Don't hate me.
The heavy mahogany door closed gently behind him, shutting out the sudden burst of quiet, excited chatter inside.
Tan Zhenye's smug laughter could be faintly heard, accompanied by whispers such as "Young people don't know any better" and "They're ultimately hopeless."
Tan Huaiyu walked down the thickly carpeted, silent corridor, his footsteps completely absorbed. At the end of the corridor were huge floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a dazzling yet cold view of the city nightscape.
He stopped and looked at his blurry reflection in the glass, his delicate yet pale face, and his calm, amber eyes.
Give up? He chuckled silently. He had never considered it from the beginning.
This magnificent prison built with dirty money and blood, this so-called "family" that reeks of decay—he only wanted to escape, to get as far away as possible. His grandfather's serious illness and his uncle's ambition merely provided him with an excellent opportunity to completely sever all ties with it.
He could exchange those disgusting shares and titles for a clean fortune enough to make him "free," and a safe haven away from trouble.
It's a great deal, isn't it?
As for those people's scheming, smugness, and contempt... what do they have to do with him? That's not what he wants.
What he wanted...
Tan Huaiyu slowly raised his hand, his fingertips gently touching the unseen lights in the distance outside the window through the cold glass.
A fleeting, almost obsessive heat flashed across the depths of those icy eyes, only to vanish into the deeper darkness.
Brother Qi Shuo.
He silently repeated the name in his heart. Only this name could stir a faint, twisted warmth in his cold heart.
Only when he thought of this person, and those eyes that were as still as the deep sea, yet occasionally stirred with subtle ripples because of him, could he feel that he was still "alive," rather than a walking, glamorous empty shell.
It'll be soon. Very soon.
Once all this settles down, once he obtains the "freedom" and "capital" he desires, he can...
The boy's delicate lips slowly curved into a faint, yet chilling, smile. There was no warmth in that smile, only a desperate, dark expectation.
The wind at the end of April had completely shed its chill, carrying a warm, damp air as it swept through every corner of the city.
The magnolias in the Kangfu Hospital garden have faded, but the wisteria has climbed all over the corridor, hanging down in deep and light purple flower spikes, and a faint sweet fragrance fills the air.
A crack opened in the window of ward 703, letting in the fragrance and the warmth of the afternoon. Qingran, wearing a light green cardigan, leaned against the headboard, a crayon in her hand, slowly and intently coloring a cute little bear in a large coloring book.
Her movements still carried a childlike clumsiness, often scribbling outside the lines, but she didn't seem to care, just immersed in her own world, her lips slightly pursed, showing a serious look.
Qi Shuo sat on the chair by the bed, his gaze fixed on Qing Ran's slightly lowered profile. Sunlight streamed through the window, dancing on the tips of her soft hair, gilding them with a fuzzy golden edge.
The scene was so quiet and ordinary, yet it caused a hard corner in Qi Shuo's heart to slowly and silently collapse, turning into a soft swamp with a bittersweet warmth.
He was almost lost in this tranquility. It was as if all the storms, the unbearable past, and the heavy secrets outside were shut out by this door and the sunlight streaming through this window.
Here it was just him and her, his sister whom he had lost and then regained, yet who was now unrecognizable, re-establishing a faint, fragile connection in the slowest, most clumsy, and purest way.
The phone in my pocket started vibrating at that moment. The buzzing sound was particularly jarring in the quiet hospital room.
Qi Shuo's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He had a new phone with only a handful of contacts. The ringing of the phone shattered the tranquility of the room.
Qingran seemed to be startled as well. She stopped coloring, looked up, and stared blankly at the source of the sound—Qi Shuo's pocket.
Qi Shuo snapped out of his thoughts and met her clear gaze, his heart softening. He put down his book, gave her a very faint but reassuring smile, and reached out to gently, very lightly, pat her head.
Qingran's hair was soft and fine, carrying the clean scent unique to children. "Ranran, be good. Brother will take this call and be back soon." His voice was low, carrying a gentleness he himself was unaware of.
Qingran blinked. She didn't speak, but just looked at him. Then, very slowly and with a very small gesture, she nodded, lowered her head again, and focused her attention back on the coloring book, the crayons making a soft rustling sound on the paper.
Qi Shuo then stood up, walked to the outside of the ward, and gently closed the door.
The smell of disinfectant mingled with the fragrance of wisteria wafting from outside the window in the corridor, creating a strange, surreal feeling. He took out his phone; the screen was flashing with an unfamiliar local number.
He stared at the number, his finger hovering over the answer button for a few seconds. A strange, ominous premonition, like a cold, thin snake, crept up his spine. Finally, he swiped to answer and put the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice was as flat as ever, revealing no emotion.
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Then, a clear voice, with a youthful quality yet slightly tense due to nervousness, came through the airwaves and struck Qi Shuo's eardrums directly:
"Brother Qi Shuo...it's me."
It's Tan Huaiyu.
Qi Shuo's fingers tightened suddenly around his phone, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. His heart sank as if gripped by an invisible hand.
He instinctively wanted to hang up, to end this inappropriate and absolutely unthinkable call immediately. But something deeper, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, stopped him. He just stood there silently, listening to the slightly hurried breathing coming from the other end of the phone.
"Brother Qi Shuo, how have you been lately?" Tan Huaiyu's voice rang out again, with a cautious probing tone and a hint of weariness, as if he had traveled thousands of miles to get here.
Qi Shuo's lips pressed into a cold, hard line. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turbulent emotions surging in his chest, and replied in an almost indifferent, businesslike tone, "I'm fine. Is there something wrong?"
Distancing, guarded, keeping people at arm's length. This was the only, and safest, response he could offer.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.
“I…” Tan Huaiyu seemed to swallow, his voice becoming even softer, yet carrying a resolute determination, “I’m leaving the Tan family.”
