DITN: Chapter 1

G City — Gu Family Estate.

The sky hung heavy with gloom, clouds pressed low as though burdened with unspoken sorrow. The wrought-iron gates of the manor, adorned with intricate floral patterns, slowly parted. A fleet of black cars rolled quietly along the ivory-white driveway, one after another coming to a halt before the grand entrance of the villa.

The door of the leading car swung open. Gu Yuan stepped out, his tall figure wrapped in a perfectly tailored black shirt and suit. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, the sharp lines of his face hinted at a cold, restrained severity. Only a sliver of immaculate white silk, folded into his breast pocket, offered the slightest contrast to the darkness that cloaked him.
One by one, the men under his command emerged from the vehicles behind him.

“Four years…” Gu Yuan lifted his gaze toward the ash-gray façade looming under the overcast sky, and with a careless sort of indifference, let the words slip out, half a sigh, half a recollection.

Not far ahead, the entrance of the villa had been draped with white mourning banners. A few reception attendants, tasked with greeting the guests, stared in stunned disbelief. The one standing at the front even stumbled back half a step, his legs momentarily weakening at the sight.

Gu Yuan narrowed his deep-set eyes, and a faint, almost leisurely smile curved his lips.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, straightening the front of his jacket before striding forward with calm certainty.

———

At the same time — inside the villa, within the mourning hall.

Funeral couplets hung down beside the altar, white banners draped solemnly across the walls. The black marble floor gleamed with a cold, mirror-like sheen beneath the pale glow of the memorial lamps. Guests, white chrysanthemums pinned to their chests, moved in a quiet procession through the hall—offering incense before the ancestral tablet at the front, then bowing and shaking hands with the officiant in silent farewell.

Before the memorial tablet, kneeling on a pale green cushion, was a young man. He held a single stick of incense, lifting it with both hands as he bowed low until his forehead nearly touched the ground.

He appeared very young, dressed entirely in quiet shades of black and dark gray, which only made the pallor of his skin even more striking—almost translucent. In the soft swirl of incense smoke, his profile was serene, blurred, and unreal; beneath the almost glass-like clarity of his complexion, faint blue veins stood out along his jaw and the side of his neck—so stark they were almost unsettling to behold.

A few guests, after turning away from their offerings, could not help but murmur in hushed tones: “To think, President Gu—who once wielded power like a storm—has only that boy surnamed Fang staying by the spirit tablet for him…”

“Hush,” another whispered quickly, “they say more than half of the estate has already been left to him. If it means securing the entire Gu family legacy, what’s a few days kneeling in mourning?”

“And what of President Gu’s two sons? Are they just going to sit back and watch?”

“The second young master has already been dealt with. No one knows where the eldest is now,” someone else replied in an even quieter voice, leaning close. “But—between you and me—the one surnamed Fang held power for years. He’s essentially the rightful widower of President Gu. Wouldn’t be surprising if, in a few days, the Gu family has to change its surname altogether…”

Just then, the old butler hurriedly crossed the hall and came to stand behind the kneeling young man. Bending close, he spoke in an anxious whisper: “Vice President Fang, something’s wrong—the eldest young master of the Gu family has arrived!”

Fang Jin paused, only for a moment.

“The front gate says he brought a number of men with him, and they don’t look peaceful. The greeters tried to stop them, but…”

“It’s fine,” Fang Jin lowered his lashes slightly, his tone light and calm. “He is President Gu’s eldest son. Coming to pay respects to his father is only natural.”

But worry was written plainly across the butler’s face. Just as he opened his mouth to argue further—

Bang!

The doors of the mourning hall were flung open with a violent crash. In the hushed stillness of the room, the sound reverberated like thunder, and every head turned in astonishment at once.

In the next instant, a group of roughly a dozen men appeared at the entrance of the mourning hall. They were all dressed uniformly in black funeral attire, each with a white mourning flower pinned neatly to their chest—so similar in appearance that at first glance, they blurred into a single solemn silhouette. Then, from the center of the group, one man stepped forward. One hand slipped casually into his pocket while the other slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing a face strikingly similar to the one in the memorial portrait—handsome, austere, and indifferent.

