Zhui was shaking from head to toe, pale as a sheet. His heart pounded wildly, eyes darting around, afraid to even glance back toward the study.

Then he saw Lang Bai, standing not far away, gripping the doorframe, blankly staring at the corpse inside.

He stared for a moment, then slowly took a deep breath and stood up straight. He turned his head and calmly instructed a servant, “The tea was spilled. Bring another for Father.”

Other than his pale face, his tone and expression were startlingly composed. He even added, as if just remembering something, “—And bring an extra one. For my big brother to calm his nerves.”

The servant was frozen stiff with terror, motionless.

Lang Bai suddenly barked, “Are you deaf?! Go now!”

The spoiled, delicate little master of the Yuan family had never spoken so harshly before. The servant flinched as if struck and snapped out of it. “Y-yes! Yes, young master!” He turned and ran, and within thirty seconds returned with a small tray bearing two steaming cups of yellow bud tea.

Lang Bai took the tray, placed one cup on the table beside Yuan Zhui, then picked up the other and walked steadily into the study—past the still-warm corpse—to where Yuan Cheng stood.

Yuan Cheng seemed surprised and watched his beautiful youngest son with interest.

Lang Bai held out the cup to him. His fingertips were turning pale from how tightly he gripped the cup, but his hands did not tremble—not at all.

The floor was soaked with blood. He stood in the middle of it, in a white shirt, black trousers, skin pale as snow—like a little figure sculpted from ice and frost.

At that moment, Yuan Cheng suddenly found his son… deeply intriguing.

He had thought this boy was a delicate white flower—something to be protected in a greenhouse, nurtured and coaxed into bloom.

Who would have guessed that when the petals opened… they would reveal a blood-red rose, laced with thorns.

It was beyond anything Yuan Cheng had expected.

< >