CHAPTER 128: THE DNA TEST II

The luxurious living room, spacious enough to host a ball, was hushed into stillness. The high crystal chandelier above bathed everything in warm golden light, its brilliance glinting off the glass-topped tables and polished marble floor. But the five people sitting within the lavish space were blind to the room’s grandeur.

On the main sofa, four men and one woman sat—though no one could claim it was a harmonious scene.

Sīān lay stretched across the cushions, his head pillowed on Lan Qíshēng’s lap. His eyes were closed, his expression deceptively peaceful, yet the faint twitch of his brows and the pallor of his lips betrayed the truth. He wasn’t sleeping. He was simply... retreating. His body, battered by exhaustion, demanded rest, but his mind refused him the comfort of slumber.

Lan Qíshēng’s hand rested protectively against his shoulder, thumb rubbing over the fabric of his shirt in slow circles, a small gesture that carried both comfort and desperation. The young wolf’s posture was deceptively composed, but anyone who looked closely enough would see the tension locked into every muscle, the storm raging behind his clear blue eyes.

Across from them, Madam Xiā sat pressed against her husband’s chest, her trembling hands clutching the silk folds of her dress. Father Xiā’s arms enfolded her, holding her together as tears spilled silently down her cheeks.

All of this... because of her.

Because she could not resist pressing forward. Because she insisted—against warnings, against Lan Qíshēng’s protests—on recognizing the boy as her son. Now the sight of Sīān’s weary figure, his haunted face, pierced her like a thousand blades.

Lan Qíshēng’s warning echoed in her mind: His condition isn’t good. Don’t push him.

And she hadn’t listened.

Now guilt coiled inside her chest like a venomous serpent. Shame and sorrow pressed against her lungs, choking her breath. Still, beyond the guilt was something far greater—worry, aching and relentless, for the boy she longed to call her child.

Yes, it wasn’t shameful to suffer from mental illness. It wasn’t even uncommon. But his case... his case was severe. Dangerous.

How had he ever reached such a state? What horrors had carved such scars into his soul?

She wasn’t the only one asking this.

Lan Qíshēng’s gaze was locked onto the young man in his lap, his heart clawing at his ribs with every uneven breath Sīān took. Fear gnawed at him, devouring every ounce of calm he tried to muster.

No one in the room understood better than him. No one but the one who shared Sīān’s bed could know the depths of his torment.

He had seen the cracks others couldn’t see.

The nightmares that tore him awake almost every night, leaving him drenched in sweat.

The murmurs in his sleep, fragmented names and pleas no one else would ever understand.

The way he wept silently into the dark when he thought no one could see.

The world saw strength, composure, and an unshakable man. Lan Qíshēng saw the truth. He had seen every fracture, every vulnerable corner Sīān worked so hard to hide.

And yet, he never asked.

He never demanded answers. Because he knew—if Sīān wished to confide in him, he would have done so long ago. They had shared the same bed for six months now, and still, silence reigned between them about this part of him. That silence was itself an answer.

Still, he couldn’t stop wondering. Was it tied to his work? To the mysterious Phantom Division, he belonged? Had something happened on a mission? Or perhaps, far earlier... in his childhood?

He had spun, countless theories, but no imagined scenario explained away the hollowed pain behind Sīān’s eyes.

"...Sīān—"

His voice cracked through the silence, startling the others. Even Madam Xiā lifted her wet lashes to look at him.

But Sīān’s lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes before the words could fall.

Lan Qíshēng had known. He wasn’t truly asleep. He was merely escaping.

"...Sīān," he said again, softer now, as if afraid to spook him. "This won’t do. You need to go to the hospital. You... need treatment."

The words trembled. Not because Lan Qíshēng feared him, but because to speak them was to admit—to accuse—that Sīān was "ill." That he was not whole.

And who would ever accept that easily?

But Sīān only looked back at him, eyes calm as still water.

He wasn’t offended.

Why would he be?

He knew. He had always known. He was insane. Everyone in his original world had known it too. The label did not wound him—it was simply the truth.

Madam Xiā’s fragile composure broke. "Son... I’m so sorry. If only I hadn’t pushed—" Her voice dissolved into sobs, her hands covering her face.

"Mother," he said quietly, sitting up from Lan Qíshēng’s lap with unhurried grace. There was no embarrassment in the movement, no hesitation. He was too accustomed to intimacy with the wolf beside him, and besides, the gravity of the moment drowned out such trivialities.