It was like a drop of cold water splashing into a pan of hot oil—whispers erupted instantly from every direction.

“—The eldest young master of the Gu family?”

“Isn’t that Gu Yuan?”

“Heavens above, it really is him—President Gu’s firstborn, Gu Yuan!”

“What’s he doing here?” someone whispered, and another immediately answered with thinly veiled excitement, “Has the rightful heir of the Gu family returned to fight for his inheritance? What about the second young master?”

“If it were only the second young master, things might be manageable—but Gu Yuan is a far more formidable opponent. Back then he attempted to seize control from his father and, after failing, was cast out…”

Gu Yuan moved as though he heard none of it, untouched by the rising tide of whispers and speculation. Under the attentive gaze of every mourner present, he strode steadily through the towering, solemn hall and came to stand before the altar and the portrait of the deceased. He reached out, fingers steady, and took a single stick of incense.

Gradually, the murmurs faded into silence, until it became so quiet that even the fall of a needle would have echoed against the marble floor.

It had always been this way, even since long ago—Gu Yuan seemed to carry around him an invisible yet unmistakable aura, something difficult to describe in words, but heavy enough to press upon the air itself. It was the kind of presence that made it hard to breathe, eerily reminiscent of his father, Gu Mingzong, in his younger years. The moment the butler’s eyes met his, a subtle shudder rose instinctively from the depths of his chest, and before he could restrain himself, he had already taken two involuntary steps backward.
Yet Gu Yuan merely stood there, tall and straight, offering neither a bow nor a word of greeting—his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the portrait of his late father upon the altar.

After a long silence—so stifling it seemed to stretch endlessly—Fang Jin finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“Young Master Gu has returned… may I ask for what purpose?”

Gu Yuan’s gaze shifted to him.
Fang Jin remained kneeling before him, facing the portrait, and did not turn around. From Gu Yuan’s vantage point, he could only see the curve of a pale, almost porcelain-white earlobe, the slender line of a nape that was both delicate and unyielding, and the clean stretch of his shoulders beneath the plain mourning clothes.

He held three sticks of incense with both hands, his back perfectly straight in a posture of unwavering composure. Gu Yuan had heard people say that he had been keeping vigil here for three days and nights, yet aside from the faint hoarseness in his voice, there was nothing in that slender back—no slump, no tremor—that suggested fatigue, grief, or despair.

“I came here…” Gu Yuan’s lips curved into a smile. He leaned forward and, with a seemingly casual ease, took the incense from Fang Jin’s hands, placing it upright before the memorial tablet as though he were merely completing a polite formality.

“I came to see you.”

With that same smile still lingering on his lips, he lowered his head, his voice brushing against the shell of Fang Jin’s ear like a whisper meant only for ghosts to hear.

“I’ve missed you. And you—have you missed me?”

Fang Jin closed his eyes, his profile utterly devoid of expression.

“If you came here to say meaningless things, then you may leave now.”

“Meaningless?” Gu Yuan asked quietly, amusement flickering beneath his tone.

“And where, exactly, did you hear insincerity in my voice?”
His words were spoken softly, and the mourners were seated too far away to catch anything beyond the muted cadence of conversation. Only the butler, standing nearby, understood the true weight hidden beneath those words—and cold sweat began to seep down his spine in slow, chilling threads.

Fang Jin opened his eyes. “Butler.”

The butler immediately stepped forward.

“See the guest out,” Fang Jin said calmly.

The butler forced himself to turn and face Gu Yuan, trying to maintain composure. Yet the eldest young master merely lifted one eyebrow—an expression so slight, and yet the glacial sharpness in his eyes carried a force that made resistance feel futile. At the same moment, every one of Gu Yuan’s men advanced in unison, forming a semicircle around the altar. The panicked guests found themselves blocked behind a wall of bodies, unable to retreat or speak without fear of consequence.

