The door to the patient's room slid open without a sound.
A tall, glass wearing gentle-looking man in a doctor's robe stepped inside.
His expression behind the glass was calm, his footsteps light, deliberate, as if he were merely visiting an exhibit. Wu Zhen's gaze swept lazily over the figure on the hospital bed.
What lay there barely resembled a human being.
Skin clung tightly to bone, limbs twisted unnaturally beneath thin sheets. The face, once youthful, once elegant—was ruined beyond recognition, swollen and scarred.
An oxygen mask covered the lower half of it, misting faintly with each labored breath. The rhythmic beeping of machines was the only thing proving that the body had not yet completely surrendered.
Wu Zhen clicked his tongue.
"Tsk." His voice carried faint amusement. "Ming Ze… you look worse than I imagined."
He laughed softly, the sound echoing in the sterile room. "Strange. Seeing you like this is almost refreshing."
He walked closer, stopping at the bedside. His voice menacing, contrary to his gentle face. "You really should've known your place from the beginning. Did you honestly think you could compete with Yu'er?" His eyes curved with mockery.
"You should thank him. If he weren't so kind, trash like you wouldn't even be breathing right now."
Ming Ze didn't react.
His eyes were open, staring dully at the ceiling. No anger. No fear. No tears. Just emptiness—like something inside him had already died.
Once, he had trusted Wu Zhen.
He had convinced himself Wu Zhen would never betray him.
He thought Wu Zhen was the person who will stay with him despite all odds.
Now, lying here, he finally understood.
He was raising a betrayal all along.
He had merely been a stepping stone for the other. A tool.
A convenient bridge to Ming Yu.
Wu Zhen got closer to him because of his adopted brother.
A bitter ache settled deep in Ming Ze's chest.
How had his life ended up like this?
At eighteen, he was taken back to the Ming family.
The driver sent by his so-called biological father to pick him up from the village, coldly told him that he was the missing youngest biological son of the Ming family.
The Ming family was well-off in the city—rich but not wealthy and affluent enough to be among the true elite.
When Ming Ze realized his parents had come searching for him, he was heartbroken. He had grown up with Aunt Chen in the village, never knowing she wasn't his real mother.
He cried and clung to Aunt Chen, insisting he wouldn't go back to his family. She was his only close relative; if he left, no one would care for her.
Aunt Chen hadn't married because of him. She always told any man who wanted to marry her that Ming Ze would follow her, and they'd have to treat him as their own son.
No man accepted that.
No one wanted such a burden.
Aunt Chen, her full name Chen Xia, had come to the village and bought a house near the hill. The previous owner had moved to the city, and Aunt Chen arrived just in time to buy the place.
The house stood alone, with no close neighbors, perfect for someone who disliked noise. No one knew where Aunt Chen came from or who her parents were.
Introduced to the village by the chief, her beauty captivated the young men, which instantly made her unpopular among the local women, who feared she'd seduce their husbands.
The gossip only worsened when they saw her with a baby. Some said she'd run away after getting pregnant by a stranger; others called her a mistress hiding from a jealous wife. Either way, Aunt Chen was ostracized by the women of the village.
Growing up wasn't easy, especially for Aunt Chen, who had to care for him alone. When Ming Ze turned sixteen, Aunt Chen fell ill.
She needed constant medication and rest, but she insisted on sending him to school and kept her fruit stall open.
When the Ming family's driver came to the village, the truth surfaced at last.
He was not her son.
Before leaving, Ming Ze knelt in front of her and promised that he would come back. That he would earn money, take her to the city hospital, let her live comfortably.
But that goodbye had been final.
Wu Zhen casually turned on the television.
Romantic music flooded the room—loud, jarring, cruel.
Ming Ze's eyes shifted, unfocused, landing on the screen.
A wedding.
In the luxurious Phoenix Hall, flower petals fell like blessings from heaven. A beautiful male couple stood beneath crystal lights, dressed in ceremonial attire, kissing as applause thundered around them.
A perfect match.
The camera swept over the guests.
Ming Ze saw familiar faces.
The Ming family.
They were smiling. Crying. Laughing with joy.
Celebrating.
"Oh," Wu Zhen said lightly, as if suddenly remembering something trivial. "I almost forgot. Today's Xiao Yu's wedding. Isn't it wonderful?"
Wu Zhen's gaze softened as he stared lovingly at the screen, eyes filled with obsession as Ming Yu's smiling face filled the frame.
