Ying Mao shut his bedroom door, sinking into the silence. The walls seemed to press in around him, but the quiet was all he wanted. He sat on the edge of his bed, his legs dangling over the side, staring blankly at his hands.
Why does it have to be like this? He clenched his fists, feeling a wave of frustration, anger, and sadness crash over him.
He had always felt something was off about his family, but he'd ignored it. His stepmother, with her warm smiles and gentle voice, had always been so kind, giving him anything he wanted. But now, he could see through it. It was all a lie. She didn't love him—she never did.
And his brother, the one he used to admire, to trust, to look up to… he had worshipped Ying Di. How many times had he followed him around, wanting nothing more than to be noticed, to be liked by his big brother? And all the while, Ying Di had been plotting his death.
The pain of it twisted inside him, like a knot tightening in his chest.
After that kidnapping, it all started to make sense. He wasn't a son or a brother to them—he was just in the way. A tool in their way. They didn't care about him; they cared about the money, the inheritance. And as long as Ying Mao was alive, Ying Di couldn't have it all. But they wouldn't kill him outright. They were too careful for that. They'd find some other way, something that looked like an accident.
His small hands trembled as he clenched them into fists again. He was just a kid, too weak to fight them on his own. And yet… there was one person who had helped him, who had saved him—Jua Gu. His brother's boyfriend, the one everyone underestimated. Jua had saved him twice now, even though he barely knew him.
Maybe Jua can help me again, Ying Mao thought, a sliver of hope flickering in his chest. But doubt crept in just as quickly. But… he seems so weak too. Could he really protect me?
A knock on his door jolted him from his thoughts. A servant's voice came through. "Master Ying Mao, dinner is ready."
Ying Mao sighed, wiping his eyes quickly. He had to pull himself together. Changing into fresh clothes, he headed downstairs, moving slowly. His heart pounded as he neared the dining room, his mind racing with dark thoughts.
As he entered, his stepmother and brother were already at the table, laughing and chatting as if everything was normal. But Ying Mao knew better now. He felt like an outsider in his own home. The second they noticed him, they paused, turning their smiles toward him.
"Ying Mao, come sit. I made your favorite, clam chowder," his stepmother said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
He sat down but couldn't bring himself to touch the food. The thought of eating anything they gave him made his stomach twist. What if it's poisoned? What if they're planning to kill me and make it look like an accident? The idea sent a chill through him. He couldn't trust them anymore.
"I'm not hungry," he muttered, pushing the bowl away. He noticed they were eating bread, so he grabbed a piece, deciding it was safer.
Ying Di's gaze landed on him. "I heard you went to see Jua Gu today. Did he say something to upset you?" His voice sounded caring, but Ying Mao could see the calculation in his eyes. His brother was fishing for information, trying to see if Ying Mao had figured out their plans.
Ying Mao looked up, forcing himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding. He shook his head, his face blank. He's trying to find out what I know.
"I'm just sad… Jua got hurt because of me. I hope he gets better soon," he said quietly, lowering his eyes like a child who was truly upset.
Ying Di smiled softly. "Don't worry. Jua will be fine. He'll come home soon."
But that smile—it was the same smile that had fooled him for years. The same smile that hid all the lies, all the hatred. It made Ying Mao's skin crawl. But this time, he knew better. He wasn't that naïve little boy anymore.
He smiled back, pretending to be the same old Ying Mao they thought they knew. Let them believe I'm just a silly little kid. Let them think I'm still under their thumb. But inside, his mind was racing, his resolve hardening.
I'll play along for now, but one day… one day, I'll make my move. I won't be their pawn forever.
He took a sip of water, hiding the his trembling lips. I'll survive. I have to.
As the meal continued, Ying Mao forced himself to focus on the sounds around him—the clinking of forks against bowls, the rustling of napkins, the laughter of his stepmother and brother. It felt surreal, like he was watching a play unfold where he was both the audience and an unwilling actor. Every laugh felt like a dagger aimed at his heart, and every smile from them felt like a knife twisting deeper.
His stepmother launched into a story about her day, her voice bright and animated, painting a picture of a life filled with joy and laughter. But Ying Mao couldn't join in. He felt so far removed from her world, where everything seemed perfect, and he was just a shadow lurking in the background.
What did they see when they looked at me? he wondered. Did they see a helpless little boy, easy to manipulate? The thought made him feel sick.
He took another bite of bread, chewing slowly to buy time as he wrestled with his emotions. He wanted to scream, to tell them he wasn't their puppet. But he couldn't afford to show his true feelings. He had to play the game, to pretend everything was fine.
Ying Di suddenly leaned in closer, his smile too wide. "You've been so quiet, little brother. Is something bothering you? You can tell us," he said, his tone laced with mock concern.
Ying Mao's heart raced. Is he trying to intimidate me? He looked up, meeting his brother's gaze. Behind the facade of concern lay something darker—an eagerness, a hunger to see him squirm. It was a reminder that beneath this veneer of family life lurked danger.
"I told you, I'm just sad about Jua," Ying Mao replied, his voice shaking just slightly. He was proud of himself for managing to sound so calm.
"Jua Gu? What a silly boy," Ying Di said dismissively. "You shouldn't worry about him. He'll be fine, and soon you'll forget all about him."
A cold shiver ran down Ying Mao's spine. The way Ying Di said those words felt like a threat, a warning that he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of Jua Gu if it meant securing his place in their twisted family.
I can't let them win. I can't let them take away the one person who cares about me.
Ying Mao forced a smile, the same fake one he had practiced so often. "Of course. I'm just a kid. What do I know?" he said, his voice laced with feigned innocence. But inside, his heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape.
The meal dragged on, and each passing moment felt like an eternity. His stepmother continued to talk about trivial things, but Ying Mao's mind was elsewhere. Thoughts raced through his head—plans, strategies. How could he reach Jua? How could he escape this nightmare?
Suddenly, his brother's laughter cut through his thoughts. "Ying Mao, you're such a good little actor. You should join the theater," he said, and his stepmother joined in, laughter bubbling like a cruel mockery of their family dynamic.
Actors… The word resonated with him. That's exactly what they are. They pretend to be a family, but it's all an act.
Ying Mao felt a fire ignite within him. He wasn't going to be their fool anymore. He wouldn't let their laughter drown him. He wouldn't be a pawn in their game.
He stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I need to go to my room," he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
"Why? Don't you want to finish your dinner?" his stepmother asked, feigning concern.
"I'm not hungry," he said sharply, surprising even himself with the forcefulness of his tone.
His stepmother's expression faltered for a moment, but then she smiled again, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Alright, dear. Just don't stay up too late."
Ying Di watched him with a look that felt like ice in his veins, but he didn't care. He turned and walked away, his heart pounding with every step.
Once in the safety of his room, he closed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. The silence felt like a relief, a reprieve from their constant manipulation. He pressed his back against the door, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest.
What do I do? he thought. How can I protect myself and Jua? Tears threatened to spill over, but he blinked them away. He refused to let them see him break.