Chen Zemian stared at Lu Zhuonian in shock, his mind racing.
How could a person be so shameless? How could he start from zero frame without any warning? Lu Zhuonian—his supposed best friend—didn’t even bother to give him a heads-up. We had agreed to speak slowly, to ease into this. Yet here he was, casually calling him “Dad” as if it were nothing.
Why did you even call him that? Chen Zemian wondered, a surge of confusion and embarrassment flooding his chest. Who taught you to speak so slowly?
He sat there seemingly calm, but inwardly, his soul had already left his body the moment Lu Zhuonian uttered that word. It was as if time froze, and all he could do was gape in disbelief.
He didn’t think his relationship with Lu Zhuonian couldn’t be made public—yet now, he felt a flicker of awkwardness creeping in.
Besides, Fu Guanlan had a law enforcement recorder clipped to his chest, and the headset likely connected to the command center. The scene of such a major arrest—being recorded and archived—meant everything was documented, every frame scrutinized upon return. Who knew how many eyes would review this footage? Coming out at this moment, with such a revelation, was practically akin to inviting public disgrace.
He mechanically lifted his head, unsure how he was supposed to face Chen Qingyu’s astonishment, his surprise. People simply shouldn’t, at least shouldn’t, call someone “Dad” when they first meet—this was profoundly inappropriate, or so he thought.
But what was truly unexpected was that among the crowd present and the outside viewers connected remotely, the one who cared the least about the word “Dad” was Chen Qingyu himself. He looked utterly nonchalant, as if he was used to others calling him father.
“What’s wrong, son?” Chen Qingyu raised his chin slightly, a faint smile on his face. “Just say what you need to say.”
Chen Zemian, in a daze, managed to croak out, “No, Dad. Why does Lu Zhuonian also call you ‘Dad’?”
Chen Qingyu’s expression was disinterested, almost careless. “I don’t know. If you want, call me that, too. Don’t you call me that?”
Chen Zemian’s voice rose in agitation. “I call you because I’m your son, but he’s not!”
Chen Qingyu’s gaze shifted between the two, evaluating. Finally, he settled on Chen Zemian, examining him carefully before speaking again. “So, you and he are not brothers.”
That question was sharp—precise, hitting right at the core of the matter. It grasped the essence and suddenly, everything shifted.
Chen Zemian’s momentum waned, and he stammered, “Well, I guess so.”
Lu Zhuonian, meanwhile, was unfazed by Chen Zemian’s sudden retreat. He sneered softly at the display, silent and observing. His gaze lingered, waiting to see what outrageous words might spill out next.
Chen Qingyu, trying to understand the logic, asked calmly, “If you’re not brothers, then what are you?”
Chen Zemian coughed lightly, struggling to find an answer. “That’s it. Lu Zhuonian and I… well, we have a good relationship.”
Lu Zhuonian chuckled twice, emphasizing the words, “Very good. Much better than just ‘also okay’.”[efn_note]
Chen Zemian, with a notoriously bad memory, had long forgotten the origin of that phrase. He didn’t notice Lu Zhuonian’s peculiar tone, nor did he realize he had narrowly escaped a disaster—so he quickly changed the subject. “We’ll talk about this later, when we’re back. Right now, let’s focus on the important things.”
Fu Guanlan, who had been silently watching, nodded in agreement. “Yes. First, go downstairs. Director Sun and Captain Luo are waiting.”
The flashing red and blue police lights painted the night with fleeting shadows, and the fate of the world seemed uncertain.
No one expected that behind this seemingly simple contraband trade case lay a vast, complex web of power, money, and sex trafficking—hidden beneath the surface of this luxurious, opulent den. It was a long, arduous process to dismantle the entire chain.
The raging flames consumed mansions and beautiful estates, yet they could never extinguish the insatiable desires buried deep in people’s hearts. A single drop of spring rain, however, could revive the long-dead.
And yet, no matter how dark the shadows, they always dissipate before dawn. In the long night, there are always those who burn with passion.
The heavy rain that once overturned Yaotai Langyuan that night finally ceased twenty years later, on Qingming Festival.
Chen Qingyu stepped over the broken walls, leaving behind this old, overgrown dream—one filled with weeds, memories, and ghosts of the past. He crossed the boundaries of time, life, death, and morality itself.
The sun rose, the moon set, and the breeze—laden with the scent of damp soil—rushed toward him.
Old friends would meet again.
With Guan Yu’s arrest, the case of Yaotai Langyuan—twenty years in the making—finally reached its conclusion. Cause and effect had been severed, the dust settled, and the truth laid bare.
The long-sealed archives now basked in light, and Chen Qingyu’s name was no longer a secret. No longer a hidden legend, but a name out in the open, verifiable and known.
His return as a hero and role model triggered a chain reaction—an intricate web of reactions that could be summed up simply:
Superiors met; colleagues shed tears; the younger generation looked up in admiration.
