Gold Cage - Chapter 35

When spring returned to the land, Mu Yu took Lan Mo back to his hometown.

Yu Jing nearly jumped for joy when she first met Lan Mo, thinking her son had finally brought home a daughter-in-law. But Lan Mo explained they were just friends—she'd been unwell, so Mu Yu brought her on this trip to recuperate.

Lan Mo stayed in Bujashk for a month. She and Yu Jing quickly became close. After repeatedly failing to persuade his mother to stop dragging Lan Mo out to play mahjong every day despite still needing her cane, Mu Yu decided to take Lan Mo to Lake Baihar instead. At least there they could experience nature's cleansing, rather than wasting days on card games.

Returning to the lakeside house, Mu Yu felt surprisingly calm. After all, the house was just a symbol—what mattered was having his mother alive and well by his side.

Li Bing remained in Bujashk to oversee Yu Jing's leg treatment, so this time it was Phil who accompanied Mu Yu and Lan Mo to Lake Baihar. The brawny man single-handedly cleaned the long-unoccupied house from top to bottom, hauling all the broken furniture out to the yard. By the time Mu Yu returned from a nearby town with a carload of supplies, Phil was sweating profusely while hammering away at chair repairs in the courtyard. He fixed whatever furniture could still be salvaged.

Spring at Lake Baihar still brought occasional snow, with temperatures below 10°C. Yet there was Phil in just a tank top and camouflage pants, standing on a stool wielding a saw, his muscular frame taut and powerful, steam practically rising from his exertion. Meanwhile, Mu Yu and Lan Mo stood bundled in thick down coats from neck to ankle, watching him work.

Lan Mo: "Brother Phil, you're so cool! Aren't you freezing?"

Mu Yu: "I'm dying here! Hurry up and fix the heating."

Phil tossed aside his saw and went to repair the heating system. Unable to bear the cold, Mu Yu gathered some discarded wood scraps Phil had left outside and lit the fireplace. The two huddled before the flames, finally warming up.

"Brother, your childhood home is so magical, like a fairytale cottage," Lan Mo said wistfully by the fire. "A real fireplace, that pointed roof, the blue lake and white mountains right outside, the sky so close you could touch it. It's wonderful."

Mu Yu countered: "The internet's terrible, you're snowed in all winter—eating nothing but bread and salted frozen fish, and when you get sick there's not a decent hospital for miles. Still think it's wonderful?"

Lan Mo let out a soft chuckle. "But even so, after leaving this place, you've constantly missed this life and longed to return to your mother's side, haven't you? Unlike me—no matter where I stand in this world, I've never felt nostalgia for my past. Even if my life appears glamorous to others, it has nothing to do with who I truly am."

Her gaze rested on the flickering flames in the fireplace, her expression tinged with quiet melancholy. She was no longer the lively, cheerful girl from their first meeting. Even when she smiled now, there seemed to be nothing behind it.

Mu Yu said, "You still have a long future ahead of you."

Lan Mo replied, "But I can only perceive the present."

Phil quickly fixed the heating, and the group aired out the house by opening windows before giving it a simple clean. Once it warmed up, Phil extinguished the fireplace fire and headed to the kitchen with vegetables and meat brought from Yu Jing's home to prepare dinner.

That night, Lan Mo slept in Mu Yu's old bedroom, Mu Yu took Yu Jing's former room, and Phil settled in the study. Lying in bed, Mu Yu stared at the window beside him. The bed was pushed against the wall, and the wooden window frame, aged and cracked with moisture, bore a row of clumsily carved patterns on a narrow strip of wood. Despite nearly two decades passing, the grooves still revealed the awkward, youthful strokes.

They were star patterns of varying sizes, carved by a young Mu Yu with a small knife. Back then, he would sit on his bed every night, gazing at the starry sky outside. The high-latitude lake region's air was cold and clear—stars filled the sky, stars mirrored in the lake, and the snow-covered forests stretched endlessly below, refracting the light of the cosmos.

While snow in Baihar Lake fell from sky to earth, the snow in Yu City seemed to exist only within the sea of clouds, enveloping that tranquil garden.

