The cold night air bit through Zhiyuan's torn suit jacket, a stark contrast to the searing heat they'd just escaped. The stranger—the man—had barely given him a moment to process the second explosion before he was hauling him to his feet again.
"We need to get you checked," the man said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He gestured to a sleek, black motorcycle parked discreetly in the shadows of a nearby side street.
"I'm fine," Zhiyuan stated, brushing dust and soot from his sleeves, wincing as the movement pulled at a strained muscle in his shoulder. "I don't need a hospital. I need to find my fiancée and my driver."
"Your driver is fine. He's with the other staff, coordinating. Your fiancée is safe with her parents. She's looking for you." The man spoke with an unsettling certainty, as if he'd already gathered all the reports. "And you're favoring your right side. You could have internal injuries from the blast or the fall. Get on."
"I said no," Zhiyuan's tone shifted into the one he used on board members who overstepped. It was cold, final.
The man didn't flinch. He simply looked at him, those amber eyes assessing in the flickering light of distant emergency vehicles. Then, with a speed that was becoming familiar, he stepped forward, his hand pressing firmly against Zhiyuan's lower back. A sharp, unexpected twinge of pain shot up his spine, making him suck in a breath.
"You're fine?" the man asked, a single eyebrow raised.
Zhiyuan glared at him, defeated by his own body's betrayal. Without another word, the man handed him a helmet and swung a leg over the bike. Reluctance turning his movements stiff, Zhiyuan climbed on behind him. He held onto the sides of the seat, maintaining a careful, distant space between them.
The ride to the private hospital was a blur of wind and swirling thoughts. The man navigated backstreets with an almost preternatural knowledge, avoiding the clogged arteries of emergency response around the hotel.
The emergency room was a quiet, efficient affair—a stark difference from the public chaos they'd left. Clearly, the man had called ahead. Zhiyuan was ushered into a private examination room where a brisk, silent doctor poked and prodded him. Bruised ribs, minor contusions, smoke inhalation, but nothing critical. As the doctor finished, Zhiyuan's phone, miraculously intact in his inner pocket, buzzed relentlessly.
It was Xiao Xue. He answered.
"Zhiyuan?! Oh my god, Zhiyuan! Are you alive? Where are you? They said… they said people were still inside when it… when it…" Her voice was a fractured mess of sobs and hyperventilation.
"Xiao Xue. Breathe," Zhiyuan said, his voice softer than he'd used all night. He walked to the corner of the room for a semblance of privacy. "I'm alive. I'm not burned. I'm at a clinic getting checked. I'm perfectly fine."
"I saw you go upstairs and then the fire… I couldn't get to you… I thought…" A fresh wave of tears.
"You did the right thing. You got out. I got out. Everyone is safe." He spoke with a calm he didn't entirely feel, a lifeline of rationality thrown to her panic. It was the same tone he used to steady nervous investors. "Are you with your parents?"
"Y-yes. At the Peninsula annex. Mother is furious about the gown, can you believe it?" The absurdity of it pulled a wet, hiccuping laugh from her. "I… I was so scared."
"I know. But it's over. Get some rest. I'll call you in the morning." He ended the call, the weight of her fear settling on his already heavy shoulders.
When he turned, he saw the stranger—lean, alert, standing by the doorway like a sentinel—handing a card to the receptionist and settling the bill without even glancing at the total. Zhiyuan's frown deepened. Who was this guy?
They walked out into the chilly hospital courtyard. The adrenaline had fully drained now, leaving Zhiyuan feeling hollow, sore, and profoundly irritated by the enigma beside him.
The man nodded towards the bike. "Come on. I'll take you back to the mansion."
That was the final straw. Zhiyuan stopped walking. "No," he said, the word flat and hard. "You will not take me anywhere. You will stand right there and you will tell me who you are, what you were doing there, and why you seem to know so much about my staff and my fiancée. And you will do it now, before I call the police and have you detained for questioning about a terrorist attack I narrowly escaped."
The man turned to face him fully. He didn't look angry or threatened. He looked… tired. And faintly amused. He sighed, a long, slow exhalation that fogged in the cold air.
"I saved your life," he said, his voice low. "Carried you out of a burning building, got you medical care, and now you want to report me to the police?" He shook his head, a faint, wry twist to his lips. "CEO Liang, your gratitude is overwhelming."
The use of his title, delivered with that dry tone, was like a spark to tinder. "Don't you dare be glib with me," Zhiyuan snapped, his control fraying. "People are dead. That wasn't an accident. And you were there. So talk."
He turned on his heel and began to walk away, towards the main road to hail a cab, his body protesting every step.
A hand closed around his wrist. The grip wasn't harsh, but it was unbreakable, warm and firm. It stopped him dead.
"Alright. Alright. Don't be mad." The man's voice was closer now, just behind his shoulder. He released his wrist. "My name is Chen Yichen. Auntie Zhao Meilin… she's my grandmother."
Zhiyuan slowly turned back, his mind scrambling. "What?" he uttered, disbelief stark on his soot-smudged face. "That's impossible. Meilin has no children. She never married. She's been with my family since before I was born."
