What he wanted...

By the end of April, the once bare branches of the sycamore trees were bursting with new green shoots, so tender they were almost translucent in the sunlight. The peach blossoms along the roadside had faded, but the crabapple blossoms were blooming in succession, adorning the gray street corners.

A ward at the Kangfu Hospital in the suburbs.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, streaming into the room through the clean glass windows. Qingran, wearing a pale yellow knitted cardigan, leaned against the raised headboard, still clutching her fluffy rabbit doll.

Her complexion seemed better than in winter, glowing with a faint pink hue in the sunlight. At that moment, she was fiddling with a simple wooden tangram puzzle in her hands, her fingers moving slightly clumsily, yet with a childlike focus.

Qi Shuo sat on a chair a little further away from the bed, his posture slightly more relaxed than before, but his back was still straight, like a pine tree that was used to being on guard.

He held an open, richly illustrated children's picture book in his hand, and was quietly reading a story about the little animals in the forest welcoming spring.

His voice was not loud, even somewhat low, but he deliberately slowed down his speech, enunciated clearly, and had a strange, calming rhythm that tried to soothe people.

"...The little squirrel rubbed its eyes, poked its head out of the tree hole, and smelled the sunshine and earth in the air. It said to the little bear, 'Spring is here!'..."

Qi Shuo's gaze would occasionally lift from the pages of the book and quickly sweep over Qing Ran. When he saw her tilt her head slightly, seemingly engrossed in the story, or furrowing her brows slightly because she couldn't put together a tangram piece, he would subtly soften his tone, or, when she tried to force a triangle into the gap of the square, he would very restrainedly use his eyes to indicate the correct direction.

Qingran mostly immersed herself in her own world, showing a habitual and tacit attitude towards Qi Shuo's reading and presence.

But occasionally, when she encounters a "difficult problem" or when the story gets interesting, she will look up at Qi Shuo with a pure look in her eyes, waiting for answers or to share.

At this point, Qi Shuo would stop and patiently wait for her to finish, or describe the illustration in simple terms. Sometimes she would nod, sometimes she would just blink, and then continue playing with her own things.

This interaction, simple, repetitive, and even somewhat monotonous, is like spring rain nourishing all things, quietly changing the atmosphere in the ward.

The tense, cautious, and easily triggered sense of oppression that once existed has been replaced by a new, slightly awkward but increasingly stable tranquility through the daily repetition and confirmation.

Qingran no longer showed unease or obvious rejection towards Qi Shuo's appearance. She began to get used to the presence of this silent, storytelling, and sometimes helpful "big brother." This was a fragile acceptance built on the foundation of "harmlessness" and "predictability."

Qi Shuo has changed too. The somber, deathly aura he once possessed, as if burdened by a thousand-pound weight, has been replaced by a more restrained, cautious gentleness.

He still spoke very little, but that silence was no longer a cold, unapproachable demeanor; it was more like a protective gesture. He had learned to observe Qingran's most subtle emotional changes—a furrowed brow, a yawn, an unconscious rubbing of her eyes—he could keenly detect them and react accordingly—lowering his voice, pausing his speech, or offering her a glass of warm water. His way of caring for her was clumsy yet meticulous, imbued with an almost reverent earnestness.

Xiao Jue witnessed all of this. He had to reduce his visits to the hospital due to the complicated divorce case, but every time he came, he could feel the indescribable, slow-flowing tacit understanding between the two of them.

He saw Qingran's dependence on Qi Shuo increasing—though it was shallow, more like a habit of being around a fixed "backdrop." He also saw the growing, unyielding attachment in Qi Shuo's eyes.

He said nothing, but silently gave more time to Qi Shuo, while he dealt more with external matters and pressures, like a silent dam trying to block the possible storms.

Meanwhile, at Beicheng No.1 Middle School, in the senior high school teaching building.

The countdown to the college entrance examination is getting smaller every day, like the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads, and the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and sweat.

The corridor was quiet, save for the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional suppressed cough. On the blackboard at the back of the classroom, the words "46 days until the college entrance examination" were written in huge red chalk, a stark and alarming sight.

Qin Zhou's desk was piled high with test papers and reference books, almost burying him. He was biting his pen, frowning at a difficult physics problem, his scratch paper covered with force analysis diagrams, but he still couldn't find a breakthrough. His bangs were damp with sweat and stuck to his temples, but he didn't bother to brush them away.

