CHAPTER 129: THE PRICE OF GREED, THE COST OF TOMORROW

At last, one could finally say that the Xiā family had been reunited.

The weight of years—of absence, of grief, of longing left unanswered—seemed to lift in that single embrace. Even the usually sharp and aloof Weillian, who wore arrogance like a second skin, had reddened eyes at that moment. His lips trembled, though he pressed them into a thin line to keep his composure.

Madam Xiā pulled Sīān close against her chest, as though terrified that if she loosened her grip for even a heartbeat, he would vanish like a mirage. She gathered her son to her with a desperate tenderness, and in doing so, drew the rest of the family—including the usually reserved Father Xiā—into one great, warm embrace.

For the first time in so very long, the Xiā family was whole.

Sīān was engulfed in this flood of familial affection, smothered in warmth he had never asked for yet found himself secretly craving. His lashes lowered, his heart strangely light.

(To have a family that cares for you... a family that loves you... It’s not bad at all.)

The thought bloomed within him, hesitant yet unshakable. His lips curved into a soft smile—one that deepened, wider and truer with every passing breath.

---

When the tide of emotions finally ebbed, leaving only the glimmer of joy in its wake, the family slowly began to settle.

Madam Xiā, however, refused to let the moment dissipate too quickly. She clasped Sīān’s hand firmly, her delicate features still radiant with unrestrained joy.

"It’s nearly lunchtime," she announced with a brightness that astonished even her husband. "We must go out and eat together—celebrate this reunion properly. And later, we shall hold a grand banquet! A celebration worthy of welcoming my son back. The entire city will know of his return, and all will see with their own eyes the beauty of my handsome boy."

Her enthusiasm drew startled laughter from her children. Even the usually calm and refined Father Xiā allowed a small, helpless smile.

It was rare—so rare—for Madam Xiā to shed her poised elegance and behave with such candid delight. At the dining table of the luxurious restaurant she had chosen, she was unusually lively and talkative, gesturing as she spoke, her joy infectious. The warmth of her spirit spilled outward, enveloping the entire family like the glow of a hearth fire on a winter’s night.

Not one of them opposed her idea.

After all, the Xiā clan was not just any family. Their name carried weight in both political and business circles, a dynasty in all but title. Even their distant relatives—cousins once or twice removed—were figures whose appearances were reported by media outlets and dissected on social networks.

Naturally, the miraculous return of a son who had been lost for more than fifteen years demanded official acknowledgment. The banquet Madam Xiā spoke of would not merely be a party; it would be a statement to the entire nation, a declaration that their family was whole again.

But Sīān... did not want that.

At least, not yet.

---

As laughter swirled around the table, his amber eyes flickered—sharp, calculating, laced with something none of them could quite name. His lips quirked, not in mirth but in a sly, hidden smile.

For in the depths of his heart, he thought of someone.

That figure of that person flashed before him like a blade of lightning across a storm-darkened sky, and a gleam—dangerous, mischievous—shone in his gaze.

He set his fork down with deliberate grace.

"Mother," he said suddenly, his tone calm yet carrying a weight that immediately silenced the table. "I don’t want it to be announced yet."

The clatter of cutlery ceased. The entire family froze as though struck by a sudden chill.

Weillian stiffened, eyes narrowing. Lan Qíshēng, seated nearby, tilted his head, trying to decipher the reasoning behind such a statement. As for the Xiā parents, their faces fell, joy dimming into shadows of worry and confusion.

Father Xiā, ever blunt, leaned forward. His voice was steady but heavy. "Sīān... do you not wish to be part of the family?"

The question hung in the air like the toll of a funeral bell. Though he masked it well, his heart quivered in fear of the answer. He was a man who had stared down countless crises in the corporate world, who had gambled empires and clawed them back from the brink. Yet this—this single question to his son—made his palms damp with sweat. For some truths, once spoken, left wounds that never healed.

Madam Xiā gasped softly, her hand striking against her husband’s arm in reproach. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she turned toward her son, voice breaking.

"Darling, is that truly how you feel? Do you... resent us? Because we failed to protect you, because we lost you, because we left you to endure so much pain alone?"

Her throat tightened, choking off the rest of her words. Grief swelled in her chest, threatening to drown her.

But before despair could swallow her whole, Sīān reached out.

He took her hand gently, his touch warm, steady. His smile was tender, luminous in its sincerity. With his other hand, he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"Mother," he whispered, "that’s not the case. Not at all."

His voice carried a softness that soothed her broken heart. He leaned closer, meeting her gaze with steady amber eyes.

"There are simply some matters I need to settle first. Things I must finish before I can stand proudly by your side."

His lips curved faintly. "When those matters are done, then I want you to hold for me the grandest banquet imaginable. The kind that shakes the city to its core. Will you do that for me?"

