EPILOGUE
Ten years later.
The Hengxin headquarters had a new wing—glass and steel, modern lines blending with the old brick of the original building. A plaque at the entrance read: Ye Wanyin Innovation Center.
Inside, children's laughter echoed through the halls on weekends. The company's foundation ran coding camps for underprivileged kids. Wanyin's idea. Ye Beichen's funding.
Madam Ye had passed five years earlier.
Peaceful. In her sleep.
Her funeral had been massive—old money, new money, politicians, rivals turned allies.
But her real legacy lived in quieter ways.
The boardroom table now had photos along the wall.
Ye Beichen and Wanyin at their wedding.
The birth of their daughter, Ye Anxin—peace of heart.
Their son, Ye Mingrui—bright wisdom.
Madam Ye holding Anxin for the first time, eyes soft in a way no one had ever seen.
The company had grown.
Tripled in value.
Expanded into sustainable tech, AI ethics, education platforms.
Wanyin led the innovation division.
Ye Beichen remained CEO.
They still argued in meetings.
Still made up in the elevator.
Still held hands under the table during board votes.
The scars were there.
Chen Hao's trial had dragged for years. Conviction on all counts. Twenty years.
He had written letters from prison.
Apologies.
Regrets.
They burned them unread.
Some wounds don't need closure from the person who made them.
They need time.
And love.
And choosing, every day, to build instead of destroy.
Anxin was eight now.
Dark hair like her mother.
Eyes like her father.
Sharp. Curious.
She sat in Wanyin's office after school sometimes, building apps on a tablet, asking questions no eight-year-old should know to ask.
"Why do people lie, Mummy?"
Wanyin always answered honestly.
"Because they're afraid of the truth."
Anxin nodded, thoughtful.
"Like Grandfather's grandmother?"
Wanyin smiled.
"Yes. Like her."
Mingrui was five.
Loud. Fearless.
Climbed everything.
Ye Beichen said he had his mother's determination.
Wanyin said he had his father's recklessness.
They were both right.
Evenings were sacred.
No work after seven.
Dinner together.
Stories.
Laughter.
Madam Ye's portrait hung in the ancestral home.
Wanyin visited every year on her death anniversary.
Brought flowers.
Spoke to her in Mandarin.
Told her about the children.
About the company.
About how love hadn't weakened them.
It had made them unbreakable.
One night, after the kids were asleep, Wanyin and Ye Beichen sat on their balcony.
Same view as the old apartment.
Different life.
She leaned against him.
"Do you ever think about the thirty days?"
He smiled.
"Every day."
She looked up.
"Regrets?"
"Only that it took me three years to find you again."
She kissed him.
Soft.
Slow.
Ten years.
Two children.
One empire.
Countless battles won.
And still, every night, she chose him.
Still, every morning, he chose her.
The devil hadn't come to destroy her.
He had come to remind her she was human.
And in his arms, she had learned that being human wasn't weakness.
It was everything.
Legacy wasn't just companies and money.
It was the people who carried your name forward.
With love.
With strength.
With the courage to choose happiness over fear.
Hengxin thrived.
The Ye family thrived.
And Gu Wanyin—once the woman who trusted no one—slept peacefully every night.
Because she had built something no one could take.
A life.
A love.
A legacy.
Worth everything.