Chapter 141

Chapter 141

Everything comes at a price; nothing is gained without cost.

This was the principle Tristan had known since childhood—the very mechanism by which the world operated.

——

In the Bedivere District, a glass tower stood tall, housing a core laboratory.

Data cables snaked densely across the ceiling and floor, all converging at a massive, empty chamber in the room's center. Within this chamber, energy streams continuously gathered, emitting a rhythmic, faint glow that hovered between blue and green. At first glance, it resembled a flourishing technology tree.

The researchers had just finished reporting their recent findings.

The man stood before the technology tree for a while, listening to their report, then exited through the automatically sliding door.

The researchers watched his tall, straight-backed figure with a mix of admiration and envy. "To have such a caring older brother… how enviable…"

……

The core research lab was off-limits to all but the man, and he made his visit every three months without fail.

The lab’s confidentiality measures were impeccable—even his personal secretary had no idea what research was being conducted inside.

As the tall man stepped out, his secretary bowed. "Lord Tristan."

Tristan: "What did he do today?"

This "he" in question was undoubtedly Tristan’s younger brother—the legitimate sole heir of the vast Luo Zi Alchemy Technology Consortium and the treasure Tristan cherished above all else. Due to certain special circumstances, the young master required constant, round-the-clock supervision.

No matter how busy he was with work, Tristan always made time to hear updates about the young master.

The secretary, accustomed to this routine, began his report: "Today, the young master spent the entire day in the flower room, played with building blocks, and created two paintings. For lunch, he ate a bagel and a smoked venison sandwich…"

Tristan suddenly interrupted: "The paintings?"

The secretary immediately pulled them up on his virtual tablet.

Tristan studied them intently. Had the virtual tablet not displayed childish scribbles, an onlooker might have mistaken him for reviewing a corporate project report.

Having worked for Tristan for years, the secretary had witnessed firsthand his steadfast devotion to his brother—a devotion that had remained unchanged for over a decade.

Many parents in this world couldn’t match such meticulous care.

Looking down, Tristan examined the painting. It depicted him and Luo Ci sitting together, building blocks. Behind them stood two adults—their father and mother.

However, their parents’ faces were left featureless, likely because Luo Ci hadn’t seen them in so long that he couldn’t recall their features.

This was understandable. After all, the little one had been in his care alone…

Tristan had known his origins since childhood—he was not Luo Zi and Mrs. Funa’s biological child.

Luo Zi Winter had once been the continent’s premier alchemist.

The Luo Zi Alchemy Technology Consortium he founded initially built its fortune on alchemy before expanding into technology, real estate, crude oil, arms dealing, and other fields.

Among hundreds of children, Tristan had been chosen by Luo Zi Winter and brought home—because Mrs. Funa’s poor health left her unable to conceive.

To please his wife, Luo Zi Winter had adopted him, naming him Tristan. Healthy and lively, he was the ideal child Mrs. Funa had envisioned.

Luo Zi Winter paid him no mind, and Mrs. Funa, confined to her sickbed, only occasionally called for him to chat.

No matter how well-behaved or accomplished young Tristan was, Luo Zi Winter never gave him a second glance or a word of praise. Yet Tristan never let this neglect discourage him. From books, he had learned one truth early on:

"Everything comes at a price; nothing is gained without cost."

He had been granted a privileged life; all other hardships were simply the price he had to pay.

He understood exactly why Luo Zi Winter had brought him home.

Mrs. Funa loved children, and Luo Zi Winter needed an heir.

But the latter possibility was shattered one sunny afternoon—Mrs. Funa was pregnant.

When he entered her room again, he saw her face glowing with tender happiness—an expression she had never shown him before, for the child she carried was her and Luo Zi’s own.

His gaze slowly settled on her belly. Mrs. Funa gently took his hand and placed it beneath a thin blanket. He felt a faint kick against his palm, as if a kitten had playfully nudged him.

Tristan thought it curious, but nothing more.

Mrs. Funa smiled softly. "This is your little brother. He recognizes you, Tristan—he’s saying hello."

"He’s never moved before, but the moment you came in, he did. He must like you very much. And you’ll like him too, won’t you, Tristan?"

From that day on, perhaps believing the little one favored him, Mrs. Funa frequently invited him to her room.

Most of the time, he simply listened as she described vivid scenarios of their future as a family of four—where they would travel, how they’d celebrate anniversaries, filling photo albums with memories.

Yet none of these visions came to pass.

After giving birth to Xiao Luoci, her health deteriorated further. She spent twenty hours a day in deep sleep.

At the same time, Tristan heard the whispers circulating—Xiao Luoci was Luo Zi’s biological son and would be the sole heir to the Alchemy Technology Consortium.

