“Fine. You’ll return there for the semesters you need, but you will spend all your other time here.”

Whatever was holding Xiao-Xiao back finally burst and he leapt from his chair, his hands slamming onto the table. “You want to come back just like that?” He was the most upset that Xingyu had seen him since he got back—he almost sounded near tears. “You left and you want to just—”

“Xiaokai.”

And immediately all of that anger disappeared. He was docile again, drooping, exhausted. He bowed to their mother almost as soon as she finished saying his name, but he didn’t sit back down.

“Your meeting?”

She knew about Rang’er?

“It went well. He wants to meet again next week.”

“You set an appointment?”

“Yes.”

So she knew about Rang’er? Their mother’s distraction apparently did not just work on Xiao-Xiao; the preceding conversation had all but vanished from Xingyu’s consciousness. He looked back and forth between them, trying to understand the unspoken lines of their conversation.

“Remember your meeting tomorrow as well.”

Xiao-Xiao’s gaze, for some reason, met Xingyu’s in that moment—not just a glance, either. Xingyu’s little brother looked him in the eye for the entirety of what he said next, as if he was sending some kind of message, as if he wanted Xingyu to understand something he wasn’t saying. “I remember,” he said.

IN THE DARKNESS of Sun Yue’s home office, Liu Xiaokai made himself comfortable on one of the two love seats as Sun Yue got settled at her desk. Usually, Liu Xiaokai would just go straight to bed; there was no reason for him to stick around after he’d given all the information to Sun Yue. But tonight was a different matter. Tonight, he had lost his temper—lost control—and he was being punished for it. He was not allowed to be alone after he lost control.

“Were there any issues?”

Xiaokai closed his eyes and draped an arm over his head. “No. None. He passed out after he came and stayed passed out until I got out of the shower. Didn’t notice a thing.”

Sun Yue made a noise of acknowledgment. In the next few moments, the only sound in the office was the clicking of her mouse and the occasional tap on her keyboard. At last she said, “This is good.”

Xiaokai didn’t reply to this. She wasn’t looking for a reply.

“Xiaokai, your brother—”

His eyes snapped open.

“I know you wanted to become the heir. You worked hard for it.”

Xiaokai was boiling inside.

“But your brother was trained to become the heir—to become the president. Your skills are better utilized like this. While your brother and your father work on the surface with everyone else, it is our job to work below. To establish the roots that keep them afloat. It just wouldn’t work if we were in charge.”