[La Maison Restaurant — September 15, 5:57 PM]
The car pulled up to La Maison in the fading light of late afternoon. The sun sat low on the horizon, casting long amber shadows across the cobblestone entrance.
The walkway was lined with wrought-iron railings, and hand-carved stone pillars framed the mahogany doors where a doorman stood waiting in a tailored uniform.
Lin Feng stepped out and handed the keys to the valet, who rushed forward with a slight bow.
"Mr. Lin! Welcome! Miss Lin has been waiting for you!"
"Weiwei is already here?"
Lin Feng glanced at his watch. 5:57 PM. There were only three minutes left.
"Yes, Mr. Lin. Miss Lin arrived much earlier." The valet leaned in slightly, eyes bright, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "She's been here since 2:00 PM. Preparing."
Lin Feng's hand paused on his cuff.
Two PM?
That was almost four hours ago.
"Preparing?" Lin Feng repeated carefully.
"Yes, sir! She rented the entire restaurant for the evening and she has been using the kitchen." The valet bounced on his heels. "I must say, the young master is very lucky to have the young miss!"
A light breeze drifted past, carrying the faint scent of butter and herbs from somewhere inside.
She even rented the entire restaurant. Cooking for hours.
Is Weiwei also making her move tonight?
The pattern was familiar. Too familiar.
Lin Feng couldn't help but think back to his day so far — and to the kind of person Lin Weiwei was in the novel.
[★★★★★★★ Lin Weiwei. Heroine #2999]
[Affection: -99]
One of the two seven-star heroines, just like Xiao Yue. And exactly like Xiao Yue in terms of the depth of her love for Lin Feng.
Or in this case, for me.
"Thank you," he said evenly, cold sweat forming on his forehead as he moved toward the entrance.
The heavy wooden door swung open beneath his palm, and he expected to find wealthy patrons, quiet conversations, classical music drifting from hidden speakers.
Instead, the restaurant was empty.
Soft candlelight flickered across white tablecloths while warm light pooled in golden circles on the hardwood floor. The crystal chandeliers hung dark overhead — someone had dimmed them on purpose. The only sounds were the quiet hum of ventilation and the distant clatter of pots from the kitchen.
It looked like someone had stripped away all the formality of an expensive European restaurant to create a private dining room.
And there, standing by a table set for two in the center of the space, was Lin Weiwei.
Lin Feng stopped mid-step.
In a venue like this, she should have been draped in an elegant gown, jewels, designer heels.
Instead, she wore cheap soft cotton pajama pants covered in small cartoon patterns, paired with an oversized cream-colored t-shirt that fell past her hips and nearly reached her knees. Rabbit-ear slippers covered her feet, and a faint smudge of flour dusted her left cheek. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as she watched the door.
Her long jet-black hair hung loose, released from its usual practical ponytail to flow past her shoulders in soft waves that caught the flickering candlelight. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, and had made no effort whatsoever to dress for the occasion.
And yet Lin Weiwei was still devastating, looking every bit like a housewife waiting for her husband to come home.
Lin Weiwei spotted him, and her whole face changed. Her shoulders dropped, the tight line of her jaw softened, and then she was smiling — bright, unguarded, the kind of smile she never wore outside the house.
Then she moved.
She didn't walk elegantly or approach with sophistication. She just ran, her slippered feet padding across the polished floor as her oversized t-shirt billowed slightly behind her.
"Big Brother!"
She threw herself into his arms without hesitation, wrapping around him tight and burying her face against his chest.
--------------------------------------
[The Embrace — 6:00 PM]
Lin Feng caught her instinctively, his arms wrapping around her smaller frame.
She was warm against him, and she smelled like vanilla and butter — like she'd been standing over a hot stove all afternoon.
But she was holding on too tight. Her fingers dug into the back of his shirt, and he could feel her trembling against him.
Why is she this anxious? Did she think I was going to cancel?
She looked up at him, eyes bright with happiness that couldn't quite mask something sharper underneath.
"You came!"
"Of course I came," he said quietly. "I promised."
Her smile flickered, brows drawing together for just a moment before she smoothed them back.
"You keep your promises now." Something sharper surfaced in her voice before she buried it. "I like that!"
Lin Feng felt the weight behind those words.
