And just like that, the quiet storm of the past was set into motion again—one that would soon bring Miao Ruiming face-to-face with the strange, fevered boy no one could explain.
…
In First Prison, outside the old office of Dong Yingming…
The prison was unnaturally quiet. Long corridors stretched like ribs through a sleeping beast, lit only by the occasional flicker of a dying overhead light.
Chang Xiao stood in the dim hallway, phone to his ear, expression unreadable as the message from the Miao estate finished playing in his earpiece.
He ended the call and looked toward the small office at the end of the hall, where Dong Yingming had been half-buried in shadows, going over files, letters, and medication logs like a man possessed for two days. Dong Yingming stood in the shadows of his office, hands gripping the windowsill as he stared into the darkened yard beyond. A rare moment of respite for him before he dived back into files for some kind of answers to his situation.
"Boss Dong…"
Chang Xiao said, stepping in.
"It's confirmed. Miao Wenxun sent word—Master Miao agreed. He'll be here first thing in the morning."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Dong Yingming walked back to his leather chair, leaned back slowly into it, exhaustion breaking through the tight coil of tension in his shoulders. A long, shaking breath slipped from his lips—half sigh, half relief.
"…Finally…"
He murmured.
"We're close."
Chang Xiao's words echoed in his mind: "Miao Ruiming will arrive in the morning."
It should've comforted him.
It didn't.
Instead, a gnawing restlessness had taken hold of him since the moment he heard the news—an urgency that had burrowed deep into his chest and refused to settle. He had clawed his way this far—begged, threatened, exposed his own vulnerabilities to summon the one man who might be able to fix what was wrong with Yao Ziyang.
But tonight still remained. Long, dangerous hours between now and dawn.
He'd informed both Chen Bo and Wei Jiang to rest at night, intending to take over the night watch yet kept procrastinating. Keeping his distance and only staying outside the door or in his office with the CCTV cameras switched on from the cell they shared.
Tonight was no different and Yao Ziyang… was alone.
'No…'
Dong Yingming thought, looking away towards the window.
'He shouldn't be alone. Not tonight. Not one more minute.'
"I'm going to see him."
He reached for his coat, though the night was warm, and fastened it with smooth, efficient movements, tightly over his shoulders. His steps echoed quietly through the halls as he moved with deliberate pace, the weight of every stride sinking deeper into the floor.
He passed by security without slowing, ignoring the few guards he encountered, who all recognized the look on his face and wisely stepped aside.
Each step toward the cell made the knot in his chest tighten.
'I should've been there sooner...'
He saw it in flashes—the blood at the corner of Yao Ziyang's mouth, the crumpled form against the bedding, the heat pouring off his skin. The way Yao Ziyang had collapsed mid-sentence—reaching for him.
'And I wasn't there.'
He'd read how seven men had wasted away before. One by one. Some from their own greed. Others from their own hands. All ended the same way. With their deaths.
He had told himself this would be different. That Yao Ziyang was different.
And now he was terrified that he had lied to himself again.
Dong Yingming stopped in front of the reinforced cell door—their cell, though the word felt too human for what it was. Still, inside that room was the only place where he let himself feel anything that might be mistaken for warmth.
He rested a hand on the doorknob. Cold metal met colder fingers.
He closed his eyes.
'Just until morning…'
He told himself.
'I'll sit by him. Make sure nothing happens before Dr. Miao arrives. Just one night. And then… maybe everything can still be saved.'
He turned the knob.
The metal door opened with a soft scrape.
Dong Yingming stepped into the cell, his coat still damp from the midnight air. The low light cast shadows on his face, deepening the sharpness of his blue eyes and the cold press of his mouth.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
Yao Ziyang lay curled in their bed, pale but clean, dressed in fresh linens and tucked under a new blanket. The fever had broken—his cheeks were no longer flushed, his breathing soft and even now. Someone had replaced the pillow, changed him into fresh clothes and cleaned the room with meticulous care.
Sitting at his bedside was Wei Jiang, slouched but alert in quiet vigil, a book in his lap—reading aloud in a hushed tone, though Yao Ziyang remained unconscious.
The book had been left open on the same page for a while now.
Wei Jiang's fingers were gently brushing a damp strand of hair from Yao Ziyang's forehead, cradling it gently, thumb brushing slow circles against the fragile skin.
Dong Yingming's jaw clenched. This wasn't what he last saw in the CCTV cameras moments ago. Yao Ziyang was laying in bed in their cell, alone. The only reasonable explanation that came to his mind…
'Wei Jiang hacked my cameras…'
Dong Yingming's stomach twisted. Every detail screamed intimacy.
"I told you to rest."
He said quietly.
Wei Jiang looked up, startled—but didn't stand.
"He woke up for a second earlier…"
He said softly, ignoring the command. His gaze fell back onto the boy's soft, sleeping face.
"Just a flicker. He's getting better but not out of danger. He shouldn't be left alone."
Dong Yingming stepped forward slowly, eyes sharp.
"I didn't ask for a report. I gave you an order."
Wei Jiang's back stiffened. He looked up again, stubbornness simmering in his eyes.
"With respect, Boss Dong…"
He said, still seated.