Gu Yuan glanced back briefly. At once, his subordinates stepped forward, seized the butler, and dragged him out of the hall. The man did not even dare utter a sound.
A crackling silence fell upon the mourning hall, thick with the tension of something dangerously close to breaking.

Gu Yuan’s voice drifted through the stillness, slow and languid.

“I know what you want to hear.”

“My father is dead. In his final moments, you were the one at his side. Every confidential document, every share, every deed to the family property now lies within your hands. There are even rumors—bold ones—that you are to inherit his legacy, that you may soon become the true authority of the Gu family… and that I must be here today for that reason alone.”

“Perhaps you already have it all planned out—how to maneuver in shadows, how to negotiate each step to your greatest advantage, how to walk away from the table with the most profitable terms. Maybe, before he died, my father even taught you something more—how his power could continue to rule this empire through you for decades to come—”

“Enough!” Fang Jin snapped, his voice cutting sharply through the air.

Gu Yuan only smiled, silent, unhurried.

Fang Jin did not speak again immediately. His chest rose and fell slightly, the smallest tremor betraying the effort it took to remain composed. After a moment, he braced one hand against the edge of the altar and pushed himself to his feet.

He had been kneeling for too long, and his legs faltered for a second—but whether it was an illusion or truth, Gu Yuan suddenly felt that, beneath Fang Jin’s paper-white complexion, there was a fragile fragility to him, as though decline had already started to seep into his very bones.

It was absurd, really—Fang Jin was one year younger than him, and with his youthful features, one could easily believe he was no more than twenty, perhaps even younger.

“I would like to express my deepest gratitude to all the honored guests who have come today to pay their respects to Mr. Gu,” Fang Jin said, turning toward the assembled mourners. “On behalf of the Gu family, I thank you sincerely.”

The guests, their expressions varying from unease to sympathy to veiled curiosity, nodded or offered slight bows in return.

“During his lifetime, Mr. Gu was a man of humility and loyalty, respected by many and cherished by friends across all circles. To see you all here today to accompany him on his final journey—he would surely have been comforted.” Fang Jin paused, then added gently, “However, the internal affairs of the Gu family remain unsettled, and there are still matters that must be handled with great care. Therefore, we will not impose upon our esteemed guests any longer.”

Fang Jin made a courteous gesture toward the main gates, his expression calm yet resolute, and said,“Once the matters of inheritance and household management are clarified in due time, I will personally visit each of you to offer my apologies in full. Thank you for your presence today.”

Anyone with even the slightest perception could tell that the Gu family had entered a period of internal strife behind tightly closed doors; thus, no one dared ask unnecessary questions. After offering their formal respects, they withdrew one after another, and in a matter of moments the entrance hall was completely emptied.
Within the mourning hall, now, only a few Gu family servants remained. Yet even they were huddled nervously near the doorway, their presence fragile and insignificant compared to the silent, disciplined line of men in black—Gu Yuan’s personal guards—whose arrival had caused the atmosphere to tighten to the point of snapping.

Fang Jin stood directly before Gu Yuan. His gaze swept over the wall-like formation of black-clad subordinates, and he spoke in a voice cold enough to freeze the air between them: “What is this supposed to be? Are you staging a palace coup?”

No one responded; no one even shifted an inch. The silence in the air stretched thin like a bowstring pulled to its absolute limit.

After a prolonged stillness, Gu Yuan finally turned his head with a casual, almost careless voice and said, “Deputy Director Fang appears uncomfortable in your presence—step outside.”

With slight nods, the men obeyed and exited the opulently decorated ceremonial hall, taking with them the terrified servants of the Gu family. A heavy peachwood door slammed shut behind them, and a cold metallic click followed, reverberating through the vast mourning chamber for a long, lingering moment.

Now, in the towering hall, only the two of them remained.

Gu Yuan allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. Leisurely, he lifted a stick of incense and bowed to the spirit tablet at the altar. Without lifting his head, he remarked, “You’ve grown thinner.”