How many times did the other Lin Feng cancel on her? Dozens? Always for Su Qingxue. Always choosing a gold-digger over his… no… my own stepsister.
"I do," he confirmed, meeting her eyes steadily.
She held his gaze, searching his face like she was looking for cracks in the statement, some sign he didn't mean it.
Then she stepped back, though her hands lingered on his arms before finally letting go, like she couldn't bear to break contact all at once.
"I made all your favorites!" The brightness in her voice came too fast, pitched too high, and she was already turning away before he could respond. "Come sit!"
Lin Weiwei grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the table.
Lin Feng let her lead him, the ghost of her trembling grip still lingering on his skin.
--------------------------------------
[The Interrogation — 6:05 PM]
Before they could sit down to eat, Weiwei pulled out her phone.
Her expression shifted as she looked at the screen, the warmth cooling into something harder underneath. Something calculated.
"Big Brother, I need to ask you something."
She turned the phone toward him.
It was a photo of him and Xiao Yue walking out of Central Plaza Restaurant together, hand in hand. The image was crisp and clear and damning — one of thousands that had gone viral within minutes of the confrontation.
Her voice tried for neutrality and failed completely.
"Did you... replace Su Qingxue with this... girl?"
She almost said something else. Lin Feng caught it in the slight hitch of her breath, the way her lips formed a different shape before correcting. The word she swallowed was bitch, and the venom behind it felt too personal, too specific, too familiar.
Her hands trembled slightly as she held the phone.
Lin Feng watched her — the trembling hands, the venom she'd barely swallowed, the way her whole body had tensed at the sight of Xiao Yue's face.
By chance, does Lin Weiwei know about Xiao Yue?
Then Lin Feng remembered Xiao Yue's words on the park bench, spoken while her eyes drifted toward something in the trees.
"I won't lose to her."
Xiao Yue... She was referring to Weiwei, wasn't she?
The pieces clicked together. Two women who'd been watching him, and watching each other watch him. Two rivals locked in years of silent competition, and today, one of them had made a move.
He was right about the rivalry, but wrong about everything else.
"Replace?" He kept his voice even. "That implies Su Qingxue was ever mine."
"You know what I mean!" Her composure cracked further. "You spent all day with her!"
"I did."
Her face darkened, but it wasn't sadness. It was something colder.
"So... are you two...?"
Lin Feng chose honesty. Or what he thought was honesty.
"Su Qingxue used me for four years," he said calmly. "I sent her thousands of messages. Gave her millions of yuan. Yet I never received a single genuine response from her. I was her personal bank, nothing more, and today, I cut her off completely."
Lin Weiwei nodded. She already knew this — after all, she had made her own tally, similar to what Xiao Yue did.
"And Xiao Yue is different."
Every muscle in Lin Weiwei's body went rigid.
Different? That stalker bitch is DIFFERENT?
Her mask cracked. She couldn't stop it, and everything she was feeling bled through her face before she could wrestle it back under control.
"Oh. That's... that's good, Big Brother." Her voice wavered, threatening to break. "You deserve someone who..."
She couldn't finish. Her throat was too tight with fury she couldn't let him see.
"Anyway!" The brightness came back too fast, pitched too high. "Let's eat! Everything's getting cold!"
She turned and walked quickly toward the table, putting distance between them before her control shattered completely.
Lin Feng followed, thinking he'd handled that well.
--------------------------------------
[Dinner Conversations — 6:15 PM]
The food was incredible.
Lin Feng looked at the spread before him — braised pork belly glistening under the candlelight, mapo tofu still bubbling gently in its clay pot, hand-folded dumplings arranged in neat rows, a simple egg and tomato stir-fry, and congee with century egg and lean pork.
He blinked.
Wait.
These were his favorites. Not fancy dishes. Not the kind of thing you'd expect in a restaurant that cost a fortune to rent. This was street food, night market fare, the kind of meals he'd grown up eating when money was tight.
Except everything here was made with premium ingredients. The pork belly was marbled wagyu. The tofu was high-grade silken. The century eggs were aged perfectly, and the congee had been slow-cooked for hours until it reached that perfect creamy consistency.
Poor man's food.
Rich man's execution.
How does Weiwei know I like these?
He stared at the table, chopsticks frozen mid-reach.