"I'm not leaving him tonight."
Dong Yingming's jaw flexed, his face darkened.
"Are you defying me?"
"I'm staying with him…"
Wei Jiang said again, firmer this time.
"I don't care if you're the boss. I—"
"You forget your place!"
Dong Yingming's eyes narrowed as he interrupted.
"I remember it just fine…"
Wei Jiang bit out.
"I just don't think you—."
The words didn't even finish before Dong Yingming's hand lashed out, grabbing the edge of the chair.
"I've been lenient…"
He said through gritted teeth.
"But don't mistake that for weakness. If you forget your place again, Wei Jiang, I'll break more than your mouth."
Wei Jiang stood now, eyes defiant but strained.
"If you think keeping him safe means beating the people who care about him, then maybe you don't deserve to be here."
That did it.
The tension between them was a razor's edge—but before Dong Yingming could respond—
A soft, sleepy murmur broke the standoff.
"…Brother… Way…"
Both men froze.
Yao Ziyang's pale hand reached out from beneath the blanket and clutched the sleeve of Wei Jiang's coat. His face remained slack, unconscious—but the words hung in the air like a ghost.
"…don't go…"
Time stopped.
Wei Jiang's breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped. Then bloomed.
He inhaled sharply, stunned, heat rushing to his face. His voice caught in his throat, trembling with warmth.
"I won't…"
He whispered, moved beyond words.
"I'm right here."
But Dong Yingming—
Dong Yingming felt the world tilt sideways. A chill ran down his spine, then was swallowed by white-hot rage that bloomed in his chest like a wildfire.
'It wasn't me… it was him.'
The hand on Wei Jiang's sleeve. The name. The plea.
Yao Ziyang had called for Wei Jiang—not him.
His fury surged.
"Get out."
Dong Yingming said, voice dead cold.
Wei Jiang turned, still clutching Yao Ziyang's hand gently.
"Boss—"
Dong Yingming's fist struck without warning. The blow landed before he saw it coming.
His fist slammed into Wei Jiang's gut, forcing the air from his lungs. Wei Jiang staggered backward from the blow to his stomach, doubling over—but Dong Yingming wasn't finished. His second strike cracked against Wei Jiang's jaw, snapping his head to the side. He tried to stay upright—but Dong Yingming caught the arm Yao Ziyang had grabbed then—crunch— wrenched it until a dislocated pop echoed in the air.
Wei Jiang collapsed onto one knee with a strangled breath. Not once exclaiming in pain, afraid to wake Yao Ziyang with a startle.
"You'll go now."
Dong Yingming's voice was ice and iron. Wei Jiang tried to speak—anything—but the boss wasn't done.
"Next time you disobey me…"
Dong Yingming growled low, towering over him.
"You touch what's mine again…I'll cut your fucking throat."
Wei Jiang's eyes met his, and for the first time in a while, there was no defiance. Just the quiet hurt of someone who had felt something real—however foolishly.
Still, he got to his feet, staggering. He didn't look back as he left.
The door slammed behind him with finality.
Dong Yingming turned back once to look at Yao Ziyang, who was still unconscious—oblivious to the violence that had just erupted around him.
He stood there in silence, the storm still burning in his chest. His breathing was slow, controlled—but his heart was pounding like war drums.
Yao Ziyang's arm had fallen limp once it was ripped away from Wei Jiang's sleeve. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow but calm.
Dong Yingming stared down at the boy—the one who had once been a tool, a pawn, a symbol of revenge.
Now, he was something else entirely. Something fragile. Mysterious. His.
And yet—not.
Not when he whispered for another man in his dreams.
With slow, measured movements, Dong Yingming stepped forward and lowered himself into the chair Wei Jiang had occupied. It was still warm.
He sat there in silence, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Yao Ziyang's sleeping face.
"Now, in your dreams…"
He murmured bitterly.
"You don't call for me anymore."
He reached forward and gently brushed a finger across Yao Ziyang's temple, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
"…But I'll still stay."
His voice softened to a whisper.
"I'll stay until you wake. I'll fix you. I'll give you the world if you ask for it…"
His hand closed into a fist.
"…even if you don't ask it from me."
...
Outside the cell, Chang Xiao was waiting in the hall.
He caught Wei Jiang as he stumbled out, limping, blood on his lip and his arm hanging uselessly at his side.
"Goddamn it.."
Chang Xiao muttered, grabbing his uninjured left arm to steady him.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Wei Jiang didn't answer.
"Seriously, Wei Jiang?"
Chang Xiao hissed, dragging him toward the infirmary wing.
"You poked the fucking dragon. He's already spiraling and now you want to try and tug at his emotions like that?"
Wei Jiang's eyes were half-lidded, but he was smiling faintly, his lips bruised and bleeding.
"…He said my name."
"Yeah, right before the boss broke your damn arm."
"I don't care…"
Wei Jiang said, almost dreamily.
"He asked for me. He wanted me."
Chang Xiao stared at him, bewildered.
"You're a goddamn idiot."
But Wei Jiang only smiled wider, blood trickling down his chin.
And somewhere, in that broken little grin, was something terrifying:
Hope.