Chapter Seventy: A Golden Chamber for a Hidden Beauty

With Zhang Qiqi grinning ear to ear in a most unseemly fashion, Lin Yang turned his back and, with considerable speed, pulled off his half-soaked clothes. Though he had no inclination for streaking, stripping to the waist before a beautiful woman was, he had to admit, a rather meaningful experience.

He found himself quite curious about Su Qin’s suggestion to “bake” his shirt. Following her lead, he watched as she took his somewhat valuable dress shirt and, holding it like a hanger, stretched it out before the crackling flames of the stove. Only then did he understand the true meaning of “bake”—she intended simply to dry it over the fire.

“Brother Yang, what have you been up to lately? Are you working with your grandfather, or have you become Uncle Cheng’s successor?” Zhang Qiqi, who had grown up with him and used to bully him as a child, seemed to have an endless supply of questions. Yet, compared to the aloof Ni Ni, the gentle Tang Yixue, or the refined heiresses, Qiqi possessed a certain steadiness—perhaps the resplendent fruit of years of hardship.

“Nothing special. I became a plastic surgeon,” Lin Yang replied with a casual shrug, grinning as he raised the cup of hot water Su Qin had poured for him and downed it in one gulp.

“A plastic surgeon?” Zhang Qiqi asked, incredulous.

Given the Lin family’s influence, their status in business, power in officialdom, and connections on the streets, it seemed almost absurd that their sole heir would become a plastic surgeon—a mismatch so striking that even the usually composed Zhang Qiqi couldn’t hide her disbelief.

“I simply like it,” Lin Yang replied nonchalantly. He truly was a prodigal son, fiercely pursuing freedom. Otherwise, he would never have openly defied his grandfather, whose power was almost imperial.

Hearing this, Zhang Qiqi couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. Freedom—such a distant, unattainable thing. So many people spoke longingly of it, yet how many truly possessed it?

From the age of fifteen, Zhang Qiqi’s life had become a tragedy. Her father’s serious illness was like a bottomless pit, dragging down both her and her mother. No matter how much they sacrificed, their efforts yielded no reward. Her father’s condition not only failed to improve but worsened day by day. The cost of medicine alone left the mother and daughter constantly on the brink of poverty. Life grew more difficult with each passing day, yet neither ever entertained the thought of giving up.

As these memories flooded back, the hardship of the past eight years pressed upon her. Tears of grievance welled up once more, falling like rain.

“Qiqi, why are you crying again? How many times have I told you—a daughter should swallow her tears,” Su Qin chided as she returned with Lin Yang’s now-dried shirt, careful not to wrinkle it. She didn’t want her daughter, strengthened by years of adversity, to give in to tears like a little girl.

Chastened by her mother’s words, Zhang Qiqi awkwardly wiped away her tears, forcing a smile that was inevitably a bit stiff.

“Aunt Qin, just let her have a good cry. She’s endured enough these years,” Lin Yang said. Having learned from Su Qin that the family’s meager income relied entirely on this young woman’s efforts, he couldn’t help but admire her.

Girls who could endure hardship and never complain were rare these days—especially one in the prime of youth. To love beauty was a woman’s nature, after all; who wouldn’t want to dress up and be admired and praised? Yet Zhang Qiqi was all natural, her lovely face untouched by makeup, still radiant and captivating—a beauty that would turn every head, save perhaps among the blind. She had inherited the best features from her mother: a high, straight nose, large expressive eyes, long lashes, and graceful brows.

“Ah, children do grow up,” Su Qin muttered, more to herself than anyone, before turning away to continue her packing.

Lin Yang, unable to fathom the workings of a woman’s heart, found himself bewildered. Did crying have something to do with growing up? He’d never heard of such a thing. Was he out of touch?

But as a daughter, Zhang Qiqi understood her mother’s meaning perfectly. She lowered her head, embarrassed, twisting her fingers as she pondered her own thoughts.

Watching her mother busy with packing, Zhang Qiqi asked in confusion, “Mom, why are you packing? Are we moving again?”

Before Su Qin could reply, she muttered to herself, “Right, the environment here is terrible, bad for Dad’s health. We should have moved long ago. Last time I said we should move, you said this place was fine and everywhere else was too expensive. I told you I’d handle the money…”

Once she started on the subject of where her parents lived, Zhang Qiqi could hardly stop talking, her chatter endless—so much so that Lin Yang, listening on the side, couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny, Brother Yang?” Zhang Qiqi suddenly turned to him, fixing him with a glare that wiped the smile right off his face. She feigned annoyance, her eyes wide as if threatening to strip him bare and march him down the street if he didn’t answer.

