Chapter 13
Shen Chen, President Shang’s private psychologist, sat opposite him, leisurely brewing tea.
Ever since Lin Bei called him a few days ago, urgently summoning him back from abroad to treat President Shang, Shen Chen had a premonition that his work was about to become extremely busy.
That day marked the anniversary celebration when President Shang suddenly left early; by the time Shen Chen landed at the airport, Shang Yange was nearly tearing his office apart.
From his assistant Lin Bei, Shen Chen learned that this was the worst temper President Shang had displayed in over twenty years—so irritable that he could no longer control himself in public, forcing them to disrupt their entire schedule.
Shen Chen considered himself the person who understood Shang Yange best. In his mind, President Shang possessed extraordinary wisdom and decisive action. Yet President Shang was also profoundly abnormal, flying into rages without cause, moody and unpredictable; privately, both Shen Chen and Lin Bei couldn’t help but call him a tyrant.
Fortunately, when the episodes began, Shang Yange was already eighteen, possessing the composure and detachment of a self-controlled adult; even with fury simmering inside, he continued holding meetings, conducting business, and treating his assistant with normal courtesy.
This was a non-pathological irritability that left even top modern medical experts baffled.
After disembarking from his private jet, Shen Chen leisurely went to the hospital to pick up a sedative injection, then handed it to Shang Yange.
“If you feel like smashing your computer, give yourself a shot.”
Shang Yange’s gaze, as it swept over, resembled that of someone who had just committed murder. The vial of medicine was smashed onto the floor, crushed ruthlessly under his shoe sole. After a while, he gradually regained his composure.
Shen Chen mused that President Shang was indeed not the type of domineering CEO who would easily succumb to medication. He wondered what stimulus could be used next time Shang fell ill, to ignite within him an intense desire for self-control from the depths of his being.
Having learned about Shang Yange’s recent behavior, which seemed like a complete transformation, Shen Chen vaguely sensed that the person capable of soothing President Shang had finally arrived.
“So, you want to assign bodyguards to Xie Yubo?”
When Shen Chen mentioned “Xie Yubo,” President Shang shot him a sideways glance. Drawing on years of friendship, Shen Chen momentarily felt that President Shang’s expression meant, “You actually dared to address Xie Yubo by his full name.”
“Not allowed?” Shang Yange spoke sparingly, using few words.
“Of course it’s allowed; one should never refrain from doing good just because it seems small.” Shen Chen smiled, but added internally, “However, this behavior of yours hardly fits the persona of someone deeply scheming and calculating.”
When assigning bodyguards to Xie Yubo, he surprisingly disregarded the possibility that the Xie family might arrange their own security, ordering his men to protect Xie Yubo “at any cost,” forcibly bringing Xie Yubo under his own protection without considering anyone else.
Such an oversight occurring with President Shang is both amusing and thought-provoking.
Given that the other party was still a high school student, Shen Chen didn’t wish to delve deeply into analyzing the reasons; besides, President Shang across from him didn’t seem like someone who would allow such analysis. He simply stated the conclusion directly: “Do you still want to see Young Master Xie in the future?”
“What do you think?”
“Then you can’t admit it.”
Dr. Shen, who has extensively studied “brother-obsessed behavior,” tapped the table. “I recall you have a younger brother, correct?”
“What does he have to do with this?” Shang Yange had no biological younger brother, but he did have a cousin named Shang Yanyu. Their fathers were biological brothers with a close relationship, so they could barely be considered as having grown up together.
“When Shang Yanyu was four years old, you two were riding to school together in the same car. Midway, he was kidnapped by criminals who released you to demand a ransom. Your cousin nearly been killed before being rescued, leaving you with deep psychological trauma. You are still undergoing treatment with a psychiatrist—that is, me. This matter remains a secret of the Shang family.”
One must admit, the psychiatrist tells a very compelling story.
—When Xie Chenbo’s younger brother was in danger, Shang Yange uncontrollably rushed to protect him, as if making up for the regret of Shang Yanyu being taken away all those years ago.
Putting oneself in another’s shoes, Brother Xie must surely understand Brother Shang’s actions quite well.
Shang Yange felt the story’s logic was terrible but barely passable. “I’ll leave this matter to you.”
“It’s on me.” Shen Chen thought for a moment, then reminded Shang Yange, “Young Master Xie isn’t alone; there are many who wish to protect him.”
You’re not even his biological brother; reaching too far might get you beaten back.
After a long pause, Shen Chen finally heard President Shang utter an “Mm,” seemingly tinged with confusion and reluctance.
Drawing his handsome salary, Shen Chen dutifully called up the younger Shang brother to inform him, “Your past life has just gained a brand-new chapter.”
Shang Yanyu’s tone was excited: “It’s actually true, right!”
