In the capital, summer blazed like a furnace. The suburbs at least cooled off a little at night, and in the small hours of the morning, a desolate mountain road suddenly erupted with thunderous roaring — someone was street racing.
"Young Lord Ling, go! Go!"
"Young Lord Ling, you're the best — we're cheering for you!"
"Aooo — Young Lord Ling, first place! You have to get first place, push it!"
As the sleek Lamborghini and the smooth-lined Ferrari tore one after the other through the narrow mountain pass, the crowd of boys and girls waiting along the roadside broke into wild cheering. It was obvious how much they adored and idolized the one they called Young Lord Ling.
Both cars were moving at blistering speeds. Even with the road narrow and winding, the two cars vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.
The excited crowd didn't panic just because the cars had disappeared. They got to work in an orderly fashion.
A few minutes later, drones rose into the sky. On the wide screen in front of them, the two cars that had just vanished reappeared.
"Go, Young Lord Ling, go! Beat Young Lord Sun, beat Young Lord Sun, hahaha —"
At the sight of those two powerful cars on screen, the crowd erupted all over again. They cheered and danced wildly, every face flushed with excitement.
The narrow mountain road wound viciously from bottom to top. Ling Yun kept a firm grip on the steering wheel while glancing in the rearview mirror at the Ferrari right on his tail. A brilliant, arrogant smile spread across his young and handsome face, and he stuck his left hand out of the window, pointing his thumb straight down.
"Hahaha —"
His bright, swaggering laugh carried far down the mountain road — and straight into the ears of Sun Wenhao, who was right behind him.
"Damn it! You think being cocky means anything, Ling? We haven't decided who wins yet! Don't think you've got this in the bag — ever heard of the word accident?" Sun Wenhao, driver of the Ferrari trailing the Lamborghini by just a hair, ground his back teeth in fury. He had always despised Ling Yun's arrogance. Despised it.
He stomped the gas pedal and sped up, going for an overtake on the narrowest stretch of road.
But Ling Yun wasn't about to let that happen. They had a bet riding on this — a big one. For his older brother's sake, he couldn't let Sun Wenhao win. A flash of cold contempt crossed his face as he floored the accelerator. The Lamborghini surged ahead of the Ferrari by several degrees of speed, instantly breaking the tight gap Sun Wenhao had been clinging onto.
"Holy—! Holy— what am I even seeing, Young Lord Ling still has reserves — he just pulled away from Young Lord Sun who was right on his tail — is there no limit to Young Lord Ling tonight?!"
"Young Lord Ling really is the street racing prince of my heart, the most amazing."
"Young Lord Ling is so hot, I want to sit in his passenger seat so badly — if I could ride shotgun with him just once, I'd be willing to die right after, sobbing, hubby, I love you!"
"Young Lord Ling / hubby, I love you!"
In front of the wide screen, whether boy or girl, everyone watching Ling Yun push harder let out a feverish howl. Nothing else existed for them but that gorgeous yellow Lamborghini.
That absolute, limit-pushing speed drove them all insane.
"Mom, I'm home." At eleven in the morning, after racing all night, Ling Yun pushed open the front door. The warm, domestic scene he usually came home to was nowhere to be found. Not a single servant was in sight, and the villa was eerily quiet — completely unlike how it usually felt when he came back from a race.
He dropped his helmet onto the crook of the sofa and looked around the empty living room with a puzzled frown, then shook the sweat out of his hair.
It's boiling. So annoying.
The capital in summer was genuinely brutal — scorchingly, suffocatingly hot. It made him want to dive straight into the pool. But he couldn't — his mother had always said you had to let the sweat settle before bathing. With no other option, he dug out a popsicle from the fridge and sprawled on the sofa to cool down.
While eating, he scrolled through his phone. Loads of missed calls. A pile of messages. He replied to a few, then flicked the bare popsicle stick away.
His round, bright almond eyes swept across the still-empty, lavishly furnished living room. Ling Yun felt genuinely puzzled now. It was already half past eleven. By any normal standard, the servants should have had lunch ready by now.
But today, not a single servant was visible. Even if the family was out, the servants couldn't all be absent. Had something happened? Had they all been given the day off?
With that unanswered question lingering, Ling Yun went upstairs.
"Meiyun, stop crying. The more you cry, the worse I feel. It was my mistake, all my fault — blame me if you want, but please stop — Ling Yun will be home soon, don't let the child hear you."
A low, hoarse, heavy voice drifted to his ears. The moment he heard it, Ling Yun's brows shot up in surprise. Why was his father home at this hour? And — why was his mother crying?
Crying — and somehow his name was tangled up in it. Had he accidentally upset her without knowing?
That's trouble.
Maybe I should sneak back out and wait until she calms down before coming home.
He stopped walking, an expression of guilt and hesitation settling over his face.
"Xiusu, can I not cry — the child suffered for eighteen years out there, eighteen years — not a few days, not a few months, not a few years — eighteen full years — just imagining those eighteen years, how badly he must have eaten, how poorly he must have dressed, with those gambling wreck parents — my heart is breaking — my poor child, wuwu…" Fragmented, tearful words filtered through the quiet house.
The hesitation vanished. He moved carefully toward the source of the sound.
What's going on?
A child — which child?