Luo Zi Winter’s feelings toward Xiao Luoci were complicated. He adored the child, but his focus remained on caring for Mrs. Funa, leaving him with no energy to raise Xiao Luoci.

Mrs. Funa’s periods of wakefulness grew shorter. She murmured weakly, "You shouldn’t spend all your time by my side. The child needs you… Luo Ci is still so small…"

Luo Zi Winter sat by her bed, gazing sorrowfully at her face as he kissed her hand. "Don’t worry. There’s Tristan," he said matter-of-factly. "He’ll take care of his brother."

By that time, Tristan had already assumed control over most of the consortium’s operations. He had no interest in this additional responsibility. "I’ll hire caretakers for him."

"Then so be it." Luo Zi Winter’s concept of parenting began and ended with material needs. "Indulge his every whim."

Mrs. Funa wanted to say more, but she hadn't the strength. Luo Zi Winter, wholly focused on her, patted her hand reassuringly. "Don’t worry. They’re brothers—they’ll support each other in the future."

Tristan was unmoved by these words. After lingering briefly in the sickroom, he left.

He directed his secretary to find caretakers, considering his obligation met, and immersed himself back in work. It was a time of rapid expansion for the consortium—land acquisitions, scaling operations. During his busiest periods, he flew to three cities in a single day, sometimes going five or six days without sleep.

By the time he returned home, Xiao Luoci had begun walking—but still refused to speak.

The family physician examined him and determined it wasn't a physical impairment but possibly a psychological issue.

Following the doctor’s advice, Tristan hired an experienced caregiver who had handled similar cases before.

Yet not long after, his secretary informed him of an accident at home. Cutting short his meeting, he rushed back to find the servants standing around in tears.

As soon as he arrived, the servants fell silent in unison.

Tristan stepped into Luo Ci's room—marking his first time entering the little one's personal quarters.

On the small bed lay a tiny, delicate figure resembling a sticky rice dumpling. The soft afternoon light illuminated the little one's honey-gold hair. Perhaps having just cried, the light-colored lashes stuck together in clumps. Facing the medicine offered by the doctor, the little fists clenched tightly, refusing to open his mouth—both endearing and heartbreaking.

He remembered how Funa had named him Xiao Luoci. She'd chosen "Ci" (meaning porcelain) from Eastern ceramics because his skin had been porcelain-smooth and fair from birth.

Tristan glanced at the little one and asked, "What happened?"

The house physician sighed. "The young master seems to share the same condition as Madam."

A servant added, "Today, the young master was swinging happily when he suddenly fainted."

The family doctor explained, "It's Sleeping Beauty Syndrome. The mistress too had initially collapsed without warning."

Even the secretary was startled upon hearing this, shuddering at the thought. "How dangerous! Thankfully, someone was nearby. If the young master had fainted while going down the stairs... Heavens, the very thought is terrifying."

Most importantly, the young master sharing the same illness as Madam was a crushing blow to the household.

And for such a young child to be diagnosed with this condition was truly heartbreaking...

Tristan's voice remained steady. "Have you informed Father about this?"

The family doctor replied, "We haven't informed the master yet."

Tristan said, "Mother is in critical condition as we speak, and Father is already deeply worried. Let's not tell him for now. Wait until Mother stabilizes, then find an opportunity to inform him."

The family doctor nodded. "Understood."

Tristan looked at the despondent Xiao Luoci. "Continue with the medicine."

"Yes..." The family doctor looked troubled.

Getting medicine into the little one proved challenging. Xiao Luoci disliked the bitter taste, his tiny fists batting the doctor away as he whimpered, refusing to drink.

The coaxing alone consumed nearly thirty minutes.

Despite the servants and doctor taking turns to comfort him, Xiao Luoci still cried from the bitterness, his tears drenching his little outfit. He sobbed until his voice grew hoarse, his nose rubbed raw from crying, before finally quieting down. Resting on the family doctor's shoulder, his tear-brightened blue eyes studied Tristan with curiosity.

Perhaps he found this person both familiar and unfamiliar.

Familiar because Tristan had held him right after birth, yet unfamiliar because they hadn't met since.

As Tristan stood up, his arm was suddenly grabbed. Looking down, he saw Xiao Luoci's chubby little arms clinging to him, his tiny mouth opening slightly—but no sound came out.

Tristan remembered the physician's report mentioning the child's persistent mutism. Yet now, it seemed he was trying.

He paused instinctively.

Xiao Luoci merely opened his mouth before closing it again.

"The young lord appears to be attempting speech," the family doctor said in surprise. "Before this, no nurse's encouragement could get him to utter a word. Could it be because he senses his brother is here?"

