It was raining and drizzling outside, the streetlights reflecting in the slick asphalt where Yuanying's vengeful, reckless existence had tragically ended.
Chi Yuantian, the stiff, awkward, impeccably professional eldest son and father, was kneeling on the wet pavement, his tailored suit soaked, his face contorted in a silent, agonizing mask of grief.
He wasn't merely sad; he was shattered.
He held his daughter tightly in his arms, clinging to her small, cold body with a fierce, desperate strength that belied his usual reserved demeanor.
Huaijin had seen him wipe the rain and tears from his face in a gesture of absolute, raw agony.
There were no words, no sophisticated business tactics, and no corporate facades, only a father mourning the final, terrible failure of his life: the failure to save his child.
The deep love Huaijin witnessed in Yuantian's eyes that night wasn't wrong; it was profoundly, terribly real.
He just failed to express it.
