The Return

Lin Xingmian sat in the private box of Wangjiang Pavilion, looking at the plate of Longjing shrimp before him.

He had already eaten two.

The taste was exactly the same as in his memory—the shrimp meat was crisp and tender, the tea leaves carried a fresh fragrance, and even the way the dish was arranged hadn’t changed.

Thirteen years ago, five-year-old him sat beside Rong Du, crying until snot bubbles came out, and Rong Du peeled the shrimp for him one by one, saying: “Xingxing don’t cry, Brother Rong Du will return.”

At that time, he stopped crying, and he believed it.

Later, Rong Du truly left.

The memory of a five-year-old child was like words on a beach, washed away and faded as soon as the tide came.

He gradually forgot what Rong Du looked like, forgot the sound of his voice when he spoke, and only remembered that someone had said “wait for me”—but as for who exactly he was waiting for, he could not say clearly either.

Until today.

When the private box door was pushed open, Lin Xingmian turned his head.

Rong Du stood at the doorway, his suit pants creased sharply, and his shirt cuffs rolled up to his forearms.

He was taller than in the photo, his facial features deeper, and a stability polished by time lingered between his brows.

It wasn’t a youth’s sharpness, but an adult’s certainty.

Lin Xingmian’s first thought was: I seem to have seen him, in a dream, or even earlier.

His second thought was: He isn’t like the others.

The gaze Lu Shiyan used to look at him contained a morbid focus, the gaze Ji Beichen used to look at him contained a burning directness, the gaze Shen Moting used to look at him contained scrutiny and calculation, the gaze Fu Xici used to look at him contained panic and stubbornness, and the gaze Gu Hanzhou used to look at him contained possession and restraint.

But what was inside the gaze Rong Du used to look at him?

He could not say clearly, only feeling that when that type of gaze rested on his body, it wasn’t heavy, yet he could not shift away.

“You have grown up,” Rong Du said.

Lin Xingmian opened his mouth, wanting to say “you too,” yet feeling this sentence was too foolish.

He should have many words to ask—why did you leave? Why return now? Why look for me?

But he just sat, his fingers gripping the chopsticks unconsciously until his knuckles turned white.

He was nervous, not the type of nervousness out of fear, but the type out of anticipation.

He hadn’t anticipated anything for a very long time.

From the day he was kicked out of the Lin family, his life felt as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button, with one person after another rushing in, every single person telling him “come with me,” “live at my place,” “don’t leave me.”

They all wanted him to do something, or not do something, and no one had ever asked him what he wanted.

“Sit,” Rong Du pulled out the chair for him.

“The dishes won’t taste good if they turn cold.”

Lin Xingmian sat back down.

Rong Du took his seat opposite him, his movements neither hurried nor slow.

He did not push the menu over to let him order like Shen Moting, nor did he decide what to eat directly for him like Lu Shiyan.

He just pushed the shrimp a bit toward Lin Xingmian’s side, then poured a cup of tea for himself.

Lin Xingmian lowered his head to eat the dishes.

He ate two shrimp, drank a mouthful of soup, and picked up a portion of stir-fried seasonal vegetables with his chopsticks.

Rong Du did not move his chopsticks much, just watching him eat, occasionally taking a sip of tea.

“Are you not eating?” Lin Xingmian raised his head.

“Watching you eat is enough.”

If someone else spoke this sentence, Lin Xingmian would feel it was politeness, but Rong Du spoke very flatly, as if stating a fact.

Lin Xingmian suddenly felt a bit unable to eat further—it wasn’t that the dishes weren’t delicious, but the feeling of being watched was too strange.

It wasn’t Ji Beichen’s type of sticky gaze, nor was it Lu Shiyan’s type of gaze that wanted to see through a person.

Rong Du looked at him just like looking at a person he had waited a long time for and finally found, and that type of gaze was too quiet, quiet to the point of making a certain place in his heart turn faintly sour.

“Why did you return now?” he asked it out finally.

Rong Du set down his teacup.

“Your father—Mr. Lin—sent me an email last week, he said your background was exposed and you are not a child of the Lin family, he said you were taken away by Gu Hanzhou, and since he did not know how to handle this matter, he wanted to ask for the Rong family’s opinion.”

Lin Xingmian’s chopsticks paused for an instant.

