Volume One, Chapter Two: Preparing for Divorce

Late at night, Qin Tianlang returned home, carrying his sleeping son Qin Yi in his arms.

He pushed open the door; the house was shrouded in darkness.

Qin Tianlang frowned. Lin Qiao used to always leave the lights on in the living room, waiting for him to come home. Tonight, no one was there to greet him.

She must have thought that father and son would really spend the night at the Qin residence and thus dared to return so late.

Recalling the message he’d received at the Qin residence, Qin Tianlang dismissed it. Lin Qiao had no parents—other than home, where else could she go?

Staring out at the heavy snow, he felt no concern for Lin Qiao’s whereabouts.

No matter how late, Lin Qiao always came home.

Exhausted from the day's work, Qin Tianlang didn’t bother with anything else. He placed his son on the bed in the master bedroom and fell asleep beside him.

The next morning, Qin Tianlang was awakened by his son’s labored, heavy breathing.

Opening his eyes, he saw Qin Yi’s little face burning red with fever. The quilt that had once covered him had somehow ended up kicked off the bed.

Where was Lin Qiao? She hadn’t even noticed her son kicking off the blanket? She left him to sleep exposed all night!

Furious, Qin Tianlang picked up his son and called out for Lin Qiao.

He entered the living room.

Every morning, Lin Qiao would get up early to prepare breakfast for father and son.

The living room, which should have been filled with the warmth of home at this hour, was now cold and deserted.

...

Lin Qiao had just left the law office, her mind still replaying the lawyer’s words.

“Ms. Lin, with your situation, it will be very difficult for you to secure custody of the child.”

For the sake of giving her child a complete home, she had endured Qin Tianlang’s cold mockery for years, refusing to divorce.

But after witnessing the father and son’s intimacy with Xu Mingyue, Lin Qiao finally woke up.

You cannot hold on to those who won’t stay. Lin Qiao would no longer force it.

But Qin Yi was her child.

She couldn’t bear to let go.

Her phone vibrated; Lin Qiao looked down to see Qin Tianlang’s name on the screen.

She pressed her aching temples. Yesterday’s cold snap had left her standing outside the Qin residence for too long, and now she was likely running a fever.

She answered the call. Qin Tianlang’s voice was cold: “Our son has a fever because of you.”

Lin Qiao was startled. After clarifying the situation, she could only smile bitterly.

Even her son sleeping without a blanket last night was somehow her fault.

Had Qin Tianlang, who slept beside his son, died in his sleep?

After years of widow-like parenting, Qin Tianlang had grown accustomed to blaming everything on her.

Lin Qiao got the hospital address and hurried over.

Before she even approached the ward, she could already hear Qin Yi’s laughter from inside.

“Auntie Moon, you’re amazing! You’re actually a photographer!”

“My mom can’t do anything. She only knows how to do housework.”

Xu Mingyue’s gentle smile blossomed as she stroked Qin Yi’s head.

Before she went abroad, she’d thought Qin Tianlang would wait for her as he always had.

She never expected that, after she refused his marriage proposal, Qin Tianlang would marry Lin Qiao and even have a child.

Now that she was back, everything she’d lost, she was determined to reclaim.

Xu Mingyue concealed the calculation deep in her eyes and spoke softly.

“Your mom is amazing, too. Auntie Moon isn’t very good at taking care of people.”

“Auntie Moon doesn’t need to do those things. That’s what a housekeeper does.”

Lin Qiao’s heart seemed torn open, each breath painful.

When Qin Yi was young, born premature and frail, he spent countless nights in the hospital.

Those days and nights she cared for and accompanied her son—in his eyes, they were no different from the work of a housekeeper.

Lin Qiao’s face went pale. Her steps faltered as she pushed open the door.

Upon seeing Lin Qiao, Qin Yi immediately complained, “It’s all your fault! Bad mom! You made me get a fever!”

Father and son spoke in exactly the same tone.

Even with the father at home, failing to care for his son, both would still blame her.

Any minor misstep on her part was met with total denial.

While the newcomer effortlessly gained the child’s trust and reliance.

