The Perfect Puppet Finally Cut Its Strings

From yesterday to today, from the moment Qi Xin proposed divorce until now, Ye Zhiqiu had gone through far too much.

In just a little over half a month, his life had been more turbulent and dramatic than an ordinary person’s entire lifetime.

Now, sitting in the car, with rare peace finally surrounding him and no more watchful, predatory eyes fixed on him, those long-suppressed chaotic emotions finally found an outlet and rebounded wildly.

Ye Zhiqiu briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again, quietly and wordlessly watching the scenery outside the window—scenery that had once been extremely familiar to him.

That milk tea shop on the street corner had later shut down. Ye Zhiqiu remembered that very clearly, yet he couldn’t recall what the storefront was eventually replaced with.

The most beautiful memories of his life all existed before he turned nineteen. After that, he was either running around day and night for Qi Xin’s startup, or trapped in depression and pain. It was as if he never again had the time or mood to look at the street views, to notice how the city changed.

The drive from the club to the Ye family home took about half an hour. Ye Zhiqiu’s posture barely changed throughout.

It wasn’t until the car turned onto the small road leading to the Ye residence that he finally turned his head—just in time to meet Uncle Wang’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Young Master,” Uncle Wang said, “we’re almost there.”

Ye Zhiqiu responded lightly, but an inexplicable sense of alertness rose within him.

In truth, he hadn’t seen Uncle Wang for many years, so he didn’t notice any obvious changes compared to his memory. And in that memory, Uncle Wang had always treated him very well, taking great care of him.

However, times were different now. He couldn’t afford to be anything but cautious everywhere, vigilant at all times.

The Ye household wasn’t very large, and there weren’t many servants. Among them, only two were truly stable: Uncle Wang and Auntie Zhao. Both were long-serving staff who had been around for as long as Ye Zhiqiu could remember.

Ye Zhiqiu knew that Auntie Zhao had followed Ye Hongxian since very early on.

As for Uncle Wang…

Fragmented memories, scattered like stars, slowly pieced themselves together in his mind. Blurred images flashed before his eyes.

“Time really flies. Old Wang has already been with the family for ten years,” Ye Hongxian had once said, holding an unusually thick red envelope and smiling as he stuffed it into Uncle Wang’s hand. “Starting this year, your year-end bonus will be doubled.”

“He’s only a year younger than me,” the still-young Ye Zhiqiu had said innocently, making all the adults laugh.

At year’s end, the Ye family gave an extra month’s salary as a bonus. Those with over ten years of service received double.

If he remembered correctly, that Spring Festival had been only a few days after his eleventh birthday.

That meant Uncle Wang had joined the Ye family sometime after Ye Zhiqiu was born, but before he turned one.

Very close to the time Tao Ruoqing arrived at the Ye household.

The car slowly drove into the Ye family courtyard. Uncle Wang got out and opened the door for Ye Zhiqiu.

It wasn’t too late yet. The lights were still on in the first-floor living room, as well as in Ye Zhixia’s room on the second floor.

Ye Zhiqiu stepped out of the car, smiling as he said to Uncle Wang, “I’ll sober up a bit before going inside. It’s cold—go back and rest first.”

“Then please go in soon as well,” Uncle Wang reminded him. “Drinking and then standing in the wind makes it easy to catch a cold.”

Ye Zhiqiu nodded, watching Uncle Wang leave before turning around.

The winter night wind was chilly. His thin wool coat was instantly pierced through by the cold, yet Ye Zhiqiu seemed completely unaware, his attention focused on examining the courtyard he had grown up in.

The courtyard was exactly as he remembered, as if it had never changed.

Even that bamboo swing set—bearing so many of his childhood and adolescent memories—was still there, gently swaying in the cold night wind.

Ye Zhiqiu walked over and couldn’t help bending down to lightly brush it with his hand.

The cool sensation spread across his palm, yet his heart slowly grew hot.

He remembered hearing that the swing had later been dismantled by Tao Ruoqing to build a tea pavilion. He had never seen it.

