That evening, Shen Zhe used a shower as an excuse to find some space to think. He carefully hung his trousers, with the newspaper clipping hidden in the pocket, on the hook. But in his state of panic, he had forgotten one fatal fact: Lin Yan was not just a caretaker; she was an extreme control freak. She had a habit of rummaging through and checking everything belonging to him the moment he left her sight.
The water in the bathroom continued to flow steadily, drowning out the faint rustling sounds outside. Lin Yan glided toward the trousers like a ghost. She slid her thin hand into the pocket, and then... her fingertips brushed against the rough surface of the newsprint.
Inside the bathroom, Shen Zhe splashed cold water onto his face, trying to use the chill to keep his mind sharp. He told himself he had to act convincingly, to find a way to contact his mother at the first opportunity. But when he pushed the door open, clad only in a loose bathrobe, his steps came to a sudden, jarring halt. His entire body turned ice-cold, as if he had plunged into a frozen pit.
Lin Yan was sitting on the bed, her legs swinging nonchalantly. In her hand was the newspaper clipping, crumpled into a distorted ball. The dim yellow nightlight cast long, deep shadows across her face, making her look like a broken wax statue.
"Where did you find this?"
Her voice held not a single trace of her usual sweetness or feigned innocence. It was cold, flat, and as sharp as a razor blade gliding over skin.
Shen Zhe felt his heart skip a beat, his chest tightening with a sharp pang. He knew the play had reached its final curtain sooner than expected. He drew himself up, using the sharp, piercing gaze of a Shen family heir to face her.
"Why did you lie to me? My mother is out there going insane looking for me, the police aren't hunting me, and no one is dead! Lin Yan, you're crazy. Do you even realize what you're doing?"
Lin Yan suddenly burst into laughter. A dry, chilling laugh that echoed through the cramped space. She stood up, taking slow steps toward him, the newspaper scrap being crushed into dust within her frantic grip.
"Yes, I'm crazy! I'm crazy enough to stay up all night bandaging your crippled leg! I'm crazy enough to burn my own hands just to get a single look of gratitude from you! I'm crazy enough to meticulously build this entire world of lies... just so you would only see me!"
She screamed, the veins on her neck bulging, but then, just as quickly, her voice dropped—a tenderness that was bone-chilling. She reached out to caress his cheek, her fingers as cold as a corpse's.
"Do you know why? Because if you go out there, you'll be the high-and-mighty Young Master Shen again. You'll go back to looking at me out of the corner of your eye like I'm a speck of dust. You'll be walking beside those high-society girls, laughing with them... But here, you are mine. You depend on me to live, to eat, to breathe. Here, you truly love me."
"That's not love! That's a sickness!" Shen Zhe violently shoved her hand away. He swept past her, gritting his teeth as he tried to use his aching legs to move quickly toward the front door.
"Where do you think you're going with those legs?" Lin Yan stood her ground, not bothering to give chase, her voice carrying a tone of bitter pity.
Shen Zhe grabbed the door handle. Locked tight. He used every ounce of his strength to twist and yank, but the oak door remained as immovable as a boulder. He spun around, his eyes streaked with veins of fury. "Where is the key? Give it to me, now!"
Lin Yan slowly pulled a silver key from her coat pocket. She looked at it, then at him with eyes shimmering with madness. Before Shen Zhe's horrified gaze, she nonchalantly tossed it out of the fifth-floor window. The key drew a desperate parabola in the air before vanishing into the dark thickets below.
"It's gone." She smiled—a smile so pure it was terrifying. "Now you can't go anywhere. And no one can come in to take you away. We'll be together forever, Zhe. Just the two of us."
That night, for the first time in his proud life, Shen Zhe felt a fear of a woman that made him tremble uncontrollably. He realized that his crippled leg wasn't what was imprisoning him—it was the pitch-black abyss in the mind of this woman with the face of an angel. He had escaped the hands of thugs, only to fall into a cage far more brutal.