Did the original Lin Feng also...?
"Big Brother?"
Weiwei's voice cut through his thoughts. She was watching him, head tilted slightly, a small crease forming between her brows.
"Is something wrong? Do you not like it?" Her fingers tightened around her own chopsticks. "I thought these were your favorites, but if you want something else I can—"
"No." Lin Feng picked up a dumpling and bit into it. The skin was thin and delicate, the filling bursting with flavor. "It's perfect. These are exactly my favorites."
Her face lit up, the worry melting away. "Really? I'm so glad!"
Lin Feng chewed slowly, letting the taste settle on his tongue.
Maybe we just have similar preferences. Me and the original Lin Feng.
That would make sense, wouldn't it? Same body, same taste buds.
He didn't question it further.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the soft clink of porcelain and the distant hum of the kitchen filling the space between them. But Weiwei kept glancing up at him between bites, her chopsticks hovering, her questions circling.
"So... what's she like?"
Lin Feng didn't need to ask who she meant.
"Quiet. Observant. Dedicated."
Weiwei nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her bowl. "Is she... pretty?"
Her voice was casual. Her grip on her chopsticks was not.
"Yes," Lin Feng said simply. "Very."
Her chopsticks paused mid-lift. Her jaw tightened for just a moment before she forced herself to keep chewing.
"That's nice," she said, the words coming out flat.
She reached for the clay pot, spooning more mapo tofu onto his plate without asking. Her movements were a little too quick, a little too focused.
But she couldn't stop asking.
Then Lin Feng turned it around.
"How are your projects going? The coding ones."
Weiwei blinked.
He's asking about my coding?
Five years, and he's never once asked. Not really. Just polite nods while his phone buzzed with Su Qingxue's messages.
But now he was looking at her. Waiting for an answer.
"They're... going well." She set down her chopsticks, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. "I've been working on a custom operating system kernel lately. Trying to squeeze more efficiency out of memory management. It's mostly just experimenting with different scheduling algorithms, nothing serious—"
"Scheduling algorithms?" He tilted his head slightly. "Like... deciding what runs when?"
It was a basic question. But Lin Feng was asking it genuinely, leaning in, his eyes on her.
"Yes, exactly." She felt herself warming to the topic. "The existing kernels waste cycles on context switching. So I've been writing my own from scratch, trying to minimize overhead."
"That sounds complicated."
It was. Incredibly complicated. But the way he said it — like he was impressed rather than lost — made her chest flutter.
"It's mostly just trial and error," she said, though it wasn't. "The real problem is the hardware. These 240nm chips can only do so much, and I keep hitting the same walls no matter how clever the code gets."
Lin Feng nodded. His expression was attentive, supportive.
"What kind of walls?" he asked.
"Clock speeds. Transistor density. Power consumption." She started gesturing without realizing it, her hands drawing invisible diagrams in the air. "I can optimize the software down to the last cycle, but the hardware is the hardware. There's a ceiling, and I keep slamming into it."
She caught herself. Her voice had gotten too loud, too fast, too passionate.
"Sorry." She pulled her hands back to her lap, face flushing. "I'm rambling about boring technical stuff."
"It's not boring." He leaned forward slightly. "I don't understand half of what you're saying, but I can tell it matters to you. Keep going."
Big Brother is actually… listening to me…
Delighted with this, Lin Weiwei kept on talking.
About the memory compression techniques she'd developed. About the scheduler that squeezed an extra ten percent performance out of the same hardware everyone else gave up on. About how the curriculum at Qinghua moved so slowly she'd finished the four-year material in her first semester and spent the rest of her time building things the professors couldn't understand.
Lin Feng watched her. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her work. The way her hands couldn't stay still. The flush creeping up her neck.
Weiwei… She's amazing... I can't believe a girl like this loves the other... no... loves me.
"It's still not enough," she admitted, her voice dropping. "Every time I think I've found a new approach, I hit the ceiling again. Software can only do so much."
"You're working around limitations most people don't even notice," he said.
She looked up, surprised.
"Stupid hobby project," she mumbled. "Probably useless."
"Weiwei." His voice was quiet but firm. "That's not a hobby project. You know that, right?"
"I'm just messing around. The classes are so slow, I get bored, so I just... make things."
