Wang's pov
We walked through the cold, elegant halls of the house, portraits of past judges and military men lining the walls, their stern eyes watching like they approved of everything she did. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft tap of her heels and my echoing footsteps.
She stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hallway, one I remembered. It had once been a guest room, rarely used secluded, and soundproof.
"He's in here," she said, her hand resting on the knob. "But I suggest you be calm. He's been difficult."
"What does that mean?" I asked, heart, lurching.
"He refuses to eat. Barely speaks. He's being dramatic."
"Because you kidnapped him!" I snapped.
Her lips thinned. "Lower your voice."
But I was done playing nice. I pushed past her and opened the door myself.
The room was dimly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking the view of the ocean outside. And there, on the big bed in the corner, was Zhan.
He was curled up, facing the wall, his back to me. His shoulders looked smaller somehow, his frame thinner than I remembered. The tray of untouched food sat on the bedside table, exactly as she'd said. But it wasn't dramatics, it was survival.
"Zhan," I called softly, stepping into the room.
He didn't move at first. But then he slowly turned his head, eyes squinting in the light. When he saw me, his lips parted slightly in disbelief.
"Wang..." His voice was hoarse. Cracked. Like he hadn't used it in days.
I rushed to his side and crouched down, heartbreaking at the sight of him. "I'm here. I'm sorry I wasn't there earlier. I didn't know."
His eyes welled with tears, and he quickly turned his face away, hiding it in the pillow.
"She said you were in the hospital" he whispered.
"I wasn't," I said immediately. "She lied. I went to the station to find you, but you'd already left with her and the lawyer."
He exhaled a trembling breath. "I thought you sent me with her, that you were coming too. But by the time I realized what she was doing, it was too late. I'm sorry... I told her everything."
My throat tightened. "No. Never. I came for you as soon as I found out."
He didn't respond, but his body trembled slightly beneath the thick blanket.
I sat beside him and reached out, brushing his hair back gently. "You're safe now. I promise."
From the door, I heard my mother's sharp voice, like a blade cutting through the moment.
"He's weak. He needs to toughen up if he's going to survive what's ahead."
I stood and faced her. "Then you'll stay the hell away from him."
Her eyes narrowed. "Watch yourself."
"I am," I said. "And I see clearly now."
She didn't reply, just gave a cold smile and turned away, her heels clicking as she disappeared down the hall.
I turned back to Zhan and pulled the blanket higher over him.
"You're not alone anymore," I whispered. "I've got you now."
Zhan didn't say anything, but his fingers twitched beneath the blanket, like he was holding back from reaching out. I stayed beside him, sitting on the edge of the bed, not crowding him but not leaving either. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken pain, but I wanted him to feel it, my presence, my promise.
He finally whispered, "I was so scared, Wang..."
His voice broke on the last word, and my heart shattered.
"I know," I said, my hand resting gently on his. "You have every right to be. She tricked you, and I should've known. I should've protected you better."
Zhan turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see one eye red, tired, haunted.
"She acted like she cared. Like she was going to help," he said, voice shaking. "And I wanted to believe her because... I was tired. I didn't want to fight anymore."
"You don't have to fight alone anymore," I said firmly. "I'll do it with you."
He gave a small nod, then closed his eyes again. He wasn't asleep, just resting, like someone who'd been running in darkness and finally found a patch of light.
I stayed with him until the sun dipped fully below the horizon. The only light in the room was the soft glow of the lamp beside him, casting warm shadows across his face.
There was a quiet knock on the door. I didn't answer, but Cheng stepped in anyway, careful not to speak too loudly.
"We need to talk," he said softly. "About getting both of you out of here."
I nodded and stood carefully so I wouldn't wake Zhan, though I was pretty sure he was still awake, just pretending, like it was easier than facing more questions.
Cheng and I stepped into the hallway, and I closed the door behind us.
"I filed a request with the Jeju Police," Cheng said. "They're going to send someone over for a welfare check on Zhan. If we can get him to talk, even just a little, it'll help build our case."
"And my mother?" I asked, jaw tight.
"She's powerful," Cheng admitted. "But not untouchable. If we play this smart and keep everything documented, we'll expose what she's done."
"She's manipulative," I said. "She doesn't need to beat someone to hurt them."
Cheng nodded. "Psychological abuse. We're compiling the evidence. The files, recordings from the school, Zhan's medical records... we're not going in blind."
I looked toward the door again. "He's fragile, Cheng. I don't want him dragged through more hell just to prove what everyone already knows."
"We'll protect him," he said gently. "You're not alone in this either, Wang."
I nodded slowly, the weight of everything settling into my chest, but this time, it didn't feel like I was drowning in it.
I was holding someone's hand through it.
And I wasn't letting go.
The next morning, the house smelled of fresh congee, fried eggs, and steamed dumplings. It was warm, familiar, almost comforting. But that comfort was laced with tension that clung to the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
My mother stood in the doorway, dressed in a neat silk blouse and perfectly pressed trousers, her face unreadable.
"Breakfast is ready," she said coolly. "We'll talk after we eat."
She didn't wait for a response, just turned and disappeared down the hall.
I sat beside Zhan, who had barely stirred from the bed, his body stiff and eyes distant. He looked like he hadn't slept much, even though I never left his side. His face was pale, and his lips were dry and cracked.
