Chapter 139 An Eleven-Year-Old Man

Chapter 139: The Eleven-Year-Old Man

Meanwhile.

The black Rolls-Royce glided into the night.

Lu Lin drove with one hand, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfied pleasure.

Five million.

He bounced a small object in his hand.

It was a tiny black square, smaller than half a fingernail.

Its surface was smooth, without any markings—a brand-new, unreleased miniature surveillance device developed by one of Lu Lin's private enterprises.

Undetectable, with no red light, HD recording, and an ultra-wide angle.

He smirked.

He hadn't found the secret room Wang Chengshun mentioned, so he'd let that old scoundrel Lu find it himself.

---

The car pulled into the villa grounds.

It came to a stop in front of the main building.

Lu Lin pushed open the door and got out. Uncle Fu approached, his face genial, with a smile:

"Mr. Lu, you're back."

Lu Lin glanced at him.

His gaze was cold and distant.

Without a word, he walked past Uncle Fu, took the irises he had prepared for his brother from the passenger seat, and strode toward the hall.

He still remembered what Uncle Fu had said, so until he was certain about his trustworthiness, he didn't want to talk to him.

The hall was empty, lit only by a few wall lamps that cast a warm yellow glow.

Lu Lin scanned the area but didn't see Shen Qingci.

He stopped, turned back to look at Uncle Fu, his eyes cold:

"Where is my brother?"

"He's upstairs, sir."

Lu Lin nodded, and carried the flowers upstairs.

The second floor was silent. The only sound was his footsteps on the floorboards.

He reached the room, pushed open the door. It was empty.

Lu Lin turned and went to the study.

He opened the door. It was empty, too.

Frowning, he pulled out his phone, ready to call Shen Qingci.

With a click, the door to the next room opened.

Lu Lin looked up at that door.

Shen Qingci stepped out of his room.

He was wearing a dark gray silk robe, loosely tied at the waist, revealing a stretch of pale chest where the love bites were clearly visible in the light.

His ink-black hair, slightly long, spilled over his shoulders, making his face appear even colder and more jade-like.

In his hand, he held a piece of paper, yellowed with age and deliberately torn from something.

"Brother… why were you in my room…"

Lu Lin's voice tightened, his throat constricted.

He stared at the paper in Shen Qingci's hand, his heart pounding so fast it felt like it might leap out of his chest.

That was the page he had ordered the driver to tear from the medical records when his brother went to investigate the psychiatric hospital.

He knew better than anyone what it said.

Those days and nights, those desperate struggles, the one thing that—

Why had his brother suddenly gone into his room… Had he… found something else?

Shen Qingci didn't answer his question.

His gaze landed on the lush, vibrant irises in Lu Lin's arms.

Deep purple petals layered one upon another, shimmering with a soft luster under the hallway lights.

The petals were dotted with crystalline water droplets, like morning dew.

He reached out and took the bouquet.

Then, using his cane, he turned and walked toward his room.

Lu Lin froze for a moment, then quickly followed.

He watched Shen Qingci's back, watching the deep purple bouquet he held in his arms, his expression alternating between joy and worry.

The light in the room was soft.

Shen Qingci gently placed the flowers on the table, then slowly sat down in a chair.

He reached out, his fingers gripping the paper.

---

He stared at it in silence.

The light fell on his profile, outlining a cold, sharp contour.

His eyelashes lowered, casting a faint shadow under his eyes, making it hard to read the emotions hidden in his gaze.

On the paper, dense handwriting covered the paper.

These were Lu Lin's suicide records from that year in the mental hospital.

"The patient attempted suicide multiple times, remaining emotionally unstable after resuscitation."

"The patient reported hearing his deceased guardian's voice, which awakened his survival instinct."

"On the patient's wrist were thirteen (crossed out and changed to eighteen) cut marks, varying in depth."

"The patient attempted to hang himself, but was discovered in time by an orderly."

"The patient swallowed a large number of sleeping pills and fell into a deep coma after gastric lavage."

"The patient jumped from the second floor, fracturing his right leg."

"The patient refused to eat, leading to severe weight loss."

"The patient reported..."

Word by word, it was horrifying to behold.

Behind those cold printed words lay the despair of a young man who, after losing his only light, desperately tried to follow him.

Shen Qingci's eyelashes fluttered slightly.

His fingertips tightened slightly on the edge of the paper, then he gently placed the paper on the table.

He tapped a finger on the paper.

Tap—

The sound wasn't loud, but it was especially clear in the quiet room.

Lu Lin's body jerked violently.

His knees gave way, and he fell straight to his knees.

The sound of his knees hitting the floor was dull and abrupt.

He knelt there, head lowered, hands hanging at his sides, like a dog awaiting punishment.

Shen Qingci looked at him.

He looked at his kneeling figure, at his trembling shoulders, at the fingers that tightly gripped his pant legs.

He pressed his lips together.

He was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke, his voice cool but softer than usual:

"I didn't say I was going to blame you."

Lu Lin's body trembled slightly, but he didn't lift his head.

Shen Qingci continued, his voice very soft:

"I just don't understand."

He paused, his gaze fell on the paper, then shifted away:

"Don't understand how you could live for me and die for me."

Lu Lin knelt on the ground, head bowed, and said nothing.

But his shoulders trembled even more violently.

Shen Qingci set his cane aside and slowly stood up.

He stepped in front of Lu Lin, bent down, and gently pulled the kneeling man to his feet.

Lu Lin rose with his help but still kept his head down, not daring to look at him.

Shen Qingci gazed at him.

Gazed at this man who was half a head taller than him, at his body trembling with fear, at his tightly pressed lips, at his stubbornly downcast eyes.

In the depths of his eyes, there was a flicker of complex emotion.

That emotion held heartache, helplessness, and a trace of softness he himself hadn't noticed.

He raised his hand.

Gently placed it on Lu Lin's hair.

His fingers passed through Lu Lin's soft hair, once, twice, as if calming a frightened little animal.

Then he spoke softly:

"Lu Lin, if I hadn't died, I'd be thirty-seven now."

"Would you still have fallen in love with a man eleven years older, someone no longer young, at that time?"