Mu Yu, an outsider in the sea of clouds, stood apart from others—not just because of his faintly green eyes, but also his eccentric, unpredictable nature. At times he was eerily quiet, at others, he acted in ways no one could comprehend. During the bitter winters, he would wrap himself in a blanket and disappear into the garden, refusing to come back no matter how the servants pleaded. Frail and vulnerable to illness, the staff grew frantic with worry, eventually contacting Xie Ming, who then relayed the message to Mu Hanxiao. Mu Hanxiao was in a meeting at the time, but messages from Yunhai took priority. Xie Ming interrupted to convey the news. Mu Hanxiao first had the servants pass the phone to Mu Yu, who was crouched in the garden, intently building a snowman. The boy only replied with four words: "Busy. Not answering."

With the phone on speaker, Mu Hanxiao kept his patience. "Getting sick isn't a joke. Come inside now."

Mu Yu, smoothing the round head of his snowman, answered coolly, "Don't understand Chinese. Bye."

Forty minutes after the call ended, Mu Hanxiao returned to the Yunhai. The snowy roads delayed him slightly. As he walked toward the garden, he told the servants to contact him directly in the future for such matters. By the time he reached Mu Yu, the snowman was already complete.

The boy had actually run out in just his fleece pajamas, wrapped in a blanket to play in the snow. Seeing the child's face flushed red from the cold, yet staring up at him with fearless eyes, Mu Hanxiao—for the first time in a long while—felt his blood pressure spike. He began considering whether to dismiss the servants who couldn't even stop a child from wandering outside.

"Inside. Now." Mu Hanxiao was brief. His patience thin, his anger simmered just beneath the surface.

Mu Yu, however, said with a serious face, "Congratulations on setting a new record of not coming home for two whole weeks. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit me. I'm doing just fine—well-fed, warmly dressed, and sleeping soundly. And no, I don't miss you at all."

He was still young, unaware of the undercurrents within the Mu family, and didn't know that Yunhai had never truly been Mu Hanxiao's ‘home’. Yunhai was just a property, a house temporarily chosen to accommodate him. Mu Hanxiao's real ‘home’ was at Bibotang or his own apartment, never this isolated place that no one ever visited.

But Mu Hanxiao didn't tell him any of this. He simply said, "I just returned to the country."

"Oh."

"Mu Yu, if you keep standing here, you'll catch a cold."

Mu Yu turned and patted the snowman's head instead. "I made a snowman to keep me company. From now on, it's my friend."

He sneezed abruptly, and Mu Hanxiao's last shred of patience ran out. Bending down, he scooped the boy up in one arm. Mu Yu protested, "I haven't taken a photo with my friend yet!"

Mu Hanxiao carried him back inside, where the servants hurried over with warm towels and a hand warmer, taking away the icy blanket draped over him. Mu Yu sat stubbornly on the sofa, clutching the hand warmer, and sneezed again. A servant brought over ginger soup that had been simmering for a while, along with hot water, gently urging him to take a warm bath.

Mu Yu refused, pinching his nose as he reluctantly took a few sips of the ginger soup before pushing it away in disgust. He curled up on the sofa, turning his back to everyone in silence. Mu Hanxiao simply dug him out and hauled him off to the bathroom. The little boy thrashed about, but Mu Hanxiao undressed him himself and plopped him into the tub.

"What exactly are you throwing a tantrum about?" Mu Hanxiao frowned.

Mu Yu glared at him resentfully. "Two weeks! Don't you know I missed you? Or have you already forgotten about me?"

"There are so many people at home looking after you. Who do you want to play with?"

"They're not the same as you!" Even at his young age, Mu Yu felt the frustration of casting pearls before swine. He repeated emphatically, "You're different."

You're different. Mu Yu had told him this over and over. He was the one who mattered most, the only one whose presence could soothe this lonely, helpless soul that had emerged from the snowy lake.

Even though he wasn't gentle, wasn't humorous, and possessed nothing but a seemingly perfect shell-hollow inside like a black hole, stained with the grime and darkness of the world, devoid of warmth or light.

Yet, to this child, he had become the only one. It was an unexpected disruption, a misstep in the order of things.

Because there were no disruptions in Mu Hanxiao's life.

"Mr. Mu."

Mu Hanxiao stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and turned. The doctor said, "The test results show your indicators are stabilizing. This is a very good start."

