Today, Lin Yan was out longer than usual. She had bid him goodbye with a tender tone, claiming she had to work double shifts, exhausting herself just to afford the best bone-regeneration medicine for him. At home, Shen Zhe's heart was heavy with gratitude and guilt. Seeing the room slightly cluttered, he decided to surprise his "savior" by tidying up the messy corner of their belongings.
While rearranging Lin Yan's old shoes, Shen Zhe's hand accidentally brushed against a pair of worn-out ballet flats shoved deep into a dark corner. A paper lining inside was slightly askew, revealing a corner of yellowed newsprint. Driven by the instinct of an architect who lived for fine details, he pulled it out to smooth it over.
But in that instant, his heart seemingly stopped beating.
It was a page torn from the "City News" dated last Monday—the exact day Lin Yan had tearfully told him he was a national fugitive wanted for murder.
Shen Zhe's eyes locked onto the massive headline on the social news page, glaring and unmistakable:
"SHEN FAMILY OFFERS 1 BILLION VND BOUNTY FOR MISSING HEIR. FAMILY REPRESENTATIVE ASSERTS SON WAS KIDNAPPED, DENIES ALL MALICIOUS RUMORS."
Shen Zhe's hands began to tremble violently, the newspaper crumpling in his grip. He flipped to the back. There was a small photo of his mother, collapsing in tears amidst a swarm of reporters. She had withered away, her face gaunt and haggard. In her hand, she tightly gripped a hand-embroidered handkerchief—the very gift he had personally given her for her birthday last year.
What is this? What on earth is happening?
Lin Yan said she had abandoned him to protect the company stocks. Lin Yan said the family had released a public disownment statement. Lin Yan said he was a murderer lurking in the shadows... but this mindless scrap of paper was screaming a truth that was the exact opposite.
The headache from the drug's side effects suddenly flared up, assaulting his brain more fiercely than ever before. The fragmented memories he had suppressed began to piece together into a horrific mural: the frantic doorbell that day, the choked voice calling his name that sounded exactly like his mother, Lin Yan's excessive panic as she blasted the music, and the pills that kept him in a perpetual state of lethargy, drifting like a lost soul...
Click.
The sound of the key turning in the lock was dry and sharp. Shen Zhe flinched, his heart hammering as if it wanted to burst through his ribs. He frantically stuffed the newspaper clipping into his pocket, took a deep breath to suppress his shock, and forced his face into the calmest expression possible as the door swung open.
Lin Yan walked in with a smile as radiant as sunshine, carrying a bag of steaming food that filled the air with a savory aroma.
"Zhe, look what I bought! Your favorite sweet and sour pork! I had to wait in line for so long!"
She approached him with a look of hungry longing, intending to embrace and kiss him as part of her possessive routine. But for the first time in his life, Shen Zhe felt a bone-chilling cold radiating from that embrace. He looked deep into her clear, innocent eyes, searching for a spark of deceit, a single slip-up... but he found absolutely nothing. She played her part too well—a perfect performance that was nothing short of terrifying.
"What's wrong, Zhe? Does your leg hurt? Or are you feeling unwell?" Lin Yan tilted her head slightly, her soft, warm hand touching his forehead with worried affection.
Shen Zhe forced a smile, his throat tasting as bitter as gall. "No... I'm just a bit tired from reading too long. Yan... my phone... is it really still not fixed? I wanted to look at some old blueprints; I miss my work."
The smile on Lin Yan's lips stiffened for a fraction of a second—just a millisecond—but Shen Zhe caught it. She sighed again, her face falling into a mask of guilt. "I asked them, but they said the parts have to be ordered from abroad. Can't you just bear with it for a few more days, for me? Or... are you getting bored of being with me?"
She wheedled, leaning her head against his chest, her arms tightening around his waist as if afraid he would vanish. Shen Zhe mechanically wrapped his arms around her, but his gaze was fixed on the cold, unfeeling wall behind her. A disgusting truth was becoming agonizingly clear: the girl he thought was the angel who saved his soul was actually the "director" of a sadistic, imprisoned play.
He did not speak up to expose her. He knew that with a leg yet to heal and no means of communication, he was nothing more than a bird with clipped wings in the palm of her hand. He had to act. It was a play where he didn't even know if he could win against the "demon" wearing a saint's face.