"You're brilliant."
The words hit her like a physical weight. She stared at him.
He wasn't being polite. He wasn't making conversation. He meant it.
"I'm just—"
"Don't." He cut her off gently. "Don't downplay it. You're genuinely talented. Probably more than anyone at that university realizes."
Her face was burning. She could feel the heat spreading across her cheeks, her ears, her neck.
Stop blushing. Stop it.
But she couldn't stop.
"What do you want to do after graduation?" he asked quietly.
"Stay close to you."
The words escaped before she could catch them. They hung in the air between them, too honest, too raw, too exposed.
Stupid. Why did I say that?
But Lin Feng didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
"You will," he said. "Always."
Her chest tightened.
"Even if you have... someone else?"
"Even then."
What does that mean?
Does he mean there might be room for both of us?
She pushed the thought away before it could take root.
Does he mean to say he wants to have me… and that stalker bitch?
No. There won't be "both." It's going to be ME. Only me.
That stalker can find someone else.
--------------------------------------
[The Almost-Confession — 7:30 PM]
Neither of them spoke for a while after that. They just ate, the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain filling the space between them.
By the time the plates were empty, the candles had burned low, casting long shadows across the table. The kitchen had gone quiet. The evening was winding down.
She'd poured her heart out all evening. Rented the venue. Cooked for hours. Worn pajamas to show him where she belonged.
But he hadn't acknowledged the real message.
Lin Feng set down his chopsticks and glanced around the empty restaurant.
"Weiwei, how much did all this cost?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, mid-bite. "Oh, the rental? Just a little bit."
"A little bit?"
"About 500,000 yuan." She waved her chopsticks dismissively. "It's nothing, Big Brother. Don't worry about it."
Lin Feng's brain stuttered.
500,000 yuan.
For one dinner.
That's... that's more than I made in three years as an intelligence officer.
She spent three years of my salary on RENT.
He stared at her. She was already reaching for the last dumpling, completely unbothered, like she'd just mentioned the weather.
Rich people are terrifying.
The candle between them sputtered, the wick drowning in melted wax. The evening was slipping away, and he still hadn't said what needed to be said.
He set down his chopsticks.
"Weiwei. We need to talk."
Her chopsticks froze mid-air.
"About what?"
"About tonight. About Xiao Yue." He paused. "And about you."
Three words. About you.
Lin Weiwei's brain short-circuited.
He's going to say it. He's going to tell me there's no chance. He's going to reject me. He's going to choose that stalker bitch who showed up for ONE DAY over me, the one who loved him for FIVE YEARS.
She couldn't hear it. Not tonight. Not after watching Xiao Yue kiss his cheek through a drone camera. Not after everything.
"Big Brother!" She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Let's go to the cinema!"
Lin Feng blinked. "What—"
"You promised! Remember? Dinner and cinema!" She was already moving, grabbing her phone from the table, not looking at him. "We should go now or we'll miss the showtime!"
He watched her. The too-bright smile. The slight tremor in her hands. The way she wouldn't meet his eyes.
He could push. Force the conversation. Make her face it.
But her knuckles were white around her phone, and her breathing had gone shallow.
She's not ready.
And honestly? Neither was he.
"...Weiwei."
"Please?" She finally looked at him, and something cracked in her expression. "I really want to go. There's a movie I want to see."
Don't make me hear it. Not tonight. Please.
He made his decision.
"Alright. Cinema it is."
Relief washed over her face, her shoulders dropping as the tension bled out of her frame. "Thank you, Big Brother!"
Lin Weiwei grabbed his hand as they stood, her fingers lacing through his before she could stop herself. He tensed but didn't pull away.
A small smile tugged at her lips. Not the bright one she showed him. Something softer. Hungrier.
She led him toward the door, her grip firm, her steps quick.
--------------------------------------
[Zhang Tingting — Motel Room, 7:45 PM]
Across the city, Zhang Tingting lay on a stiff motel bed near the east gate, staring at the water stain on the ceiling.
Getting here had been an experience.
She'd checked in still wearing the chef uniform — she had nothing else — and on the stairs she'd passed a couple who were already warming up for whatever they'd rented the room for. The woman had paused mid-grope to look Zhang Tingting up and down, then grinned.
"Chef costume? That's so hot. I love it when girls commit to the bit."