Fang Jin replied, calm and unwavering, “It is only proper during the mourning period.”

“Tsk.” Gu Yuan gave a soft, derisive click of his tongue. “They say you’re here feigning filial piety just to secure the Gu family’s fortune, but from what I can see, your devotion to my father has never wavered. If his spirit still lingers in the heavens, he might very well be regretting not treating you better when he still had the chance.”

Gu Yuan placed the incense upright before the altar. But before his words could settle, Fang Jin spoke, voice icy and firm: “No. President Gu was the one man in this world who treated me with the greatest kindness.”

“…” Gu Yuan turned toward him.

Fang Jin had lifted his head and was gazing at the black-and-white portrait on the altar.

At that moment, the afternoon light filtered through the towering glass windows of the hall, streaming across the white mourning banners and the obsidian floor, tracing the delicate, austere outline of Fang Jin’s profile. He stood with such rigid straightness that he seemed as if a single breath might cause him to fracture. Dressed entirely in the pitch-black of funeral attire, his thin frame nearly vanished into the darkness; and even his pale, ashen face resembled not the living, but a cold portrait of the dead.

That familiar, needle-fine ache—sharp and poisonous—spread once more through Gu Yuan’s chest, pricking beneath the ribs like a swarm of thorns.

“Of course,” he said faintly, “otherwise how else could you have abandoned me, at the very brink of death, to follow my father back then?”

Fang Jin’s long eyelashes quivered violently, before he slowly closed his eyes.

Gu Yuan said nothing more. Taking advantage of his height, he simply looked down at the kneeling man in silent, oppressive scrutiny.

At length, after a suffocating silence that seemed to stretch on without end, Fang Jin drew in a deep breath and finally asked, “Do you still want the things President Gu left behind… or not?”

“Oh?”

“Everyone says that soon the Gu family will be changing its surname to Fang, and since you have journeyed all this way, it cannot possibly be merely to mourn President Gu. So tell me—did you come here to infuriate me to death on the spot so that you can seize power without shedding a single drop of blood? Or will you burn your incense sticks, act the dutiful son, and then obediently take your leave, go back and continue fighting that cheap little brother of yours, and wait patiently until I die of old age before making your move?”

Fang Jin’s gaze drilled straight into Gu Yuan as he added sharply, “Don’t tell me you came all the way here just to say you missed me. President Gu is gone—you’d sooner kill me than pine for my company.”

His words were already as sharp as drawn blades, yet Gu Yuan’s expression did not waver in the slightest. “Yes.”

“You—”

“I came here for exactly that reason,” Gu Yuan said plainly.
For a moment, silence fell heavy and suffocating.

Fang Jin’s brows tightened into a hard, severe line.

“It has been four years, Fang Jin,” Gu Yuan said at last with a soft sigh. “Did you really think that in those four years all I did was wait for my father to die, without lifting a finger? Did you truly believe that I am still living off the scraps this family begrudgingly tosses my way?”

“I once told myself that one day, the Gu family would kneel before me and beg me to inherit what was mine to begin with. By now, they should already be kneeling. Yet, to tell you the truth, I hardly care for any of that anymore. What matters most—is you.”

His words hung in the air with chilling clarity as Gu Yuan stepped forward, his eyes locked unblinkingly onto Fang Jin’s.

For some inexplicable reason, that gaze—calm, unwavering, and burning with something unfathomable—sent an icy shiver crawling up from the darkest depths of Fang Jin’s spine.

“The wealth, the property—my father may leave it to whoever he pleases,” Gu Yuan spoke slowly, every word deliberate. “But you… you are something that should rightfully be inherited by me.”

In that instant, comprehension dawned on Fang Jin like a flash of lightning splitting the night. His voice snapped with alarm, “Guards!”

Yet outside the mourning hall, all was eerily silent.

Whirling around, Fang Jin strode swiftly toward the entrance—only to feel a violent gust of wind surge from behind. A powerful force seized him without warning, dragging him backward with brutal strength.

“Gu Yuan! Let go of me—mmph!”

