The scent of disinfectant filled his nostrils, sharp and pungent.
Yet to He Jingchuan, it was a comforting smell—one he had grown to love.
Because only in the hospital did he ever feel cared for.
He couldn’t understand why other children had someone to love and cherish them, while he—who had both a father and a mother—felt worse off than an orphan. He often thought it would have been better if he had been abandoned outright, at least then he might have ended up in an orphanage.
The more he dwelled on it, the more meaningless life seemed. Every day was just another cycle of busyness, though he couldn’t even say what he was busy with.
The first time he slit his wrists was in sixth grade. A relative found him and rushed him to the hospital.
That relative had urgently called his mother back—and for the first time, she stayed by his side for three whole days, caring for him day and night.
Perhaps because he had tasted that fleeting sweetness, he attempted to end his life a second, third, and fourth time… but each attempt failed.
If, at first, it had been a desperate cry for even the faintest scrap of love—
Then by the fifth and sixth attempts, it was no longer about seeking attention. He truly didn’t want to live anymore.
This time, drinking pesticide wasn’t just an act of defiance. It was a final plea—perhaps only death could free him from this abyss of suffering.
And yet… it seemed he hadn’t died.
He Jingchuan’s eyelids fluttered violently as he struggled to open his eyes. His blurred vision gradually sharpened, revealing several faces hovering above him.
It was Old Master Ji.
Miss Rong.
The Eldest Young Master.
And Little Miss Duoduo.
Instinctively, he tried to sit up.
"Lie still, don’t move," Old Master Ji pressed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Can you speak?"
His throat ached, but it didn’t stop him from answering. "I’m alright. Thank you, Old Master, Eldest Young Master, Miss Rong, and Little Miss Duoduo, for coming to see me."
"Uncle Four, you have to get better soon!" Duoduo chirped in her sweet, childish voice. "I like Uncle Four so much!"
He Jingchuan froze. "You… you called me what?"
"Uncle Four!" The little girl beamed, holding up a handmade peace knot. "I made this for you! Do you like it?"
"Take it," Old Master Ji’s voice was rough with emotion. "Jingchuan, you might not believe this, but it’s the truth—Nanny Zhang is not your birth mother."
He Jingchuan went completely still.
He didn’t doubt Old Master Ji’s words. A man of his standing had no reason to lie to someone as insignificant as him.
So all these years of neglect, torment, and abuse—it was because he wasn’t Nanny Zhang’s child?
All this time, he had been begging for love from a woman who wasn’t even his own flesh and blood?
A bitter laugh escaped him.
Twenty years of unanswered questions had finally been resolved in this moment—yet instead of relief, all he felt was a hollow ache.
So it turned out… he didn’t even have a fake family.
Alone and adrift, how was he supposed to endure the long years ahead?
"Your birth mother’s name was Bai Wei. You may not have heard of her," Old Master Ji continued, watching him closely. "But you must know your grandfather’s name—Ji Shunying."
He Jingchuan’s pupils contracted sharply.
He knew Ji Shunying. The founder of the Ji Group. The patriarch of the Ji Family. And the very man standing before him now.
This towering, untouchable figure—who had once seemed so distant—now gazed at him with kindness, even reaching out to gently stroke his hair.
A sensation unlike anything he had ever known spread from the crown of his head, flooding through his entire body, leaving him shaken to the core.
With great difficulty, he managed to speak. "You… you mean… you’re my grandfather?"
"Yes. I am your grandfather," Old Master Ji sighed deeply. "I’m sorry, Jingchuan. It was my negligence that led to you being lost to the Ji Family for twenty years… You can blame me, resent me—but please believe that every member of the Ji Family welcomes you home with open arms."
Ji Zhiyuan stepped forward. "I’m your older brother—your full-blooded brother."
Duoduo giggled. "Uncle Four, I’m your real niece!"
Old Master Ji smiled. "The second brother is on his way back. The third is unreachable for now, and the fifth is preparing a welcome banquet at home. He’ll come to see you later."
Miss Rong produced an ID card and handed it to him. "From now on, you are the fourth grandson of the Ji Family. Your name is Ji Jingchuan."
He Jingchuan—no, Ji Jingchuan—felt his eyes burn with unshed tears.
He didn’t dare speak.
Was this a hallucination? A dying man’s final fantasy?
If he uttered a word, would it all vanish?
Years ago, the first time he had stepped into the Ji Family’s home, he had felt an inexplicable pull.
Back then, he had assumed it was greed—that he was drawn to their wealth and status.
But now he understood. It had been the call of blood.
"Grandfather."
"Brother."
"Duoduo."
His gaze lingered on Miss Rong.
She smiled gently. "I’m your great-grandmother."
Ji Jingchuan’s mind blanked again.
This was even more shocking than learning Nanny Zhang wasn’t his mother.
A great-grandmother… who looked this young? Was that possible?
But then he remembered—the way Old Master Ji treated her, with reverence, eagerness, dependence… even the occasional childish whine. It all made sense now.
"Great… Great-Grandmother."
He accepted it without hesitation.
"Good, good," Old Master Ji laughed heartily. "Rest well. Once you’ve recovered, we’ll take you home—where you belong."
Exhausted from the emotional upheaval, Ji Jingchuan soon drifted back to sleep. But even in slumber, his mind refused to settle, and before long, he stirred awake again.
Faint voices reached him from the balcony.
Miss Rong was speaking. "...Convert the room Ji Liuguang used into storage, then arrange a new one."
Ji Zhiyuan responded, "Understood. I’ll have it done immediately."
Duoduo piped up, "My room gets plenty of sunlight! I can give it to Uncle Four!"
"No need for you to give up your space," Miss Rong chuckled, patting her head. "There’s an empty room on the second floor. He can stay near me—he’s emotionally fragile and will need someone close by."
When she had tucked him in earlier, she had noticed the scars on his wrists. The doctor confirmed they were from repeated self-harm—at least seven or eight attempts.
She couldn’t fathom what kind of suffering would drive a twenty-year-old to such extremes.
But this wasn’t something she could ask about.
Nor did she dare.
Just then, a quiet sob came from the hospital bed.
Miss Rong hurried back inside to find Ji Jingchuan with his face buried in the blankets, shoulders shaking with silent tears.
"Why are you crying?" she asked softly.
"I just realized… this isn’t a dream," Ji Jingchuan’s eyes were red-rimmed. "I have a family now. People who love me and care for me. It feels… different."
"Uncle Four, you’re so silly!" Duoduo giggled, peeking at him. "If Little Uncle saw you crying, he’d tease you forever!"
Old Master Ji huffed. "If that brat dares to laugh, I’ll beat him senseless."
Meanwhile, in the Ji Family mansion, Ji Zhouye—who was busy decorating the banquet hall—suddenly sneezed. Rubbing his nose, he called out, "Steward Yu, send out the invitations. I’ll handle the rest here."