So whenever he thought of this courtyard, the swing always came to mind first.

Reading, sleeping, spacing out, or doing nothing at all—just sitting on it and looking up at the stars…

This swing had accompanied him through so much.

His hand slowly moved upward, and Ye Zhiqiu grasped the cold metal chains.

Just as he was about to sit down, the door on the first floor suddenly opened from inside. Light spilled out along the doorframe, instantly illuminating half the courtyard.

“I heard some noise just now,” Tao Ruoqing stood smiling in the light. “What are you doing standing outside in the cold?”

Seeing that Ye Zhiqiu hadn’t moved, she took a few steps forward, her eyes full of affection and indulgence. “Come inside quickly. Don’t catch a cold and complain about a headache later.”

Ye Zhiqiu wanted to smile, but his heart felt terribly cold.

Who could doubt such a Tao Ruoqing?

Not to mention his past self—even now, knowing the truth, he still couldn’t help feeling faintly dazed.

“Mom,” he finally straightened up after a long pause, a trace of a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “I was just planning to sober up a bit before going in.”

“I knew you went drinking again,” Tao Ruoqing said as she stepped forward and warmly took his hand. “Look, your hands are freezing.”

“I didn’t drink much,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled, slightly tilting his head to look at the bright stars in the night sky. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

“What night can’t you look at stars?” Tao Ruoqing pulled him inside. “Why today, on such a cold night?”

She scolded him lightly, yet seemed amused. “Still so childish.”

The room was warm like spring. Ye Zhiqiu took off his coat and casually tossed it aside. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower.”

“What’s the rush?” Tao Ruoqing patted the spot beside her. “I knew you wouldn’t sit still. Auntie Zhao already prepared sobering soup. Have some before going up.”

She asked again, “You were with Baobao and Shaojun again, weren’t you?”

“Mm,” Ye Zhiqiu replied.

That earlier “Mom” still made him feel a little uncomfortable—even now.

But only a little.

He had truly, undeniably died once, then crawled back out of hell like a vicious ghost.

Compared to that, everything before him now was nothing more than trivial matters.

The sobering soup was already warm. Ye Zhiqiu held the bowl in his hands and took a sip.

His face was small, and most of it was hidden behind the rim of the bowl, so Tao Ruoqing couldn’t see his expression.

The smile at the corner of her lips stiffened slightly.

Her hidden, probing gaze quietly fixed on Ye Zhiqiu’s snow-white side profile.

Not long before Ye Zhiqiu returned, she had just finished a phone call with Qi Xin.

The call had been long. Qi Xin had detailed everything that happened at the club that day, finally concluding with, “I can’t figure out his true thoughts or attitude.”

Tao Ruoqing listened quietly, feeling somewhat surprised.

Not because of Ye Zhiqiu’s mildly humiliating attitude toward Qi Xin.

But because she knew very well how devastating Qi Xin’s words—“I’ll give you a home”—should have been to Ye Zhiqiu.

When he was very young, Ye Zhiqiu had always believed she was his biological mother.

It wasn’t until he was six that she deliberately arranged for someone to “accidentally let slip” the truth in front of him, revealing his real origins.

A six-year-old child, not yet fully understanding but already partially aware, was at the most sensitive stage.

During that time, although Ye Zhiqiu never said anything, he often slept with tear stains on his face.

Tao Ruoqing could clearly sense that part of the stable core of his psyche—his sense of security—had collapsed.

Little Ye Zhiqiu began using willfulness to repeatedly confirm that he was loved.

After many repetitions, the child—who had no other reliance—ultimately chose to cling to Tao Ruoqing rather than distance himself.

Tao Ruoqing indulged him unconditionally, seemingly trying to rebuild his sense of security.

But in reality, she used countless subtle details to continuously erode the peace in his heart.

On the surface, she was far stricter with Ye Zheng and Ye Zhixia than with Ye Zhiqiu.

But the seemingly casual intimacy between her and them, and the unspoken understanding between mother and children, had nothing to do with Ye Zhiqiu—ever.

