CHAPTER 126: A MOTHER’S LOVE, A LOVER’S JEALOUSY

When poor Lan Qíshēng thought he would finally have some quiet hours alone with his beloved, after what felt like an eternity of chaos, blood, and responsibility pressing on his shoulders, fate once again played its cruel hand. When he believed the night belonged to him and Sīān, uninvited guests appeared at his private villa.

The heavy chime of the doorbell echoed through the spacious halls. His jaw clenched.

(Has my home turned into a bus station?) He thought bitterly, striding toward the door with long, rigid steps. His expression was carved with irritation, the faintest furrow of his brows betraying how unwelcome he found the interruption. Shadows deepened across his face, giving him the air of a man robbed of something precious.

Yet the moment his eyes flicked toward the screen of the security camera, his entire demeanor shifted. His gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, practiced smile that slid into place so naturally it seemed rehearsed. Anyone observing would have thought the man outside was a dear family friend or a relative returning from a long journey.

In a sense, it wasn’t entirely false. The Xià family had ties to the Lans that stretched back generations. Their connection was not one of frequent contact, but rather a bond rooted in bloodlines and duty.

And tonight, it was indeed the Xià family who stood at his door. Not just a lone visitor. Not even two. The entire family had arrived.

Lan Qíshēng straightened his back, inhaled once, and pulled the door open with composed elegance. His voice was smooth, every word polite, his tone giving nothing away of his inner irritation.

"Good evening, Madam Xià, Mister Xià. How have you been?"

The response came immediately, almost breathlessly, from Madam Xià.

"Qíshēng—my son, where is he? How is Sīān? Where is he right now?"

Her poise as a lady of high standing crumbled in an instant. The refinement of her upbringing, the polished image she had always upheld in public, all dissolved beneath the weight of raw maternal fear. Her eyes were wide, her voice trembling yet sharp, and the delicate silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders tremored with her uneven breaths.

Heaven knew how her heart had twisted when she had seen what befell Sīān through the live broadcast. Not only the grotesque incident with the zombies, but even earlier, when her son collapsed mid-performance, unconscious after singing. That suffocating terror had nearly drowned her. She had almost booked the earliest ticket she could find that very night, desperate to rush to his side. Only the firm restraint of her elder brother had prevented her from storming the airport.

Later, when Sīān reappeared on-screen, alive and seemingly well, she had forced herself to calm. Yet the illusion of safety had been shattered cruelly. Who could have foreseen that a simple singing competition would transform into a nightmare of blood, fire, and death? Even now, part of her soul screamed in denial, refusing to believe what had happened on the island was reality.

Her husband and sons, with their influence and connections, had confirmed that Sīān had survived. But facts alone could not soothe a mother’s heart. Sleep had abandoned her nights, leaving her awake in cold sweat, heart pounding at shadows, reliving that broadcast over and over.

Standing a step behind her, Xià Zīmíng and Xià Wéilián offered quiet nods of greeting to Lan Qíshēng. Though they spoke no words, the worry carved into their features spoke volumes.

Were it not for their understanding of the closeness between Lan Qíshēng and Sīān, they would have already taken their brother away to their own household without hesitation. But they had seen enough of Sīān to understand his pride, his stubborn independence. He might not accept such a move, not so soon after reuniting with them. To them, even finding him alive had been a miracle. If he needed time before acknowledging them fully as family, then they would wait—patiently, silently, until his heart chose to open.

"My uncle, my aunt," Lan Qíshēng said smoothly, "there is no need for concern. Sīān is upstairs, resting. I’ll call him down. It’s dinnertime anyway. Please, come in."

Just like the fleeting change in his face, his form of address shifted seamlessly.

Madam Xià, however, was no hypocrite. She had not come all this way to sit obediently in the living room while her son slept upstairs. The words let him rest never once touched her tongue. How could she rest, when her heart would not stop clawing at her chest until her eyes fell upon him with her own gaze?

---

"Darling, wake up."

The words were murmured with warmth, almost a purr. Lan Qíshēng slid onto the bed beside Sīān and pressed a trail of kisses—soft, insistent—across his ear, through the silky strands of his hair, down to his pale, serene face.

"Lan Qíshēng!" Sīān groaned, his brows pinching as he pulled the blanket higher. "Has your damned lust woken up again? Get off me. I want to sleep."