Shen Chen: “No, it’s fake.”
Shang Yanyu: “You say I was kidnapped when I was four. I don’t remember anything from when I was four; what evidence do you have that it’s fake? Otherwise, what exactly are you supposed to do as a psychologist?”
Before Shang Yanyu could say, “How about I go visit my brother,” Shen Chen chose to hang up the phone.
Shang Yanyu was so talkative and noisy that every time he came to the company, he turned the executive floor into a bustling marketplace, leading Shang Yange to ban him from entering.
One afternoon, Shen Chen, representing President Shang, visited the injured bodyguard at the hospital. There, he happened to meet President Xie. After offering his apologies, he subtly hinted at the underlying reasons.
President Xie expressed his understanding, remarking that it now made sense why he and President Shang had felt an instant kinship and why their two companies collaborated so smoothly—they were simply kindred spirits. He generously added that whenever he encountered Shang Yanyu in the future, he would be sure to extend extra care and consideration.
Xie Chenbo, who had been vaguely troubled without knowing quite where the problem lay, finally let out a relieved sigh.
As he turned a corner down the corridor, he suddenly spotted a familiar figure from behind. Just as he was about to greet them, he watched that person accompany a woman into the obstetrics and gynecology department.
Xie Chenbo thought he had mistaken someone’s identity and didn’t give it another thought.
Saturday.
Xue Jing invited Wang Fuyang to her home for dinner; as Xie Yubo’s master, Wang Fuyang was treated with the utmost respect.
He brought Qian Kaikang along to treat Xue Jing.
Qian Kaikang performed the four diagnostic methods—inspection, auscultation and olfaction, inquiry, and pulse-taking—with meticulous care. His conclusion matched Xie Yubo’s exactly; however, unable to devise a prescription superior to Xie Yubo’s, he faithfully transcribed Xie’s formula word for word from memory.
Xie Chenbo harbored little trust in this elderly man. Since all medicines carry some degree of toxicity, he reasoned that if the treatment proved ineffective, it would be better not to take it at all.
Just then, Xue Jing received a phone call from her friend Zheng Bin.
“A-Jing, I’ve encountered a miraculous doctor! It’s at the Yiren Tang clinic east of the city. I was initially casting a wide net in my search, never expecting the old gentleman to be truly remarkable. The medicine he prescribed for me—I’ve only taken it for two days, and I no longer suffer sleepless nights from pain. I even went to a major hospital for a checkup; the doctor said my condition has improved. If I continue like this, surgery won’t be necessary.”
Zheng Bin and Xue Jing met in the hospital, their sisterly bond deepening as they shared their illnesses. Having been dependent on medication for so many years together, whenever Zheng Bin found a doctor whose treatment proved effective, her first thought was to recommend them to Xue Jing.
Xue Jing smiled. “What a coincidence! Xiao Bo also recommended this doctor to me.”
Zheng Bin is a pragmatic, high-achieving woman who stepped down from her company only in recent years due to recurring health issues that frequently required medical attention. Xie Chenbo trusted her words implicitly.
Beside them, Qian Kaikang struggled to keep his expression in check. Having recognized Zheng Bin’s voice, he finally understood why Xie Yubo had suddenly insisted on treating Ms. Zheng that day. Always thinking three steps ahead, planning with profound foresight.
During the meal, Qian Kaikang and Wang Fuyang were honored as guests of distinction, receiving repeated thanks from the Xie family. Both men glanced at Xie Yubo, whose apparent simplicity masked great wisdom; he was quietly picking at his rice, bite by bite, looking as though he knew nothing at all.
I feel unworthy of such praise, truly unworthy.
Wang Fuyang had initially felt extremely guilty, but after witnessing Qian Kaikang treating patients, he suddenly regained his confidence.
His intuition was sharp; this Qian Kaikang was just like him—a plant, a fellow accomplice in the same boat.
With someone to share the burden, what was there to fear? Even if the sky fell, a high school student would hold it up.
..
Shang Yange reluctantly gave up sending bodyguards, leaving only a group of people trailing behind Xie Yubo.
Fortunately, this group merely waited outside the entrance of the massage parlor.
After finishing school at noon, Xie Yubo reported to the massage parlor as usual, then quietly slipped out through the back door.
The Grand Imperial Astrologer finally arrived at his beloved overpass and officially opened for business.
He wrote a sign on a whiteboard, the ink forming six large characters: “Fortune-telling, Physiognomy, Talismans,” with smaller text below reading: “Cash Only.”
The winter sun felt warmly comforting. Xie Yubo, wearing a straw hat and sunglasses, sat lazily on a folding stool, leaning against the railing in a feigned slumber.
There was no place better than an overpass for basking in the sun—or rather, for telling fortunes.
