Her arms circled around him, her fingers clasped together at his abdomen.
She rested her head against his back, feeling the warmth of his spine and the rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt.
His heart was beating fast, abnormally fast.
Jiang Liuyue spoke softly, her voice as gentle as if she were comforting a wronged child.
There was no lecture, no reasoning in her tone.
"Song Hanzheng, don't mind what those relatives said, okay? They don't understand anything. Who says you have to wail and cry to truly grieve someone's passing?"
"Real sorrow, when it reaches its peak, can leave you unable to shed a single tear. I know you're hurting too, but don't be afraid. I'll be here with you."
"No matter what happens, don't bottle it up inside, okay?"
Song Hanzheng's back stiffened for a moment.
When he first heard the news of Song Tianqi's death, he hadn't cried—not a single tear fell.
It wasn't out of a lack of filial piety, nor was it deliberate. He was simply too shocked, too slow to accept the fact that a vibrant life had just slipped away.
His mind hadn't yet caught up, and naturally, the tears hadn't come.
But now, hearing Jiang Liuyue's comforting words—those soft, warm words filled not with blame but with care—
He completely lost control.
It felt as if a hand had reached into his chest, peeling away, layer by layer, the hard shell wrapped around his heart, exposing the softest, most fragile, most vulnerable part beneath.
He slowly bent over, his shoulders trembling and jerking.
A suppressed, low cry escaped his throat.
It was like the mournful howl of a wounded beast.
The sound wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made the chest ache.
He suddenly spun around and pulled Jiang Liuyue into his arms, holding her tightly.
So tightly that it seemed he wanted to fuse her into his own body, never to be separated.
Jiang Liuyue looked up and saw in his usually proud and aloof eyes a flash of brokenness and helplessness.
She reached up and ruffled his hair, her palm pressing against the back of his head, her fingers threading through his soft strands and gently pressing down.
Her voice was as low as a whisper.
"Only I can see this here. No one will witness Song Hanzheng's imperfections."
"So go ahead and cry. Once you've let it out, everything will be fine."
At first, Song Hanzheng's sobs were faint. Gradually, the cries surged from the depths of his throat—
Carrying the pent-up grievances, unwillingness, fear, and a complex emotion he couldn't even name.
For the first time, his voice held a hint of helplessness and panic, like a child surrounded by darkness, reaching out but grasping at nothing.
"Baobei, I'm so scared."
"Xinle died in a car accident. The old man died in a car accident too. Why... Why is it that every time things seem to be moving in a good direction, something unexpected always happens..."
Jiang Liuyue didn't speak. She just gently patted his back.
Once. Once more. Again and again.
She didn't utter hollow platitudes like "Everything will be okay."
Because such words, in the face of true grief, are as pale as paper.
She simply held him quietly, using her warmth to tell him: I'm here. I've always been here.
A crack appeared in the blue wooden door of the rooftop. Cen Yuan stood outside, his hand on the doorknob, slowly pulling it back.
He stood silently behind the door, not moving, even deliberately quieting his breath.
Tears began to well up in Cen Yuan's eyes as well.
Countless times before, he had wanted to see Song Hanzheng break down—to see him shed that perfect disguise, to witness his vulnerability.
But today, with Uncle Song truly gone, and with him actually seeing Song Hanzheng in pain and fragility, he felt a pang of reluctance.
He let out a soft sigh.
So what if he was the beloved child of another family?
Carrying everyone's expectations and bearing the pressure from all sides, that perfect mask was never a suit of armor—it was merely a protective color, shielding the wounds beneath.
At that moment, he actually felt that his past attempts to take Jiang Liuyue away were truly a disservice to his brother.
But hearing Jiang Liuyue's gentle words and actions—
Which had warmed Song Hanzheng and also touched his heart—
A trace of unwillingness stirred once more in Cen Yuan's heart.
He lifted his foot and turned to leave.
Yet, as he turned, a resolve strengthened within him.
Brotherhood was one thing, but he too was drawn to Jiang Liuyue.
That attraction wasn't a fleeting impulse, but an irresistible pull.
So, as pitiable as his brother might be, he would never give up.
...
After Song Tianqi's death, the Song family was thrown into chaos.
Without a will, according to the rules of inheritance, Lin Mei, as the wife, was entitled to half of the shared assets.
The remaining half would be divided between Song Hanzheng and Lin Yizhou.
That meant the mother-and-son duo had taken control of most of the Song family's holdings.
Meanwhile, Song Hanzheng—the one everyone had favored, the one Song Tianqi himself had publicly endorsed as the "most outstanding successor"—ended up with the smallest share.
But Song Hanzheng didn't dwell on his sorrow for long. He didn't even give anyone the chance to pity him.
The next day, he appeared at the Song family's old residence in a suit and leather shoes, followed by a lawyer carrying a briefcase.
The first objection he raised left all the Song relatives stunned.
He demanded that the paternity between Song Tianqi and Lin Yizhou be re-examined.
Lin Yizhou, sitting on the sofa, froze at the words. He lifted his head in shock, utterly taken aback.
A flicker of barely concealed astonishment flashed across his eyes, and his lips parted slightly.
His voice carried a mix of hurt and confusion, as if he had been wronged: "Brother, what do you mean by this? Are you doubting that I'm not Dad's..."
Song Hanzheng's gaze was cold—so cold it felt like he was looking at a complete stranger.
His tone was steady.
"Once the test results are in, if I acknowledge you as my father's heir to his estate, then you qualify. But if you're not of the Song bloodline, then you're not entitled."
"Additionally, I've already started looking into the circumstances of my father's car accident. I've found some leads, and I have reasonable grounds to suspect the crash wasn't an accident—it was murder."
Lin Yizhou's face twisted with shock.
But he still forced a semblance of calm. "I can cooperate with you on the paternity test..."
Before he could finish, Lin Mei interrupted him.
She shot up from the sofa, her voice rising sharply with anger and outrage.
"I won't accept this!"
She glared at Song Hanzheng, her eyes blazing with undisguised fury.
"Hanzheng, I know you've never liked me, but what you're proposing is an insult to me!"
A flicker of mockery flashed in Song Hanzheng's eyes.
"Back then, why didn't Lin Yizhou take the Song family name? Wasn't it because Grandpa demanded that he take a paternity test with Dad, and you refused using the same tone?"
"So Lin Yizhou has been using your surname all these years, hasn't he?"
Song Hanzheng paused, then continued: "Father was blind and foolish—it's easy for him to be deceived. But I'm not stupid."
Lin Yizhou stumbled backward in shock.
For the first time, he learned the truth, staring at his mother in disbelief.
His eyes were filled with questioning, doubt, and the disoriented collapse of a long-held belief.
Hadn't his mother always said that the reason he couldn't take the Song name was because his brother Song Hanzheng had secretly blocked it?
Lin Mei still tried to stop him. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something to salvage the situation.
But Lin Yizhou suddenly spoke, his voice low but carrying a desperate resolve: "Fine, I'll do it."
He fixed his gaze on Song Hanzheng, his narrow eyes burning with indignation and defiance.
"But if the test results prove I am Father's son, you must allow me to take the Song family name. And you will kneel down and apologize to me and my mother!"