Xu Mingyue gently comforted Qin Yi, then turned to Lin Qiao, “Lin Qiao, as a mother, how could you stay out all night? How could you let your child freeze for an entire night?”

Lin Qiao ignored her. She knelt beside the bed, gazing at her feverish son.

She asked softly, “May I hold you, sweetheart?”

It was their secret promise.

Growing up in an orphanage, Lin Qiao had seen volunteers come to play with the children, but never—never—would they hold them.

Only when she grew older did she learn the director had warned them: orphanage children must not be held.

Because once you’ve experienced love, you begin to desire it.

With resources stretched thin, the orphanage could barely meet basic needs, let alone satisfy emotional ones.

To have tasted happiness yet never have enough is a greater pain than never having it at all.

Back then, Lin Qiao and little Qin Yi would huddle under the blankets, sharing stories about Lin Qiao and hugs.

The child would hug Lin Qiao tightly, his sweet voice promising, “They never hug Mom. I’ll always hug Mom.”

“Mom, let’s pinky swear—if we’re ever angry, a hug will make it all better.”

But now, Qin Yi’s little face was full of disgust. He pushed Lin Qiao’s hand away.

“Bad mom! I never want to hug you again!”

Qin Yi turned and threw himself into Xu Mingyue’s arms, holding her tightly around the waist.

Lin Qiao’s outstretched hands hung in the air.

For the sake of her family, for her weak and sickly child, Lin Qiao had given up her own dreams, sacrificed her talent for photography.

The director, disappointed, had cut ties with her.

For four years, she had endured her in-laws’ contempt, her husband’s coldness.

The son she had fought so hard to bring into the world now called her a housekeeper and begrudged her even a simple hug.

Lin Qiao’s heart fell coldly, heavily.

She felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, utterly powerless.

Lin Qiao said nothing more, nor did she look again at the bed, where child and newcomer were close as mother and son.

She turned and left the ward, coming face-to-face with Qin Tianlang.

Seeing Lin Qiao’s illness-ridden face, he didn’t ask any questions, merely uttered, “You’re here.”

The man’s handsome features, as he looked at her, held the gaze of a stranger.

These two—father and son—were not incapable of love; they simply could not love her.

She had forgotten: Qin Yi was not only her child, but also the child of the Qin family.

She lowered her head, took the divorce agreement from her bag, and decisively crossed out the custody clause with her pen.

She handed it to Qin Tianlang.

“Custody of Qin Yi goes to you.”

“I’ve held the title of Mrs. Qin for four years. Now, I return it to its rightful owner.”

She was done.

She wanted nothing.

Qin Tianlang accepted the divorce agreement, looking silently at the woman before him.

After a moment, he said only, “Don’t regret this.”

...

Lin Qiao returned to her temporary hotel and received a call from her best friend Bai Xin.

Since learning Lin Qiao wanted a divorce, Bai Xin had become entrepreneurial, urging her to help set up a photography studio.

She called to urge Lin Qiao to send some sample works for promotion.

Lin Qiao hung up, opened her laptop, and sent some commercial pieces from her university days.

Xu Mingyue could abandon Qin Tianlang for her dreams and head abroad. Lin Qiao, too, had dreams.

These photos were witnesses to her greatest aspirations.

Just as she was about to close the computer, she accidentally noticed a hidden, encrypted folder.

She didn’t open it, but she knew exactly what it contained.

In college, when the orphanage was struggling, Lin Qiao, unable to find steady work, took a desperate gamble—she created an account and posted works that differed greatly from her usual style. Unexpectedly, they drew widespread acclaim.

Once the account became popular, she used all her earnings to support the orphanage.

Lin Qiao was always low-key; she had never mentioned her online identity.

After some thought, Lin Qiao opened the social platform and logged into that long-unused account.

That night, the account, dormant for four years, released a message.

It was from a mysterious, genius photographer known as X.

X, using the lens as a pen and light as ink, had produced countless sensational works.

But four years ago, X vanished without warning.

Now, the new message detonated online like a bomb.

It instantly ignited the virtual world; global fans rushed to comment, and views soared to a million in moments.

On X’s social platform homepage, there were only four short words.

I am back.