Bo Ye picked Tang Wei up at three o'clock and brought him directly to the Bo family mansion, where Bo Ye’s mother, Cen Huiqiu, froze the moment she laid eyes on him. Tears welled in the old woman’s eyes as she murmured, “Are you… our Bo family’s… grandson?” Tang Wei remained silent. The sorrow in Cen Huiqiu’s eyes was undeniable, but he had no intention of acknowledging her. “Who are your parents?” “Who my mother is doesn’t matter to any of you.” A smile touched Tang Wei’s lips, his five-year-old mind unnervingly sharp. “And by that same token, who my father is doesn’t matter to me.” Bo Ye had just parked the car and walked in when he overheard Tang Wei’s remark. Enraged, he kicked the door. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like,” Tang Wei said. Cen Huiqiu could see the deep-seated resentment in the boy, especially toward the Bo family. She didn’t dare step forward to embrace him, only watching him as she asked, “Your mother… is she doing all right?” Tang Wei’s smile was saccharine sweet. “They feed you well in prison. On the state’s dime. So, no, my mother has nothing to worry about.” Bo Ye’s temper flared. He seized Tang Wei by the collar, hoisting him into the air. “Who taught you to speak with such a sharp tongue?” He sneered, “Did Tang Shi teach you to say that? Hmm?” Tang Wei was completely unfazed. “Who taught me? Everyone. They all told me. That my mother was in prison. That she was a murderer. And if we’re keeping score, you said it to her face just yesterday.” A sharp pain lanced through Bo Ye’s chest. He slammed the boy back down, hissing through gritted teeth, “Did you learn this from your mother? Did you come here just to piss me off?” “If you don’t like it, send me back.” Tang Wei stared him down. “You think you can use me to threaten my mother, but all this will do is make us hate you more.” *Hate you more!* There it was, finally spoken aloud. He had to admit it: they hated him. A hatred that had seeped into their very bones until it was second nature. Whenever Bo Ye appeared, Tang Shi would panic, desperate to flee. That was why she had moved from Haicheng to Lancheng five years ago—all to escape him! A sudden, inexplicable rage seized Bo Ye, and he began smashing things. From behind him, Cen Huiqiu pleaded sorrowfully, “Ye’er, please, stop…” Bo Ye let out a cold laugh and stalked upstairs. Down below, Tang Wei sat on the sofa, his face a perfect mask of indifference. In their anger, father and son were the spitting image of each other. Cen Huiqiu called the staff to clean up the mess and sat down beside Tang Wei, her voice full of concern. “That must have been frightening…?” Tang Wei shook his head. “No.” But the slight redness rimming his eyes told a different story. “What… what’s your name?” Cen Huiqiu felt a deep affection for this child and was eager to know his name. Tang Wei looked at her. “My name is Tang Wei. My mother told me the character for Wei means ‘only’ and ‘hope.’” Cen Huiqiu hadn’t dared to ask about Tang Shi, but now that the boy had mentioned her, she ventured cautiously, “Your mother…” “You needn’t trouble yourself over my mother’s affairs, Madam.” Look at him. A five-year-old boy, preternaturally intelligent, using such formal address with a chilling distance. How could they ever hope to get close to him? Cen Huiqiu searched for the right words. “Tang Wei, actually… back then, your parents…” “You don’t have to tell me. I know.” Tang Wei cut her off. “Everyone says my mother was a slut who got what she deserved. That she was a murderer. I get it. We got what we deserved.” *We got what we deserved.* He spoke the words as if condemning himself to hell, and Cen Huiqiu’s heart ached along with him. This child… he truly hates us. Ignoring the pain he’d inflicted on the old woman, Tang Wei turned to look out the window. The night was a heavy, starless black, with no promise of dawn.