Chapter 8.2: Unattainable Desire

Yuan Zhui hadn't slept all night. At dawn, Qi Xiaguo burst into his room: "Young Master, wake up! The Chairman is looking for you!"

Yuan Zhui shot upright, hastily dressing with a servant's assistance. Qi Xiaguo trailed behind anxiously: "Our people at the main residence say the Chairman's been in a rage since morning. Did you... yesterday..."

"I went to see Lang Bai," Yuan Zhui said without turning back as he strode out.

"You went to Bai Shao?"

"Mhm. About Wang Jiadong."

"You asked him for mercy? He—would he even consider it?!"

"Had to try," Yuan Zhui buttoned his suit jacket while sliding into the car. "Can't just watch Wang Jiadong die. My uncle would skin me alive otherwise."

The main residence loomed through the mist. Servants swept fallen petals in the garden, brooms whispering against the damp stones. The oppressive humidity clung to Yuan Zhui's skin—or perhaps it was the cold sweat soaking his back as he entered the hall.

Yuan Cheng's state shocked him. The man who wielded absolute authority with icy precision now sat in his study, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms, cigarette smoke curling around bloodshot eyes. His unrestrained agitation was alien—this was a man who could flip a table or draw a gun any second.

Yuan Zhui retreated half-step. "Father, I'm here."

Yuan Cheng's laugh was jagged. "Know why I called you?"

"...Wang Jiadong?"

"Your precious cousin got drunk in your courtyard last night. Nearly raped your brother. Lang Bai stabbed him. He's in our hospital now—should wake soon after overnight surgery."

Yuan Zhui's smile stiffened. "Is... is that so?" He couldn't decide whether to say "thank god" or "what a pity"—he'd fully expected Lang Bai to arrange an "accident" on the operating table.

"What should we do with Wang Jiadong?" Yuan Cheng's gaze through the smoke was paralyzing. "If it were your brother almost raped by Lang Bai's cousin, what would you do?"

Yuan Zhui's knees nearly buckled. "Father, the difference is I'd never give anyone such ideas to begin with!"

"Shut up!" Yuan Cheng's roar made the windows tremble. "Answer the question!"

Yuan Zhui dropped to his knees. "I was wrong to host Wang Jiadong! Wrong to let this happen at home!"

"I didn't ask for your apology," Yuan Cheng said coldly. "The facts remain. Wang Jiadong's waking soon. Kill him, spare him—I want to hear what his dear cousin thinks."

Sweat drenched Yuan Zhui's collar. Had Father learned about his midnight plea to Lang Bai?

But if so, what had Lang Bai said? Had he begged for mercy? If he had, Yuan Cheng—however furious—wouldn't execute Wang Jiadong. At worst, he'd deliver a brutal lesson before sending him back to the Wangs. After all, Lang Bai was male. Had he been a daughter, Wang Jiadong would already be dismembered in the basement.

Judging by Yuan Cheng's fury, perhaps Lang Bai hadn't spoken yet?

Still kneeling, Yuan Zhui inched forward. "Father, if the Wangs had other heirs, I'd shoot Wang Jiadong myself! But he's their only successor. If Lang Bai kills him, how will that look? The world will say we destroyed a bloodline for an adopted son—or that the boy you raised is too pretty for his own good!"

The gun smashed against the desk before Yuan Zhui finished. The recoil sent it skidding across his face—a searing pain, then metallic warmth flooding his mouth. Two teeth skittered across the floor.

Dazed, he found himself hoisted midair by a livid Yuan Cheng.

"What are you implying?" Each word dripped venom. "Lang Bai is my blood. Spell it out."

"I... didn't mean..." Yuan Zhui choked as fingers tightened around his throat. "Just... the rumors... would hurt Lang Bai too..."

Yuan Cheng flung him aside like garbage.

Gasping on the floor, Yuan Zhui spat blood. He knew provoking Father now was suicidal, but Wang Jiadong was his lifeline. If he inherited smoothly, fine. But if Lang Bai grew powerful enough to challenge him, he'd need the Wangs' backing.

His mother was nobility. His grandfather, a titan. Advantages Lang Bai could never match.

Losing Wang Jiadong meant losing the Wangs' support entirely.

Yes, Lang Bai was his brother by blood. But what did blood mean in the Yuan family? Yuan Cheng's father died by his brother's hand. Yuan Cheng executed two uncles to claim power. Rumor said there'd been another child between them—killed at eight years old, with Lang Bai present.

The arms trade thrived on betrayal. Blood here meant power, not kinship.

"I'll spare Wang Jiadong," Yuan Cheng loomed over him. "If Lang Bai agrees, he goes home alive."

Yuan Zhui pressed his forehead to the floor. "Th-thank you, Father."

"But not because I fear gossip about some 'pretty adopted son.'" Yuan Cheng's voice turned arctic. "Because you convinced your brother. This is between you two now."

So Lang Bai had interceded after all.

But the mercy was for Wang Jiadong, not Yuan Zhui. He understood now: Father would watch him closer than ever. Not just as a son, but as the Wangs' grandson.

Such wariness between patriarch and heir was a death sentence waiting to happen.

"One more thing." Yuan Cheng bent down, backlit by the grim dawn. His eyes stayed shadowed.

"—Don't speculate about my relationship with your brother."

Long after Yuan Cheng left, Yuan Zhui remained kneeling on the cold marble.

What did that mean? What "speculation"? About what?

A deep, formless dread took root. Some unspeakable secret festered in Father's heart—one that had already poisoned Lang Bai, now himself, and might soon unravel the entire Yuan empire.

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