The relatives who had just been pointing fingers at Lin Mei yelling now had expressions shifting from anger to fear, and from fear to a knowing kind of resignation.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
Everyone’s attention was drawn to the sound, all heads turning toward its source.
Jiang Liuyue, still sitting on the sofa, ignored the stares and answered the phone calmly, her expression unruffled.
Her voice was light and polite: “Hello, yes, this is me. Alright, thank you... Yes, they’re here.”
She then recited the address of the old mansion, her voice neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for everyone in the living room to hear.
Lin Yizhou glanced at her, a look of alertness and unease in his eyes.
He suddenly felt a wave of panic, as though something was about to come to light.
With that thought, he patted his mother’s shoulder and muttered, “I’m going to the restroom,” then stepped into a corner, fingers flying as he dialed Li Feile’s number.
But he couldn’t get through—the line was always busy.
Left with no choice, he tried a roundabout approach, scrolling through his contacts to a name he’d almost never contacted and called Cen Yuan.
When the call connected, the voice on the other end sounded surprised, laced with schadenfreude: “Oh! Lin Yizhou, why are you calling me?”
“Brother Cen Yuan, do you know where Sister Feile is today? I need to reach her urgently.”
“No idea.”
“Alright, then—”
Lin Yizhou was about to hang up when he heard Cen Yuan’s annoying laughter from the other end.
That laughter carried a disturbing cheerfulness that sent chills down his spine: “Don’t worry. You’ll probably see her soon enough.”
Lin Yizhou wanted to say more, but the line went dead, leaving only the drone of a busy signal in his ear.
His heart raced with anxiety, his hand gripping the phone trembling slightly.
When he returned to the living room, several relatives were still loudly denouncing Lin Mei, their core arguments circling back to the same points.
Had Song Tianqi known he’d been deceived all these years—that the youngest son he’d raised wasn’t even his own?
Lin Mei, pushed to her limit, finally snapped.
Her voice sharp: “What if he knew? What if he didn’t? Old Song promised he’d marry me back then, but he chose his career and married Song Hanzheng’s mother instead.”
“He and I were first loves, and he abandoned me once already! He owed me this! This is what Song Tianqi deserved!”
As those words fell, everyone froze, including Song Hanzheng.
He realized then that it wasn’t that his father had abandoned his mother for another woman, but that his father had never loved his mother at all—he had merely used her.
Used her family background, her connections, everything she had, to advance his own career.
Lin Mei was the first love, the moonlit memory, the one he could never forget. Even after marrying his mother, he had remained entangled with her.
At that thought, he let out a cold laugh.
Jiang Liuyue noticed his shift in mood. The hand he held moved slightly, her fingers reversing to clasp his, gently patting the back of his hand in comfort.
Song Hanzheng tightened his grip in response, their fingers interlacing.
Without looking at her, he murmured low, as if speaking to himself or to someone who could no longer hear:
“I’m fine. Song Tianqi was never a good husband or a good father. That’s why he died so miserably.”
“I won’t feel the least bit sad. I only feel relieved.”
He even harbored a dark satisfaction: Song Tianqi had died at the hands of his most beloved woman and son, never knowing Lin Yizhou wasn’t even his.
Perhaps that was fate’s cruelest, yet fairest, revenge.
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens sounded from outside the old mansion, growing closer.
Before anyone could react, a knock came at the door.
Song Hanzheng rose calmly and answered it, as though he had long known who waited outside.
Law enforcement officers filed in, their uniforms clashing starkly with the opulent decor of the Song family living room. They detained Lin Mei and Lin Yizhou in front of everyone.
Lin Mei squirmed, shouting angrily, “What do you think you’re doing? I’ll sue you for trespassing!”
The lead officer remained stone-faced, his tone professional: “Please don’t be upset, Ms. Lin. We have sufficient evidence, which is why we’re here. We need you to come with us for questioning.”
Lin Mei struggled, arms twisting even as the officers held her. Her voice carried a desperate, shrill edge: “Questioning about what? Did Song Hanzheng send you? You’re all in cahoots!”
The officer shook his head helplessly.
“Ms. Lin, please stop making baseless accusations. As for what this is about—you know very well.”
Lin Yizhou, by contrast, remained composed, as if he had anticipated this day or rehearsed this scene countless times in his mind.
He glanced at Lin Mei, a look that held both comfort and an unreadable guilt.
Then he addressed the lawyer, Jin, who was present: “Lawyer Jin, I’d like to hire you as my mother’s and my defense attorney. Will you come with us?”
Lawyer Jin hesitated, his gaze shifting between Song Hanzheng and Lin Yizhou.
Finally, he shook his head, his voice carrying a wary detachment: “Sorry, I don’t want to get involved in this matter.”
“Fine. Then please help us find another lawyer,” Lin Yizhou said, head bowed, his demeanor calm.
“Alright,” Lawyer Jin nodded.
After Lin Mei and Lin Yizhou were taken away, the relatives crowded around Song Hanzheng, chattering:
The gist of their questions was whether the two had been arrested in connection with Song Tianqi’s death.
Song Hanzheng rubbed his temples, exhausted and irritated.
“I’m sorry, uncles and aunts. Please go home now. I’m tired.”
The relatives fell silent. None of them were foolish—they knew that the Song family would likely be under Song Hanzheng’s control from now on, and no one dared offend him.
They offered sheepish smiles, muttered their condolences, and gradually drifted away.
With the relatives gone, the vast Song mansion was left with only Song Hanzheng and Jiang Liuyue.
Taking her hand, he led her back to the sofa.
He turned to look at her, his gaze soft with a survivor’s tenderness, and said warmly, “Baby, this time, I owe it all to you.”
“Don’t say that. I hope you don’t blame me for sending Li Feile to jail,” Jiang Liuyue replied, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
She remembered what had happened not long ago.
At a film studio location, she had spotted someone familiar.
On closer look, she recognized Li Feile’s male assistant—the one who had spit into her coffee before.
He had left his assistant job and was now working as an extra on set, crouched in a corner eating from a boxed lunch in a period costume, looking much worse for wear.
Jiang Liuyue called out to him, her tone casual.
“How did you end up acting? You quit being an assistant?”