And, because he had been living abroad for the past twenty years, acquiring the status of a citizen of Country M, Chen Qingyu—still a public official—faced the inevitable reviews and scrutiny.
Under the unblinking gaze of the entire security system, Chen Qingyu suddenly realized something: perhaps, it was actually good to have been missing.
How to describe this strange feeling? On one hand, he had lived well these twenty years; on the other, everyone believed he was resurrected from the dead. Now, he was in a liminal state—almost dead, yet alive enough to make others cry when they saw him.
And, more often than not, to cry in a hug.
“If you have something to say, just say it,” Chen Qingyu said, pushing Sun Yueping away. “Don’t hug me.”
Sun Yueping blinked, speechless.
As a policeman, Chen Qingyu was expected to be capable and disciplined. But since losing his memory, his reputation for disobedience only grew worse. He used to at least show some respect to his superiors, but now, he treated everyone equally—regardless of rank or badge.
On behalf of the organization, Sun Yueping cautiously invited him. “Your case has been reported to the higher-ups. Although you’ve been abroad for so long, the organization understands given the circumstances. If you still wish to rejoin the force, you’re welcome at any time.”
Chen Qingyu shook his head. “Forget it.”
He knew he lacked the discipline for business. Returning would only make him a figurehead—an ornament—drawing taxpayers’ money while doing little else. It was pointless.
“Then, when you remember,” Sun Yueping said softly, “the position will be reserved for you. By the way, Guan Yu wants to see you.”
Chen Qingyu smiled. “What a coincidence—I want to see him too.”
The office of the detention center was no different from the outside—except for the tall, imposing iron gate that barred entry. The air was thick with the strange scent of cigarette butts soaked in tea, sticky and dull, almost suffocating.
Inside the meeting room, a railing-shaped iron window divided the space into two worlds—inside and outside.
Guan Yu sat in the detention chair, gazing at the dust floating in the sunlight, silent for a long time.
Chen Qingyu studied his face carefully but failed to evoke any memory. They sat across from each other like strangers, neither speaking.
Finally, Guan Yu lifted his eyes, a flicker of complex emotion crossing his face. “Qingyu,” he said softly, “don’t you have anything to ask me?”
Chen Qingyu remained expressionless. “No,” he replied simply.
Hearing those two words, Guan Yu’s entire body tensed with excitement. Instantly, he wanted to stand up, to bounce with joy, but the chair beneath him let out a harsh screech on the tiles. His knees trembled, and he was about to move again—yet, at that moment, a firm hand held him back.
“Then why did you come?” Guan Yu stared at Chen Qingyu with a mixture of hatred and confusion. His voice was sharp, almost accusing. “You always come so late, and so coincidentally. Twenty years ago, I waited for you all night—waited tirelessly—yet you never showed up. You only appeared after Xiao Ruhai and I reached a deal. And now, after all this time, twenty years later, you come back at this exact moment.”
Chen Qingyu’s tone remained calm, almost indifferent. “Guan Yu, don’t you understand yet? It’s not that I appeared by coincidence, but that you happened to make that choice.”
Guan Yu sneered at himself, a bitter smile curling on his lips. “When did I ever have a choice? Before I met you, I didn’t even know how to live alone. You promised me you’d take me away, and I believed you. But you came too late! So everything is different now. I simply cannot understand why you’ve come back. I couldn’t understand it twenty years ago, and I still can’t understand it today.”
Chen Qingyu’s voice was steady and unwavering. “Because you are still here. I went back twenty years ago to save you, and I’ve returned this time to catch you.”
“But the person who saved me in the end wasn’t you,” Guan Yu suddenly laughed softly, with a hint of sorrow. “And the one who arrested me wasn’t you either. Chen Qingyu, it turns out you can’t get everything you want.”
Chen Qingyu had hoped that this encounter with Guan Yu might awaken some buried memories of the past. Unfortunately, it didn’t. No—sometimes, no one in this world truly gets everything they desire.
Not Guan Yu. Not Chen Qingyu. And not Lu Zhuonian, either.
As everyone knows, Chen Zemian’s slow speech is virtually indistinguishable from silence, and so Chen Qingyu still remained unaware of the true relationship between Chen Zemian and Lu Zhuonian.
Lu Zhuonian, however, was thoroughly dissatisfied with this ignorance.
In order to keep Lu Zhuonian happy, Chen Zemian had gone several nights without sleep—his plans meticulously laid out. His strategy was flawless: distract Lu Zhuonian with other matters, thereby preventing him from fixating on official business. And indeed, Lu Zhuonian had little capacity left to focus on public affairs.
Yet, Chen Zemian soon discovered a loophole in his careful plan—an unforeseen twist.
People’s energy is limited, yes. But everyone’s total energy capacity varies. As a high-energy individual, Lu Zhuonian exploited the time and environment to his advantage.
That night, Chen Zemian half-lay on the duvet, his shoulders and neck adorned with red and blue kiss marks. The scene was ambiguous yet revealing, hinting at unspoken intimacy. His protruding shoulder blades trembled like shattered butterfly wings, trembling with the storm of pleasure that surged within him—layer after layer building like an unstoppable storm.
