Chapter 21 – Shadows of the Outskirts
The car's tires crunched over the gravel path as it wound through the quiet outskirts of the city. Here, the air felt heavier, the trees taller, and the silence thick enough to press against the windows. At the end of the path stood an old mansion—its walls faded from decades of sun and rain, yet its presence was intimidating.
Zhen Yichen stepped out of the car, his eyes cold and unreadable as they swept over the structure. The mansion had not changed in years; it was still the same looming figure from his childhood nightmares.
The butler, an aging man with a stooped back, opened the heavy wooden doors. "Young Master," he greeted stiffly, as if the words were a duty rather than a welcome. "The Old Master is waiting in the study."
Of course he is.
Yichen walked through the long corridor, his steps steady, echoing faintly off the marble floor. The portraits lining the walls stared down at him—men and women of the Zhen family from generations past. Their gazes felt judgmental, as if silently reminding him of the bloodline, the expectations, the rules.
The study door was already ajar. Inside, an old man sat behind an antique desk, the light from the tall windows outlining his frame. His hair was fully white now, his face mapped with deep lines of age, but his eyes—sharp and cold—were unmistakable.
They were the same eyes Yichen saw in the mirror every morning.
"Yichen," the old man said, his voice carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed. "You've grown."
Yichen closed the door behind him, his expression unchanging. "People tend to, over the years."
A faint smirk tugged at the corners of the old man's mouth, but it was humorless. "Still sharp-tongued, I see."
"And you," Yichen replied coolly, "still pretending we have anything to talk about."
The silence that followed was tense, a brittle thread stretched between them. The old man leaned back in his chair, studying his grandson. "I hear you've been… busy. Running the company well. Your father would have been proud."
Yichen's jaw tightened at the mention of his father, but he said nothing.
"You didn't come here for pleasantries," the old man continued. "So let's not waste each other's time."
"No," Yichen agreed. "We won't."
"I need the document of the land at sea side"
"Oh and why is that"
"For business"
"No!"
"And why that"
"That is the land passed to me by my ancestors it is sacred"
"Old man, stop killing me with all this superstitious nonsense."
"Still my answer is No!"
"….."
"I'm not surprised by your response — still clinging to this bloodline parade."sneered coldly at the old man.
The air between them thickened, heavy with years of unspoken words. Memories pressed at the edges of Yichen's mind—memories he had locked away, yet they clawed their way forward at the sight of the man in front of him.
He had been eight when he first realized he was… different. While boys his age bragged about their crushes on girls from class, Yichen's thoughts lingered on the boy next door—Mu Yu. Mu had been warm, open, and always laughing. They'd played together, shared secrets, even had sleepovers. And one night, lying in the dark, Yichen had leaned over and pressed a shy kiss to Mu's cheek.
He hadn't known anyone was watching.
But his grandfather had been.
The next day, the old man had called him into his private room. Yichen still remembered the smell of old paper and sandalwood, the way the sunlight fell across the carpet. He remembered the words: "This is a shameful thing. A sickness. It must be cured." His grandfather had called it a family taboo, something that would stain their bloodline if left unchecked.
Yichen had argued—childishly, desperately—that he had an older brother who could carry on the family name. But the old man's voice had been final: "You will be the heir. Your brother is not fit. You will not disappoint me."
At thirteen, Yichen had been sent to live with his grandfather "for training." His parents had agreed, thinking it was for discipline and grooming. They didn't know the truth.
The mansion had been his prison.
He was locked for hours—sometimes days—in a small, dark room. Meals were left at the door. The only light came from the flickering television screen, showing films between men and women, forced into his mind until he felt sick. There were sessions with a so-called psychologist, endless lectures about purity, bloodline, and duty. Every day was a war against his own identity. Morning was for private lessons which lasted for 3 hours maximum. He was home schooled so there was no way to escape for the hell.
Six years passed before he finally returned home. He had been nineteen, hardened, carrying his silence like armor. In the back of his mind, there had been a flicker of hope—Mu Yu.
But Mu was gone.
The boy next door had left without goodbye, moved far away. Later, Yichen discovered it had been his grandfather's doing—arranged to erase the "temptation" from his life. That knowledge had burned deeper than any lock, any dark room, any cruel word.
It had forged his hate. And intense his sleepless night with nightmares and fears.
Back in the present, Yichen's gaze was ice as he looked at the man before him. "If you're wondering why I never visit," he said, his voice low but steady, "it's because I have no interest in breathing the same air as you."
The old man didn't flinch. "You're still my heir."
"You're nothing to me," Yichen replied. "You lost that right years ago.And for record I need that land and I must get it."
For a moment, the old man's expression cracked—just barely—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Careful, Yichen. Blood is blood."
Yichen's lips curved into a cold smile. "Yes. And sometimes blood is poison."
The grandfather's hand tightened around the armrest, the only sign of emotion he allowed himself. "You're still young. You'll understand one day."
"I understood a long time ago," Yichen said, turning toward the door. "And I'll never forgive you."
He walked toward the heavy black door, ready to leave, but was suddenly struck by the old man's words.
"How is that woman said to be your wife?" Calmly stated
Turned back staring into his eyes with no fears but probing "what is this all about" coldly ask back.
"Oh, it's nothing." He lowered his gaze to the brush in his hands, fingers absently turning it. "But I can't help being concerned, knowing you two aren't truly married." Slowly lifting his eyes to his grandson, his voice turned cold as he asked, "How could you deceive your family, Zhen Yichen?"
He stared back, locking eyes with him. His face remained expressionless, yet the words struck deep — a flicker of panic flashed in his eyes before vanishing, replaced by a resolute determination not to be swayed by this man. Not showing his fear.
And deep inside, Yichen knew that as long as his grandfather lived, that shadow would follow him.
"Hm. Tell me Zhen Yichen"
"..."