"Here, the kinetic energy theorem and the conservation of momentum are combined, but you've overlooked the internal energy converted from the work done by friction." A pen was extended from the side, its tip touching a spot on his draft paper, the voice calm and clear.

Qin Zhou looked up abruptly and saw that Song Yungui had turned to the side at some point and was watching his calculations. Song Yungui's face was also somewhat pale, with faint dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze remained calm and focused. He was wearing an orange-white school uniform, with the cuffs rolled up to reveal his slender wrists.

"Oh! Right! Friction! I forgot about that!" Qin Zhou slapped his forehead, suddenly realizing, and quickly buried himself in recalculating. Song Yungui didn't say anything more, put down his pen, and continued working on his own test paper.

His desk was also piled high with books, but it was neatly organized. He solved problems extremely quickly and with a clear mind, making him the typical "promising student for Tsinghua and Peking Universities" in the eyes of his teachers. But only Qin Zhou knew that behind this ease lay countless late nights studying and almost rigorous self-discipline.

During the ten-minute break, Qin Zhou burst out of the classroom like a wild horse, leaning against the corridor railing, panting heavily as if trying to suck in all the fresh air outside the window. Song Yungui slowly followed him out, standing beside him, her gaze fixed on the figures running on the distant playground, her eyes somewhat vacant.

“Hey, Song Yungui,” Qin Zhou nudged him with his elbow and lowered his voice, “Have you been sleeping a lot lately? I see your dark circles are practically down to your chin.”

Song Yungui snapped out of his daze, raised his hand to rub his temples, and didn't deny it: "It's the final sprint, we need to do more practice problems. You too, don't always slack off, remember that big math question from the last mock exam..."

"Stop, stop, stop! I know, Song, you academic genius!" Qin Zhou raised his hands in surrender, interrupting him with a grin, but the smile quickly faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. "Seriously, don't be so tense. Brother Shuo always says, you have to eat one bite at a time, and walk one step at a time. Look at you, you're almost as thin as a sheet of paper."

Song Yungui paused for a moment, looking at the undisguised concern in Qin Zhou's eyes, and a corner of his heart softened slightly. He lowered his eyelashes and said softly, "I know. It's okay, I can manage."

He paused, looked at Qin Zhou, and asked with a hint of dependence and worry that he himself was unaware of, "You... how is Brother Shuo doing lately? Is he still going to the hospital all the time?"

Qin Zhou's smile faded slightly, and he sighed, "Yeah, I go whenever I have free time. But... he doesn't seem as sullen anymore. Sometimes when he comes back, he'll ask me about school, though not much. Sister Jin said he... seems a little more outgoing."

He scratched his head, somewhat puzzled. "That young girl in the hospital seems to have had a big impact on him. I don't know the specifics, neither Brother Shuo nor Brother Xiao Jue mention it. But I always feel... it's a good thing, right? Brother Shuo is suffering too much, having something else to worry about might help him calm down."

Song Yungui nodded and didn't press further. He knew that was all Qin Zhou knew. They tacitly avoided delving into Qi Shuo's past, the mysterious girl in the hospital, or the heavy burden behind Xiao Jue's silence.

Some wounds need time to heal, or at least need to be covered by silence.

All they can do is study hard, get into good universities, and become a support for their older brothers when they are able to do so, rather than a burden.

"Let's go, Jin-jie's class is next. If you're late, you're dead." Qin Zhou hooked his arm around Song Yungui's neck and dragged him into the classroom.

Song Yungui was pulled so hard that he stumbled, shook his head helplessly, but a faint smile flashed in his eyes.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, another war without gunfire is quietly unfolding within the secluded mansions of the wealthy.

The chairman's office is on the top floor of the Tan Group building. The heavy mahogany door is tightly closed, isolating it from the noise of the outside world.

The room was dimly lit, with only an antique desk lamp casting a dim, yellowish glow on a corner. The air was thick with the smell of expensive cigars and a stale, oppressive feeling that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth.

Tan Huaiyu sat in a large leather sofa, his back to the huge floor-to-ceiling window. Outside the window was the dazzling night view of the northern city, with bustling traffic, flashing neon lights, and a scene of prosperity.

