The mansion loomed in the night like a silent fortress, its lights too bright, its air too still.
Jinhai's shoes hit the marble steps hard. He didn't remember getting out of the car. Didn't remember slamming the door. Only the echo of his heartbeat, too loud, too fast.
Inside, the staff froze at the sight of him.
They had seen that look before — calm on the surface, storm underneath.
"Where is he?"
His voice was low. Controlled. But the weight behind it made one of the maids flinch.
"Th–the study, young master."
He didn't wait. The long corridor stretched ahead — that same corridor from his childhood. The same walls that had heard too much.
And then —
a sound.
A crack.
It wasn't loud. But it was enough to stop him cold.
His breath hitched. His hand curled into a fist.
The doorknob gleamed under the chandelier light.
He turned it slowly. The scene before him hit him like a wave.
---
✦ FLASHBACK — EIGHT YEARS OLD (before the confrontation at 10 years old)
The world was too big that night.
He remembered the smell first — leather and polish, and something metallic underneath.
The door had been slightly open. Just enough for him to peek through.
His brother — thirteen then — was on his knees, his back bare and shaking.
Their father stood over him, the whip coiled loosely in his hand, his voice sharp and merciless.
"Weakness," his father said, "is a stain that spreads. Do you understand me?"
The whip cracked again.
Lihyun didn't scream. Just bit his lip so hard it bled.
Eight-year-old Jinhai couldn't breathe. He could just watch. Maybe one day he wouldn't just stand here. Maybe one day he could help his poor brother.
His tiny fingers gripped the doorframe, nails digging into wood.
He wanted to run in — to shout, to grab his father's hand —
but his body wouldn't move.
He was frozen, small, useless.
When the sound stopped, Lihyun's quiet sobs filled the room.
That's what broke him.
Not the whip. The crying.
He stumbled back into the hall, pressing both hands over his ears, his heart slamming against his ribs.
"Stop crying," he whispered to himself, like a spell. "Stop crying or he'll hurt him again…"
And then, footsteps.
The door opened.
His brother came out, shoulders shaking, eyes red.
He looked up, startled to see Jinhai there —
and forced a smile.
A small, broken smile that said "Don't worry."
Something inside Jinhai cracked open.
He swiped at his tears quickly and puffed up his chest.
"Hey," he said, trying to grin. "Now you look like a tiger! You could totally scare the servants like that."
Lihyun blinked, startled — and then let out a breath of disbelief.
A tiny laugh escaped him.
And that's when Jinhai learned something important:
If he could make people laugh, maybe they wouldn't hurt so much.
So he smiled. Every day after that.
Even when it burned.
---
✦ BACK TO PRESENT
The door creaked open.
Weiming stood near the window, his back turned — posture rigid, terrifyingly composed.
Lihyun was standing before him, his face pale, his eyes hollow.
His shirt was rumpled, his lip split.
One look told Jinhai that this had already gone too far.
"Father."
Jinhai's voice was firm, but not loud.
The kind of calm that made the air go still.
Weiming didn't turn around. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet, here I am."
A flicker of irritation passed across Weiming's face as he finally turned.
His eyes, cold and tired, met Jinhai's. "This is family discipline. You have no place in it."
"Discipline?" Jinhai's tone hardened. "Is that what you call it now?"
Lihyun's eyes darted toward him, warning, pleading.
But Jinhai's restraint was gone.
He took a slow step forward. "You've done this before. Every time someone disappoints you, you wound then and you call it discipline. Do you enjoy this!?"
"Watch your tone."
"I am watching it," Jinhai said softly, bitterly. "I've been watching it since I was eight. Atleast i had the courage to stand up to this when I was 10."
Weiming's expression flickered — surprise, then anger.
"Don't bring the past into this."
"The past is this," Jinhai snapped. "It's the same walls. The same whip. The same silence when it's over."
For a long, suffocating moment, no one spoke. Weiming clenched his jaw. Maybe for once he was at a loss for words.
Then Jinhai stepped between his father and brother, his back to Lihyun.
Just like before.
His voice was quiet, but there was a tremor under it — the kind that came from holding too much for too long.
"If you're going to hit someone," he said, "hit me."
Lihyun's breath caught. "Jinhai—"
He cut him off with a small, sad smile. "You're always so serious, hyung. Someone has to play the fool."
For a second, Weiming's expression faltered.
That boyish grin — so out of place, so tragic —
was the same mask he'd worn all his life.
"If I can punish your brother for his disgrace, I can punish you for your weakness as well."
"I'm not a child anymore," Jinhai said softly. "You can't scare me with what's already broken."
The silence that followed was cold and long.
Weiming finally lowered his hand.
His voice came out low, trembling with restrained fury.
"Leave. Both of you."
Jinhai didn't move until Lihyun did.
He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, heavy and shaking.
As they stepped out into the hall, Jinhai's mask slipped for just a second — long enough for the pain to flicker through.
Then he smiled again. The same careless smile he used on film sets, at parties, in every photo the tabloids loved.
"See?" he said quietly. "Told you I'd always have your back."
Lihyun didn't answer.
He just turned away, his shoulders trembling.
And Jinhai stood there in the hallway — the golden lights spilling down his face, his smile trembling just enough to show the cracks beneath.
"It's fine," he whispered to no one.
"If I laugh enough, maybe it won't hurt."