——If you dare admit your true identity, I’ll make sure Shen You’an never sees tomorrow’s sun!

The light reflected from the phone screen shone into the boy’s suddenly contracted pupils, throwing his fear into sharp relief.

The other party had clearly grabbed him by his weak spot and was threatening him with it.

And it had to be said, this threat worked very well.

Rong Xianning jerked his head up, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the onlookers; that person might be hiding somewhere in the crowd, like a coiled viper ready to strike at any moment.

The crystal chandelier refracted a dazzling, blazing light over faces each bearing a different expression. In an instant, his world seemed to plunge into chaos; a wave of dizziness crashed over him and he could barely stand. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

A firm hand steadied his back. Rong Xianning lifted his eyes in a panic and met the girl’s gentle gaze head‑on—like a ray of sunlight falling on him amid deep winter’s heavy snow, addictive and endlessly warm.

Shen You’an took his phone, saw the threatening words on the screen, and his eyes turned as cold as an ice blade.

"There isn’t a person in this world who can threaten me."

Arrogant and domineering, in an instant it smoothed away all the tension and fear in Rong Xianning’s heart.

Shen You’an looked up and met the eyes of a man in black hidden in the crowd, then gave the slightest nod.

The man in black pulled his cap lower and turned to leave.

Na Amo stepped up to the two of them, her gaze landing straight on Rong Xianning. The love in her eyes spilled out without the slightest attempt at concealment; she looked at him as though he were a precious treasure she had lost and finally recovered.

"Aning, my son..."

Everyone stared at this scene in utter disbelief.

Gu Bichen’s pupils trembled. He suspected what he was seeing was fake, that everything was so unreal and illusory. He must be dreaming—yes, he had to be dreaming.

How could it be Rong Xianning?

How could it possibly be Rong Xianning?

Yet the vivid tableau of mother and son, bound by deep affection, right before his eyes reminded him in no uncertain terms he was not dreaming; all of this was real.

After rumors spread that Shen You’an and Rong Xianning had been childhood sweethearts, Gu Bichen had dug into Rong Xianning’s background down to the last detail—not that he even had to work hard; the internet was full of it.

Two years ago, Rong Xianning had shot to fame overnight through a talent‑show variety program, and after that his rise to top‑idol status became unstoppable. For all his dominance in the entertainment industry, in reality he came from a wretched original family.

Last year his father gambled in Macau and racked up an astronomical sum in loan‑shark debt. Public opinion at the time was extremely unfavorable to Rong Xianning, yet he still went to Macau in person to pay off the gambling debts of that compulsive gambler of a father, and in doing so saddled himself with years of debt.

Just as people were aching for this fifteen‑year‑old boy who had prematurely taken on burdens that weren’t his to bear, it was further dug up that he had a mother addicted to card games with a chaotic private life. Neighbors said that when his dad lost at gambling he drank, and once he was drunk he beat the boy—what a suffocating, tragic childhood that must have been.

Later it came out that his parents had occupied his apartment and sold his personal belongings to fans on second‑hand platforms at high prices. Their various ways of squeezing their son were simply beyond the pale, too many to list.

The entire country now knew that Rong Xianning had a pair of shameless parents who bled him dry, and felt immense sympathy for him. More importantly, this child was low‑key, hardworking, and talented; paired with such a tragic background, he combined beauty, strength, and misery into one, arousing endless pity.

Who knew how much his agency had fanned the flames behind the scenes, leveraging public sympathy to glamorize his persona—but there was no denying that Rong Xianning’s background truly was worthy of pity.

Back then, after Gu Bichen finished reading all this, he only sneered. Someone from the bottom rungs of society, with parents that rotten—there’s a saying: dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes, and the son of a rat knows how to dig holes. Rong Xianning couldn’t be much better.

Shen You’an only felt momentary sympathy for him. Given time, she would eventually discover this boy’s hidden character flaws, that coldness he inherited from his parents.

All he needed to do was endure and bide his time, and wait for that day to come.

Who knew fate would play such a colossal joke on him.

In the end, he was the one who turned out to be the son of the rat that knows only how to dig holes.

How absurd, how ironic.

The engagement he had believed to be a marriage destined by fate was in fact between her and Rong Xianning.

From beginning to end, he was nothing but a clown.

Rong Xianning stared dazedly at the woman before him whose gaze was so gentle and loving.

Since ancient times, countless poems and essays had praised the greatness of a mother’s love. In first grade, he had read a line of classical verse in his textbook: "The threads in a loving mother’s hand turn into clothes on a wanderer’s back; before he leaves, she stitches densely, fearing he’ll be slow to return." That was his earliest yearning and longing for motherly love.

But his mother was nothing like that. In his memories, the look she gave him was always full of disgust, foul curses raining down on his head. He had wondered countless times if Zhou Rong had picked him up from a trash can.

Through his long years of growing up, he endured endless oppression and torment from his parents. Later he gradually turned numb: if you don’t invest feelings, then you don’t have expectations—without expectations, you won’t taste disappointment.

Maybe his childhood experiences made him a pessimist. He had considered the possibility that he wasn’t Zhou Rong and Rong Yuhe’s biological son. Once, he secretly collected Zhou Rong’s hair, intending to do a paternity test, to give himself an answer for all these years of suffering. Then he could walk away with a clear conscience.

But in the end, he still gave up.

Even if he truly wasn’t Zhou Rong and Rong Yuhe’s biological son, what could that change? It would just mean falling from one ice pit into another bottomless abyss.

What terrified him even more was that he was afraid the test result would be the one outcome he least wanted to see.

He didn’t want a death sentence pronounced on him. As long as he didn’t do it, it meant there was still hope.

He had blamed fate’s injustice countless times, letting himself fall into the abyss on many a sleepless night when he tossed and turned.

Yet it turned out fate also knew how to twist and turn, and after all the bumps and brambles, there was a clearing beyond the dark willows and blooming flowers in sight.

The woman pulled him into her arms. It was an exceptionally gentle embrace, as though he were some precious, fragile porcelain, and she was afraid that holding too tightly would hurt him—so cautious, yet cherishing him above all.

That patch of land in his heart, long parched, finally welcomed sweet rain; a spring breeze brushed by, and dead branches sprouted new buds.

His tears had already been exhausted in childhood. Afterwards, no matter how many hardships he encountered, he had never shed a single tear.

Yet now, in this woman’s warm arms, his tears slid down without warning.

He caught the faint, elegant scent on her body, like laundry beads mingled with sunshine and fresh grass, and it made him think of the distant dream in which a woman sang lullabies to him.

So this was what a mother’s scent was like.

"Aning, I’m sorry. Mom is late."

Shen You’an looked at the scene of mother and son embracing in front of her and quietly let out a breath.

Old Madam Gu’s furious voice rang by her ear: "What on earth is going on here?"