The man had nodded sagely. "Respect."
Zhang Tingting had stood there, flour still in her hair, smelling like garlic and failure.
It's seven PM. Seven!
I'm just trying to find a place to sleep.
Why is everyone in this city insane?
Now she lay in a room that smelled like mildew and cheap air freshener, on sheets that scratched against her skin, with something crinkling under the mattress that she refused to investigate.
But at least she was out of the uniform. New clothes from a discount store hung over the chair, and her hair was still damp from a shower that actually had hot water.
Small victories.
7:45 PM.
It's not even eight yet.
On a normal evening, she'd either be with Qingxue, receiving whatever Qingxue didn't want anymore — clothes, snacks, Lin Feng's attention — or sitting across from Lin Feng while he talked about Qingxue like she hung the moon.
Now she was alone in a love motel, and both of them had become strangers.
Su Qingxue's face when she talked about Long Tian.
The memory surfaced on its own. Her best friend's eyes had been glassy, unfocused, like she was seeing something Tingting couldn't.
"He's my destiny." "Dragon among men." "You'll understand when you meet him."
And then Yuting. Her own cousin. The same glassy look. The same breathless reverence. The same guy.
"He's special, Tingting. Really special."
"Maybe you'll like him too!"
Tingting pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.
Both of them. What happened to both of them?
Her mind drifted to Lin Feng. The way he'd looked today — calm, controlled, like he was seeing the world clearly while everyone else stumbled around in a fog.
He seemed different. Not desperate. Not pathetic. Just... aware.
When he walked out of that restaurant with that girl, he looked like someone who actually knew what he was doing.
She found herself reaching for her phone before she realized what she was doing.
Maybe I should...
She stopped.
Should what? Ask him what's happening? Ask him why Qingxue and Yuting are acting like they joined a cult overnight?
Her thumb hovered over his contact, the screen casting pale light across her face in the dark room.
But what would I even say?
"Hey Lin Feng, remember me? The girl you paid to push you toward Qingxue? The one who took your money for three years while watching you get used? I know we haven't talked since you dumped my best friend, but I was wondering if you could explain why everyone around me is losing their minds."
She almost laughed. Almost.
Besides, he has a girlfriend now. That girl with the hoodie. The one who actually loves him.
Why would he want to hear from me?
Her thumb still hovered over the message button.
I'm just... a nobody to him now. I was useful when he needed someone on the inside. But that's over. He doesn't need me anymore.
He's a young master of the Lin family. A billionaire's son. Someone so far above me it's almost funny.
And I'm what? A culinary student whose mother owns a noodle shop — a noodle shop he paid for.
What right do I have to message him now?
She started typing anyway.
[Zhang Tingting: Lin Feng, I need to talk to you about something.]
She stared at the words. Deleted them.
Then she typed again.
[Zhang Tingting: Hey, are you free tomorrow? There's something weird going on with Qingxue and I think—]
Deleted.
[Zhang Tingting: I know we're not really friends, but I noticed something strange today and—]
Deleted.
Her thumb moved to the keyboard again. Stopped. Moved again. Stopped.
[Zhang Tingting: Lin Feng—]
The cursor blinked after his name, waiting for words that wouldn't come.
What am I even doing?
She locked the phone and set it on the nightstand, screen down.
Tomorrow. I'll figure it out tomorrow.
Maybe I'll see him on campus. Maybe I can just... talk to him. In person. Like a normal person.
If he'll even look at me.
She pulled the thin blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.
The TV down the hall had gone silent. The room settled into stillness, broken only by the faint drip of a faucet somewhere in the walls.
But one thought kept circling back, refusing to let her rest.
What is happening to the people around me?
And why does Lin Feng seem like the only person who isn't losing his mind?
--------------------------------------
[#18: Zhang Tingting] ★☆☆☆☆☆☆ (1-Star Heroine)
├─ Previous Affection: 50
└─ Current Affection: 48 (-2)
--------------------------------------
[Cinema Arrival — 8:15 PM]
They pulled up to the cinema complex as the last traces of sunset faded from the sky. The building loomed ahead — all glass and steel, glowing with LED displays advertising the latest blockbusters. A few couples lingered near the entrance, sharing popcorn and laughter.