Not to mention that as he grew older, Ye Zhiqiu gradually realized that strictness was also a form of love.

So even though everyone believed that his stepmother treated him like her own child—and even though Ye Zhiqiu respected and felt grateful to her—

That didn’t mean he felt secure.

Over the years, Tao Ruoqing had spent too much time and energy on Ye Zhiqiu.

So she understood better than anyone how deeply, in his heart, Ye Zhiqiu yearned for a relationship without barriers, for complete and wholehearted intimacy.

At nineteen, most of the close relationships around him had already taken shape.

Naturally, he would project this longing onto future romantic relationships. Once committed, his level of devotion and sacrifice would reach the extreme.

And a perfect little family would inevitably become one of his spiritual needs.

Those five words—“give you a home”—were personally crafted by Tao Ruoqing based on her understanding of Ye Zhiqiu.

They seemed simple, yet struck precisely at his softest weakness.

And Qi Xin, being several years older and different from Ye Zhiqiu’s previous, playful admirers, should not have received such a lukewarm reaction.

While Tao Ruoqing was lost in thought, Ye Zhiqiu had already set the bowl down.

“Oh, right,” he suddenly said. “Today…”

Here it comes, Tao Ruoqing thought.

Qi Xin had come at her invitation. It was only natural for Ye Zhiqiu to take the initiative to tell her about it.

“What is it?” she asked, smiling gently.

But Ye Zhiqiu suddenly paused.

“Forget it,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting. “It’s something that hasn’t taken shape yet. I’ll tell you later once it’s settled.”

A vague, ambiguous sentence—but it allowed Tao Ruoqing’s heart to settle.

“Oh, right,” she didn’t press further. “Today is your special day. Didn’t your uncle contact you?”

On this day in his previous life, Lan Hua had indeed called him.

But Ye Zhiqiu’s relationship with his uncle had always been poor. He had been at a banquet at the time and hung up without answering.

After that—probably truly heartbroken—Lan Hua never contacted him again.

Lan Hua worked in education. Two years ago, he had been transferred to become the principal of a primary school in the suburban outskirts of the capital.

To most people, Tao Ruoqing’s indulgent treatment of Ye Zhiqiu appeared to be nothing more than a stepmother’s kindness.

But to someone like Lan Hua, with strong professional sensitivity, her malicious intent—to raise Ye Zhiqiu into a useless person—was obvious at a glance.

After all, Ye Zheng was the child Tao Ruoqing brought with her when she married into the Ye family, not Ye Hongxian’s biological son.

Ye Zhixia was also more than half a year younger than Ye Zhiqiu.

As long as Ye Zhiqiu didn’t behave outrageously, he would naturally be the most suitable heir to the Ye family business.

Only by turning him into a complete good-for-nothing could she ensure that she and her sons would not be threatened.

Lan Hua never intended for Ye Zhiqiu to inherit the Ye family business.

But he absolutely could not stand by and watch his sister’s only blood relative in this world be destroyed.

So he reminded Ye Zhiqiu more than once.

Unfortunately, how could the Ye Zhiqiu of the past tolerate others “slandering” the person he respected and trusted most?

Just as Tang Le said, he had fallen out with Lan Hua more than once because of Tao Ruoqing.

Later, Lan Hua said little more, but paid extra attention to his studies and life.

Yet with hostility already rooted in his heart, Ye Zhiqiu grew especially distant and rebellious toward his uncle, always doing the opposite of what he advised.

Over time, who wouldn’t grow cold-hearted?

Since waking up at the club, events had piled on one after another. Ye Zhiqiu hadn’t even had time to glance at his phone until now.

He patted around and finally pulled his phone out of his coat pocket.

The phone was on silent. Dozens of missed calls and countless unread messages filled the screen.

He opened the missed call list and immediately saw Lan Hua’s name.

Because of his hostility, he had saved the contact under the person’s full name, not as “uncle.”

His heart felt unbearably heavy.

Without looking up, Ye Zhiqiu casually shook his phone at Tao Ruoqing. “He did call.”

