Chapter 8: Which Part Offended You?

Night. The Si family study.

Si Yimian stood at the door with a cup of freshly heated milk and knocked lightly.

"Come in."

Si Congshan's voice was thick with fatigue.

She pushed the door open and poked half her head in.

Si Congshan sat behind his desk, computer screen glowing, coffee cup half-empty, documents scattered across the table.

Si Yimian walked over, took the coffee cup from beside his hand, and replaced it with the hot milk.

Si Congshan looked up, startled.

"Coffee's gone. Milk's the replacement."

She set the coffee cup aside, placed both hands on the edge of the desk, and leaned down to look at him.

"Mr. Si, it's time to clock out."

Si Congshan raised an eyebrow.

"What did you just call me?"

"Mr. Si."

Si Yimian smiled sweetly.

"Work setting. Gotta be formal."

Si Congshan laughed despite himself, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. Then may I ask Miss Si what brings her barging into my study so late at night?"

Si Yimian circled around to his side and glanced at the glowing screen.

Data filled the display, dense and cramped.

She reached out and snapped his laptop shut.

"Your daughter's doing a dorm check."

"It's ten-thirty and you're still working overtime. Points deducted."

Si Congshan looked down at the cup of milk. Steam curled gently from the surface.

He laughed, suddenly.

This girl had never fussed over him like this in eight years.

The scene felt as unfamiliar as something from a past life.

Before Si Yimian went missing at five, she used to run over when he worked late, tugging at his sleeve, begging him to play with her.

After she came back, she never dared say more than a few words to him, and never set foot in this study again.

Over the years, their longest father-daughter conversation hadn't exceeded three sentences.

He picked up the cup and took a sip. The temperature was just right.

"Did your mother send you?"

"I came on my own."

Si Yimian moved to the other side of the desk and sat down across from him.

"Figured I'd pick your brain while I'm here."

Si Congshan set down the cup and looked at her.

Her brows were relaxed, her eyes clear—none of the old avoidance and timidity.

It was like seeing the face buried deep in his memory come back to life.

"What do you want to ask?"

Si Yimian dropped the joking expression, propping her chin on her hand as she looked at him.

"Dad, I'm going to Yu'an next week. Give me some pointers."

"I'm not familiar with that project. If I go and embarrass the Si family, you won't look good either."

"You need to give me a crash course."

Si Congshan's heart stirred.

This child was serious.

Not playing around—she genuinely wanted to learn.

He set down the cup and interlaced his fingers on the desk.

"The Joint R&D Center is the core department jointly funded by Chenxi and Yu'an."

"You're the Project Coordination Specialist. Sounds like grunt work, but the authority is real."

"You connect Chenxi's R&D team with Yu'an's clinical resources."

"Your counterpart is the Clinical Research Center, which reports directly to He Sicheng."

"Starting out, speak less, listen more, take notes."

"Master the project materials, get to know everyone on both sides, understand the workflow."

Si Yimian pulled out her phone, opened the memo app, and started typing.

Si Congshan poured out everything he could think of.

Detailed, granular, broken down and explained thoroughly.

Si Yimian kept her head down, taking notes the whole time, occasionally looking up to ask a question—each one hitting the nail on the head.

Si Congshan got more animated as he spoke, eventually working up a thirst and draining the milk in one gulp.

"Got it all?"

Si Yimian looked at the full screen of notes and nodded.

"Recorded it. Digesting it will take time."

Si Congshan grunted in satisfaction.

He opened a drawer, pulled out a USB drive, and slid it toward her.

"Watch this when you get back. Full breakdown of the Chenxi-Yu'an cooperation process."

"From negotiation minutes to current implementation, it's all in there."

"If anything's unclear after watching, come ask me anytime."

Si Yimian pocketed the USB drive and nodded.

"If I run into problems with Dr. He that I can't solve, can I come to you?"

Si Congshan thought for a moment.

"You can. But I suggest you try handling it yourself first."

"Why?"

"He Sicheng is the successor the old master of the He family raised personally. He's the real power core and business pillar of the He family."

"People he's willing to teach progress fast."

"If you can learn something from him, that's worth more than learning from me."

Si Yimian nodded thoughtfully.

She thought of those pale eyes, of the way he seemed restrained yet utterly out of control.

There was, indeed, quite a lot to learn.

Si Yimian stood and circled behind Si Congshan.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to massage.

Si Congshan's body went stiff.

"What are you doing?"

"Massaging."

Si Yimian pressed harder, her tone matter-of-fact.

"You just gave me a one-hour lecture. This massage pays off the debt."

"Comfortable?"

"Not bad."

"Not bad means comfortable. You're stubborn."

Si Congshan laughed.

This girl had given him quite a few surprises today.

He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and let those small hands knead his shoulders.

The study fell quiet for a few seconds.

"Mianmian."

"Hmm?"

"You've changed."

Si Yimian pressed a little harder.

"Changed for the better or worse?"

"Changed back to how I remember you."

Si Yimian's hands paused.

Those words hit her somewhere soft.

What was the original host's original self like?

It must have been that bright little sun before age five.

What kind of life had the original host lived, all those years in the mountains?

For a kidnapped child, surviving at all was already an achievement.

She came back covered in wounds, needing to be seen, caught, loved unconditionally.

But her parents had searched for her for ten years. They needed redemption—needed that little sun who knew how to act spoiled to come home.

Both pairs of hands were reaching out, both wanting to be held, but neither had the strength to reach first.

Her parents' gazes shifted from hope to complexity, from complexity to distance.

So she hid. And they hid too.

Really, this deadlock was easy to solve.

One side just had to take one step forward, say one extra sentence.

But for that girl who'd crawled out of hell, it was too hard.

Coming back to her parents' side had already taken everything she had.

The rest, she truly didn't know how to do.

And Si Ningyou had exploited that gap.

She knew how to cry, how to throw tantrums, how to smear mud on the original host.

The original host was like a stray dog that had wandered into someone else's home—clumsy and mute.

And caught in the middle was that two-faced manipulator, plus moral blackmail involving two lives.

How could she possibly compete?

Yet even so, she held on.

Until Si Ningyou engineered her kidney donation, and He Nanxian said if she donated, they'd marry.

She donated. Then Si Ningyou engineered sleeping with He Nanxian.

He Nanxian said he'd take responsibility. The engagement switched to a different person.

She didn't make a scene. Just grew quieter.

But Si Ningyou still wouldn't let her go.

To make sure she and He Nanxian had no chance together, she hired thugs to defile her.

That day, she didn't cry.

She went home, showered, and stood by the window thinking for a long time.

And suddenly realized—the person who'd crawled out of hell had fallen right back into it.

If she'd never seen the light, she could have lived in the dark. But she had seen it.

Before five, she was a princess held in the palm of someone's hand.

After fifteen, He Nanxian shielded her from wind and rain.

Now, standing in the dark, she found she could no longer adapt.

That was despair.

So she jumped.

That girl never hated anyone, right up to the end.

She had lived too tiredly—so tired that even breathing felt heavy.

Thinking about all this, Si Yimian's eyes suddenly grew warm.

The truth was, the light had only been blocked by clouds.

Take one step forward, and the clouds would part.

Deadlocks are easy to solve. What's hard is the person trapped inside one.

What the trapped lack isn't a solution—it's the confidence to break free.