IOLYF Chapter 86

Mo Ming had prepared for the worst, but instead of any troublemakers showing up, a stranger approached him midway through the event. The man spoke quietly, in a voice only the two of them could hear, saying, “The trouble has been taken care of. Please enjoy the rest of the banquet.”

Without giving Mo Ming a chance to ask questions, the man left silently.

Mo Ming frowned and tried to spot Shen Peiling in the hall, but a staff member informed him that she and her family had left the hotel about ten minutes ago.

It seemed the situation had resolved itself without him even realizing it.

The next morning, Mo Ming received a phone call. After driving for a few hours, he quietly arrived at a psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of the neighboring city.

There, he saw his biological father for the first time in years. Surprisingly, the feeling of disgust he harbored hadn’t diminished one bit.

Qiu Fu, leaning against the headboard, took a moment to recognize his son. When he did, his reaction was intense—he opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out were muffled, incoherent sounds. He struggled to sit up, but his lower body wouldn’t respond.

The hospital director, who was leading Mo Ming, explained that the man’s vocal cords were severely damaged, and his spinal cord injury had left him paralyzed from the waist down. He would never speak or walk again.

Tears streamed down the man’s face as he reached out to Mo Ming, pleading for help. His behavior was erratic, making him seem more like a genuine psychiatric patient.

Mo Ming stood by the bed, expressionless, watching him.

The small room had one window, but it faced another building’s wall, blocking out any sunlight. The few square meters of space were damp, with a faint smell of mold in the air. A bowl of watery porridge and a hardened bun sat on the bedside table…

The man’s records listed him under a different name, with legitimate identification, making it impossible to tell that any of it had been fabricated.

As Mo Ming left the room, a staff member locked the door from the outside.

In this large hospital, surrounded by high walls, it would be easy to lock away a paralyzed man until he died, especially one receiving “special care.”

When Mo Ming asked who had brought the man here, the director didn’t answer.

Mo Ming didn’t stay long and soon left the hospital.

Han Shao Zhou stood by the window in the director’s office, watching as Mo Ming walked toward the hospital gates.

“We didn’t say anything, and Mr. Mo didn’t press the matter…” the director said cautiously.

“Good,” Han Shao Zhou replied, watching as Mo Ming’s figure disappeared from view. “There’s no need for him to know…”

He had specifically arranged for Mo Ming to come here to show him that the ticking time bomb had been defused, allowing him to go about his life and work in peace.

Knowing that Mo Ming would never love him, Han Shao Zhou saw no reason to insert himself into the situation.

He figured this would be the last time he saw Mo Ming… After all, it was clear that he would never win the man’s affection in this lifetime.

As Han Shao Zhou stepped out of the hospital with his bodyguard and assistant, he heard someone call his name.

“Han Zong.”

It was a voice Han Shao Zhou knew all too well.

“Mo… Mo Ming?” Han Shao Zhou stammered, caught off guard.

Mo Ming stood by a nearby sycamore tree, waiting for him.

He walked over and stared at Han Shao Zhou without blinking.

Han Shao Zhou’s gaze flickered for a moment before he forced himself to meet Mo Ming’s eyes. He blurted out, “Zhao Cheng got hurt, so I came to check on him.”

“…” Mo Ming frowned and glanced back at the hospital sign: *** Psychiatric Hospital.

Realizing his mistake, Han Shao Zhou knew that trying to explain further would only make him seem guiltier. So he quickly checked his watch and said, “I have work to do. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

It was then that Mo Ming spoke, “Thank you.”

Han Shao Zhou looked back up, meeting Mo Ming’s calm, bright eyes. They shone with a soft, gentle light.

Han Shao Zhou scratched his eyebrow but kept his face neutral. “I don’t understand what you mean. I was just visiting a friend.”

“Mm.” Mo Ming nodded. “Thank you.”

“…”

Han Shao Zhou pressed his lips together, said nothing more, and turned to walk toward his car.

