TPLTMOE - Chapter 15

Ling Ran’s heart pounded like thunder. A deep, magnetic voice sounded by his ear:

"Don’t scream."

With his mouth firmly covered, he couldn’t have made a sound even if he tried. He nodded vigorously.

The hand over his lips loosened slightly, fingertips lingering for a fleeting moment against the softness of his mouth before sliding down to grip his slender waist.

Suddenly, his feet left the ground. A single arm hoisted him up effortlessly, carrying him through the ankle-deep water.

The small umbrella was barely enough to shield them from the torrential rain. The towering Enigma held it aloft, his own trousers soaked to the knees, while Ling Ran—clutched like a precious parcel—remained almost entirely dry.

Set back on his feet at the doorstep, Ling Ran blinked dazedly. His shoes bore only a few stray droplets, whereas the man before him was drenched from the thighs down.

"Little Uncle…"

His peach-blossom eyes glistened with unshed tears, the delicate skin at their corners flushed pink.

But it wasn’t just emotion. Beneath the vivid handprint on his cheek, an unnatural feverish glow had spread.

Jiang Zhiyu reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against that burning skin.

"You’re feverish."

Ling Ran stared blankly for a beat before touching his own face. It was scalding. Now that he thought about it, he’d been shivering uncontrollably earlier, even under the blankets.

Yet his muddled mind fixated on one thing. With innocent confusion, he tugged up his pant leg, revealing the suppressor clamped around his porcelain ankle.

"But… I’m wearing it," he murmured, as if that explained everything.

Jiang Zhiyu’s lips twitched. "Not heat. You’re ill."

Drenched in rain all day—of course he’d caught a chill.

Too dizzy to protest, Ling Ran let himself be steered back to bed. The moment his body hit the carved rosewood frame, a fresh wave of chills wracked him. He burrowed under the quilts, trembling.

The fever burned hotter. At some point, a strong arm lifted his head, pressing a bitter concoction to his lips.

He tried to spit it out, tongue pushing weakly against the cup’s rim—

Only for it to tilt ruthlessly, a deep voice commanding:

"Swallow."

Tears welled as he gulped it down.

The medicine dragged him under almost instantly.

***

When Jiang Zhiyu stepped out later, he found Jiang Zhichen waiting in the corridor, wheelchair parked like a barricade. Rain sheeted against the windows, muffling his brother’s sharp tone:

"You brought the Ling boy here?"

An Enigma owed no one explanations. Jiang Zhiyu met his gaze evenly. "Yes."

"Do you realize Shengyi is set to marry him?"

"Not necessarily."

Jiang Zhichen stiffened. "What are you planning? Is this still about revenge against the second branch?"

"Second Brother," Jiang Zhiyu said quietly, "if you learned your ‘accident’ was orchestrated, would you let it go?"

A beat of silence.

Five years ago, Jiang Zhichen had been a rising star among alphas—until the crash that stole his legs. Doctors called his recovery hopeless. The man who emerged from the hospital was a shadow, steeped in bitterness.

Yet the police had deemed it an accident. No foul play.

"We’re not the same," Jiang Zhichen muttered. "Your mother’s illness—if she hadn’t gotten that news, she might’ve—"

"How’s your rehab progressing?"* Jiang Zhiyu cut in.

"Useless. Stop wasting resources. That Dr. Song—tell him not to come again."

"I’ve scheduled a consultation with a specialist in Europe. Next week."

"I said NO!" The wheelchair rattled as Jiang Zhichen hurled his umbrella aside. "I’m a cripple! No treatment will change that! What use does the Jiang family have for a—"

His voice cracked. The rain swallowed the rest.

Good. The sleeping Omega next door wouldn’t hear this breakdown.

When the outburst passed, Jiang Zhichen slumped, eyes red-rimmed but cold again. "Cancel it."

Jiang Zhiyu bent to retrieve the umbrella, shaking off the water before slotting it back into the wheelchair’s holder.

"Xu Guanyi will accompany you."

Then he walked away, leaving no room for argument.

When Ling Ran woke, the fever had receded, leaving his mind clear and his body oddly light.

Outside, the storm had finally ceased after raging through the night. The bamboo grove glowed emerald under the washed-clean sky, the air crisp with petrichor.

Stepping out of his room, he glanced at the closed doors on either side.

Last night, half-lost in delirium, he’d heard voices—muffled, urgent—followed by the click of a neighboring door.

Whose room was that?

Butler Song appeared as if summoned, bearing a breakfast tray.

"Mr. Ling, it’s ten o’clock. Shall you dine now?"

Ling Ran nodded, eyes flickering again toward the adjacent room.

The butler smiled knowingly. "That’s President Jiang’s quarters. He left for the company earlier."

A flush crept up Ling Ran’s neck. He hadn’t even asked.

As he sipped congee under the butler’s attentive gaze, the older man produced a small jar of translucent ointment.

"Please take this as well."

"What is it?"

"You’ve forgotten? President Jiang applied this to your injury last night. Highly effective for swelling—works anywhere, really."

Ling Ran touched his cheek. Indeed, the sting was gone, the skin smooth.

Had Jiang Zhiyu really tended to him so carefully?

No one had ever—

He pocketed the jar like a stolen treasure.

***

The Rolls-Royce descended the mountain just as another car roared up behind them. Zhao Qin yielded, but not before Ling Ran glimpsed Jiang Shengyi at the wheel—and Yin Chu in the passenger seat.

"Fucking showoff," Zhao Qin muttered. "Only dares tailgate when the boss isn’t here."

At the Ling residence, Ling Ran thanked him, only for the driver to bow deeply. "Don’t forget your final interview at the group next Wednesday!"

"I—" The realization struck belatedly.

Zhao Qin was merely a mouthpiece.

Had Jiang Zhiyu orchestrated his recruitment, too?

***

The house was eerily silent.

Ling Mo stood rigid in the foyer. "You’re back."

From the living room, Ling Su’s voice lashed out: "Get your ass in here!"

Ling Ran’s fingers trembled. The phantom pain of that slap reignited as he stepped forward—

And froze.

There, perched on the sofa like vultures, sat Jiang Ronglian and Madam Jiang, their smiles dripping with venom.

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