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She placed a hand on her racing heart, her eyes scanning the room. Yang Feng was nowhere in sight and perhaps that was why she abruptly had a nightmare. Even so, she did not expect to have the same dream again, especially because it hadn’t surfaced for a while.

In that nightmare, there was always a name she uttered that did not belong to her grandfather nor her parents. The name was at the tip of her tongue, but whenever the voice came out, her mind went blank. Who was it?

Swallowing hard, she ran a shaky hand through her hair. She attempted to correct her haggard breathing and panicked heart. It took ten minutes of steady breathing exercises for her to finally calm down.

It was just a dream. Only a dream. Nothing more.

Zhao Lifei painfully shut her eyes before laying back down on the bed. After a while of silently lying on the bed, in failed attempts of falling asleep again, she finally got back up and checked the time. It was ten in the morning.

She saw a flood of messages, in particular, from Wei Hantao who had called her multiple times. At the least, Huo Qiudong was civilized and only called her two times, whereas Wei Hantao called her 25 times before finally giving up.

She stared out the window, letting her phone drop onto the bed. She could see the garden from here, the luscious greens that this mansion was built upon. The sun had risen high in the horizon. There were birds chirping, the warm sunlight bleeding onto the floor, and the sky was a sea of blue. It was a good day today. Too good to stay inside.

Her phone buzzed again. She blankly looked down, her shaky fingers grabbing the device, puzzled to see it was an unknown number. Out of curiosity, the same that killed the cat, she opened the text and saw it was a recording of some sorts.

She pressed it and the voices came to life.

- - - - -

Five hours ago.

Yang Feng woke up with something soft pressing against his side. In his daze, he saw their position was changed and her face was now resting upon his shoulder instead of his chest. He could not feel his arm because she had slept on it the entire night, but he did not care. As long as she was safe in his arms, he was willing to sacrifice everything.

"Good morning, my love." He whispered, his voice thick with sleep. She did not respond, her eyes peacefully shut.

Using his thumb, he caressed her cheek before pressing a kiss upon the area. He decided it was not enough and continued to pepper her face with kisses. He brushed the strands of hair sticking to her face with a fond smile on his lips. She was so beautiful even when she was asleep.

He slowly detangled himself from her. She mumbled something as her arms reached out to search for the heat source. He bit down on his bottom lip to hide his smirk before grabbing a pillow for her to hug, the same one she made him hug. She hummed in approval, her body entwining around the pillow, something he longed to have wrapped around his body instead.

"Sleep well, my dear." He whispered, climbing out of bed and pressing a kiss upon her forehead before walking into the bathroom to get ready for the day. In the dead of the night, when the sun was barely rising in the air, the obsidian black sky was turning into a midnight blue.

Hu Wei was already awake and stationed at the car. He glanced out the window and at exactly 5:30 in the morning, his boss strolled out of the front door. He was adjusting his cuffs. His lean figure could have him easily mistaken as a male model.

Hu Wei got out of the car, opened the door for his boss, closed it, and then he climbed back in.

"To the Elder’s house." Yang Feng muttered, opening his laptop and beginning to work even though it did not start until three hours later.

"Yes, sir." Hu Wei started the car and drove towards Old Master Yang’s house. It did not take long for the car to leave the premises of his boss’s house, onto the streets where the city was barely waking up, and then through a lush thick forest whose smooth path leads straight to the gates of hell.

Old Master Yang Mujian’s house was the very definition of what a King should live in. It stretched for acres, the land filled with life and greenery. The layout of the house was very historic, due to his fondness towards ancient times. Even so, it did not diminish the beauty of the house that was greatly admired by historians to be a replica of the Imperial Palace.

Hu Wei was always impressed whenever he came here. Everything about this house was perfect: the extremely detailed wooden furniture, the koi pond by the entrance and the bamboo shoot decorations. It was a harmonious blend of nature and historic architecture.

An elderly man stepped forward, his face warm when he opened the door to reveal Yang Feng. He had not seen the Young Master for a while now, but every time his eyes landed upon him, he was happy.

"Welcome home, Young Master."

Home? This place was not home for Yang Feng, it was the very epitome of what hell was comprised of.

Yang Feng wordlessly walked ahead of the old butler and down the hallway that he was too familiar with. The hallway did not have walls, but it was still secure and protective enough where a sniper would never be able to see into. To his left were multiple folding doors and to his right was a Zen garden with aligned pebbles going from light to dark and then repeating. There was a small bamboo row hovering right beside a pond.

This place had remained the same as he had last remembered. The air smelled like nature as if one was walking through the freshly-rained bamboo stalk forest instead of a house.

The butler was about to knock but Yang Feng did not care for such formalities. He opened the door and stepped right in, leaving his shoes outside.

"Grandfather." Yang Feng greeted, his eyes landing on the older man behind the mahogany desk. The window behind him was open, to let in some air.

"Xiao Feng." Yang Mujian did not raise his head to look at Yang Feng. He was concentrated on the letter at hand. "You should learn to knock, it’s basic courtesy."

Yang Feng did not comment. He stood in the center of the room, arms tucked behind him, his piercing eyes resembled a hawk.

"You’re awfully quiet today." Yang Mujian began, holding onto his long sleeve while writing with a brush dipped in ink.

"What is there to say?"

Yang Mujian ground the ink upon the slab given to him by Su Meixiu a while ago.

Yang Feng’s brooding eyes landed on the item with disdain. He heard Zhao Lifei had given his grandfather an ink slab, why was the old man not using it?

"I suppose you’re right," Yang Mujian chuckled, "I was the one who invited you here to talk." He hummed, raising his head to fully look at the grandson he raised.

Without warning, a knife shot through the open window, purposefully missing Yang Mujian’s neck. It aimed straight for Yang Feng’s skull, but never landed close to it. With inhuman speed, Yang Feng had caught it with two fingers.

"I see you still enjoy this distasteful joke." Yang Feng muttered, tossing the knife onto the floor.

"And I see you’re still as sharp as ever." Yang Mujian’s pleasant expression changed. It was time to get serious.