Song Hanzheng tilted his head back, looking down at him from above, his voice icy.
“Fine.”
The test results would take a week.
During the waiting period, the private detective Song Hanzheng had hired gradually uncovered several suspicious points at the car accident scene.
First, the accident occurred on a mountain road with sharp curves and steep slopes. But Song Tianqi always had a full-time driver and never needed to drive himself.
Coincidentally, on the day he left, the driver had asked for time off. That driver happened to be a relative from Lin Mei’s hometown.
Second, that mountain road had suffered a landslide due to rain not long ago and had just been repaired. The roadbed was still unstable. Any normal person would have chosen a detour, yet Song Tianqi insisted on taking that route.
Unless…
There had been someone else in the car, guiding him.
Third, the direct cause of the accident was avoiding falling rocks from the cliffside. He turned the steering wheel, but the tires skidded, sending the car through the guardrail and tumbling down the ravine.
But the day before the accident, it had rained. On the day of the accident, the ground was already dry—there was no rain. So why did the tires skid?
Had the car been tampered with beforehand?
All clues pointed to one conclusion: this was no accident, but a deliberate act.
And the most obvious beneficiaries were Lin Mei and Lin Yizhou.
Inside the coffee shop, dim yellow light fell on the table, and the aroma of coffee slowly spread through the air.
Jiang Liuyue listened to Song Hanzheng’s analysis as she gently stirred her coffee with a spoon.
“So you mean Lin Yizhou murdered Uncle Song?”
“But I have no evidence.” Song Hanzheng frowned deeply, his lips trembling slightly as he hesitated to speak.
“He… even though I really dislike him, he shouldn’t be capable of killing the old man. After all, the old man doted on him so much.”
Jiang Liuyue sighed quietly in her heart.
At his core, Song Hanzheng was still kind-natured. Even though he disliked his half-brother Lin Yizhou, even though this man had always coveted his position, his girlfriend, everything he had—
He still couldn’t bring himself to believe that the other would murder his own biological father.
“But what if someone else manipulated him? Like Li Feyue?”
Jiang Liuyue put down her coffee spoon, looked up at him, her gaze hinting a reminder.
Recently, Li Feyue had been very quiet. After finishing filming The Cat Servant, she took a break.
She hadn’t joined any new productions, and her social media updates had stopped half a month ago. She claimed she was too tired from working nonstop and needed rest.
But people in the industry knew the real reason: she had lost her backing. Her sugar daddy had been “stolen” by Jiang Liuyue.
Production companies and brands were all playing the waiting game, unwilling to bet on a washed-up starlet who had lost her foothold.
If it were the old Li Feyue, she would have thrown a fit—either crying and begging Song Hanzheng to take her back, or posting passive-aggressive messages on social media.
But she did nothing.
Too quiet. So quiet it didn’t seem like her at all.
Unless she was secretly doing something behind the scenes.
Song Hanzheng fell silent at this.
He had seen Li Feyue’s bullying tactics before. She was domineering in the industry, riding roughshod over newcomers, crushing rivals, snatching resources, stealing endorsements—sometimes going too far, even resorting to dirty tricks.
If she was teaming up with Lin Yizhou, bent on destroying him?
Song Hanzheng’s face darkened.
That would be the worst-case scenario.
A woman consumed by jealous rage, paired with a man devoured by obsessive madness—the thought of what those two might do together was something he dared not even imagine.
“I’ll ask Cen Yuan,” he said.
Jiang Liuyue shook her head, her tone firm. “Cen Yuan doesn’t know either.”
“Why?”
“Because Cen Yuan and Li Feyue had a falling out. He’s not her lapdog anymore.”
“How do you know?” Song Hanzheng’s eyes shifted slightly.
Jiang Liuyue lowered her head, taking a sip of coffee.
She quietly weighed her words, observing Song Hanzheng’s expression—it was still calm—before speaking slowly.
“Because he called me. Told me he’s ready to be my lapdog.”
As soon as she said this, the calm Song Hanzheng instantly lost his cool. He slammed the table and stood up, seething.
Through gritted teeth, he spat out a few words:
“Brother? Filthy dog… seriously!”
But then, as if suddenly realizing something, his anger was replaced by panic and anxiety.
He looked at Jiang Liuyue, a hint of humility creeping into his usually cold, sharp eyes.
He looked like a big, guilty dog afraid of being abandoned by its owner.
“Baby… so you won’t dump me, right?”
“Well…” Jiang Liuyue deliberately drew out her words with a mischievous grin.
Song Hanzheng couldn’t sit still anymore.
They had been sitting across from each other, separated only by a narrow table.
But on hearing this, he leaped up from his seat and squeezed into the booth beside her, cramming himself into her space.
His thigh pressed against her handbag, his shoulder rubbing against hers—and still, he nudged closer as if it wasn’t enough.
He pressed his lips together into a thin line.
Tilting his head back, he wore an expression that was both proud and shameless, like a stubborn child whose heart was pounding with fear but who insisted on acting as if he didn’t care.
“Baby, you know I’ve been yours from the very first time.”
“You can’t abandon me.”
Wait, wasn’t Song Hanzheng known for his tough, aloof personality?
Wasn’t he the proud, standoffish, untouchable flower on the highest peak?
Then who was this man squeezed next to her, acting like a sulking golden retriever?
Jiang Liuyue couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She reached out and pinched his angular cheek, her fingertips tracing his jawline.
To her surprise, his face, which looked so hard, was soft to the touch—surprisingly pleasant.
Song Hanzheng seized the moment, grabbing her hands and pressing them against his own cheeks.
His large hands wrapped around hers, the warmth of his palm seeping through her skin.
He turned his head slightly, nuzzling into her palm, his tone earnest.
Word by word, he said:
“Can you only like me? Don’t like anyone else.”
“It makes me sad.”