Before he could finish, Gu Yuan’s hand clamped tightly over his mouth. With clean, decisive strength, Gu Yuan forced him down. Fang Jin’s head struck the ice-cold marble floor with a jarring thud, pain blooming sharply at the back of his skull.

His vision went dark for a fleeting moment, and when consciousness returned in fragments, he found himself pinned mercilessly to the ground. Gu Yuan was kneeling over him, one knee pressing intimately, possessively, between his thighs—like a predator towering over its captured prey, savoring the moment before the kill.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you? From the very day Gu Mingzong died—you’ve been waiting for me to come.”

Fang Jin could barely breathe. Gu Yuan’s hand was like an iron shackle over his mouth, cutting off his air; his ears rang with a sharp, buzzing roar, drowning out the sound of Gu Yuan’s voice entirely.
He grasped desperately at Gu Yuan’s wrist, but it was useless. Oxygen burned in his lungs, and his vision splintered into a storm of hazy white sparks.

Gu Yuan’s breath brushed past his ear as he spoke again, low and poisonous: “This villa has no defenses at all. You dismissed every servant, every guard. There is only one explanation—aside from waiting for me.”

He laughed, quiet and malicious, and whispered, “—You plan to die here and follow Gu Mingzong into death.”

Fang Jin’s chest heaved violently, fingers tightening until the veins stood out like cords beneath his pale skin.
Gu Yuan, with a deliberate motion, tore at the hem of his own garment and finally released his grip over Fang Jin’s face. The sudden rush of air into his lungs made Fang Jin cough harshly, struggling against the lingering tension that gripped his body, yet before he could fully regain control, Gu Yuan’s presence pressed in on him again, a quiet, inescapable authority that left him momentarily immobilized.

“Mm—mm…” Fang Jin’s voice barely escaped in muffled gasps.

Gu Yuan, calm and measured, removed his finely tailored jacket with a languid flick and let it fall to the cold marble floor with a soft thud.

“Once more,” he said, his tone teasing yet heavy with sincerity, “After all these years, I have missed you. Tell me—have you missed me?”

Fang Jin could not respond; his lack of breath and the tightness of the moment left him flushed, eyes shimmering with unspilled emotion. The faint redness in his cheeks lent him a raw, almost fragile reality, replacing the earlier, icy pallor that had made him seem untouchable, remote, like a delicate figure poised to vanish into air.

Gu Yuan moved with methodical precision, keeping him close and controlled. The stark black marble beneath Fang Jin’s form accentuated every line of his body, highlighting a strange vulnerability that was both arresting and painfully beautiful.

A sudden warmth, fiery and intrusive, spread through Gu Yuan’s chest, coiling like a hundred serpents around his heart, each movement of his own excitement sending a thrill through his bones and making him shiver with anticipation.

It was as if he were slowly peeling a flower from its protective greenhouse, layer by layer, exposing its softest, most vulnerable core to the world—an exhilarating, intoxicating act of possession and revelation.

“Welcome me, Fang Jin,” Gu Yuan murmured, his voice low and commanding, carrying the weight of years, regrets, and desire all at once.

For a long moment, neither moved. The world seemed to pause. Dust motes floated lazily through the streaks of light filtering from the tall windows, settling inch by inch on the black marble, silent witnesses to the tension between them.

Gu Yuan.

Gu Yuan…

The name echoed in Fang Jin’s mind, spiraling through memory and time. There was joy, hesitation, humility, sorrow, and longing all woven into that simple sound. It carried them back into a faded past, into the dim light of days long gone, revealing the Fang Jin who had always been cautiously hopeful, always lingering a half-step behind, silent, yet present—a shadow of gentle devotion.

Gu Yuan had once believed that shadow would always be there, a constant companion, inseparable and faithful. Until the day reality tore the illusion away, exposing the stark, messy truths that had lain beneath all along.

From that moment on, Fang Jin stumbled out of his life entirely—vanishing before there was even a chance to hold him back, slipping away into a distance Gu Yuan could never hope to reach.