Yichen shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching slightly against the cold. "Not by blood," he conceded. "She took me in a long time ago. Raised me. I call her Nainai. She worries about you. All the time." He met Zhiyuan's searching gaze. "She asked me to keep an eye on you tonight. A… precaution."
The explanation was outrageous, yet it contained a kernel of painful truth: Meilin's constant, smothering worry, her fear every time he left the house. But this? Hiring some… some street-trained guardian angel?
"She never said a word," Zhiyuan said, more to himself than to Yichen.
"She wouldn't," Yichen replied simply. "Now, can we please go? It's cold, you're in shock, and if you get pneumonia on top of everything else, she'll skin me alive." He gestured again to the bike. "I'll take you home. To the Liang mansion. You can ask her everything yourself."
The fight drained out of Zhiyuan, replaced by a deep, weary confusion. He looked at Chen Yichen—the sharp eyes, the capable hands, the quiet assurance that felt both alien and, somehow, familiar. He gave a single, curt nod.
He walked back to the motorcycle and stiffly climbed on. This time, before he could find his tentative hold on the seat, Yichen reached back. He took Zhiyuan's hands, which were chilled and trembling slightly from cold and aftermath, and pulled them firmly around his own waist.
"Hold on properly. Unless you want to fall off and give me more to explain to Nainai," Yichen said, his voice a low rumble that Zhiyuan felt through his back.
Zhiyuan, too exhausted to protest the intimacy of the grip, did as he was told. He looped his arms around Yichen's lean, solid torso, his hands meeting over his stomach. The body beneath the simple shirt was all coiled, unyielding muscle.
Yichen kick-started the engine, the bike vibrating to life between them. As they pulled out of the courtyard and onto the deserted, post-midnight streets, Zhiyuan had no choice but to hold on. He rested his helmeted head lightly against Yichen's shoulder blade, the world blurring past, the heat from the other man's body the only warmth in the cold, confusing night. The questions swirled, louder than the engine's roar, but for the moment, there was only the road, the dark, and the steady, undeniable strength of the stranger who claimed to be his maid's grandson.
The black motorcycle purred up the winding, tree-lined drive, not towards the sprawling, often-hostile Liang Family Mansion, but to Zhiyuan's own modern, secluded residence on the opposite side of the city. It was a fortress of glass and steel, a place he controlled utterly.
As the bike came to a stop at the grand front entrance, the door flew open before Zhiyuan could even dismount. Zhao Meilin stood there, a small, worried figure in a simple housekeeper's dress, her usual serene face etched with panic.
"Young Master! Your driver called, he said there was an explosion at the banquet, he couldn't find you—!" Her words tumbled out until her eyes fully took in the state of him: the torn, soot-stained Armani tuxedo, the disheveled hair, the smudges of ash and exhaustion on his face. She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Tiān a… what happened to you? Are you hurt? Why didn't you go to a hospital? Who is this—?"
She finally noticed the man standing beside the motorcycle, pulling off his helmet.
Before she could finish her question, Chen Yichen moved. He strode forward, his face breaking into a wide, dazzling smile that transformed his intense features. He threw his arms open wide.
"Nainai! Oh, how I've missed you!" he exclaimed, wrapping the utterly stunned Meilin in a bear hug, lifting her slightly off her feet.
Zhiyuan frowned deeply, his confusion cutting through his fatigue. He just stared.
Meilin, once set down, sputtered. She pushed at Yichen's chest, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning alarm. "Yichen? What… what the hell are you doing here?"
Yichen let out a bright, nervous chuckle, his eyes darting meaningfully towards Zhiyuan before locking back onto Meilin's. "Nainai, what do you mean? You told me to come and stay with you for a while! Remember? And on my way, you specifically said, 'Go by the Zhang hotel and just check on the Young Master, make sure he's alright.'" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that Zhiyuan could still easily hear. "How can you forget about it? Your memory!"
He gestured subtly but urgently with his eyes, a clear signal: Play along.
Meilin's face went through a spectacular series of adjustments—shock, understanding, panic, and finally, a forced, wobbly smile. She patted his arm awkwardly. "Oh! Oh, yes… yes, of course! I remember it now! I… I missed you too, my… my boy."
Yichen cleared his throat loudly. "Grandson, Nainai! I'm your grandson!" he said, the emphasis painfully obvious.
"Yes! Yes, grandson!" Meilin said, the words sounding foreign on her tongue. Her smile was so tense it looked painful. "My dear grandson. Of course."
Zhiyuan watched this bizarre performance with one eyebrow arched high. He crossed his arms, the torn fabric of his jacket pulling tight. "Really," he said, his voice flat and dry. "This is a touching family reunion. I had no idea our family tree had such… spontaneous growth."
Meilin shot Yichen a look that could curdle milk. In a flash, her hand snaked out and pinched Yichen's arm, hard. He barely flinched.
"You," she hissed at him, her voice low but fierce. "Go. Rest. In the servants' quarters. I'll talk to you later." The word 'later' was loaded, promising a severe and lengthy interrogation.