Lin Yang was speechless but forced a sheepish grin, waving his hands to signal that it was nothing.

“Qiqi, enough. Your Brother Yang insists we move in with him, so it’ll be easier to care for your father. He says he has a way to treat your father’s illness,” Su Qin explained, rolling her eyes at her daughter as she continued packing, excitement in her voice.

“To Brother Yang’s place?” Zhang Qiqi blurted out.

Su Qin nodded in affirmation.

“But Dad’s illness—even the experts can’t cure it. How could Brother Yang, a plastic surgeon, manage it? Mom, you’re not just trying to make me feel better, are you? It’s okay, you don’t have to do that. I’ve already come to terms with it,” Zhang Qiqi said, oblivious to the odd looks exchanged between the other two.

Su Qin’s expression grew darker with each word, while Lin Yang remained unfazed, grinning mischievously as he fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a drag.

“No smoking—Dad’s health can’t take it,” Zhang Qiqi said, springing up before Su Qin could reprimand him. She snatched the freshly lit cigarette from Lin Yang’s hand, tossed it to the ground, and ground it out with her foot. Looking up at him, she added, “I don’t like people smoking, either.”

Her words carried layered meanings, and anyone prone to reading between the lines might have pondered her emphasis on not liking “people” smoking.

“Qiqi, what’s come over you? Is that any way to speak to your Brother Yang? And why take his cigarette? Don’t you know that’s rude? How has your mother been teaching you?” Su Qin scolded, clearly displeased with her daughter’s behavior.

Lin Yang, not wanting to be the cause of tension between mother and daughter, quickly changed the subject. “Aunt Qin, if you’re ready, let’s go now. Uncle Feng’s condition is worrying—there’s no time to lose.”

Su Qin, seeing the sense in his words, focused on her task, her hands moving even faster.

It took nearly half an hour before Su Qin finished packing. When Lin Yang saw the mountain of bags and bundles ready on the floor, he could hardly contain himself—he was only a breath away from exclaiming, “Oh my god!”

Pots and pans, all sorts of household items—he couldn’t tell if they were moving house or opening a general store. They had everything from washbasins to foot tubs to toothbrushes—nothing was forgotten.

“Aunt Qin, my place has everything. You don’t need to bring anything but yourselves,” Lin Yang insisted, more for practicality than disdain. There was simply too much—the police car they’d called couldn’t possibly fit it all, especially since they’d need seats for three people.

The trunk? That pitiful little trunk probably wouldn’t even fit a single quilt.

With a pained expression, Su Qin led a procession of medicine bottles out the door.

As the only man present, Lin Yang naturally played porter, carrying the emaciated, nearly weightless Zhang Zifeng out of the house, acting as the vanguard.

Outside, soft sunlight spilled down like a benediction. Leaving the house, Su Qin was touched by a pang of melancholy for the little home she’d grown attached to after nearly a year. She looked back with every few steps, and only after passing the narrow alley, when it was out of sight, did she finally turn her head forward.

Because of the hour, all the neighbors were out working to support their families, so there was no chance to say goodbye. This left Su Qin feeling somewhat guilty—she still owed many of them money.

With the roar of the engine, the police car shot off like an arrow. In the back seat, Su Qin held her unconscious husband, gazing through the rear window at the receding neighborhood, murmuring, “Neighbors, I, Su Qin, will come back and repay you all.”

An hour and a half wasn’t far, and by noon, Lin Yang arrived at Tianchen District—the villa gifted by Fierce Tiger. Lin Yang had tried to refuse the gift, but Ni Ni, ever resourceful, had secretly accepted the deed on his behalf. After all, in these times, what appreciated faster than real estate?

Su Qin and Zhang Qiqi, both familiar with the Lin family’s status, showed no surprise. This villa, after all, was nothing compared to the Lin family’s legendary estate in Yinchuan.

“Brother Yang, you live here?” Zhang Qiqi asked, curiosity piqued. The environment was vastly superior to their ramshackle house in the slums.

Before Lin Yang could reply, the attic window was flung open, and a sleepy head popped out, long hair fluttering in the cold wind—strikingly beautiful.

“Brother Yang!” called Ni Ni, her melodious voice drawing everyone’s attention.

Dressed in pajamas, she was naturally mistaken by Su Qin and Zhang Qiqi for his girlfriend.

“Lin Yang, is this appropriate?” Su Qin couldn’t help but ask.

Zhang Qiqi, meanwhile, pursed her lips and muttered under her breath, “A beauty hidden in a golden house? Brother Yang, you’re quite the philanderer. Since when did you pick up this habit?”

Her voice was soft, but Lin Yang, whose senses were sharper than most, caught every word. Even his famously thick skin flushed with embarrassment.