The story quickly moved forward to the year sixteen-year-old Song Yi died.
The siblings had died in exactly the same way. Once word got out, it shocked the entire upper-class circle, and even spread beyond it as a scandal involving the richest family in the country.
Bystanders online were outraged.
“One child dying could be an accident, but two? Shouldn’t Song Guanyan take a good look at himself?”
“He’s lost both his children. Serves him right.”
“That’s not necessarily true. Surely a tycoon like him has plenty of illegitimate children outside the marriage?”
“Those two children from his first marriage are pitiful.”
“Doesn’t he have another daughter? Song Guanyan always likes to bring her along to events, but the other two never showed their faces.”
A wave of discussion swept across the internet. After all, everyone loved gossip about the richest man in the country—especially when it involved two deaths.
The internet was practically flooded with the story.
There was an air of mystery surrounding the Song family, and various bloggers began trying to analyze the hidden story behind it.
Some claimed it was an internal family power struggle. Others even invented tales of curses. The rumors spread like wildfire.
Those in high society knew the truth well enough, and after hearing that Song Yi had died, many of them couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
After Song Yi’s death was discovered, several people gathered in a private club’s private room to discuss the matter amid a haze of smoke.
“She’s dead.” The young man who spoke first pinched the bridge of his nose, looking annoyed. “How did she just die out of nowhere? She was always bouncing around all over the place before.”
The silver-haired girl beside him rolled her eyes. “Who knows? Just don’t blame it on us in the end. My parents would kill me. They might even cut off my allowance.”
She lifted her wineglass and downed a mouthful of red wine.
A young man seated by the floor-to-ceiling window smiled. “It’s fine. She’s already dead, and the law doesn’t punish everyone involved. Besides, we didn’t kill her.”
He took a puff of his cigar and added languidly, “And besides, it’s not even certain Song Guanyan cares. What are we afraid of?”
His words drew a round of quiet, echoing laughter.
Someone clinked glasses and asked the waiter to open another bottle of wine.
Neon lights revolved overhead, casting colorful patches of light across each young, carefree face.
Before long, they had moved on to other topics.
The latest sports car. Whose party was coming up. Which brand’s limited-edition items had sold out again.
…
Apart from sparking the curiosity of netizens and giving them a brief opportunity to feast on gossip about the richest man in the country, the death of a little girl soon faded without further incident.
Wen Ya leaned against the headboard, the blue light from her phone illuminating her face.
She scrolled absentmindedly through the now-expired news reports, one after another.
“Who knew Song Guanyan had another child?” she said suddenly, her tone carrying the particular excitement of a gossip-loving bystander. “Two children dying in a row… Could this be some ridiculous plot where an illegitimate child drove the legitimate daughter to her death?”
Things like this were common in high society.
During her years as an assassin, Wen Ya had seen things far more disgusting than this.
Once the glittering veneer was peeled away, the rot beneath human nature was often much the same.
Shen Sixing had already lain down. With the blanket pulled up to his chin and his eyes half closed, he was completely sunk into the soft pillow.
He didn’t pay much attention to these boring stories about wealthy families. Lazily, he mumbled, “It has nothing to do with us anyway. Go to sleep.”
Shen Sixing tugged the blanket higher, trying to cover his entire head.
Wen Ya, however, had no intention of sleeping.
She flipped through her phone for a while before finally finding a reasonably clear photograph of the girl who had died.
It had been taken by a paparazzo with a telephoto lens. The image was grainy, and the angle was awkward.
“I’m telling you, this family is pretty interesting.” Wen Ya held the phone in front of Shen Sixing. The light from the screen made him frown. “Song Guanyan has attended several international conferences, and every time he brings that illegitimate daughter. He never brings his legitimate daughter. Most of the photos were taken by paparazzi, and there aren’t many clear ones.”
She poked him on the shoulder. “Look, Shen Sixing.”
Shen Sixing was forcibly dragged back from the edge of sleep. He opened his eyes in despair and took a careless glance at the screen.
It showed a young girl. That was all he registered.
He buried his head in the pillow again, trying to hide beneath it.
Wen Ya said, “Don’t you think these two children are pitiful?”
Ever since she had stopped being an assassin and become a mother, she had grown softer whenever children were involved.
Shen Sixing sighed into the pillow. “There’s nothing we can do about it, darling. It’s their family business.”
He didn’t possess Wen Ya’s capacity for empathy.
Not to mention that he didn’t know either of those children.
Even if someone he knew died, he wouldn’t feel anything.
He wouldn’t waste his emotions on it.
What was gone was gone forever.
Why bother dwelling on it?
Still, Shen Sixing had never dared express such cold, nearly heartless thoughts in front of Wen Ya.
…
The system said: 【Your mother is surprisingly emotional when it comes to this sort of thing. She even has some impression of you.】
Shen Sixing, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.
Even after realizing that he might have forgotten something, he remained utterly indifferent.
In Shen Sixing’s view, if something had been forgotten, there was no need to become attached to it.
Shen Yi knew this old man of hers very well. She smiled.
“My father has always been very good at burying his head in the sand.”
*
The timeline moved forward to the third month after Song Yi’s death.
It was a bright, sunny afternoon.
Shen Sixing noticed once again the box that had been left in the corner for a long time.
It was half-covered by a pile of miscellaneous objects, with only one corner of its metal edge exposed.
Thoughtfully, Shen Sixing picked it up.
It was black, with a square, angular design.
Leaning back in his chair, Shen Sixing raised the box before his eyes and turned it over and over, examining it against the light streaming in through the window.
He wondered whether he should see what was inside.
He hesitated for a long time. For some inexplicable reason, he had a premonition that the box was like Pandora’s box.
Once he opened it, there would be no taking it back.
The dust motes drifting through the air seemed to slow.
It was as though even time itself were waiting for him to decide.
At last, Shen Sixing let out a silent breath.
His fingers found the clasp.
With a faint scrape,
the box opened completely.
Before opening it,
the ever-fortunate Shen Sixing had never imagined what fate had secretly bestowed upon him within that missing stretch of memory.
Nor what he would have to…
give back in return.