The doctor observed the man before him with caution. He had been treating this "patient" for about four or five years now. Generally speaking, psychological and emotional issues stem from and in turn affect a person's physiological mechanisms. As a psychiatrist, he needed not only to understand the man's various physiological indicators but also hoped to analyze his personality by delving into his living environment, family background, work, and interpersonal relationships, thereby constructively addressing certain issues.

Although the man objectively cooperated with the treatment—at least he proactively scheduled appointments and accepted the suggestion to take medication the doctor gradually came to realize a truth: the man's frequent silence likely stemmed from a deeply ingrained upbringing rather than a deliberate concealment of his inner thoughts. This conditioning was rigid, possibly the result of repeated training, countless punishments for similar incidents, and a long-standing environmental influence. It was as if he hadn't naturally developed this personality but had been forcibly stripped of his original self during his formative years, replaced with an unyielding steel framework.

This indestructible framework had operated stably for a long time, but at some point, the flesh and blood beneath it ruptured, exposing gaps. These gaps tore open fissures, as if two opposing forces were violently pulling at the man-one side perpetually cold and emotionless, the other inexplicably violent and destructive.

"Sleep is very important for you," the doctor reminded him. "The dosage of sleep aids can be reduced, but you mustn't stop them abruptly." Mu Hanxiao asked, "Why have the indicators stabilized?"

The doctor replied, "If there haven't been major changes in your surroundings, then perhaps an important goal of yours has been achieved, or you've made a significant decision in your heart. Either way, it may alter your current state in the future."

Mu Hanxiao smiled. He seemed to be in a good mood today, even willing to engage in further conversation with an outsider: "What kind of decision?"

"I don't know," the doctor also smiled. "Given your status, most things in the world are within your grasp, yet you don't seem to value what you currently possess. Anger stems from desire, destruction leads to reconstruction. In your heart, is there a goal that runs completely counter to the trajectory of your real life, one you've resolved to pursue?"

The doctor had spoken with many similar individuals and had indeed encountered numerous wealthy and powerful people who grew weary of lives bound by riches and authority, yearning instead for simplicity. As for a man like this—a classic image of a strictly groomed traditional successor—even if he genuinely wanted change, he would repeatedly circle back to his original path, attempting to return to the "right track" according to ingrained thought patterns to avoid any risks that deviation might bring.

Yet every choice made in such moments lies between reason and emotion—it can follow precise logical rules or be driven purely by the heart. After all, stripped of all pretenses, it all boils down to capability and willingness.

At midnight, the light in Zhao Lingmeng's study was still on.

She wore a pair of glasses, frowning as she read through a departmental report. A thick stack of documents lay beside her. Having spent the entire day in meetings, she chose to tackle the accumulated work at night—because tomorrow would bring its own tasks.

For many years, Zhao Mengling had maintained this work style. The tasks at hand were never-ending, so she operated like a machine that never slept, driving those under her to function like a high-speed engine as well. Having served in both the northern and southern regions, her exceptional efficiency, decisive attitude, and haughty demeanor became defining traits of her political career—traits that happened to align with certain people's preferences, thus propelling her official advancement with remarkable momentum.

She was dissatisfied with the quality of the reports submitted today. After impatiently reviewing a batch, she took off her glasses and tossed them aside. Only then did the attendant, who had been waiting, step forward.

"Is there anything else?" Zhao Mengling asked, sounding weary.

The attendant chose his words carefully and said quietly, "It's not official business. It's about Xiaoye..."

"What?"

The attendant leaned in and relayed the news succinctly and swiftly. Zhao Mengling's expression darkened halfway through. After hearing everything, she took a deep breath and asked coldly, "Are you certain Xiaoye was involved?"

"We haven't confirmed it with Xiaoye yet. Should we do so tomorrow?"

"No need to speak with him," Zhao Mengling said. "Fortunately, we cut ties with the He family back then. In any case, they'll never leave Macau again. Pin this whole mess on that He boy—he was the one who started it anyway."

The attendant looked uneasy. "But those students somehow got hold of the bar's surveillance footage. The footage is very clear, and Xiaoye was standing right in the middle..."

"Who has the footage now?"

"The principal confiscated everything and ordered the students to stay home, but there's no guarantee they don't have backups. The materials haven't reached the disciplinary committee yet—I had someone retrieve them. I've also had people monitor the internet and briefed several media outlets. The concern is that they might find another channel to suddenly release it or file a real-name complaint."