His slender fingers grasped the sheets tightly, only to be caught by a bony hand that pressed gently against his lips and kissed him lightly.
Unable to endure any longer, Chen Zemian begged for mercy. “I can’t do this anymore—really, I can’t. Please, Lu Zhuonian, stop.”
Lu Zhuonian turned him over, a teasing smile on his face. “What can’t you do?”
Chen Zemian groaned softly, desperation tinged in his voice. “Nothing can go on. I swear I’ll tell you everything tomorrow—absolutely everything. Please, spare me, Lu Zhuonian. I beg you.”
Lu Zhuonian pinched Chen Zemian’s chin, his gaze playful yet commanding. “Then why don’t you call me by my name?”
Chen Zemian turned his head aside, his eyes blurred and distracted. “I am calling you. Lu Zhuonian.”
Lu Zhuonian stroked Chen Zemian’s lips with his thumb, a slow smile curling on his face. “Mianmian, I said the name—not just the surname.”
Chen Zemian’s Adam’s apple moved involuntarily. “You want me to call you Zhuo, Zhuonian?”
Lu Zhuonian’s voice was firm. “There’s only one ‘Zhuo’.”
Despite the intimacy of the moment, for some inexplicable reason, Chen Zemian suddenly felt a flicker of embarrassment. He looked at Lu Zhuonian for a long moment, then whispered softly, “Zhuonian.”
Lu Zhuonian fixed his gaze on Chen Zemian, studying him carefully, eyes unblinking. “Call me again.”
His face burned with a mixture of nervousness and resolve. “Zhuonian,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
A gentle smile appeared in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Chen Zemian’s forehead. “Good,” he said softly.
The next morning, Chen Zemian kept his promise. After meeting his father, he finally found the courage to confess his love.
He brought Lu Zhuonian to Chen Qingyu, hesitating before speaking. “Dad, I need to tell you something.”
Chen Qingyu, who was just finishing a game of snooker, paused and set down his cue. His gaze was steady but attentive. “What is it?”
Without hesitation, Chen Zemian blurted out, “Lu Zhuonian isn’t just my good friend or brother. He’s my boyfriend. We’re in love—and we’ve been for a long time.”
Chen Qingyu’s expression remained calm, almost puzzled. “Then he must treat you very well,” he said simply.
Chen Zemian nodded eagerly. “He treated me well even before I realized I loved him. He gave me money to spend, a house to live in, supported me when I fought, and cared for me when I was sick…”
Before Chen Zemian could finish, he noticed his father’s gaze drifting toward the pool table beside him. His attention was entirely absorbed by the rolling red ball.
“No way, Dad! I’m coming out to you,” Chen Zemian said, stepping in front of Chen Qingyu and tilting his head in confusion. “Are you listening?”
Chen Qingyu looked around absent-mindedly, as if searching for something. Then he responded casually, “Huh, that’s good.”
Lu Zhuonian, sensing that he was probably searching for some pool chalk, picked up a piece and raised his arm to pass it over.
Chen Qingyu took the chalk and rubbed it on the head of the cue stick, as if trying to play it off.
Chen Zemian pressed further. “So? Don’t you have anything to say?”
Chen Qingyu glanced at Lu Zhuonian, a faint smile in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Chen Zemian blinked, bewildered. “What?”
His coming out had gone more smoothly than he expected—Chen Qingyu even said thank you. But, truthfully, he didn’t quite understand what he was thanking him for.
This was very different from Chen Zemian’s expectations of his father.
Perhaps, it was because Chen Qingyu had yet to fully assume the role of a father. Or, at least, that was how it seemed today. Whether things would change in the future remained unknown.
On the way home, Chen Zemian received a call from Fu Guanlan.
“Guan Yu confessed,” Fu Guanlan’s voice was heavy but tinged with relief. “He pleaded guilty and admitted to many crimes. If we act quickly, we should be able to close the case soon. The land at Yaotai Langyuan has been auctioned off—an artificial intelligence industry base will be built there. After twenty years, this case finally draws to a close.”
Chen Zemian hung up and turned to Lu Zhuonian. “Did you bid for the land at Yaotai Langyuan?”
Lu Zhuonian raised an eyebrow, an almost imperceptible arc curling his lips. “You knew again?”
Chen Zemian snorted. “Of course. I know everything.”
Lu Zhuonian smiled warmly. “Yes, you do.”
They looked at each other silently, a thousand unspoken words passing between their eyes. When their gazes met, they smiled—feelings sprouted like weeds in the spring rain.
The sudden downpour ceased, and the story was over.
Everything had begun at Yaotai Langyuan and ended there too.
Fate had gone through countless twists and turns, completing a perfect loop at this very moment.
The wild grass carried away the old dreams, the long wind faded into memory, and the mountains loomed high—thousands of meters tall.
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