Eighteen years… he was eighteen this year. Did that mean he might have a twin brother who'd been forgotten out there?
Confused and unsettled, Ling Yun lightened his footsteps until they made no sound at all — soft as a feather brushing the floor.
A few seconds later, he stood outside the study. He pressed his ear to the door.
Inside, Jiang Xiusu held the devastated Wu Meiyun tightly, his own expression heavy. On the desk in front of them lay an open document. The words PATERNITY TEST at the top of the page stabbed at his eyes, deepening the grim lines on his face.
"Xiusu, what sin have I committed, that heaven would punish me like this — my child — wuwu wuwu…" Wu Meiyun couldn't stop herself. She balled up both fists and beat them against Jiang Xiusu's chest.
She was genuinely furious with herself. Even a baby could be switched by mistake — she didn't deserve to be called a mother.
Wu Meiyun's sobs and broken words kept seeping out from beneath the door, and pressed against it on the other side, Ling Yun felt his heart seize with sudden, cold dread.
He had a bad feeling.
"Mom, don't cry. No one is to blame here — blame the careless little nurse who switched the babies back then. Otherwise, how could someone connected to us by blood have been separated from us for eighteen years? Eighteen years is a long time, but at least the child found his way back. From now on, we make it up to him — give him everything those eighteen years were missing."
Inside the study, a young voice broke through the weeping. The moment Ling Yun heard it, the color drained completely from his face.
Not just from his face — his hands began to tremble.
He understood. He was not the Jiang family's child. He was the baby switched by a careless nurse all those years ago. The Jiang family's real child had already been found and brought back. It wouldn't be long before they all met face to face.
The revelation hit him like a wall. Ling Yun could no longer take in anything else that was said.
His mind held only one thought: he was not a Jiang.
Like a sleepwalker, he moved down the hallway, descended the stairs, and walked out through the grand front door. He drifted without direction.
If the Jiang family wasn't his family — if his parents weren't really his parents — if his brother wasn't really his brother — then where did he belong? Was there anywhere in the world that would take him?
What was he supposed to do now?
A few minutes after Ling Yun left the house, the study door opened. Three faces — each carrying a different expression — appeared in the doorway. Looking down the empty corridor, Jiang Jingcheng bent and picked up a document envelope that had been left by the door. He opened it. Inside was a share transfer agreement for Tianyun Group — only five percent, but exactly what he needed most right now.
"Ling Yun…" Gripping those five percent shares, Jiang Jingcheng's expression was complicated, a flash of shame moving through his eyes.
"Ling Yun is a good child. He didn't spend eighteen years here for nothing. Jingcheng — even when your real little brother comes home, you can't treat the two of them differently. Going forward, we treat Ling Yun exactly as we always have. He's sentimental — we have to be good to him. We can't let him down."
Jiang Xiusu stared at the share transfer document in his son's hands for a half-minute before finally speaking.
"Dad, I know. Don't worry. However I treated Ling Yun before, that's how I'll treat him going forward. He's my brother — my real brother." Eighteen years of growing up together wasn't something you could just sever. Jiang Jingcheng's feelings for Ling Yun ran deep.
Otherwise, how would he have known that Ling Yun, faced with a difficulty, would find a way to secure five percent of Tianyun Group shares and hand them over?
"Xiusu, Ling Yun…" Wu Meiyun wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She started to say something more, but under the gazes of both her husband and her son, she swallowed it.
"Meiyun. We have already told Ling Yun the truth in this way. There's no need to take any further steps. For a family like ours, one more child is not a burden — and you did once love that child genuinely. That's enough. Go and rest." With those words, Jiang Xiusu picked up his briefcase and left. He had a meeting; he couldn't stay.
"Jingcheng — go back to work."
Seeing his father leave, Jiang Jingcheng, who looked every bit the workaholic, also took his cue.
"Go." Wu Meiyun waved him off, then turned and went to the master bedroom. The moment she stepped inside, she took out her phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Mom — when can I come back to the Jiang family? I miss you." Yang Qing's voice came clearly through the phone.
Wu Meiyun's heart constricted. "Child, wait a little longer — just a little more and your dad and I will bring you home. After that, our family will never be separated again."
"Okay, Mom. I'll wait for you to come get me."
The words were tender. But Yang Qing's face twisted into something ugly the moment he said them. The Jiang family's wealth was rightfully his to begin with. Why should that bastard Ling Yun get to keep occupying it? Just imagining how, in his past life, he had spent every moment looking up at Ling Yun's brilliantly arrogant face from the shadows — the memory made him so furious he nearly smashed the phone in his hand.
Back in the villa district, a dark shadow stepped directly into Ling Yun's path.
He blinked, eyes refocusing. When he recognized who was blocking him, he said flatly, "Sun Wenhao. What — can't handle losing?"
"Please. I lost, I lost, I'll admit it." Sun Wenhao leaned in close, dropping his voice to a self-satisfied smirk. "Ling Yun. You're not even a Jiang kid anymore. I'd like to see what leverage you think you have to keep competing with me. Heh. Just wait and see what I do to you."
With that, Sun Wenhao laughed loudly and swaggered off.
Ling Yun stared at his ridiculous, peacock-strutting back. Something clicked, and his expression sharpened. Why would someone like Sun Wenhao know that he wasn't a Jiang?
