In the hospital, the three people who had just finished the paternity tests stared at one another in stunned silence.
There were two reports on the table: one between Jiang Li and Sheng Shuocheng that read, Confirmed biological daughter; the other between Jiang Li and Sheng Jingxi that read, Confirmed blood relation.
The news hit like a thunderclap — sudden, impossible, and entirely unexpected. For a long moment nobody said a word.
Even Sheng Jingxi, who rarely kept quiet, paused so long that when he finally spoke it was with a foolish, out-of-place suggestion. “Dad, since we’re all here… why don’t we get tested too?”
Sheng Shuocheng shot him a cold glance.
Sheng Jingxi scratched his nose. “…Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Despite the attempted levity, Jiang Li felt like the paper in her hands belonged to someone else. She folded it, opened it again, read the lines over and over until the words blurred. It all felt unreal — too sudden, too miraculous to be true.
After a long, ragged silence she forced out, “…Could there be a mistake?”
She couldn’t quite believe it.
Sheng Shuocheng hadn’t expected this either. When Xiao Yanzhi had suggested over the phone that Jiang Li might be his biological daughter, the usually reserved, composed man almost lost control. All he could think was: get the test done first, then deal with everything else.
Now the answer was in black and white. Sheng Shuocheng said nothing to Jiang Li; instead he turned to Zhang Yi and instructed, “Void the previous inheritance agreement. I want a new one drafted.”
Zhang Yi blinked, only half following. “Was there a problem with the clauses?”
It took him a beat to comprehend — this was a reallocation of the estate, a belated compensation for a daughter who had been living away from the family. He recovered quickly and smiled. “Understood. I’ll take care of it right away.”
When that was settled, Sheng Shuocheng fell silent. He tapped the joint of his index finger against his forehead, slowly, as if to steady his thoughts. Unnoticed at first, two hot tracks made their way down the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes.
At fifty-something, suddenly learning that his deceased wife had left him a daughter stirred something complicated in him — equal parts joy and regret. He had his son and daughter on paper, but he had never had her, the one who should have completed the family.
Sheng Jingxi seemed to process the news in a flash. He looped his arm around Jiang Li’s shoulder with the exaggerated bravado of someone trying to prove he wasn’t affected. “So I’m your real brother now,” he chirped. “From now on, tell your big brother everything, got it?”
Once he got going, his mouth wouldn’t stop. “I’ll back you up from now on. No one is allowed to bully my sister — I’ll punch ‘em all into next week!”
“I’ll shut up all those internet trolls; I won’t let anyone talk about my sister one more time. Block, ban, report — I’ll do it all.”
“As for that old lady who was always laughing at you before, I’m going to tell her straight away that you’re my sister. Let’s see how she likes that.”
“You said I didn’t seem like a brother before — well? Now do I look more brotherly or not? I don’t care either way, I’m your brother.”
He rattled on until his voice stuttered and then he broke off abruptly, choking on the next sentence. “Sorry, I can’t hold it — I’m gonna lose the little pearls,” he said, and fled toward the restroom.
He really did have a sister. The mother who had once told him there was a baby girl had not lied; the sister he had waited for so long was finally standing in front of him. The sudden, overwhelming joy unmoored the normally blustery boy; he had someone to protect at last.
Watching Sheng Jingxi bolt, Jiang Li couldn’t help laughing. Sheng Shuocheng pressed his fingers to his wet eyes and, with a kind of helpless, affectionate exasperation, said, “Jingxi’s always been like that. He looks carefree, but he’s soft inside. I hope you won’t mind him as your brother.”
Jiang Li nodded. Fog rose in her own eyes, and she smiled, the sound a little choked. “I won’t.”
Sheng Shuocheng’s black hair was flecked with gray, his face still composed and dignified, but his eyes carried a new tenderness. That was the look of a father seeing his daughter for the first time.
Looking back at her past, she felt as if everything had been a vast, disorienting dream. Zhou Ningyun had spent every day nagging and complaining. Her father, when he appeared, was either drunk or at the mahjong table; Jiang Yi had been a constant troublemaker since junior high, getting into fights, skipping school, falling in with the wrong crowd. The only constant in that household was neglect. She had never been treated with care.
Always belittled, always ordered around, never loved by those who were supposed to be family — she had thought about leaving many times, trapped by the idea of familial duty and ashamed at the thought of being so cold-hearted. Now she understood: that had never been her home, never her life.
Her life should be full, vivid, warm — a life that belonged to her.
Outside the bathroom, Sheng Jingxi reemerged with red-rimmed eyes but the same broad grin. As soon as he stepped up, Jiang Li called, “Brother.”
“Don’t call me that yet,” he muttered. “If you do, I’ll start crying again.”
She teased him on purpose, and he pretended to be stern while she laughed until she leaned forward.
At that moment Qiao Jinrun hurried in, handing a folder to Sheng Shuocheng. “Mr. Sheng, these are the records from Xile Hospital regarding your late wife.”
Sheng Shuocheng inclined his head and took the folder. “Thank you.”
Qiao Jinrun then turned to Jiang Li, his voice gentler. “No wonder you felt familiar to me when we first met — we actually knew each other as children.”
Jiang Li looked at him, hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry, Doctor Qiao. I don’t remember any of it.”
Her childhood had been so dark that little of it remained in her mind.
Qiao smiled without any reproach. “It’s all right. I remember for the both of us.”
That small recollection — the memory of a bird that had once alighted briefly in his life — was precious enough. Even if she did not remember him, she had grown into someone beautiful who would fly.
At the corridor’s far corner, two shadows stretched across the floor. Xue An peered around the bend like a furtive animal, then retreated to glance at the man standing by the window, smoking. He wore a light gray suit; his shirt was rumpled from constant movement, but he didn’t bother to look back.
Xue An whispered, “President Xiao, do you want me to go over and say something?”
Xiao Yanzhi let his gaze fall; the ember between his fingers burned closer to the tip. The wind pushed through the window and scattered the smoke. He replied in a flat voice, “No need.”