Chapter 12: Once a Spoiled Child, Yet Still Moved by Emotion

Tang Yan sat quietly beside her, eyes fixed on the lake’s still surface. Song Xieling finally stopped moving.
“You’re here for something, right? Just say it straight.”

“Can I… go to your house?” Tang Yan blurted it out—direct as ever.

Song Xieling gave her a suspicious look. “My house? You’ve been there before. What’s so special about it?”

“It’s been too long,” Tang Yan said, her gaze softening with quiet pleading.

Seeing that, Song Xieling stood up, starting to pack her gear. Tang Yan didn’t hesitate—she joined in.

“Dinner time’s coming,” Song Xieling said. “I’ll take you back. My parents haven’t seen you in ages. Be careful.”

Tang Yan lifted her sketchpad. Song Xieling immediately stepped forward to steady her.
“It’s fine,” Tang Yan said. “Let’s go.”

They arrived at the Song residence. The security was tighter than ever—even inside the living room, guards were scattered among the staff like shadows among flowers.

Tang Yan followed Song Xieling with a practiced stiffness, as if she were playing a role. When she met the Song parents, their faces seemed warm but distant—kind, yet weighed down by sorrow.

“Mom, Dad, this is Su Xiao, the second daughter of the Su family. We used to play together when we were kids,” Song Xieling introduced, voice light. Tang Yan nodded gently in greeting.

The Song parents smiled. “Xiaoxiao, come in, come in! Xieling called us just now, said she was bringing someone home. We were wondering who it could be.”

Tang Yan kept her smile in place, saying nothing—careful not to slip. Song Xieling sat across from her, silently eating.

Something shifted in the air. The parents stopped asking questions.
“Eat up, Xiaoxiao.”

Their smiles were bright, but they felt hollow—like sunlight trapped behind glass. And every time Tang Yan looked at them, she felt a cold weight pressing against her chest.

After dinner, Tang Yan asked to tour the house. Song Xieling didn’t object—she led her through hallways and rooms without hesitation.

Then they reached the third floor.

A place Tang Yan had never heard mentioned in any briefing.

To outsiders, the third floor looked abandoned—dark, silent, forgotten. At the stairwell entrance, only blackness stretched inward.

“Is your third floor… empty?” Tang Yan leaned into the doorway, curiosity tugging at her.

But Song Xieling stepped in front of her, blocking the view. Her voice was sharp, icy. “Nothing much. Let’s head down.”

“But we haven’t even been up there!” Tang Yan pressed, uneasy. Something was off—something hidden.

Song Xieling froze. Her eyes locked onto Tang Yan’s, cold and unyielding. “You can’t go there. Come down.”

Reluctantly, Tang Yan backed off.

Still, the mission had gone smoothly—she’d mapped the entire layout, noted where every guard was stationed, how many there were.

After dropping Tang Yan off, Song Xieling drove away—straight to somewhere else. Not home.

When Tang Yan changed back into her civilian clothes and stepped onto the street, she couldn’t shake the feeling: everyone had acted normal, but the house… it was soaked in grief. Heavy. Oppressive.

She stood by the curb, staring at the traffic lights. Then—a familiar roar. A luxury car shot past, too close.

Inside, Li Chuzhe and Zhuang Qin sat side by side—the driver and passenger. Their eyes met.

Zhuang Qin’s expression was pure triumph.

The car passed, leaving a stench of exhaust that made Tang Yan grimace. She turned her head, frowned slightly, then walked on.

Just as she was about to call the organization with her report, her phone rang—an unknown number.

She nearly hung up without answering. But the call came again—then again. Like waves crashing. Frustrated, she finally answered.

“Is this Tang Yan?” A woman’s voice, unfamiliar. “Come to Hao Li Bar.”

“I’m busy,” Tang Yan said flatly. “Not interested.”

“He’s here. Your husband. Li Chuzhe.”

“Oh,” she said, tone dry. “Still no.”

She hung up. Walked on.

Then—suddenly—three men in suits burst from behind her, grabbing her arms.

“Miss Tang, please come with us. Apologies.”

They weren’t a threat. Not really. But when she heard *Li Chuzhe* involved, she couldn’t risk exposing herself. So she let them lead her.

Inside the bar’s private room, Li Chuzhe was drunk again—slumped on the couch, half-conscious.

Beside him sat Zhuang Qin, dressed in a sleek black evening gown, slit high up to her waist. The curve of her legs shimmered under dim light.

She held a cigarette between her fingers, smoke curling from her lips as she exhaled slowly—graceful, deliberate.

Tang Yan stood in the doorway, impatient. “Zhuang Miss. Why did you bring me here?”

Zhuang Qin flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. Shifted her legs, crossing them with elegant precision. Her posture was sinuous—feminine, dangerous.

“Here,” she said, gesturing. “Take your husband back.”

Her red lips parted. Teeth white. The way she spoke—it felt like magic.

Tang Yan glanced at Li Chuzhe, sighed. “Zhuang Miss… you’re not just bringing me here to return my husband, are you?”

“Come sit. I have something for you.”

Tang Yan didn’t waste words. She sat.

It was a book—handwritten, bound in leather.

“Open it.”

She flipped it open.

It wasn’t a novel. It was a photo album. Each image had a caption beneath it.

She flipped a few pages.

She understood now—this was the childhood of Li Chuzhe, the two siblings from the Mo family, and Zhuang Qin. Four friends since they were little. Every photo carried memories of laughter, sunshine, innocence.

Tang Yan looked up, puzzled. “What’s the point of showing me this?”

“Keep going.” Zhuang Qin’s eyes stayed locked on the album.

She turned another page.

The mood shifted instantly—from warmth to ruin.

The four became three. Then two. Then one.

And then—there was a photo of a young boy lying on the beach, motionless. A girl knelt beside him, soaked through, face obscured.

Sunset painted their silhouettes in gold. The curves of their bodies were clear—fragile, tender.

The caption read:
*Once a child, yet already heartbroken.*

The handwriting was strong, fluid—like a storm contained.

“That was Li Chuzhe,” Zhuang Qin said, her fingertip brushing over the girl’s face, covering it. “He almost drowned in the waves. A brave girl pulled him out.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Tang Yan asked, still confused.

Zhuang Qin leaned back, closed her eyes slightly.

“Li Chuzhe thought *I* was that girl. And because he believed I saved him… he’s been loyal to me ever since. That’s why he’s here. Not because he loves me. Because he owes me.”