Lin Weiwei jumped out the moment the car stopped.
"I'll get the tickets!"
She was through the glass doors before he could respond, her rabbit slippers padding across the polished floor.
Still running.
Lin Feng followed at his own pace, hands in his pockets, taking measured steps. No hurry.
Inside, the lobby was nearly empty. Late evening showing — most people were already in their theaters. The smell of buttered popcorn hung in the air, and somewhere an arcade machine chimed softly.
He found her at the counter, leaning forward on her toes as she spoke with the staff member.
"Yes, Miss Lin. Theater 3 is ready. Completely private, as you requested."
Lin Feng's eyebrow rose slightly. "Private?"
Weiwei turned, and her smile went sheepish. Caught.
"I... may have rented the entire theater."
"You rented the entire theater."
"Maybe." She fidgeted with the hem of her oversized t-shirt. "Just a little."
"How much?"
She mumbled something.
"Weiwei."
"...Three hundred thousand."
Lin Feng stared at her.
Three hundred thousand yuan. For a movie.
Plus the 500,000 for the restaurant.
800,000 yuan. In one evening.
"It's just pocket money!" Her voice pitched higher, defensive. "Don't worry about it!"
Rich people are absolutely terrifying.
The staff member handed her the tickets, pretending very hard not to have heard anything. Lin Weiwei snatched them quickly, clutching them to her chest.
Lin Feng glanced at the title printed on them.
"'The Haunting? That horror movie from ten years ago?"
Weiwei's face lit up, looking at him, as if surprised that he did. "You remember!"
"We watched it when we were kids. I think." He studied her expression carefully. "And I think you weren't scared then."
"Well, I'm scared now!" Her voice came out too loud, too bright, and she was already turning toward the theater hallway. "Horror movies are scarier when you're older!"
It was an obvious lie.
She hadn't been scared at eight years old. She'd thrown a pillowcase at him for "polluting her innocent mind" during that movie.
She remembered it perfectly. Which meant she remembered what was in it.
The romantic subplot. The tension-building scenes. The... other scene.
The memory surfaced — that sequence near the end, the one that made young Weiwei shriek about her eyes being ruined forever. About her innocence being destroyed. About never being able to marry.
She'd thrown a pillowcase at him and demanded he take responsibility. And if he didn't, she'd beat him — like she always did.
Back then she was eight.
And now...
Oh...
He looked at her — still in her pajamas and rabbit slippers, clutching movie tickets to a theater she'd rented out completely, for a horror movie she'd already seen.
Rented restaurant. Rented theater. A movie with that scene.
Ohh!!!
--------------------------------------
[Entering the Theater — 8:20 PM]
The theater was enormous. A massive screen dominated the far wall, flanked by stadium seating that climbed upward into shadow. The premium sound system alone was probably worth millions — and it was all theirs.
And completely empty.
Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they walked down the carpeted aisle, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the space.
Lin Weiwei stayed close to his side. Closer than necessary.
"Are you sure you're not scared already?" Lin Feng teased gently, though inwardly he was still trying to gather his wits. "We haven't even sat down yet."
"I'm just staying close." She didn't look at him. "For safety."
"We haven't even entered the actual theater yet."
"Preparation!" She quickened her steps. "I'm preparing!"
Lin Weiwei led him to the back row and plopped down in the center seat, patting the one beside her.
"Better view!" she announced.
The middle rows had better viewing angles. Everyone knew that. Back row meant privacy, darkness, no witnesses.
Lin Feng couldn't help but chuckle slightly, though the sound came out lighter than he intended.
Hehe. I'm in danger.
He sat down beside her, settling into the plush seat with his arm resting on the armrest between them. The leather creaked softly under his weight.
Weiwei's fingers curled around her own armrest. Every muscle in her body was coiled tight, waiting.
The lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life with previews, casting shifting colors across their faces.
Normal distance at first. Proper spacing. Two people watching a movie.
Rented restaurant. Rented theater. Back row. Horror movie with THAT scene.
She's setting something up.
But it's Weiwei. My stepsister.
How far could she really—
Then the memory surfaced. The arrangement. The condition his father had made with his stepmother before they got married.
Lin Weiwei wasn't just his stepsister.
She was supposed to be his child bride.
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[End of Chapter 17]