“I am a distant relative of the Rong family, counting as your cousin,” Rong Du’s tone was very flat.

“Separated very far by blood, and lacking any relationship legally, but the elders of the previous generation in the Rong family feel that since your last name isn’t Lin, you should belong to the Rong family, thirteen years ago the Lin family did not release you, and now that the Lin family does not want you anymore, I came.”

He spoke very straightforwardly, without emotional appeal or foreshadowing.

Lin Xingmian listened to it instead.

Every single sentence he heard these past few days was wrapped in intense emotions—liking, possession, jealousy, unwillingness, and only Rong Du spoke of this matter like a legal clause: The Lin family doesn’t want him, so the Rong family comes to take over, simple and direct.

“What if I do not want to leave?” Lin Xingmian asked.

“Then do not leave,” Rong Du did not hesitate.

“I did not come to bind you onto an airplane, I came to tell you that you have a place to go, if you cannot stay here any longer, if Gu Hanzhou is not good to you, or if those childhood friends make you unable to catch your breath—you have another option, you can choose at any time.”

Lin Xingmian lowered his head, staring at the half shrimp in his bowl.

He thought of a matter suddenly: From the time he was kicked out of the house until now, Lu Shiyan said “I will come pick you up,” Ji Beichen said “live at my place,” Shen Moting said “I will book a hotel for you,” and Gu Hanzhou brought him back home directly.

Every single person was telling him where he should go, and only Rong Du said—you can choose.

“I am living at Gu Hanzhou’s place,” Lin Xingmian said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse.

“He is… not bad to me.”

“I know, his M&A case is being handled by my law firm for due diligence,” Rong Du picked up his teacup, his tone still neither hurried nor slow.

“He isn’t a bad person, overbearing, but not despicable.”

Lin Xingmian was somewhat surprised.

He thought Rong Du would harbor enmity toward Gu Hanzhou—just like those other few people, but when Rong Du spoke of Gu Hanzhou, his tone lacked jealousy and disparagement, just stating an objective fact, which made him feel a bit relaxed suddenly.

He did not need to defend Gu Hanzhou in front of Rong Du, nor did he need to soothe anyone’s emotions.

“However,” Rong Du shifted the topic, setting down his teacup to look at Lin Xingmian.

“He doesn’t ask if you want it or not, he makes decisions directly for you, bringing you home was his decision, letting you sleep in the master bedroom was his decision, and regulating that you must return at night was also his decision, he has treated you as a part of his life without asking if you are willing.”

Lin Xingmian did not speak.

He could not counter, as Gu Hanzhou indeed hadn’t asked him.

From the first day bringing him away from the Lin family, to saying last night that he wasn’t allowed to bring others home, every single step was Gu Hanzhou making the decision, and he only needed to comply.

“I did not come to snatch with them,” Rong Du said.

“I came to tell you that you have choices, failing to bring you away thirteen years ago was because I was too young, and now that I have reached a position where I can make decisions for myself, I owe you an explanation.”

Lin Xingmian pursed his lips: “You do not owe me anything, I was only five years old when you left.”

“The words you spoke when you were five years old, I remembered for thirteen years,” Rong Du’s tone finally carried a trace of fluctuation—his voice lowered a bit, and the pauses between sentences grew longer.

“You said ‘I will wait for you,’ you forgot, but I didn’t.”

Lin Xingmian felt his chest knocked by something.

It wasn’t touched, but a more complex emotion—guilt? Surprise? Uneasiness from being valued?

He did not remember he had spoken that sentence.

A sentence he spoke casually when he was five years old was remembered by a person for thirteen years, and this person carried it wherever he went, growing from a youth into a man, rising from an intern to a top lawyer, and then returning to look for him.

“Why didn’t you return earlier?”

“I said before, the Lin family did not release you, and before you turned eighteen, the guardianship remained in their hands,” Rong Du paused for a second, his voice lower still.

“Furthermore, I was afraid, you were still small back then, and I was afraid appearing in front of you suddenly would scare you, so I was waiting, waiting for you to become an adult, waiting for you to be independent, and waiting for a suitable opportunity.”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth curving a bit, not looking much like a smile, but more like self-mockery.

“In the end, before the opportunity was awaited, the news of you being kicked out of the house was awaited instead.”