But this prosperity was irrelevant to him; in fact, it filled him with a cold sense of alienation and disgust. He wore a well-tailored black suit, which made his skin appear even paler, and his short, light-gold hair gleamed with a cold sheen in the dim light. His eyes were slightly lowered, and his long eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath them, obscuring all emotions in his eyes, leaving only a refined, emotionless calm.

Opposite him sat his uncle, Tan Zhenye, along with Tan Zhenye's lawyer and two group veterans. Tan Zhenye was nearly fifty, well-maintained, but the wrinkles around his eyes and his slightly protruding belly betrayed the passage of time.

He tried to project the authority and concern of an elder, but the shrewdness and eagerness in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

“Huaiyu,” Tan Zhenye sighed, his voice heavy with sorrow, “this time, the old man… I’m afraid he won’t make it. The hospital hasn’t said anything, but we all know what’s going on. The Tan family has such a large business; someone has to take it on. You are the eldest brother’s only son, the rightful heir. At this time, you can’t be willful; you have to step up.”

The lawyer provided timely supplementary information, stating the relevant legal provisions and equity structure in a flat tone, emphasizing Tan Huaiyu's rights and "responsibilities" as the heir in the old man's will.

Tan Huaiyu listened quietly, his fingertips tapping lightly on the smooth sofa armrest, making an almost inaudible tapping sound.

His face was expressionless, neither sad nor excited, as calm as a bottomless ancient well, reflecting not a ripple. Only after Tan Zhenye finished speaking and the lawyer closed the folder did he slowly raise his eyes.

Those amber eyes, like two cold gems in the dim light, swept over the group opposite them. Wherever their gaze fell, Tan Zhenye instinctively averted his eyes, the lawyer adjusted his glasses, and the two elders looked worried.

“Uncle,” Tan Huaiyu said, his voice soft yet exceptionally clear, carrying a cold, penetrating power beyond his years, “You’re right, someone should be in charge of the Tan family business.”

Tan Zhenye's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward: "Huaiyu, that's the right way to think! Don't worry, your uncle will definitely do his best to assist you. If we uncle and nephew are of one mind, our strength can break gold!"

Tan Huaiyu slightly tugged at the corners of his mouth, a cold, almost mocking curve so quick it seemed like an illusion. He raised his hand, gesturing for someone to calm down.

“However,” he changed the subject, his tone flat and even, “I have no interest in managing the group. And nothing about the Tan family,” he paused, his gaze slowly sweeping across the luxurious yet suffocating office, “I have no interest in anything.”

Tan Zhenye's smile froze. The lawyer and the two elders also looked astonished.

“Huaiyu, you…” Tan Zhenye wanted to say something urgently.

“I can renounce my inheritance rights.” Tan Huaiyu interrupted him directly, his voice still steady but carrying an undeniable determination. “I’ll give it all up. The shares under Grandpa’s name, everything left by Father… I don’t want any of it.” He looked directly into Tan Zhenye’s eyes, which instantly lit up but were then forcefully suppressed, and said each word clearly.

"Just give me some money. Enough to live comfortably and do whatever I want. Also, I want that Lanshan villa in the west of the city, and that new Phantom in the garage. Once the formalities are completed and the money is in my account, I will sign the agreement immediately, and from then on, I will have nothing to do with the Tan Group or anything related to the Tan family."

A deathly silence fell over the office. Only the faint hum of the air conditioner vents could be heard. Tan Zhenye's facial muscles twitched slightly; he was struggling to control his elation and disbelief.

He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly, far beyond his wildest dreams! Was his nephew out of his mind? Or had he been completely bewitched by that kid named Qi Shuo, to the point that he'd throw away mountains of gold and silver?

"Huaiyu, have you thought this through? This is no small matter! The market value of the Tan Group..." Tan Zhenye feigned to persuade him, but his tone already carried an barely suppressed urgency.

“I’ve thought it through.” Tan Huaiyu interrupted him again, a barely perceptible hint of weariness in her voice. “The numbers, my lawyer will discuss with yours. I just want the results. The sooner the better.”

After he finished speaking, he stopped looking at Tan Zhenye's changing expression and stood up straight. The boy had already grown tall and straight like a bamboo stalk, and standing in the dim light, he had a sense of loneliness and desolation.

"When the agreement is ready, let me know so I can sign it. Don't bother me with anything else." He left with those last words, turned, and walked towards the door. His steps were unhurried, his back straight, without a trace of lingering regret.