Three years later, deep in the night, the Song family study.
Song Qingzhi sat behind the wide desk, holding a music score submitted by a student, but his gaze was not on the paper.
Outside the window, the autumn wind howled desolately, whipping up a few withered leaves and making a faint rustling sound.
It had been almost a year since that absurd incident.
The grogginess from being drugged, the confusion of entering the wrong room, and the bone-chilling cold that washed over him upon waking to find Song Shurou lying beside him.
He had dealt with it swiftly, forcefully, and cleanly.
With a sufficiently generous sum of money for support, and ignoring Song Shurou's desperate resistance, he sent her to a distant southern city, making her sign an agreement to never speak of the matter to anyone.
To his wife, Shuhua, he only said that Shurou, feeling like a dependent, had grown restless and wanted to try her luck in the south.
Though surprised and reluctant, Shuhua was gently persuaded by him, accepting it as her younger sister growing up and forming her own ideas.
He thought the matter was completely settled.
Until tonight, when an email from an unknown address in his inbox dealt him a severe blow.
The email contained no text, only a photograph.
A wrinkled, newborn baby, eyes closed.
The sender was clearly marked: Song Shurou.
For the first time, a crack appeared on Song Qingzhi's gentle and refined face.
Those hands often praised for their elegance now trembled slightly.
He snapped the laptop screen shut with a sharp "click," the sound jarring in the silent study.
Just then, the study door was pushed open gently.
Song Shuhua entered carrying a cup of warm milk. Dressed in soft pajamas, her long hair loosely draped over her shoulders, her face wore a gentle expression.
"Qingzhi, still working? You should rest early."
Her gaze fell on her husband's unusually pale face. She paused slightly, concern drawing her closer. "What's wrong? You look so unwell. Are you feeling sick?"
Song Qingzhi instantly reined in all his leaked emotions.
He looked up, a smile already back on his face, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"It's nothing. Just saw a music score a student submitted, full of mistakes. It made me a little angry."
He naturally took the milk. His fingertips brushed his wife's hand—warm, soft, a stark contrast to the coldness within him.
He pulled Song Shuhua's hand, having her sit on his lap. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he buried his face in the fragrant hollow of her neck, like a child seeking comfort.
Song Shuhua gently stroked his hair, chuckling softly. "I rarely see you so upset. Don't be too harsh on the students."
"Hmm." Song Qingzhi grunted in response, breathing in her familiar scent, the chill in his heart subsiding slightly.
His arms around Shuhua tightened unconsciously.
"Shuhua…" he called her name in a low, somewhat hoarse voice.
"Yes?"
"Our child."
He looked up, his gaze meeting his wife's eyes, his tone firm. "She will be very happy."
Song Shuhua was momentarily taken aback. "Why bring this up suddenly…"
Before she could finish, the phone on the desk vibrated.
On the screen flashed an unfamiliar number from the south.
Song Qingzhi's eyes instantly turned cold, as if coated with a layer of frost.
He patted the back of Song Shuhua's hand, his tone returning to calm. "I need to take this call. It might be something from the university. You go back to the room and rest. I'll be there shortly."
Unsuspecting, Song Shuhua nodded, got up, and left the study.
The moment the door closed, the smile vanished completely from Song Qingzhi's face.
He picked up the phone, walked to the window, pressed answer, and spoke in an extremely low voice, "Song Shurou, you're looking for death."
A woman's triumphant laughter came from the other end, sharply piercing his ear. "Song Qingzhi, my dear brother-in-law? Did you see the gift I sent you? Surprised? This is your seed!"
"You thought sending me away would end it? I tell you, you'll never shake me off in this lifetime!"
Song Qingzhi's jaw tightened, his eyes frighteningly sinister, utterly unlike his usual upright professor persona.
"What do you want?"
"I want to come back! I want you to acknowledge this child! Otherwise, I'll tell my sister everything! Let her know what a hypocrite her dear husband is, how he took advantage of her sister and refused to take responsibility!"
Song Qingzhi was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a very soft laugh. There was no warmth in it, only a chilling calmness.
He spoke slowly, as if instructing a wayward younger sister. "Shurou, some things don't belong to you. Forcing them will only bring disaster."
"A year ago, when you schemed against me, I already let you off, for the sake of our childhood bond."
"Now, if you remain obstinate, I guarantee you will end up with nothing."
Song Shurou on the other end sounded panicked. "What do you mean?"
Song Qingzhi's gaze fell on the boundless night outside the window, his tone flat yet resolute. "It means the game is over. I will not agree to a single one of your conditions."
Without waiting for the other party's scream, he directly ended the call.
He stood there, motionless for a long time.
A few days later, news came from a hospital in the south.
Song Shurou's child, due to sudden severe pneumonia, could not be saved and died.
Immediately following that, Song Shurou herself suffered a mental breakdown. She caused a scene in the hospital, accusing someone of killing her child, but could produce no evidence. She was ultimately diagnosed as suffering from excessive mental stimulation, became mentally unstable, and afterwards vanished without a trace, evaporating from the world.
Meanwhile, in S City, the full-month celebration for Song Qingzhi and Song Shuhua's daughter was held grandly and warmly.
Song Qingzhi, holding his swaddled daughter, stood under the spotlight, accepting everyone's blessings. His smile was as warm as jade, his demeanor impeccable.
The pure, flawless daughter in his arms, and the gentle, kind-hearted wife by his side—these were what he needed to devote his heart to protecting.
And all obstacles would never reach Shuhua's presence.