Wang Ping, dreaming back to the 1980s, set up a sunglasses stall right next to Xie Yubo and immediately felt the hardships of starting one’s own business.
Not only did Xie Yubo fail to open for business, but he also didn’t sell a single pair of sunglasses.
Xie Yubo accidentally fell asleep and was only woken up by Wang Ping in time for class.
He took off his sunglasses, rubbed his eyelids, and sighed, “Time flies so fast. We haven’t had a single customer today. Uncle Wang, what do you think is going on?”
Xie Yubo pointed to the fortune teller at the other end of the overpass; at least that man had people sitting down to consult about their palm lines.
Uncle Wang fell silent for a moment, and the next day, he replaced the young master’s signboard with a new one.
He was now certain: the young master had absolutely no idea just how terrible his handwriting was.
Of course, whenever Uncle Wang thought of this, it was always accompanied by a pang of heartache.
But his concern alone was useless; passersby couldn’t understand what Xie Yubo had written.
Xie Yubo was simply too young, utterly out of place among the crowd eking out a living on the overpass.
The Grand Imperial Astrologer noticed this as well and decided to observe for a while before taking proactive action.
The next day, just as he arrived, an elementary school student darted up from the left side of the overpass. As the child passed in front of Xie Yubo, they suddenly stumbled and fell flat on the ground.
Uncle Wang hurriedly helped him up, and upon seeing his face, exclaimed in shock, “Little one, who hit you?”
The child’s left cheek bore a clear handprint; his arms were alarmingly thin, showing signs of both malnutrition and abuse. His dark, deep eyes tugged at the heartstrings of anyone who looked at them.
In the middle of the day, it was obvious the child hadn’t eaten, which was why he had collapsed from hunger.
Xie Yubo’s gaze lingered on the boy for a moment. In his bag was a carton of milk he hadn’t drunk that morning, along with some pastries Liu Fei had given him, supposedly handmade by Liu Fei’s mother. He took them out and handed them to the child. “Eat.”
The child hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Thank you, big brother.”
Xie Yubo recalled a certain tiny figure once confined to the firewood shed, and a chill flickered in his eyes. “Where’s your father?”
Hearing this, the child shrank back. “Dad’s at work.”
Observing the boy’s reaction, Wang Ping impulsively asked, “Did your father hit you?”
The child said nothing, silently nibbling on the bread while occasionally glancing at the handsome older brother.
Wang Ping couldn’t help but look toward Xie Yubo; somehow, whenever things like this happened, he always felt that the young master would have a solution.
Xie Yubo merely patted the top of the child’s head. “Finish eating and go rest in the classroom for your afternoon nap. Someone will come to save you too, just like an older brother.”
He spoke those last words very softly.
After finishing the bread, the child carefully tucked the wrapper into his pocket and thanked Xie Yubo once more.
Just as he was about to descend from the pedestrian overpass, a middle-aged man panted as he hurried after him, calling out, “Kid, wait a moment!”
The man wore worn-out rubber shoes and an old cotton jacket; his face was deeply tanned by the sun. Clutching a large bag of freshly bought bread, his eyes reddened as he said, “Hey, take these and eat them hidden away in your classroom.”
Xie Yubo looked up and saw a cardboard sign hanging around the man’s chest. Beneath a photograph, words were written and covered with transparent tape to make them waterproof.
Five years of searching for his son.
This was a travel-worn father, arriving from who knows where, speaking in an obscure accent, standing on an overpass in an unfamiliar city, begging passersby to take a look and offer any clues. The search for his missing child had left him penniless; he couldn’t even bear to replace his worn-out shoes, yet he bought food for a child he had just met by chance.
The child could read. He stared intently at the photo of the little boy for a while, then lowered his head with dimmed eyes, murmuring to himself, “If only you were my dad.”
“What a tragedy!” Even though the child bore no resemblance whatsoever to the little boy in the photograph, the sentimental Uncle Wang couldn’t help but ask Xie Yubo, “Could these two possibly be father and son…?”
If he were the biological father, he wouldn’t abuse a child like this, would he? Could it be a case of trafficking?
With Xie Yubo present, even the down-to-earth Uncle Wang couldn’t help but anticipate a miracle.
Xie Yubo shook his head. “No.”
Uncle Wang’s face was filled with sorrow. Some fathers love their children as deeply as a mountain, yet lose them without a trace; some children are sensible and well-behaved, yet are burdened with a scumbag for a father.
Xie Yubo glanced toward the area beneath the overpass, where a man in his thirties, dressed in a suit and radiating hostility, stared intently at every elementary school student in uniform passing by, as if searching for his son. Xie Yubo curled the corner of his mouth. “The scumbag has arrived. He’ll regret this soon enough.”