Small doubts gathered together can become a massive problem.
Though Ji Nian’s thoughts were mostly occupied by other matters, that didn’t mean she would overlook Ji Tingzhou.
Zhiliao’s death to save the female lead, Ji Tingzhou’s sudden coma…
These events that hadn’t yet happened remained like thorns lodged in her heart.
Ji Nian even had a vague, absurd thought—had she come to this world to alter the original course of things?
As an outsider, perhaps she possessed the power to change fate.
Of course, she was just speculating. Ji Nian wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe she could play the savior.
"You Er, uncle."
Returning home, Ji Nian happened to run into You Er, who had come looking for Ji Tingzhou but missed him.
You Er halted, his rigid face showing a flicker of emotion when he saw Ji Nian.
"Perfect timing—I was just looking for you."
She gestured for him to follow her through the corridor to a small pavilion where they could sit.
Then, she handed him the note she had prepared.
After hearing Ji Nian’s explanation, You Er’s expression grew graver.
"You suspect they’ve chosen this place as the site for their experiment?"
Ji Nian nodded.
You Er didn’t question her. Instead, he acknowledged her concerns and said he would personally investigate.
After seeing You Er off, Ji Nian changed her clothes and wrapped her arms around Zhiliao’s waist, pouting. "I want to go see Dad."
Her big, sparkling eyes practically spelled out "Please, pretty please?"
With her curly hair, fair skin, and lingering baby fat, her coquetry was impossible to resist.
Zhiliao studied her for a moment before giving in, ruffling her soft cheeks. "Fine. Li Lei will take you."
Li Lei was the driver assigned to Ji Nian.
Ji Nian jumped up, planted a kiss on Zhiliao’s cheek, and hurried off to meet the driver.
Tinglan was a wellness-focused resort specializing in healing and relaxation. Though called a "village," it was practically the size of a small town.
Ji Tingzhou was one of its investors, and when he grew tired of working at home, he often retreated there to unwind.
Ji Nian’s impression of the place was that the hot springs were wonderful, and the specialty porridge was delicious.
The resort’s concierge, upon receiving word of her arrival, rushed over as if she had wings.
"Miss Ji, welcome back."
She ushered Ji Nian into a small resort vehicle already stocked with snacks and drinks for children.
Noticing Ji Nian had come alone—and recalling that Ji Tingzhou had arrived early that morning and hadn’t left his quarters—the concierge guessed she was here to see her father.
This had happened before, and Ji Nian wasn’t just anyone—she was the beloved child of that Mr. Ji. So, without notifying him, the concierge escorted Ji Nian directly to Ji Tingzhou’s residence.
Water droplets slid from damp bangs down the bridge of a straight nose.
Ji Tingzhou stared at the reflection in the mirror—or rather, at the red-clad girl draped over his shoulder like a boneless specter.
"Xiao Zhou… big sister… loves you… the most…"
Her voice was as soft as flower petals, the kind of words that would melt anyone’s heart—unless they were utterly cold-blooded.
But the man who had long shed the frail, pale shell of his youth only smirked coldly.
Then, he shattered the mirror with a single punch.
The cracks split the girl’s face into fragments, smeared with crimson blood.
Shaking the blood from his fingers without concern, Ji Tingzhou’s eyes burned with the same violent hue.
He glared at the shattered, beautiful face, his lips—so similar to hers—curving in mockery.
"You know what?"
"Even back then, I was never afraid of you."
"If you crawled out of hell, I’d just send you back myself."
His jade-green eyes, bloodshot with exhaustion, held only disgust and menace—no fear.
The girl in the mirror met his gaze, then suddenly let out a soft laugh before vanishing.
Ji Tingzhou stepped out of the bathroom into a room just as wrecked as the one he’d left.
He had demolished it thoroughly.
Switching to another room, he rang for a servant to clean up the mess.
Then, he grabbed a pair of tweezers, descended the stairs, and settled into a plush chair, deftly plucking shards of glass from his fingers.
On the table beside him lay a stack of documents, nearly stained by a stray drop of blood before he casually flicked them aside.
Watching the papers teeter precariously on the edge of the wooden table, Ji Tingzhou’s gaze drifted to his scarred hands, his thoughts wandering.
Back to that blood-soaked night.
Ji Wanting, the eldest daughter of the Ji family, had spent her life surrounded by admirers enchanted by her beauty and artistic brilliance. She had never so much as scratched a finger—until that night.
Drenched in rain and filth, she knelt in the mud, clutching the severed head of her younger brother, Ji Yanzhen, while staring up at Ji Tingzhou.
Had her devoted followers seen her like this, their hearts would have shattered.
But those very followers—who had thrown themselves between her and danger—now lay dead at Ji Tingzhou’s feet.
Ji Wanting had watched them fall without a flicker of remorse, lamenting only the stains on her dress. She had even praised the splattered blood, comparing it to blooming roses.
Even now, she wore the same smile she’d given Ji Tingzhou the day he first entered the Ji household.
"Xiao Zhou… if you kill me like this, won’t it be too… inelegant?"
"Showing mercy doesn’t suit a child of the Ji family."
"But then again… you were never really one of us. I knew that from the moment we met."
Her gaze lingered on his fierce green eyes before she chuckled softly.
"Don’t worry. Big sister will teach you."
"See? Now you’re starting to look like a true Ji."
Gently stroking her brother’s lifeless face, she swayed to her feet and stepped toward Ji Tingzhou.
Just like the frail, wary boy he’d once been, she reached out as if to embrace him.
But this time, before warmth could touch him, cold steel pierced her eye, halting her advance.
As she collapsed, Ji Tingzhou’s voice dripped with loathing: "Throw her to the hounds."
"After starving them this long, they’ll be eager to feast on their mistress."
Dragged away by her hair, Ji Wanting’s voice, now ragged and guttural, still managed a final protest: "Don’t… pull… my hair… it’s… pretty…"
Then, she sighed.
Her little brother, for all his hatred, was still too soft.
How would he ever survive like this?