These words were like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, stirring up subtle yet undeniable ripples in Qi Shuo's stagnant heart. His fingers tightened around his phone, the knuckles making a slight cracking sound.
Leave the Tan family?
"Why?" Qi Shuo heard his own voice, dry and hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against rough cement. He didn't even know why he was asking. What did it matter to him whether Tan Huaiyu left the Tan family or not?
Tan Huaiyu seemed not to have expected him to ask, or perhaps he had been waiting for this question.
He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly, a tremor mixed with relief, exhaustion, and a deeper, colder hatred: "I know you hate the Tan family, Brother Qi Shuo. I hate them too. I hate that place more than anyone else."
His voice suddenly rose, carrying the sharpness and excitement unique to young people, but he quickly suppressed it, leaving only an empty, cold calm: "Now, I'm out. I used my inheritance rights to get money, a house, and a car. I have nothing to do with the Tan family anymore. Brother Qi Shuo, I... I did it."
He spoke the last few words softly, yet with great force, as if he had used up all his strength.
Qi Shuo fell silent.
A long, suffocating silence. He leaned against the cold wall, listening to Tan Huaiyu's slightly heavy breathing on the other end of the phone, and the faint, indistinct sounds unique to the hospital that came from afar.
Hate? Yes, he hated the Tan family, hated the man who destroyed everything for him, hated the surname that caused his family to be ruined and made his sister's life worse than death.
But when the last and most "innocent" bearer of this surname declares a break with that quagmire in such a self-destructive way, how should he react? Should he applaud? Or... feel a sense of desolation, like a rabbit mourning the death of a fox?
Is Tan Huaiyu's hatred genuine? Or is it another, more sophisticated calculation, a feint of retreat?
Qi Shuo didn't know.
He had long been accustomed to interpreting everything related to the word "Tan" with the worst possible malice. But at this moment, listening to the almost overflowing, icy hatred and relieved exhaustion in the boy's voice, he was actually somewhat...shaken.
The hatred was so real, so real it seemed unreal. The weariness was so profound, so profound it was as if one had been carrying a thousand-pound boulder, walking on the edge of a knife for years, and finally being able to catch one's breath.
"Brother Qi Shuo..." Tan Huaiyu's voice rang out again, this time with an unprecedented, almost humble plea. The voice was as light as a feather, yet as heavy as a boulder, pressing down on Qi Shuo's heart. "From now on, I am just Tan Huaiyu, just myself. I have nothing to do with the Tan family anymore. Can you try... not to hate me so much?"
"Just... try treating me like an ordinary person, a... stranger, that's fine too. Is that okay?"
The last "Is it okay?" was tinged with a barely perceptible sob, quickly disappearing into the static of the electricity, so fast it seemed like Qi Shuo's illusion.
May I?
Qi Shuo closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. His chest felt like it was stuffed with a wad of cotton soaked in ice water, cold and suffocating, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.
Hate him? It's more than just hate. It's a hatred etched into the bones, a heart-wrenching pain that haunts my dreams in the dead of night, an uncontrollable physical disgust and murderous intent when I see his face, which bears some resemblance to Tan Zhong's.
But what other complex and indescribable vines are entwined beneath this hatred?
Was it the silent pleasure and slight pity felt watching him being beaten by Tan Zhong? Or was it a twisted pity knowing that he too was helpless and lived in the shadows?
He didn't know. He couldn't tell the difference.
Hatred mingled with that inexplicable emotion, like a tangled mess, tightly gripping his heart, making every encounter with Tan Huaiyu feel like a silent, agonizing torture.
At both ends of the phone, only suppressed breathing and the faint hiss of electricity remained. Time seemed to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity.
After an unknown amount of time, Qi Shuo finally regained his voice.
He opened his eyes, his gaze filled with an unfathomable weariness and desolation. He did not answer Tan Huaiyu's question; it was too heavy, too complex, and he could not, nor did he want to, provide an answer.
He spoke in a dry, almost cracking voice, uttering a seemingly unrelated sentence, so low it was barely audible:
"You... you'll be a senior in high school in the second half of the year, right?"
The person on the other end of the phone seemed to pause for a moment.
Qi Shuo didn't wait for his answer, nor did he need one. He seemed to be simply stating a fact, a fact so distant that it had nothing to do with him.
Then, with his last ounce of strength, maintaining a steady tone, he added the final sentence, a hasty, meaningless, yet the only cold conclusion he could offer at that moment:
"Study hard and don't overthink things."
After saying that, without even waiting for Tan Huaiyu's reaction, he stiffly and almost roughly pressed the hang-up button.
"Beep—beep—beep—"
The busy signal sounded, cold and urgent, like a blunt knife severing that invisible yet taut line.
Qi Shuo remained frozen in place, still in the position of answering the phone. The phone screen went dark, revealing his pale and dazed face. The pale light of the corridor shone on him, casting a long, lonely shadow.
The dull pain in his chest intensified, accompanied by a massive, overwhelming emptiness and exhaustion. He hadn't done anything wrong; he had only answered a phone call and said a few words, yet it felt as if he had just gone through an utterly exhausting battle.
Why? Why call? Why say these things? Why use that... almost pleading tone? Why stir up his already stagnant heart again? Why... won't you let him go?
He leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down to sit, burying his face deep in his knees. The cold touch from the ground did nothing to cool the turbulent, chaotic thoughts churning within him.
Tan Huaiyu's voice, the hatred and weariness in his words, that humble "Can I?", swirled and echoed in his mind like a curse. It intertwined with the profile of his sister quietly drawing, Xiao Jue's silent and tired eyes, Sister Jin's worried sigh, and all the bloody and painful images of the past, tearing at his nerves.
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