The apartment felt colder than usual when Jiang Yeming stepped inside.
He shut the door behind him, locking the silence in with him. The hum of the refrigerator and the faint creak of the floorboards under his feet were the only sounds. The smell of antiseptic from the hospital still lingered faintly on his clothes.
But Jiang Yeming didn't allow himself the luxury of stopping.
He walked straight to the kitchen.
Dinner had to be made.
He moved on muscle memory—washing rice, boiling water, slicing vegetables, and setting the meat to simmer. It wasn't just about routine. It was about control. About staying ahead of the chaos that threatened to consume everything again.
Feng Xuelan had already stepped out to meet some of her socialite friends for tea and gossip. Lan Yueran, after making sure her assistant would watch over the ICU, had returned to work—burying herself in deadlines and distractions.
Yeming, as always, remained behind.
He plated the food. Three dishes and a bowl of soup. The kind of meal he knew Lan Yueran liked after a stressful day, even if she never acknowledged it.
Then, without touching a bite, he wiped his hands, reached for his phone, and scrolled to a contact labeled simply: Uncle Qiao.
There was no need for pleasantries. They'd already spoken. This wasn't about catching up.
It was time for answers.
He tapped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
"Meet me," Jiang Yeming said the moment the call connected. "Same hotel you used to hide out in when you needed a clean silence. Three hours from now. We need to talk. It's about the deal my father broke."
A low breath came through the receiver.
"…Understood," came the calm reply.
Jiang Yeming hung up.
He knew exactly what he had to do now.
---
Three hours later, Jiang Yeming slipped out of the apartment, quiet as a shadow. He didn't leave a note. Didn't announce where he was going. He locked the door behind him and made his way through the dim streets of Cloudbridge City.
The hotel he chose was old but reliable—one of the few places untouched by the gossip, corruption, and long-reaching hands of the family name he had tried so hard to run from. A sanctuary from a life he thought he had left behind.
He arrived early. Waited.
Then the door opened.
Uncle Qiao stepped inside.
He looked older now. Gray dusted his temples, and fine lines marked the corners of his sharp eyes. But his frame was still straight, his movements deliberate, and his presence carried the same quiet authority it always had.
He had been more than just a trainer to Jiang Yeming. Back in those days—before the conflict, before Yeming walked away—Uncle Qiao had been his mentor, his protector, even a second father. The man had been inseparable from Yeming's own father, working beside him to build what the Jiang family became.
And when the betrayal happened, when loyalties were tested, Uncle Qiao disappeared—quietly vanishing from the family business as the old alliances crumbled.
Until now.
Yeming stood as Qiao entered, eyes locked.
"Sit," Uncle Qiao said calmly.
Yeming didn't.
"You already know why I called," Yeming said. "The girl in the ICU—that was meant for Yueran. My wife almost died tonight because of a decision my father made years ago."
Uncle Qiao didn't flinch. He lowered himself into the chair opposite Yeming and folded his hands.
"I warned him that one day the debt would resurface. But you know your father—he thought he could outlast the consequences."
Yeming's jaw tightened. "And now they're coming after me. After her."
Qiao nodded once. "Because they think you're the key. They believe you'll bring your father out of hiding… and back to the city."
"Cloudbridge isn't enough anymore," Yeming said bitterly. "They want the crown jewel. The top city. The throne my father still holds in that place."
"They know he won't return for just anything," Qiao said. "But he might return for his only son. Especially if that son is under fire."
Yeming's eyes narrowed.
"Well, they've miscalculated. I don't care about the inheritance. I don't care about the seat. But if they so much as look in Yueran's direction again…"
His voice dropped into ice.
"…I'll bury them myself."
Uncle Qiao studied him quietly. Then he leaned back.
"So, you're ready to fight."
"I've always been ready," Yeming said. "But this time, it's not about pride. It's about my wife."
A pause passed between them.
Then Uncle Qiao pulled out a small folder from his coat and slid it across the table.
"I've kept tabs. Even after I left. The players have changed, but the game is the same. Your cousin—your father's brother's son—he's the one pulling strings now. Manipulating from behind the curtain. He wants your father's seat. But he knows he can't force him out…"
"…unless he uses me to do it," Yeming finished.
Qiao nodded.
Yeming took the file and flipped it open. Names. Locations. Dates. All neatly organized.
"He sent people here to test you," Qiao continued. "He assumed you were still the same man you were ten years ago—arrogant, untouchable. He wanted to see what would happen when you were pushed. What you'd sacrifice."
"Well, he got his answer," Yeming said. "And now, I'll give him mine."
Qiao raised a brow. "How far are you willing to go?"
"As far as it takes," Yeming said without hesitation.
The older man studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Then it's time you stopped living like a shadow," Qiao said. "And started reminding the world who Jiang Yeming really is."
Yeming closed the file, the fire already ignited in his chest.
"I'll need names. Support. Contacts I can trust."
"They're in there," Qiao said. "But be careful. The same ones who smiled with your father years ago are now shaking hands with your cousin."
Jiang Yeming stood, stuffing the file into his jacket.
"I'm not after the throne," he said. "But I won't let anyone use me to reach it."
He turned toward the door.
"And if they come for my wife again—there won't be a warning."
Qiao's voice was low but resolute as he said, "I'll stand with you."
Yeming nodded once before disappearing into the hallway, the storm finally beginning to churn in his wake.
The unwanted son-in-law had been quiet long enough.