Could the child truly be so intuitive?

Could he really recognize Tristan as his brother?

Tristan hadn't believed it before, but when he tried to pull his arm back, the little one stubbornly held on.

As if he had claimed him.

The secretary reminded Tristan of his next appointment, and the servants anxiously tried to coax Xiao Luoci into letting go. But the weepy little bundle pouted and refused, even slipping his soft little hand into Tristan's palm.

Tristan changed his mind, supporting the little one's back as he lifted him into his arms. "He'll accompany me."

The family doctor was taken aback. "It's better to leave the young master at home. He's in an active episode—even going downstairs alone is dangerous."

Tristan replied, "Then he won't be alone."

Before the doctor could respond, Tristan swept the child up and departed the room.

Tristan's willingness to accept and care for Xiao Luoci initially stemmed from the little one's initiative. Unlike the principles of the world he knew—where everything came at a cost, even Lady Funa's motherly devotion, given because she had no child of her own—Xiao Luoci's affection came unconditionally.

None had anticipated Tristan's unwavering devotion to Xiao Luoci for so long.

From then on, wherever Tristan went, Xiao Luoci accompanied him—business trips, factories, skyscraper offices. During meetings, the secretary would hold Xiao Luoci in the next room. Tristan always fed the little one first before grabbing a hurried meal himself.

He personally attended to Xiao Luoci's needs, only delegating to the secretary when absolutely necessary—and even then, demanding half-hourly reports.

In his free time, he took Xiao Luoci shopping for clothes, always carrying him on stairs or escalators, never letting him walk alone.

He even made time for island vacations, constructing elaborate sand sculptures beneath tropical skies. When Xiao Luoci developed an interest in films, Tristan arranged studio tours for his amusement.

Under such devoted care, Xiao Luoci's spells became infrequent. In every decision, Tristan prioritized the little one above all.

Yet Xiao Luoci still refused to speak.

The physician recommended play therapy to encourage him. Since the little one loved building blocks, Tristan often joined him. One day, as they played, Xiao Luoci tilted his head, resting his cheek against Tristan's shoulder, and pointed at the block castle. In a honeyed, childish voice, he said, "Brother... put there."

That moment became etched in Tristan's memory—hearing the little one call him "brother" for the first time.

Xiao Luoci's first words were to address him as brother.

Years later, Tristan painstakingly reconstructed that block castle into a grand, life-sized storybook palace, gifting it to Xiao Luoci on his twelfth birthday.

He wanted to shower even greater affection on the little one, guaranteeing his joy regardless of expense.

While many found childcare burdensome, Tristan didn't. Xiao Luoci's reliance satisfied him profoundly—it meant he was truly needed.

As the Luo Zi Alchemy Technology Consortium grew into an industrial titan, Xiao Luoci neared adulthood.

Returning from the core lab one evening, moonlight bathed the silent castle.

Tristan entered the familiar room. Previously, Luo Ci had slept beside him, because he worried about Luo Ci feeling unwell at night.

But as his condition stabilized and adulthood approached, Tristan suggested separate rooms. Initial protests had ensued, but he seemed accustomed now.

Kneeling, Tristan picked up a digital sketch on his tablet from the carpet, dusted it off, and placed it on the desk.

At the bedside, with practiced hands, he smoothed the bedclothes.

On one matter, their father spoke truth—brothers should support each other. An elder brother's duty is protection...

He gently pressed the back of his hand against Luo Ci's cheek—soft and warm, carrying a sweet floral scent from his bath soap. Luo Ci seemed to sense his presence, murmuring sleepily and nuzzling against his hand, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Yes, to him, nothing was more important or precious than Xiao Luoci...

Tristan's gaze softened for only a few seconds before he noticed an unusual warmth against his hand. Looking closer, Luo Ci's face was slightly flushed, his breath warm—he had a fever.

Tristan moved quietly and stepped out. "Bring my clothes here."

A servant asked, "Will the Master be staying in the Young Master's room tonight?"

"He has a slight fever. I won’t rest easy if I don’t keep watch."

The servant grew flustered. "Before the Young Master fell asleep, No. 2 performed a scan—his vital signs were normal at the time."

Tristan frowned, but after checking again, he confirmed it was just a low-grade fever. There was no need to wake the little one for medicine—once disturbed from deep sleep, it would be hard for him to fall back asleep.

After a quick shower, he changed into sleepwear and slid quietly into bed beside Luo Ci.

The climate-controlled room was comfortably warm, and before long, he closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, the little face nestled against his chest trembled slightly, eyelids fluttering.

A subtle, knowing smirk curled at the corners of his lips.