innocent lotus flower

Truths

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Lan Wangji returned home that day in silence. He didn’t shout. He didn’t break anything in front of the staff. But the loud crash of shattering glass from his room told them all what they needed to know: he was in a dangerous mood. Everyone in the household understood the unspoken rule—stay out of his way.

He stayed locked in his room for hours, unmoving, until evening came and the familiar sound of Ning Xi’s car reached his ears.

Then he stood.

By the time Ning Xi entered the mansion, Lan Wangji was already in the hallway, waiting. His expression was unreadable, disturbingly calm—too calm. As she stepped through the door, he moved silently behind her and locked it with a soft *click*.

“What are you—?” she began, confused.

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and laced with venom. A smile tugged at his lips—chilling and devoid of warmth.

Ning Xi froze.

“Was it fun?” he asked, circling her like a predator. “Playing me for all these years? I didn’t know you had it in you. Really—you should be given an award for lying to Lan Wangji for this long.”

Her breath caught.

“But you know what I absolutely despise?” he continued, his voice dropping. “Liars.”

He leaned in, his breath cold against her ear. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Her knees weakened, and she began to tremble. She had seen Lan Wangji angry before, but never like this.

“I’m still curious,” he said, pacing slowly in front of her. “How deep do your lies go? You’re going to tell me everything, or I’ll use my method to find out. And if it comes to that...” he paused, his eyes glinting darkly, “you won’t survive.”

Tears welled in Ning Xi’s eyes as she averted her gaze.

“I—I’m sorry. Please spare me—”

A loud *slap* cracked through the hallway.

Ning Xi crashed to the ground, holding her cheek in disbelief. Before she could recover, Lan Wangji grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up.

“I didn’t tell you to beg,” he snarled. “I told you to talk. Disobey me again, and I’ll start by breaking your legs. You know I can do it.”

She nodded rapidly, sobbing.

“That night… I didn’t save you,” she confessed shakily. “It was Wei Ying… he saved you. He gave you to me and ran in the other direction because the kidnappers were after him. I knew you were rich, so I lied. I told you I saved you, thinking you'd just give me money… I never expected you to love me.”

Lan Wangji said nothing, his face carved from stone.

“I hurt myself,” she whispered. “So you’d think Wei Ying did it. I made you beat him… because I was afraid. He was a threat. But he never hurt me. Never. I—I only did it for the money. Please forgive me…”

She kowtowed on the cold floor, her tears staining the tiles.

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Lan Wangji’s lips. He stared at her, disgusted.

“Lan Wangji,” he said to himself mockingly, “the great fool. Played like a puppet by a lying, manipulative girl.”

His gaze turned icy.

“You, Ning Xi,” he said coldly, “will pay. For every lie, every scheme, every scar left on him… you’ll suffer exactly as he did.”

She gasped as he grabbed her again and began dragging her toward the basement.

“You will feel what he felt,” he said harshly. “And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish for death. But no one will come looking for you. After all… you’re an *orphan*.”

He spat the word with contempt.

She had lied about that, too—claimed she had no family, when in truth, they had severed ties with her long ago. She’d only returned to Lan Wangji when she had nowhere else to go. **Wretch**, he thought.

That night, after locking the basement and leaving her sobbing in the dark, Lan Wangji collapsed on his bed. And for the first time in a very long time, he cried.

Not out of guilt for Ning Xi.

But for Wei Ying.

He curled into himself, whispering apologies into the darkness—apologies that would never reach Wei Ying’s ears.

He drifted into sleep, tormented by dreams of the man he had wronged.

When he woke, the morning light did nothing to calm the storm inside him. His mind went to the Jiang family—Wei Ying’s supposed family. The condition Wei Ying had placed for his departure had been simple: fake his death. That way, the Jiang family wouldn’t come after him.

Lan Wangji had done as he asked. He faked everything. Obituaries, a public announcement—he even held a private memorial.

But not once had the Jiang family made a move.

Not a tear, not a statement, not even a private visit to mourn.

It was then that Lan Wangji decided.

**The Jiang family must fall.**

If he wanted to bring Wei Ying back… they had to go.

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Far from the city, Wei Ying awoke with a strange feeling—anxiety clinging to his chest like fog. But he brushed it off. He had work to do, and more importantly, a child to care for.

It had been a year and six months since he gave birth to Yizhan.

Those early months had been brutal—exhausting and uncertain. But he hadn’t been alone. Wen Qing and Wen Ning had stayed by his side, guiding him, helping him survive. Without them, he didn’t know how he would’ve made it.

Now, little Yizhan—A-Yuan, as everyone called him—was walking, babbling, and causing as much chaos as he could.

The boy was smart. Too smart.

He had a habit of throwing toys and escaping before blame could be assigned. He chose his spoons, his plates, even his clothes with the stubbornness of a ruler choosing his crown. It drove Wei Ying mad… and yet, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

All he wanted was to raise his son with love—the kind of love he never received growing up.

He would give his child what he had always longed for.

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