Lin Xingmian did not know what to say.

He lowered his head, his fingers gripping the chopsticks until his knuckles turned white.

He had too many questions to ask, yet felt asking anything was redundant.

This person overlapped with that youth in his memory, turning into this stable, restrained man before his eyes who weighed every single sentence he spoke.

“What are you thinking about?” Rong Du asked.

This question left Lin Xingmian frozen for a moment.

Because no one had asked him this sentence.

What Lu Shiyan asked was “where do you feel uncomfortable,” what Ji Beichen asked was “what do you want I will buy it for you,” what Shen Moting asked was “what resources do you need,” and what Gu Hanzhou asked was “why aren’t you sleeping yet,” “have you eaten well.”

They were all caring about his body, his movements, and his requirements, but no one asked him—what are you thinking about.

“I am thinking,” Lin Xingmian spoke slowly.

“Whether you are exactly the same as them.”

“The same in what?”

“The same… in wanting something.”

Rong Du fell silent for a few seconds.

He leaned back against the chair, intertwining both hands over his knees, and this posture made him look like he was delivering closing arguments in a courtroom.

“I have something I want,” he said.

“But it isn’t the type you think.”

“Then what is it?”

“I want you to live your days well,” Rong Du said, his speaking speed not fast, and every single word landing very firmly.

“No matter if it is at Gu Hanzhou’s place, renting a house by yourself, or going abroad to study, my anticipation for you isn’t ‘come with me,’ it is ‘live well,’ as for other things—let nature take its course.”

Lin Xingmian stared at him for a good while.

He recalled Lu Shiyan saying “your sickness can only be treated by me,” Ji Beichen stuffing the key into his hand, and Shen Moting offering conditions to make him move out of Gu Hanzhou’s house.

The liking of every single one of them carried a clear purpose—wanting him to respond, wanting him to choose, and wanting him to belong to themselves.

When Rong Du said “let nature take its course,” Lin Xingmian’s first reaction was disbelief, feeling this person just possessed a higher skill level and spoke more beautifully.

But Rong Du did not urge him.

Nor did he use that “I sacrificed thirteen years for you” stance to kidnap him emotionally.

Having finished speaking, he just sat quietly, waiting for him to digest it himself.

This left Lin Xingmian somewhat not knowing what to do instead.

He was used to dealing with other people’s attacks—Gu Hanzhou’s overbearingness, Lu Shiyan’s paranoia, Ji Beichen’s directness, Shen Moting’s conditions, and Fu Xici’s recklessness—facing those, he could evade, refuse, or stay silent, but Rong Du did nothing to him.

He just sat opposite, drinking his tea, leaving a table of dishes along with a retreat path he could choose at any time for him.

“What if I choose Gu Hanzhou all along?” Lin Xingmian asked.

“Then I will continue acting as your cousin,” Rong Du had almost no pause.

“You just remember to send me a WeChat message during holidays.”

He spoke so naturally, as if this were the most taken-for-granted matter in the world.

Lin Xingmian felt a sudden urge to cry, it wasn’t touched, but a belated grievance—he had been chased and run all these days, every single person saying they liked him, wanted him, and could not leave him, but their liking was like ropes, wrapping around his body one by one, wrapping tighter and tighter, and Rong Du was the first person to let go.

Yet this type of letting go made him want to approach instead.

He thought—if Gu Hanzhou were here, what would he say?

He probably wouldn’t say anything useless, pulling him up from the chair directly to take him away, as that man did not like nonsense.

The phone vibrated once in his pocket, and Lin Xingmian lowered his head to look.

Gu Hanzhou’s text message contained only ten characters.

Gu Hanzhou: [Wait for me to return, do not leave with him, I beg you.]

Lin Xingmian stared at the final words, his fingertip lingering above the screen without pressing down.

Gu Hanzhou never spoke the word “beg.”

He would only say “not allowed,” “remember,” “return.”

These words were the first time he saw Gu Hanzhou lower his stance.

That man’s pride and control cracked open a seam in this text message, revealing the real, soft, and terrified-of-losing things inside.

He turned his phone over to place it face down on the table and took a deep breath.

“Can I ask you a matter?” Lin Xingmian raised his head.

“Ask.”