“Is he still standing there?” Han Shao Zhou whispered to A De, who was walking behind him.

A De glanced back. “Yes.”

Han Shao Zhou slowed his pace and asked a few seconds later, “What about now?”

“Yes,” A De confirmed.

Han Shao Zhou clenched his fist and suddenly turned back to face Mo Ming.

Mo Ming blinked, confused by his sudden return.

“No one thanks someone like that,” Han Shao Zhou said. “At the very least, you should treat me to a meal.”

Han Shao Zhou had indeed helped him out a lot, and Mo Ming wasn’t stingy enough to refuse a meal. He nodded, “Then when you’re free…”

“I’m free now.”

“But it’s only four in the afternoon.”

“I’m hungry,” Han Shao Zhou replied. “Get in my car, and we’ll find a restaurant in the city… unless you’re too stingy.”

Mo Ming shook his head seriously. “I’m not. But you said you had work to do.”

“I’m suddenly not busy anymore.”

“…”

Mo Ming got into Han Shao Zhou’s private car, and they sat together in the back seat.

Han Shao Zhou stared out the window the entire time, his cold, chiseled face as unmoving as a statue, as if he were just carrying out another routine task in his day.

Mo Ming quietly fiddled with his fingers. After what felt like an eternity, he finally heard Han Shao Zhou ask, seemingly offhandedly, “What should we eat?”

“Anything is fine,” Mo Ming replied softly.

“Do you have any preferences?”

“I like everything.”

“Any dietary restrictions?”

“None.”

“……”

The assistant sitting in the front passenger seat glanced at the rearview mirror, puzzled by the exchange. It was hard to tell who was hosting whom. These two had lived together for three years, yet they were acting like strangers who had just met.

Just then, Han Shao Zhou’s phone rang.

It was his grandfather, Han Changzong.

Han Changzong brought up the recent car accident. Han Shao Zhou had narrowly avoided it by not being in the car, but it had nearly cost Zhao Cheng his life. Although the driver responsible had been convicted for driving while fatigued, the old man had conducted his own investigation.

It turned out the driver’s family had been paid off…

“I understand… Yes, Grandpa… Okay…”

Han Shao Zhou hung up and instinctively glanced at the person next to him, who was still focused on his fingers.

Looking closer, Han Shao Zhou noticed that Mo Ming had some hangnails due to dryness.

He turned his gaze back to the window, but after a while, his eyes drifted back toward Mo Ming.

With a rustle, Han Shao Zhou opened the compartment beside him and pulled out a nail clipper.

“Give me your hand,” Han Shao Zhou said, extending his hand toward Mo Ming.

Mo Ming looked up, puzzled. “What?”

“Your hand,” Han Shao Zhou repeated.

When Mo Ming saw the nail clipper in his hand, he said, “I can do it myself.”

But Han Shao Zhou grabbed Mo Ming’s hand and pulled it toward him. “You don’t need to be so formal with me. I know about your past and what you’re thinking. I won’t bother you with any misplaced affection anymore. There’s no need for you to feel awkward about my actions because there’s no hidden meaning behind them. If you keep avoiding me, that would be you overthinking things.”

Mo Ming stared at Han Shao Zhou’s serious profile for a moment before saying, “I believe you.”

“Good.”

Han Shao Zhou practically pulled Mo Ming’s hand up to his chest.

He bent his head, carefully trimming the tiny hangnails with the clippers. The pale, delicate fingers stayed obediently in his grasp, the slender bones almost fragile. The smooth nails had a faint pink tint, and the soft pads of his fingers rested in Han Shao Zhou’s palm, making him handle them with extra care.

Initially, he really hadn’t meant anything by it—he simply wanted to help the guy trim his nails. But now, looking at those beautiful fingers, he couldn’t help but recall the nights when those hands had held him so tenderly, albeit with clumsy movements that had left him both aching and exhilarated…

But…

He knew that from now on, he would have to be content with his own hands.