Our Entire Family Has Secrets [Transmigrated] - Chapter 43
The rain continued to fall until school was over.
Many parents came to pick up their children, and Yuan Bozhu’s family was no exception.
The family chat exploded an hour before school ended, with Shou Shu and Yuan Wanjiao seemingly together, saying they would come to pick up Yuan Bozhu later.
As it turned out, Yuan Jilang happened to be nearby, and after some discussion, they decided that he would swing by the school to take Yuan Bozhu home.
With the heavy rain and thunder, Yuan Bozhu saw no reason to refuse.
When the school bell rang, the students began calling their parents.
Some had brought umbrellas and decided to brave the weather, thinking that if they got sick, they could just rest at home the next day.
They boldly rushed out of the classroom.
As they passed by Yuan Bozhu’s seat, most of them paused for a moment.
“Bye, Lin Shuanghuai!”
“See you tomorrow, Huai Ge.”
Lin Shuanghuai waved at them, “Alright, be safe on your way home.”
Though it was only his first day in Class 7, he had already won the affection of his classmates.
But Yuan Bozhu was not surprised.
Lin Shuanghuai always managed to build good relationships with those around him, no matter where he was.
It’s hard to tell whether it was his nature or just a habit, but it seemed like he couldn’t feel secure unless he had the recognition and affection of others.
Yuan Bozhu sat next to him, completely unaffected by his popularity.
After saying goodbye to Lin Shuanghuai, everyone left, but Yuan Bozhu habitually ignored his classmate of two years.
Of course, he was quite pleased with that.
He wasn’t interested in saying goodbye to everyone.
Suddenly, Qin Rui walked up to him with an expectant look and asked,
“Yuan Ge, do you want a ride home?”
Without a second thought, Yuan Bozhu shook his head.
Since Yuan Jilang was coming to pick him up, there was no reason to leave with Qin Rui.
However, it seemed Qin Rui misunderstood.
He wore a frustrated expression that said, “I knew this would happen,” as he watched Yuan Bozhu and Lin Shuanghuai for a while.
Finally, he stomped his foot, sighed dramatically as if lamenting his misfortune, and turned to leave.
Yuan Bozhu couldn’t be bothered to explain.
He packed his bag and checked the time;
Yuan Jilang should take a little while longer to arrive, so Yuan Bozhu waited at his seat.
Lin Shuanghuai didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving either.
He hadn’t even packed up his desk, which was still cluttered with various workbooks and books as he quietly did his homework.
Yuan Bozhu guessed that Lin Shuanghuai was waiting for him.
It wasn’t that he was being narcissistic; it was just that Lin Shuanghuai had followed him around quite a few times before.
Once someone repeatedly does something when you’re around, you naturally start to expect it.
Yuan Bozhu thought that if Lin Shuanghuai persisted, he would have a hard time refusing and would just let Yuan Jilang give him a ride home.
Strangely, ten minutes later, when Yuan Bozhu stood up to leave, Lin Shuanghuai didn’t follow him.
He simply put down his pen and looked at him, saying, “Bye, A Zhu! See you tomorrow!”
For some reason, Yuan Bozhu thought of the day of the parent-teacher meeting when Lin Shuanghuai had walked against the crowd.
Back then, Lin Shuanghuai had smiled just like that, saying naturally, “I’m not going,” as he bid farewell to Yuan Bozhu while everyone else took commemorative photos with their parents.
It was as if Lin Shuanghuai always had this contradictory nature about him.
When you saw him, he was always surrounded by people.
When you passed him, you could always see him smiling.
Yet, in certain unknown moments, he seemed distant from the crowd, far enough to make one feel he was a bit lonely.
“And you?” Yuan Bozhu asked him.
“I’ll wait until the rain eases a bit,” Lin Shuanghuai said, glancing outside where the rain showed no signs of letting up. The thunder rumbled, shaking the windows, and he joked, “I might just end up sleeping here, haha.”
Yuan Bozhu still couldn’t grasp Lin Shuanghuai’s joke.
Maybe it was that he had a high threshold for humor, or perhaps Lin Shuanghuai’s exaggerated happiness felt unreal to him, so he didn’t feel like laughing.
“You…”
Yuan Bozhu started to say.
