Zhao Wei had imagined meeting him before—but never like this. Never as his son.
The absurdity of it all hit him at once, and before he could stop himself, he burst out laughing.
Loud, sharp, borderline hysterical.
The sound echoed in the massive dining room, making the maids pause mid-motion and the old man himself glance up from his coffee.
They all looked at him like he had completely lost his mind.
And maybe he had.
How fucking ridiculous.
Zhao Wei dragged a hand down his face, still chuckling under his breath as he made his way to the table. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it like he owned the place.
"Don't mind me," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Go on. Pretend I'm not here."
His father—his father, what a joke—watched him with a cool, assessing gaze, like a man trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle.
Zhao Wei ignored him, reaching for the nearest plate of food. If he was going to be stuck in this goddamn nightmare, he might as well eat well.
The first bite of food was enough to make him momentarily forget his situation. Rich, buttery, seasoned just right. Of course, the rich bastards ate like kings.
The clatter of cutlery filled the grand dining hall, but Yihan barely noticed. He was too busy enjoying the ridiculous luxury of an actual breakfast spread—fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, perfectly golden toast, and fresh fruit that looked like it had been hand-picked by gods.
Yeah, he was eating like a man starved.
Because he was starved.
It didn't matter that this was his seventh morning waking up in this body—his stomach still reacted like it had been deprived for years. And honestly, why wouldn't he take advantage of the fact that rich people lived like this?
The food was right there, hot and waiting, so he ate.
That was, until a voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.
"You're eating like a pig."
Yihan's chewing slowed. He didn't even bother looking up.
Ah, here we go.
He swallowed his bite of toast, casually wiped his mouth with a napkin, and finally—finally—dragged his gaze up to meet the source of that ever-so-charming insult.
His brother.
Perfectly dressed. Smug expression. Eyes filled with nothing but irritation.
The brat.
He had seen him yesterday, but they hadn't interacted much. Just brief, polite tension—like two strangers forced to acknowledge each other at a family gathering.
But now, the guy had decided to open his mouth.
Big mistake.
Yihan leaned back in his chair, taking his sweet time before responding.
Then, with a flat look, he said, "Mind your fucking business."
Silence.
Complete, suffocating silence.
It was almost comical how fast the atmosphere in the room changed.
His brother froze, like he had just heard a dog start speaking fluent English.
The maids went still, hands paused mid-pour as they served tea.
The only one who didn't react?
His father.
The man sat at the head of the table, sipping his coffee like this was just another Tuesday.
"Even though you've lost your memory," the father said calmly, setting down his cup, "I won't tolerate such vulgar words."
Ah. There it is.
Rich people and their obsession with proper language.
Yihan let out a slow exhale, tossing his fork onto the plate.
"Duly noted," he muttered, tone dry as a desert. Not an apology. Not even close.
His brother, however, wasn't done.
"Am I the only one who sees something is wrong with him?!" the guy burst out, looking around as if expecting someone—anyone—to back him up.
Nobody did.
He scoffed in disbelief. "Even if someone lost their memory, they wouldn't completely change like this! He's like a whole different person! Yihan barely even spoke before, and now he's cursing at me? And everyone's just fine with that?!"
Yihan stared at him, blinking lazily.
Well…He wasn't wrong.
But unfortunately for this brat, he wasn't about to explain how he was actually Zhao Wei, a totally different guy from another life, thrown into this ridiculous mess.
Instead, he picked up his glass of water and took a slow sip.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Enough."
The father's voice was sharp, decisive.
The brother shut his mouth immediately.
"You're being noisy."
That was it. No lecture. No argument. Just a single statement, delivered in that smooth, matter-of-fact way only powerful businessmen could pull off.
The brother tensed.
Jaw clenched. Shoulders stiff.
But in the end, he didn't say another word.
Just shook his head, pure frustration written all over his face, before storming out of the room.
The door slammed behind him.
Well. Not my fucking business.
Yihan exhaled through his nose, shrugged, and went back to eating.
Because honestly? He couldn't be bothered to care.
That was, until he felt it.
A gaze.
Not his father's.
Not the maids'.
His mother's.
She hadn't said a word during the entire exchange.
But now, as he pushed a piece of bacon into his mouth, he could feel her eyes locked onto him.
Studying him.
Watching too closely.
Yihan didn't look at her. Didn't acknowledge it.
But deep down, something about that quiet, unwavering stare made his skin prickle.