She then turned back to Zhiyuan, her expression instantly softening into one of pure, fussy concern. She gently took his arm, steering him away from Yichen and towards the grand staircase inside. "Never mind him, Young Master. Come inside, you're freezing! Let's get you cleaned up. Tell me everything that happened this time. Was it a gas leak? The news is saying it was a terrible accident…"
She propelled him forward, her chatter designed to overwhelm his questions. As she guided him up the stairs, Zhiyuan glanced back over his shoulder.
Chen Yichen was already walking briskly towards the wing that housed the staff quarters. But he wasn't heading to rest. He had his phone pressed to his ear. As he turned a corner, Zhiyuan just caught the low, urgent tone of his voice, not the words, but the intensity was clear. He was reporting to someone.
Zhiyuan looked down at Meilin, who was clucking over a scrape on his hand he hadn't even noticed.
"Meilin," he interrupted her gently.
"Yes, Young Master?"
"Who is he really?"
She didn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on brushing a piece of lint from his ruined jacket. "He is Chen Yichen. I told you. A… a distant relative I'm helping. Now, let's get you a warm bath. You've had too much excitement."
Her evasion was as transparent as the glass walls of his home. As he let her lead him away, the image of Yichen on that phone call burned in his mind. The rescue, the strange reunion, the secretive call—it was all connected. And for the first time, the quiet, controlled life in his steel-and-glass mansion felt less like a sanctuary, and more like the setting for a play where he didn't know his lines.
The steaming hot water of the bath did little to soothe Zhiyuan's racing mind. He leaned back against the marble tub, closing his eyes, but all he could see was the flash of fire, the shattered window, and the intense amber eyes of Chen Yichen.
Who is he?
The question echoed louder than the quiet hum of the bathroom fan. Meilin had never, ever kept something this significant from him. Her whole life was an open book of devotion to the Liang family—to him. Yet tonight, she had lied right to his face. Badly.
He replayed the scene at the doorstep.
Yichen's version:"She took me in. Raised me. I call her Nainai."
Meilin's version:"A distant relative I'm helping."
Those were not the same story. One spoke of a deep, familial bond, a lifetime of care. The other was a polite, distant charity. One of them was lying. Or, more likely, both were hiding a much bigger truth.
A cold trickle of unease, separate from the warm bathwater, ran down his spine. This wasn't just about a strange bodyguard. This was about why he needed one. The "gas leak" at the banquet felt less and less like an accident with every passing moment.
---
Down in the servants' quarters, in a small, neat room usually reserved for visiting chauffeurs, a very different conversation was happening.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Meilin's gentle grandmotherly facade vanished. She whirled around and smacked Yichen hard on the arm.
"Aiyo! You foolish boy! How could you get so close? How could you let him see you? You were supposed to watch from the shadows, to protect him from a distance!" she scolded, her voice a harsh whisper.
Yichen winced, rubbing his arm. "Ouch, Nainai! I did protect him! He was trapped! The building was about to blow up! What was I supposed to do, take notes from across the street?"
"You attracted attention! Now he has questions! He is not a fool!"
"I saved his life!" Yichen fired back, a flash of frustration in his eyes. "Just because I'm unlucky doesn't mean I bring trouble. The trouble was already there. I stopped it."
Meilin let out a long, heavy sigh, all the anger draining out of her, replaced by a deep, weary worry. She sank onto the simple wooden chair by the small desk. She looked suddenly every bit of her fifty-six years.
After a moment of silence, she spoke again, her voice softer. "How is everyone back in the village?"
Yichen's tension eased. He flopped backwards onto the narrow single bed, lacing his hands behind his head. A slow, easy smirk spread across his face. "Yeah, normal. Old Wang's pig had another litter. The Li family fixed their roof. Oh, and the girls at the market stall... they've definitely gotten prettier since I left." He closed his eyes, the smirk turning into a full grin.
Whack! Meilin leaned over and smacked his knee this time.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"Stop daydreaming and get your head out of the clouds!"she said, but there was a hint of fondness in her irritation. "This is not a vacation. This is serious. He is in danger, and you... you are too recognizable if you stay in the light."
"I know, I know," Yichen said, sitting up. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a solemn focus. "I was careful. I made the call. The boss knows the situation."
At the mention of 'the boss,' Meilin's face tightened, but she nodded. "Good. But you cannot stay in this house. It is too risky. He is too clever. He will figure it out."
"Where should I go then? I have to be close."
"I will arrange something.For now, you stay out of sight. No more dramatic rescues in front of him!"
Yichen stood up, his tall frame making the small room seem even smaller. "I can't promise that, Nainai. If he's in danger, I will act. That's my job. That's my..." He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
Meilin looked at him, her eyes filled with a complex mix of fear, love, and resolve. She knew he was right. She stood up and patted his cheek, a real, gentle gesture this time. "I know. Just... be smart, my brave, foolish boy. Now, get up. Don't get too cozy here. We have work to do."
She turned and left the room, her steps quiet on the tiled floor. Yichen remained standing, his gaze fixed on the closed door, his mind already mapping the perimeter of Zhiyuan's mansion, planning for threats he could feel circling in the dark, getting closer.