"Have someone talk to them again—properly," Zhao Mengling said, rubbing her temples tiredly. "Make those kids think carefully about whether they still want to attend school, whether they still want to go to university in the future. Their parents work hard—tell them not to cause trouble. You may go rest now. I'm tired too."

After the attendant left, Zhao Mengling sat alone at her desk for a long time. Before dawn the next day, Mu Zhiye was roused from sleep—not to go to school, but because his mother had something to say to him.

Still groggy after washing up, he found himself standing confused in his mother's study. But the moment he saw her stern expression, he instinctively sobered up, a flicker of unease rising in him.

Ever since his mother had taken him under her wing alone, he had vaguely sensed a shift in her attitude toward him no longer as gentle and doting as before. In the past, she had never shown him a stern face. Though she was often busy and rarely home, she had indulged nearly all his requests. That tenderness had been his alone in the entire Mu family; no one had ever surpassed his place in her heart.

Uncertain about the reason for her subtle change in demeanor, he asked sullenly, "Mom, what's wrong?"

Zhao Mengling had barely slept all night, yet she was impeccably dressed, her short hair neatly combed, her makeup light but flawless. Calmly, she said, "Tell me about the fine deeds you got up to back in Yushi with that He Cheng boy."

Mu Zhiye froze, then snapped angrily, "I wasn't hanging around with him—he was the one always pestering me!"

"I've taught you many times—the quality of interpersonal relationships is crucial. You should be the one directing others' actions, not being led around by anyone."

"I'm not being led around by anyone! I only listen to you and my brothers," Mu Zhiye retorted unhappily. "And I don't want to control anyone either. I'm not like you."

Zhao Mengling suddenly asked, "Someone told me that He Cheng once raped a girl at school. Xiao Ye, did you know about this?"

Mu Zhiye's face instantly paled. That brief hesitation gave Zhao Mengling her answer, and she nearly exploded with fury: "Did you witness it, or were you involved?!"

"I wasn't involved!" Mu Zhiye flushed red. "Mom, who told you this?!"

"You won't even tell your own mother the truth? Do you really want me to be disappointed in you?!"

"I really wasn't involved! I just... I just saw it! He wanted to show off in front of me. I didn't want to hear it—it disgusted me. But he said lots of people play around like that, that it was something new, that I should see for myself..."

Zhao Mengling's face turned ashen. "How old are you? Can't you tell right from wrong? If he said he killed someone, would you go see that too?!"

Scolded so harshly, Mu Zhiye—who had never faced such humiliation—stubbornly shot back, "It's not even a big deal! And I didn't do anything, so why are you yelling at me?!"

Zhao Mengling felt her blood pressure spike. The attendant outside, overhearing the argument in terror, quickly stepped in to gently usher Mu Zhiye away. Zhao Mengling slumped into a chair, breathing heavily, as the attendant hurried to pour her a cup of hot tea and set it beside her.

"Hopeless! Absolutely hopeless!" Zhao Mengling muttered under her breath, seething. "I was wrong to spoil him so much growing up—now he's become this lawless brat!"

"Please calm down, ma'am."

Her gaze fell on the USB drive plugged into her computer. It contained the "evidence" sent to her by the principal of Mu Zhiye's former middle school in Yushi. Inside were videos and audio recordings of He Cheng and his group tormenting girls, along with testimonies and medical reports from several victims. Two clips stood out: one showed He Cheng gripping a naked girl by the hair, laughing as he spoke to Mu Zhiye in a room with other teens; the other captured the bar's poolside, where He Cheng, Mu Zhiye, and their friends repeatedly threw a girl into the water and dragged her out, tormenting her for amusement.

"I am Fang Wanjuan, Class 2, Grade 3 of Yushi Meilin Middle School. I am formally accusing He Cheng, son of the former He Group chairman, and Mu Zhiye, son of ex-provincial party secretary.”

Zhao Mengling pulled out the USB drive, and the study fell into a silence so profound one could hear a pin drop. "Don't tell Xiao Ye about this, and make sure Yushi doesn't find out either," Zhao Mengling said impassively.

"Understood."

The attendant spoke with Zhao Mengling in the room for a long time before leaving alone.

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