My angel will judge me.

part 19

Jiang Cheng had fallen asleep on the sofa in his room after a long, exhausting night trying to handle three wildly different kids. He hadn’t even realized when sleep had taken over—his body aching, nerves frayed.

A soft knock came on the door.

"Sir… your boyfriend is here. He said it’s urgent."

Jiang Cheng groaned, rubbing his face with annoyance.

"Who falls in love at this hour…"

He opened the door, grumbling—and froze.

Hai Kuan stood there, calm and sharp-eyed as always, dressed like he hadn’t lost a minute of sleep.
"Wow," Hai Kuan said, stepping in. "You look like a zombie’s uncle."

Jiang Cheng looked up and gave him a withering glare.

"You came to mock me?"
"I came to visit my fiancé," Hai Kuan said with a smirk, walking over. "But apparently I walked into a horror show."

Jiang Cheng rubbed his face. "Three kids. Three. Who all decided to fight sleep like it’s a full-time job."

The two stood for a moment in comfortable tension, lovers who shared too much sarcasm and too little rest. Before either could speak again—

Lan Zhan appeared at the end of the hallway.

Hair slightly messy, eyes hollow, wearing a plain shirt—still too pale, still too silent.

Hai Kuan’s face turned stone cold.
Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched.

"Why are you still here?" Hai Kuan snapped. "How do you have the shamelessness to walk around like this?"

Lan Zhan said nothing.

"You’re a disgrace,' Jiang Cheng added harshly. "You’re the reason my mother died. You ruined everything."

Still, Lan Zhan said nothing.

He lowered his head and quietly stood, as if he’d accepted their words—every sharp syllable cutting into his skin like glass.

Hai Kuan stepped closer.

"You call yourself my brother? You’re nothing but a shadow to me now. I feel ashamed even thinking we share blood."

They pushed past him, walking upstairs without looking back.

Lan Zhan stood frozen. His fists tightened.

He whispered to himself—voice almost broken:"You’re ashamed to call me your brother…
Then from now on, I’ll be ashamed to ever call you mine."

And without another word, Lan Zhan turned and walked out the front door, the noon sun too bright for the pain in his chest.

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The door opened with a soft creak.

Meng Yao froze.

Standing in front of him was Lan Zhan—barely. His body looked like it was being held up by sheer will. His skin was too pale, his eyes too red, lips cracked from exhaustion. His clothes were wrinkled, shoes dusty. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

"Lan Zhan?" Meng Yao stepped forward in alarm. "What the hell happened to you?"

Lan Zhan’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if even speaking cost him strength.
"I didn’t have money for a cab… so I walked."