Her breath hitched. And then, slowly, comprehension dawned.

He wasn’t rejecting them.

He doesn’t hate them.

He only needed time.

Relief rushed through her veins, banishing the cold grip of fear. A smile bloomed upon her beautiful face once more, radiant and unburdened.

---

After the meal ended, Madam Xiā tried to persuade him to stay at the family estate, to live under their roof once more. But Sīān declined, politely yet firmly.

Lan Qíshēng, who had been silently tense throughout the meal, exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief softened his features. A selfish part of him feared that if Sīān settled too quickly into this newly reclaimed family, he would drift out of his reach entirely.

For now, fate had granted him more time.

---

The car ride was quiet.

Lan Qíshēng drove with steady hands, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the young man seated beside him. Sīān’s posture was relaxed, yet his gaze out the window was distant, cold, as though his thoughts wandered through places no one else could follow.

Truthfully, Sīān did not want to go where they were headed.

If not for Xiao Zhu...

His lips pressed together. He had promised the boy. Promised to protect him. Promises to Sīān were sacred—iron chains that bound his soul.

The authorities had claimed they only wanted blood samples from the child. Claimed it was necessary for research. But Sīān knew too well what "research" meant in places like that. He knew the terror Xiao Zhu must be feeling, shut away behind sterile walls and cold glass.

So he would go. He would see for himself. And if necessary, he would act.

---

The military-controlled laboratory rose ahead, a fortress of steel and reinforced concrete. Guards in dark uniforms stood at rigid attention at the gates. Barbed wire crowned the fences, and watchtowers loomed like the gaze of unblinking eyes.

Entry, however, was easy enough. Lan Qíshēng’s position carried weight, and with Sīān’s hidden status as a member of the Phantom Squad—knowledge unknown to most in this world—their presence was welcomed, even accommodated. The elder Lan seemed eager, even hopeful, that Sīān’s perspective might prove valuable.

For though the citizens outside lived in blissful ignorance, the nation’s foundation trembled with silent dread. Those in the know could feel it: the quiet unraveling of stability, the whispers of catastrophe creeping ever closer.

Ignorance was bliss, yes. But it was also a curse.

---

Sīān, however, held no respect for scientists.

His steps echoed coldly as they passed through security checkpoints, down pristine corridors. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, sharp and sterile. His jaw tightened with each breath.

And then he saw it.

Rows of cold iron machines, their blinking lights reflecting off glass walls. Shelves lined with samples—tubes of blood, jars of preserved tissue, rows of sealed containers.

Fortunately, most held only plants or animal specimens. Yet Sīān’s patience frayed with each sight, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Deeper they went. Down hallways that gleamed too white, too clean. And at last, toward the area where Xiao Zhu was kept.

Sīān’s steps faltered.

His chest constricted, a chill running through him. His body stiffened, every nerve screaming in resistance.

Lan Qíshēng turned, brows furrowing. "Sīān? What is it?"

"What is it, you ask?"

A laugh escaped him—soft, bitter, twisted with pain so sharp it could split the earth.

What is it?

Was he truly asking that?

Sīān sneered, not only at Lan Qíshēng but at himself.

He hated such places. Always had. Always would.

The sterile halls brought memories crashing down with merciless clarity.

He remembered being locked away. Remembered the stench of metal and chemicals, the endless injections of unknown substances. The searing agony of electric shocks was tearing through his body. The screams of others, cut short in silence.

Some had died.

Some had gone mad.

A few survived—broken, twisted, scarred forever.

And their tormentors had dared to cloak themselves in righteousness. They had declared that it was "for humanity." That sacrificing hundreds was worth it if billions could be saved.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His amber eyes burned, flaring red at the edges.

This was not his world. He knew that. He reminded himself again and again. But the sights before him clawed at old wounds that had never healed.

The corpses.

The dissected limbs are sealed in glass.

Scientists moving briskly, their expressions detached as they logged data, probed flesh, measured decay.

Zombie corpses. Limbs carefully preserved, dissected with surgical precision.

The sight struck him like a thunderbolt straight to the heart.

A thought rose, unbidden, chilling:

Will this world truly not share the same fate as mine?

Look at them. Look at their greed. Their arrogance.

He had told them before—warned them—to burn every corpse, to destroy all traces. But here they were, keeping samples, poking and prodding, blind to the disaster they courted.

Why was humanity always like this?

Greedy.

Always greedy.

Some for money.

Some for power.

Some for ambition.

Some for life itself.

Greed, and greed, and endless greed...

No wonder civilizations always destroy themselves.

And in that instant, staring at the glass that separated the living from the dead, Sīān thought with a cold, bitter certainty:

They deserve it.