“You said before the Rong family wanted the Lin family to return me, why? My blood relationship with the Rong family is very distant, not worth making a massive fuss.”

Rong Du’s expression did not change, but his finger holding the cup moved gently—his thumb circling twice on the cup rim.

Lin Xingmian noticed it.

He knew how to read people’s expressions since childhood, and during those nineteen years in the Lin family, the most important skill he learned was observing expressions.

“This matter is a long story,” Rong Du said.

“Do you want to listen now or in the future?”

Lin Xingmian looked at him: “How complex is it?”

“It involves an agreement from the previous generation,” Rong Du set down his teacup, his tone still stable, but his wording was clearly more cautious.

“Your mother and my mother had an agreement when they were pregnant, the specific content isn’t convenient for me to fully say right now, I can only tell you—you are not an unwanted child, never have been.”

Not an unwanted child, never have been.

Hearing this sentence, Lin Xingmian’s nasal cavity turned a bit sour.

He hadn’t thought about his biological parents for a very long time.

After being kicked out of the Lin family, he only minded dealing with the people and emotions surging up one after another, having no time to turn back and think about those earlier matters, and now that Rong Du brought it up, he suddenly found—he actually cared very much.

“Thanks for telling me this,” he said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse.

“No need for thanks, I should have come earlier.”

Outside the window, the sky color turned dark.

The ships on the river lit up their lights, shattering into gold on the water waves one by one.

Lin Xingmian looked at those lights, his mind turning over Rong Du’s words from just now repeatedly.

He came today originally just wanting to know what kind of person Rong Du exactly was, but having met him, he turned more uncertain instead.

He wasn’t here to snatch, he said let nature take its course, and he remembered him for thirteen years, yet did not force him to make any choices.

Lin Xingmian thought of Lu Shiyan, Ji Beichen, Shen Moting, and Fu Xici.

Every single one of them had accompanied him for many years, their feelings were real, and he knew it all.

But their feelings were too hot, hot to the point where he did not dare to accept them.

When Ji Beichen stuffed the key into his palm, his hand was shaking; when Shen Moting laid out the black card, bloodshot lines existed in his eyes; when Lu Shiyan said “your sickness can only be treated by me,” his smile was cracked; and when Fu Xici leaned against the car door saying “I won’t be a coward in the future,” his ears were red enough to drip blood.

He was afraid of hurting them, but what he feared even more was that their feelings seemed to leave him no retreat path.

Rong Du stood up: “The time is not early anymore, I will send you back.”

“No need—”

“Send you to the downstairs area,” Rong Du picked up his coat, his tone leaving no room for discussion, but he added a sentence.

“Not surveillance, but confirming you arrive home safely.”

Lin Xingmian hesitated for a second, then nodded his head.

Walking out of Wangjiang Pavilion, the river wind blew over carrying moisture and coolness.

Rong Du’s car was parked at the entrance, still that black Rolls-Royce.

He pulled open the car door for Lin Xingmian, and after waiting for him to sit inside, he walked around to the other side to get in.

The two sat in the back seat, and the driver drove out smoothly.

The car was very quiet, and Rong Du did not play music or look for topics.

Lin Xingmian leaned against the car window, watching the flowing city lights outside, his mind turning over everything from tonight repeatedly.

He recalled Rong Du saying “you have choices,” did he truly have choices?

Gu Hanzhou brought him home, set rules, and installed surveillance.

His childhood friends lined up to find him, every single person baring his heart before him.

He was like an item fought over by everyone, every single person saying he was here to give to him, but no one asked him—what do you want.

Only Rong Du spoke it, but he did not dare to believe it fully, after all, this person had been gone for thirteen years and had just returned for less than a day.

The car stopped below Emerald Lake Bay.

When Lin Xingmian pushed open the car door, Rong Du called out to him.

“Xingxing.”

He turned back.

Rong Du sat inside the car, the roof light casting a half-bright, half-dark illumination on his face.

“I do not need you to answer any questions, I just wanted you to see me today and know this person exists, as for the future—decide by yourself, no matter how you choose, the Rong family’s door remains open.”

Lin Xingmian stood beside the car door, the night wind ruffling his hair: “Then why did you come today? Truly just to say this?”

Rong Du fell silent for a while.