"It’s all right. Truly." His gaze settled firmly on hers. "You’re not to blame for me. This... I’ve always lived with it. It has nothing to do with you."

His tone was gentle, but unyielding, like steel hidden in velvet. "Truly," he repeated, holding her eyes until she gave a broken nod.

He wasn’t ashamed. He never would be. The past was a shadow he could never outrun, but he had long since learned to live alongside it.

That was who he was.

And so, with deliberate lightness, he added, "Besides, the DNA test was for me too. Maybe I’ll turn out to be the spoiled youngest son of the wealthiest family in the city."

The casual shrug he gave pulled a wet, trembling laugh from Madam Xiā.

But Zīmíng, seated stiffly at the edge of the sofa, could no longer restrain himself. His lips curled with venom. "You—You see? He just wants our money!"

"Shut your mouth!" Father Xiā’s roar shook the room. "He is my son too, and if the test proves it, he deserves everything you’ve enjoyed all these years!"

The older man’s face flushed red with fury. Beneath the anger was a heavier emotion: guilt. Crushing guilt for the lost years, for the hardships his child had endured outside. If this boy was truly his, he swore to make it up, even if it cost him everything.

"Oh?" Sīān arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. "So you’re a grown man, still living off your parents?" His gaze flicked mischievously to Madam Xiā. "Mother, let’s do the test tomorrow. And if I really am your son, then I’ll be taking the allowance and properties you gave to this ’little brother.’"

"You—!" Zīmíng’s voice cracked with outrage. "Who are you calling little brother? I’m years older than you!"

"And by what right would you take what’s mine? I’ve worked hard for it! I’m not some child living off—"

"Oh?" Madam Xiā’s eyes sharpened, slicing into him like a blade. "So you’re saying your father and I gave you nothing?" Her fury turned swiftly to Sīān, her voice warm again. "Darling, once the results are out tomorrow, I’ll give you the villa in the eastern district, the new car, and the gaming company too..."

One by one she listed properties, assets, luxuries—all things Zīmíng had once bragged about as his.

The boy’s face drained of color. His hands clutched his chest dramatically, as though his very heart were being ripped out. Already, he could see himself on the streets, penniless, begging for scraps.

Laughter burst from the others. The tension cracked like glass underfoot. Even Sīān let out a soft chuckle.

That night, when the Xiā family finally departed—after arranging to meet at their private hospital the next morning—Lan Qíshēng claimed what he had hungered for.

He pulled Sīān into his arms, kissing him with wild hunger, tasting the lips he had been deprived of for too long. Their bodies pressed close, the passion fierce, raw, as if he were reuniting with him after years of separation. By the time the wolf was satisfied, the moon had long since fled the sky, leaving Sīān asleep, his skin marked in crimson traces.

Lan Qíshēng lay awake in the dark, gazing at his beloved, his heart torn. He had begged him again to see a therapist. But Sīān only shook his head. Useless. That was his only answer. He knew himself too well.

No doctor could heal him. No medicine could erase what time had carved into his soul.

And so the wolf, helpless, could only press his lips to the crown of his lover’s head and accept the wall he could not climb.

The morning came.

After breakfast—and two playful, punishing strikes that left fresh red streaks across Lan Qíshēng’s skin—they dressed and headed to the hospital.

Madam Xiā was already waiting. Dressed in an elegant embroidered white dress, her hair swept into a sophisticated chignon, she looked like a woman decades younger, not a mother with three grown children. Her eyes brightened the moment they landed on Sīān.

"My darling, how are you? Did you eat before coming? If you’re hungry, we can go afterward—I know a wonderful Chinese restaurant."

"Then let’s go—after the test," Sīān replied easily.

Free food was never refused. The look Lan Qíshēng shot him—half exasperation, half silent accusation of Did I not feed you enough?—was pointedly ignored.

Though each of the Xiā siblings had busy careers, today every one of them was present. That fact alone proved how seriously the family took this matter.

Because it was a family-owned hospital, the process was swift. Within two hours, the results were ready.

The envelope felt like fire in Madam Xiā’s hands. Her fingers shook so violently that she nearly dropped it.

"It’s all right, Mother," Sīān murmured, standing close. His voice was steady, a lifeline for her unraveling heart. "Even if the result is