Seeing Ye Zhiqiu’s usual indifference toward Lan Hua, Tao Ruoqing smiled.

“He is your uncle after all,” she said kindly. “You should still keep in touch with him.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ye Zhiqiu replied calmly. “I’ll call him back when I have time.”

The sound of a car echoed again in the courtyard—likely Ye Hongxian and Ye Zheng returning.

Ye Zhiqiu didn’t linger. He turned and went upstairs.

His relationship with Ye Hongxian had always been poor.

Not only because his former spoiled and willful temperament displeased Ye Hongxian, but also because Ye Hongxian constantly had affairs outside—and Ye Zhiqiu often stood up for Tao Ruoqing, angering him.

The already thin bond between father and son had, by the end, almost completely vanished.

He had always—always—been played like a puppet in someone else’s hands.

Whether it was his uncle, Ye Hongxian, Qi Xin, or anyone else…

He had always been under Tao Ruoqing’s control.

Like a perfectly crafted marionette, he followed her strings step by step, walking straight toward his own destruction.

Silently twisting open his bedroom door, Ye Zhiqiu stood there for a moment.

Then he walked inside quickly and went straight to the desk by the window.

Many gifts lay on the desk—things he had received that day. He didn’t glance at them at all.

Instead, he opened the drawer beneath the desk and took out an old photo album.

Inside were photos of his mother.

Very beautiful. Very young.

After all, she had passed away at only twenty-three—not much older than he was now.

These photos were ones he had slowly collected over the years after learning about his origins.

In his previous life, after completely falling out with his family, when he tried to come back to pack his belongings, he had been barred from entering.

With no other choice, he had asked Auntie Zhao to help bring the album out.

It had been raining heavily that day. He waited in the rain for a long time.

But when Auntie Zhao came out, she told him the album was gone.

Standing at the desk now, Ye Zhiqiu rapidly flipped through the album.

After confirming that all the photos were there—not a single one missing—he let out a long breath.

Then, unable to help himself, he hugged the album tightly to his chest.

Very tightly.

His thick eyelashes slowly became damp.

The room was quiet. He could faintly hear melodious music drifting from Ye Zhixia’s room downstairs.

After a long while, Ye Zhiqiu finally put the album down again and reopened it.

This time, he looked carefully, seriously.

But there weren’t many photos—only a dozen or so—and he soon finished.

After returning the album to the drawer and carefully locking it, Ye Zhiqiu sat down at the desk.

It was already late.

He didn’t call Lan Hua back yet.

Instead, he took out paper and pen and sank into deep thought.

Marks soon appeared on the blank page.

First came two words: “Apparel.”

Then he added three more: “New Energy.”

The Ye family had started with new energy.

Although Ye Zhiqiu had never participated in the company’s operations or development, having grown up immersed in it, he was no stranger to the industry.

Later, even after leaving the Ye family, due to long-standing habits, he often browsed related materials.

The development trends of new energy over the next decade, and even the research and development directions much further into the future—he now knew them inside and out.

His pen tip hovered briefly in the air.

Ye Zhiqiu thought of Jiang Nan again.

While teasing Qi Xin earlier, he had noticed slight movement in the window of Room 201.

Although he couldn’t see the details inside, he knew Jiang Nan must have been there.

The Jiang family worked in leather goods. Jiang Nan studied leather art.

Although Qi Xin and Jiang Nan were alumni, their majors differed, and the Qi family was far inferior to the Jiang family.

So after graduation, Qi Xin returned to the country first to develop his own business—but with little success.

Jiang Nan, on the other hand, came from a wealthy background and a relaxed environment.

He chose to work as a designer for a well-known brand overseas. After two years of gaining prestige, he had just returned to China this year.

For this industry, it was obvious—he had immense ambition.

Ye Zhiqiu pondered briefly, then carefully added four more words in the blank space:

“Leather Design.”

He would take what they cared about most—

Little by little.

From their hands.

From their bodies.

From their hearts.

—Strip it away.