“Because I wanted to see what you look like after growing up,” he said.

“Furthermore—Gu Hanzhou’s M&A case will be signed smoothly tomorrow, I did the due diligence, count it as my meeting gift to him.”

Lin Xingmian froze for a moment: “What do you mean?”

“It means I hope he treats you well, and if he isn’t good—” Rong Du did not finish speaking, just curving his mouth slightly.

“Goodnight.”

The car door closed, and the Rolls-Royce drove away.

Lin Xingmian stood on the spot, watching the taillights disappear into the night.

Rong Du giving a meeting gift to Gu Hanzhou wasn’t a demonstration or provocation, but helping him complete the M&A case.

Lin Xingmian suddenly felt his brain wasn’t enough to use.

The relationship among these few men was too complex, every single person using a different method to express the exact same thing.

He rubbed his temples and turned around to walk toward the apartment.

As the elevator went up, he thought through Rong Du’s words from beginning to end.

He said “not an unwanted child,” said the Rong and Lin families of the previous generation had an agreement, and said he did not force him to make choices, with every single sentence stopping at the right point without emotional appeal or exerting pressure.

He could not gauge whether Rong Du was truly open-minded or if his skill level was too high.

But one matter was certain—this person was different from everyone else, leaving a retreat path for him without cutting off any possibilities.

The elevator doors opened.

Lin Xingmian walked out of the elevator, standing before the apartment entrance.

His fingerprint was pressed on, and the door lock opened with a click.

The entrance light was on—it was what he had forgotten to turn off before leaving.

The power indicator light on the shoe cabinet’s surveillance camera flashed red light regularly.

He stood at the entrance, looking at that camera.

Gu Hanzhou could see him.

That man was currently on a flight crossing the Pacific Ocean, perhaps staring at this tiny surveillance footage on his phone screen.

Lin Xingmian raised his hand and waved gently at the camera, the exact same action as when leaving home in the morning.

Then he switched shoes, walked into the living room, and threw himself into the sofa.

The phone screen was lit up.

Gu Hanzhou’s text message still lingered on “do not leave with him, I beg you.”

The group chat had already exploded—Ji Beichen sent an explosion of over fifty emojis, Fu Xici was asking “has that guy named Rong left yet,” and Shen Moting sent a reply containing only three characters “checking finished,” followed by a PDF titled “Rong Du Background Investigation Report” that had a full eight pages when clicked open.

Lu Shiyan said nothing at all in the group, but sent a message to him individually: “Have you taken your medicine?”

Lin Xingmian did not reply to the messages in the group, replying with four characters to Lu Shiyan: “Haven’t taken it yet, taking it now.”

Then he pulled out the small white medicine box from his pocket, broke out a pill, and swallowed it.

He also replied to Gu Hanzhou with four characters: “I have returned.”

He did not say “I did not leave with him,” nor did he say “do not worry.”

Just four characters, simple to the point of looking like clocking in, but this was the first time he took the initiative to tell Gu Hanzhou where he was.

After sending it, he stared at the screen for a while.

Gu Hanzhou did not reply, probably still on the plane.

He locked the screen, tilted his head back against the sofa, and stared at the ceiling, his mind a complete mess—Lu Shiyan’s medical record, Ji Beichen’s key, Shen Moting’s black card, Fu Xici’s live stream, Rong Du’s shrimp, and Gu Hanzhou’s text message.

These scenes appeared alternately, every single one carrying a different weight.

He thought, perhaps Rong Du was right and he had choices, but choosing was the most tiring matter.

Outside the window, the night color deepened.

He walked into the master bedroom, pulled open the blanket, and lay inside.

The pillow still carried Gu Hanzhou’s scent—a faint cedar fragrance, elusive.

He buried his face in the pillow and took a deep breath.

Tonight he did not go to think whose bed this was, nor did he think why he would be here, he only wanted to get a session of sleep and leave tomorrow’s matters for tomorrow.

The phone vibrated again, and he half-opened his eyes to glance at the screen.

A message from Rong Du contained only a single sentence: “Goodnight, Xingxing, I haven’t spoken this sentence for thirteen years.”

Lin Xingmian placed his phone on the nightstand and closed his eyes.

The final thought before sleep was—these people, counting every single one, none let a person rest easy.