After dinner, I went straight back to my room.
The rain outside hadn't stopped. It pattered softly against the glass, steady and relentless.I opened my textbook, forcing myself to focus, but the formulas and theories blurred together before my eyes.
— Knowledge changes fate.
That phrase had been branded into my bones since childhood.But at this moment, I couldn't help wondering—Was every fate really something knowledge alone could change?
From downstairs came the faint sound of the butler's voice:"Mr. Qi, it's Madam on the phone."
My pen halted mid-line. I instinctively held my breath.
The door here was well soundproofed; I couldn't make out their conversation, only catch a few fragments of Qi Silì's voice through the floorboards—"Understood.""I won't.""You can rest assured."
Each word landed like an ice cube sliding down my spine.
Late at night, the sound of a key turning in the lock made my whole body tense.
Zhao Mingyuan pushed the door open. His hair was damp, the faint scent of soap clinging to him.He didn't turn on the light. He just stood there in the darkness—like a silent sculpture.
"Studying?" he asked, stepping closer, his fingertips brushing across the open pages of my book."So diligent."
I instinctively tried to close it, but he caught my wrist before I could.His palm was hot, his grip unyielding, carrying a force that brooked no refusal.
"What did my mother tell you?" he suddenly asked.
I froze. "What?"
He gave a low, humorless laugh. With his other hand, he lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes."I said—what did Qi Silì tell you?"
The air froze solid.
A flash of lightning split the sky outside, illuminating the violence surging in his gaze.
The next instant, he slammed me down against the desk.Thick textbooks crashed to the floor with a flurry of dull thuds.
"You all think I'm an idiot, don't you?" His breath was hot against my ear, laced with the sour bite of alcohol. "Huh?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Then—
A soft knock came from the door.
"Mingyuan." Qi Silì's voice drifted in through the wood, calm and cold as ice. "Come out."
The door opened just a crack.Qi Silì stood in the dim hallway light, long hair spilling over his shoulders. Without his glasses, his face was half-shadowed, like an ink painting blurred by rain.
"Your mother chose her because she was clean, didn't she?" Qi Silì's voice was quiet, but every word cut like a blade. "And now you want to dirty her yourself?"
Zhao Mingyuan suddenly snapped.He snatched a glass from the desk and hurled it at the wall.
The crash exploded through the room.Shards flew in every direction; one slashed across my ankle, and warm blood welled up instantly.
"Clean?" he sneered, grabbing me by the throat and yanking me upright."From the moment she stepped into this house, there's been nothing clean left!"
My vision darkened as his fingers tightened—but then I saw Qi Silì stride forward.
His hand closed over Zhao Mingyuan's wrist, his fingers pressing precisely against an old scar there—A scar Zhao Mingyuan had gotten at sixteen, when he'd shielded Qi Silì from broken glass.
"Let go," Qi Silì said softly.
The air froze for several heartbeats.
Then Zhao Mingyuan laughed.He released me, only to trail his fingers lightly over the bruise on my neck."Fine," he murmured, voice hoarse. "We'll stick to the original plan."
He leaned close to my ear, his breath hot and cruel."Next month, during your ovulation period, I'll make sure you carry my child."
Qi Silì's lashes trembled faintly.He suddenly grabbed Zhao Mingyuan's tie, jerking his head up.
"Your mother just said," he murmured, each word deliberate,"If Yan Yan can't get pregnant this time…"
He paused.
"…she'll send the Zhang family's daughter instead."
I sat there on the floor, dazed, watching Zhao Mingyuan's expression shift—from rage, to mockery,then to a terrifying, eerie calm.
"Alright."He adjusted his cuffs slowly, deliberately."Then I suppose Miss Yan should keep trying tonight."
When the door slammed shut behind him, the echo rattled in my chest.
Qi Silì crouched down and began gathering the fallen books.His hair fell forward, hiding his face completely.
"Starting tomorrow," he said quietly, "come to the studio every afternoon."
My gaze dropped to his wrist—a fresh bite mark reddened the skin there,Zhao Mingyuan's parting fury etched into flesh.
Moonlight spilled in through the window, silvering the wrecked room.
On the torn title page of my Embryology textbook lay my university's motto, still visible beneath a smear of blood:
Knowledge changes fate.
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