When Shen Chi returned, Rong Qian stayed hidden in Shen Yi's room.
Peeking through a crack in the window, she saw several vintage cars pull up, including a Lamborghini Miura, a model first released in 1967 and globally coveted.
Shen Chi is indeed a wealthy man, she thought.
The scene was straight out of a mob movie—dozens of black-suited bodyguards standing in formation. Rong Qian couldn't help but inwardly mock the spectacle. What is this? A gangster boss's grand entrance? A bit much, isn't it?
Later, when she would see a similar scene accompanying the adult Shen Yi, she wouldn't feel it was exaggerated at all. Shen Yi's stature commanded such grandeur.
But that was in the future.
Shen Chi's resemblance to his son was uncanny. They shared the same striking features, but their personalities and auras couldn't have been more different.
Shen Chi exuded an air of malice and cruelty, his cold gaze and tyrannical demeanor painting him as a born antagonist.
As Shen Chi exited the car, he suddenly glanced up toward her window.
Although there was no way he could see her, Rong Qian instinctively ducked out of sight, her heart pounding.
When she turned back, she saw Shen Yi trembling, his small frame betraying his fear.
As Shen Chi entered the room, Rong Qian quickly hid in the wardrobe, curling herself into a tight ball and holding her breath. This man is too sharp. If I make even the slightest noise, he'll find me.
Shen Chi said little to Shen Yi. He casually picked up a piano score, flipping through it before demanding Shen Yi play Beethoven's "Pathétique Sonata."
Rong Qian froze. This man is insane! Making a 12-year-old play something so advanced?
Shen Yi started playing. His hands fumbled, the piece riddled with mistakes, but he managed to finish it.
Shen Chi, however, was unimpressed.
Without warning, he slapped Shen Yi across the face.
The sound echoed through the room, and Rong Qian clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip, suppressing her urge to rush out. Not now. You can't act rashly.
"Useless," Shen Chi spat before storming out, slamming the door so hard it shook the walls.
As he left, Rong Qian overheard him instructing the maid, Felita, to withhold food from Shen Yi for the entire day. Her fists tightened further. What kind of monster does this to his child?
When the house fell silent, Rong Qian emerged. Shen Yi was still seated at the piano, silently practicing the same piece.
His head hung low, his expression unreadable.
Rong Qian hesitated, her hand halfway to his shoulder before pulling back. Instead, she sat on the floor beside him, saying nothing, simply being there.
Hours passed as Shen Yi continued to play. When he finally stopped, Rong Qian stood and helped clean up.
That evening, as Felita never brought food, Rong Qian sneaked into the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed. She grabbed some bread, baguettes, and two cans of milk.
On her way back, heavy rain poured outside. The occasional clap of thunder echoed through the halls.
As she passed Shen Yi's mother's room, a blood-curdling scream stopped her in her tracks.
The noise grew louder as she approached. Accompanied by the woman's anguished cries were the sounds of objects being thrown and breaking glass.
Rong Qian's chest tightened as the sounds shifted to muffled sobs and pained moans.
Shen Chi… that bastard.
When she reached the end of the hall, she saw a small, frail figure standing in the darkness—Shen Yi. A flash of lightning illuminated his face, revealing his empty gaze. He had heard everything.
Rong Qian's eyes hardened. She rushed forward, scooping him up and carrying him back to his room.
Inside, she closed the door and set him down.
Covering his ears with her hands, she looked him in the eyes and said firmly, "Shen Yi, listen to me. Everyone has choices to make, and they must bear the consequences of those choices. But their choices are theirs, not yours. This is their life, not yours, and you don't have to carry the weight of their decisions."
Shen Yi remained expressionless, his gaze void of emotion.
Rong Qian pulled him into a tight hug, gently patting his back. "Don't be afraid. I'm here. I'll stay with you."
After a long silence, Shen Yi finally spoke. "Will you really stay with me forever?"
Rong Qian hesitated. She didn't know how to answer. But in that moment, she gave him the only promise she could. "Yes, I will."
That night, Shen Yi fell asleep holding her hand. Watching him, Rong Qian noticed that even in his sleep, his brows remained furrowed.
She sighed. How can I leave him like this? Can he really take care of himself if I'm gone?
The next morning, Rong Qian woke to the sound of a car engine. Peering out the window, she saw Shen Chi driving away.
Shen Yi woke later than usual but still insisted on his daily run. His discipline was admirable, a small relief for Rong Qian amidst the chaos.
While he was gone, Rong Qian stretched and prepared to catch some rest. But her relaxation was cut short by approaching footsteps.
Reacting quickly, she slipped into the wardrobe just as the door swung open.
Through the narrow crack, she saw a disheveled woman enter, her face bruised, her arms bearing fresh wounds. She clutched a fruit knife, her expression twisted with rage and despair.
It was Shen Yi's mother, Yan Qingyao.
Staggering into the room, she tore through it like a storm, throwing books off the shelves and screaming incoherently.
Finally, she collapsed onto Shen Yi's bed, stabbing the pillows repeatedly with the knife. Her frenzied actions were terrifying to watch.
Rong Qian couldn't stand it anymore.
"Enough!" she shouted, stepping out of the wardrobe and grabbing Yan Qingyao's wrist.
The woman froze, her bloodshot eyes turning to Rong Qian.
Without a word, Rong Qian struck her on the neck, rendering her unconscious.
As she caught the falling woman, Rong Qian noticed how light she was, her frail frame barely over 90 pounds.
Carrying Yan Qingyao back to her room, Rong Qian avoided looking at the mess. Blood-stained sheets and shattered objects told a grim story of what had transpired the night before.
Placing the broken woman on the bed, Rong Qian sighed. What kind of life has she endured?
Returning to Shen Yi's room, Rong Qian cleaned up quickly, ensuring he wouldn't notice anything amiss.
She couldn't change everything, but she could shield him from the worst—if only for a little while.