"Come on," I said gently, brushing a thumb over the back of his hand. "Let's go eat something."
He shook his head slowly. "I'm not hungry."
"I know. But you need your strength," I whispered. "Even if it's just a few bites."
Zhan looked at me with tired eyes, then glanced toward the door. "She'll be there."
"I'll be with you," I promised. "You don't have to talk to her. Just eat. For me."
He stared at me for a moment longer then slowly nodded.
I helped him sit up, and though his body was still sore and stiff, he didn't pull away. We walked down the hall together, our steps slow. Cheng was already at the table, nodding subtly at us when we arrived. The long dining table was set, and at the head, my mom sat like a queen presiding over a royal meeting.
Zhan hesitated. I pulled a chair out for him. "Sit beside me."
He did. Silently. And when the food was placed in front of him, he stared at it like it was something foreign.
I picked up a spoon and filled it with warm congee, then gently nudged it toward him. "Just one spoon."
Zhan hesitated. Then opened his mouth.
He ate. Slowly. One bite, then another. I saw a flicker of something return to his eyes, still dim, still buried beneath pain, but it was something.
My mother watched silently, her expression unreadable. She didn't comment, didn't gloat, didn't interrupt.
Once everyone had finished their meal or, in Zhan's case, eaten enough, I wiped his mouth gently and gave him a small smile.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I looked across the table, waiting.
My mother dabbed her lips with a napkin and set it down neatly.
"Now that we've all eaten," she said smoothly, "it's time we talk about what happens next. Because whether you like it or not, there will be consequences, for everyone."
Zhan flinched slightly at her voice, but I reached under the table and took his hand in mine, squeezing it gently.
"Then let's talk," I said, staring at her directly. "But this time, we all get to speak."
Then I heard footsteps echoing through the hall, slow and deliberate. The sound made Zhan tense beside me, his grip on my hand tightening.
The man who appeared in the doorway was familiar, his tall frame, neat hair, and ever-serious expression. Uncle Fengmian.
He walked in with his usual calm presence and sat directly across from us. His eyes met mine first, then Zhan's, before he gave a small nod toward Cheng.
"Good morning," I greeted quietly, a bit caught off guard.
"Wang. Zhan," he replied with a nod. "Cheng."
My mother, still seated at the head of the table like a conductor about to begin an orchestra, leaned slightly forward. "You can show them."
Uncle Fengmian turned his laptop around so the screen faced us, clicked a few times, and hit play.
The video began. At first, it was Zhan's voice, soft, trembling, haunted.
Then came the images.
The screen filled with scenes of what he had described: dark, damp swamps, bodies being shoved, bruises blossoming across his skin, his tear-streaked face as he sat on a cold bench in an interrogation room recounting the nightmare.
I froze.
The images felt like knives, each one digging deeper into my chest. The sound of Zhan's voice, raw and pained, cracked something inside me that I didn't even know was still whole. I had known it was bad. I'd seen his wounds. But watching him live it, watching it unfold frame by frame, it was too much.
Anger rose in me like wildfire. My fists clenched, jaw locked tight. My vision blurred with rage and grief.
I couldn't understand how someone, especially my mother could look at that boy, look at Zhan, and still treat him like he was less than human.
Beside me, Zhan had gone still. His eyes didn't blink. He was watching himself break on the screen. He remembered it all because he lived it.
I turned to him, forgetting everything else.
"I'm so sorry," I said, voice barely a whisper. "Zhan, I'm so, so sorry."
He didn't speak. Just kept watching.
Across the table, my mother remained unnervingly calm, her fingers steepled together. As if this was just another meeting, another report.
Cheng didn't say a word. His eyes never left the screen. Even he looked shaken.
When the video finally ended, the silence that followed was thick and suffocating.
I reached over and pulled Zhan closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder protectively. His body leaned into mine like he'd been holding himself up for too long.
My mother still hadn't reacted.
But I had.
And now, I knew I would burn the world to protect him from ever going through that again.
The tension in the room thickened as my mother's voice sliced through the silence.
"Show them the other video," she said flatly, her eyes fixed on the screen with an almost calculating expression.
I felt Zhan stiffen beside me. I could see the sudden dread in his eyes, and I wanted to tell him it would be okay. But the moment my mother said those words, I knew it wouldn't be okay.
Uncle Fengmian, who had been silent up until now, nodded and clicked a few keys on his laptop. The screen flickered for a moment before it began playing the next video.
The scene started in a dimly lit room. Zhan's face appeared, but it was different. His eyes were wide, almost manic, his mouth twisted in a cruel grin as he spoke about taking people to the swamp. The words were sickening.
"I've done it again," Zhan's voice came through the speakers, cold and detached. "The rush, the pleasure... it's unlike anything else. Watching them suffer. Watching them beg. It's what I live for."
Each word felt like a slap across my face. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands clenched involuntarily. But the worst part wasn't what he was saying, it was the satisfaction in his voice. It felt wrong. It wasn't Zhan. It couldn't be.
I could feel my breath hitching, the anger bubbling up within me.
"This is edited," I hissed, my voice tight with fury.
Uncle Fengmian raised an eyebrow, barely acknowledging my outburst. "Looks real to me," my mother said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly as if this was just another matter to deal with.