Then he turned back.
"Oh, right. There's something else." His tone was casual. "Your aunt is dead. Hit by a truck."
The words fell like stones.
Ming Ze's breath caught violently.
His fingers trembled.
Aunt Chen.
The woman who had raised him. Protected him. Loved him without condition.
"No..." His throat constricted. He tried to scream, but only a hoarse, broken sound escaped, something animal and raw.
Wu Zhen watched with interest. "She kept bothering Ming Yu, asking about you. Poor Xiao Yu...he's too sensitive for that kind of stress." He sighed dramatically. "So I handled it."
He smiled. "Don't worry. I arranged a funeral. Proper enough, I suppose."
Ming Ze's vision blurred.
He knew.
He knew Wu Zhen had done it.
Hatred surged through him, violent and scorching, but his body refused to respond. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even lift a hand.
Tears streamed down his temples, soaking into the pillow.
Wu Zhen leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Don't worry. You'll be seeing her soon."
He reached out—and ripped away the oxygen mask.
Pain exploded.
Ming Ze's chest seized as his lungs burned, starved of air. His body convulsed, instincts screaming for breath. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
Yet beneath the agony, there was relief.
At least now, he knew.
Aunt Chen had never abandoned him.
As consciousness slipped away, one thought echoed faintly.
Aunt Chen… I'm sorry.
If I had another chance…
I would never let this happen.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
-
--------
Ming Ze felt weightless. He was standing in the void.
He was no longer in the hospital. No romantic music, no blaring monitors. Only endless darkness.
'Where am I? Is this heaven or hell? Anyway, he's dead'.
Turning around, he saw a faint glow flickering in the distance.
Curious, he moved toward it, footsteps soundless on the unseen floor. The light solidified into a stone platform, where a single book hovered in midair.
A book?
Hesitantly, he reached out.
The cover bore an unfamiliar title:
"The Cute Young Master is Everyone's Favorite".
His heart pounded as he turned the pages.
His hands trembled.
He saw some familiar scene.
This world… it's a novel?
His adopted brother, Ming Yu was the protagonist—the beloved child of fate. Kind. Cute. Intelligent. Untouchable. Loved by everyone.
And him? He was merely cannon fodder, a disposable villain doomed from the start. A side character that can be kicked down anytime.
No wonder. No matter how hard he tried, something always forced him down a path of destruction.
Ming Yu always emerged unscathed, protected by fate itself.
'Heh.'
A bitter, hollow laugh shook Ming Ze's body. Tears streamed down his face. There are many 'whys' he wanted to ask but he knew it was hopeless.
It had never been a fair fight. But it's good. At least he'd know the reason behind his suffering.
A sudden chill ran through him.
He looked down at his soul.
He's fading.
His body turning translucent—his very existence unraveling. He gazed at his dissolving hands calmly and resignly closed his eyes as darkness claimed him again.
'What a pity'. He thought before he disappeared.
--------
Sunlight spilled through the window, bathing the small bedroom in gold. It fell across the face of a young man lying in bed—skin fair as porcelain, features delicate and ethereal, a beauty both innocent and dangerous.
His eyes snapped open, sharp and cold, upturned at the corners.
He bolted upright, breath ragged. He was… breathing.
He was breathing.
Breathing without the oxygen mask.
It was comforting. He missed this feeling.
But.... Wait. Something's wrong.
Ming Ze scanned his surroundings in confusion. The study desk, the bunk beds, the wardrobe—this was his university dorm.
Stunned, his mind went blank.
He clenched the blanket—smooth, whole hands, not the chapped remnants from his memory.
He came back?
Bewildered, he stumbled to the bathroom.
Standing by the sink, he looked at the mirror that was reflecting a familiar stranger: high cheekbones, long lashes, hazel eyes, soft lips, flawless skin. Beautiful yet handsome. Gentle yet dangerous.
He looked untouched. Beautiful. As if suffering had never left a mark.
It's has been a long time he saw his face like this.
Heart pounding, he rushed back to the room, grabbed his phone and checked the date.
April 16, 20XX.
He really came back.
The second year after he left that village and moved into the Ming household.
He was back.
Memories of his previous life flashed before him: pain, betrayal, helplessness.
His fists tightened.
Not this time.
A cold, determined light flickered in his eyes. The fear, the humiliation, the agony—he would never let himself suffer that fate again. He will be his own protagonist.