He had finally driven the troublesome visitors from the house, only to find himself besieged by a clingy mutt. Unfortunately, this particular mutt owned the villa. Throwing him out was hardly an option.

Not that Sīān hated indulging him. On the contrary, their intimacy pleased him as well. They had been separated ever since the disaster on the island, their bodies starved of closeness. And yet—right now, exhaustion blanketed Sīān’s limbs, a bone-deep weariness that no affection could pierce.

All he wanted was sleep. Just one night of undisturbed rest.

But Lan Qíshēng would not let him be. His relentless touches, his teasing persistence—Sīān’s patience frayed thread by thread. He was seriously considering moving out, even if only to secure peace for himself.

It wasn’t that he lacked funds. True, most of them had come from Qíshēng, but what of it?

Sīān had no shame in using that money as he pleased. Even if one day they broke up, he would feel no guilt spending it afterward.

Please—morality? Dignity? To someone who had clawed his way through the ashes of an apocalypse, such words were little more than jokes.

Lan Qíshēng, who only wished for his lover to meet the Xià family, had no idea that his earnest intentions were driving Sīān to contemplate leaving. Worse—Sīān was already imagining life after their separation.

One day, this colonel would lose his mind because of him.

"Get up," Qíshēng said finally, voice sharper now. "The Xià family is here. They want to see you."

At that, Sīān sighed, the weight of reality dragging him upright. Pretending to sleep was no longer an option. He waved Qíshēng away, muttering that he would join them after a quick shower.

---

The Xià family was once again struck dumb the moment Sīān appeared before them.

He descended the staircase slowly, clad in sleek black silk pajamas that clung to his lithe frame. His pale face gleamed like carved jade beneath the soft glow of the chandelier, his long white hair damp, strands clinging to his skin, a towel casually draped in his hand. There was a quiet grace in his every step, a beauty that seemed almost unearthly.

"Sīān, come, sit here. Are you alright? Do you feel any pain, any discomfort?"

Madam Xià rose instantly, her voice trembling. She seized his hand the moment he was within reach, pulling him closer. She snatched the towel from him, scolding gently as she began to dry his hair herself, each motion filled with the instinctive love of a mother.

Lan Qíshēng, who had only advanced two steps, froze.

"...."

Why was it that everyone moved at lightning speed the moment it involved Sīān? Shouldn’t he be the one at Sīān’s side? Shouldn’t he be the first to care for him?

"I’m really fine, Mo—" Sīān halted, recalling the promise he had once made to her. To call her mother, to accept her as his second parent in this world. He corrected himself, lips curving faintly. "Mom, I’m perfectly fine. As you see, not a single injury this time."

The word shattered her composure. Madam Xià’s tears spilled freely as she crushed him against her, sobbing, her breath catching on broken words.

"Why is it always you? Why do you always end up in danger? Why must misfortune cling to you, pulling you toward peril again and again?"

"...Maybe he has Detective Conan’s aura around him," one of the brothers muttered under his breath.

A sharp smack! Cracked across his head.

Father Xià, who had until now held himself in silence, eyes rimmed red as he stared at Sīān, finally broke. Rage thundered through his chest, and he struck Zīmíng hard.

"You unfilial brat! At your age, you still can’t control your tongue? Boys your age raise families while you can’t even raise yourself properly?"

"Dad! Why hit me? I wasn’t insulting him! What I said was actual—"

"You—!"

Another strike was raised, fury burning in his veins—only to be interrupted by a ripple of laughter.

Not mocking laughter. Bright, melodic, infectious.

Father Xià turned sharply, stunned to see his wife and Sīān laughing together, shoulders shaking, tears glimmering in Sīān’s eyes—but this time from mirth.

For him, this small, comical clash between father and son was more entertaining than any comedy program. The tension in the room shattered like glass, replaced with warmth.

The heavy air lightened. Smiles spread, words exchanged more freely. Even Wéilián, ever the reserved elder brother, joined the conversation. They spoke of the island, of the horrors faced, and of the unknown changes still to come.

But beneath the laughter, beneath the warmth, shadows lingered—unspoken fears of dangers yet to rise. And as Lan Qíshēng watched Sīān, sitting so naturally with the Xià family, his chest tightened with something dark, something restless.

He was not prepared to share.

Not with them. Not with anyone.