He intended to invite Lin Shuanghuai along; if Yuan Jilang drove, it would only take about ten more minutes to get to Lin Shuanghuai’s house.
Not a big deal.
But the words didn’t actually come out, as he suddenly felt a tightening sensation around the string of fate wrapped around his finger.
Yuan Qifeng?
He confirmed again.
Yes, it was Yuan Qifeng approaching.
He frowned and pulled out his phone to check the group chat.
The messages were paused at Yuan Jilang’s:
I’ll arrive at 6:15, son. Don’t run around.
And Yuan Bozhu had replied:
Okay.
Yuan Qifeng had never participated in the conversation, yet he appeared near the school without a word.
“Do you have something to say?” Lin Shuanghuai was still waiting for Yuan Bozhu’s next words.
“Nothing.”
Yuan Bozhu put away his phone, paused for a moment, and said,
“I’m leaving.”
In that final moment, he decided not to call Lin Shuanghuai after all.
Yuan Qifeng’s sudden appearance and unclear intentions made him want to confirm things first.
Upon hearing Yuan Bozhu’s words, the flicker of hope in Lin Shuanghuai’s eyes quickly vanished.
He bit his lip and nodded, “Alright, see you tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
After Yuan Bozhu left, the classroom was empty.
Lin Shuanghuai watched Yuan Bozhu’s figure disappear completely, then sighed deeply, no longer feeling like doing homework, and rested his head on the desk, lost in thought.
He had known from the start that he’d be stuck in the classroom for a while today.
Lin Shuanghuai had been living on his own for a long time and had developed some specific habits.
For instance, he would stay in the classroom to do homework when it rained—he brought an umbrella, having learned from many past experiences of getting soaked.
However, Qiancheng was near the sea, and the wind was particularly strong, sometimes rendering umbrellas useless.
But he couldn’t just wait at school forever; if it got dark and the rain hadn’t stopped, he would dash out.
When he was in Class 1, if there was a thunderstorm, Han Banlan would invite him to ride home.
But one day in the second semester of sophomore year, while hitching a ride, Lin Shuanghuai caught a glimpse of Han Banlan’s dad showing some impatience in the rearview mirror, making him realize he was being a burden.
Lin Shuanghuai feared making mistakes, worrying that people would think he was inconsiderate or a liability.
He didn’t want to see that look from Han Banlan’s dad again, so he stopped asking for rides altogether.
Today was no different; he hadn’t even considered going with Yuan Bozhu.
Although he felt a flicker of hope when Yuan Bozhu called him, he was also good at anticipating negative outcomes, so that unrealistic expectation didn’t linger long.
After lying down for a while, Lin Shuanghuai felt a bit cold.
He sat up and quickly finished his homework.
By 6:30, it was dark, almost like night had fallen.
He knew he wouldn’t be waiting for the rain to stop.
He tidied up his desk, stretched his arms, and prepared to dash out.
Generally, he wasn’t afraid of getting wet; a quick shower and a sachet of powder would prevent a cold—he had plenty of experience.
Without his backpack or the flimsy folding umbrella that couldn’t withstand strong winds, he stood up, locked the classroom door, and headed outside.
Several classrooms in the building still had their lights on, likely because some parents were slow to arrive, and classmates were still waiting.
Lin Shuanghuai felt a surge of gratitude; the light prevented him from stumbling in the dark.
His night vision hadn’t improved much since his bloodline awakened; unless he concentrated his power in his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing—at night, he felt blind.
When he reached the first floor, Lin Shuanghuai bounced on the spot a couple of times and got into a running position.
Then he bolted out like the wind.
But suddenly, he was pulled back by Yuan Bozhu, who had caught him by the collar.
Seeing Yuan Bozhu, who should have already left school, standing in front of him, Lin Shuanghuai didn’t know whether to be surprised or happy.
His expression was unmanageable; he stood there dazed and flustered, taking a moment to regain control of his limbs.
Yuan Bozhu’s voice held a hint of exasperation: “What are you trying to do?”
Lin Shuanghuai looked at him and confessed honestly, “I was going to dash out.”
Yuan Bozhu nodded, glanced at the rain, and then back at Lin Shuanghuai, saying, “Pretty impressive.”
Lin Shuanghuai bit his lip, feeling unexpectedly shy.
In the next moment, Yuan Bozhu opened his umbrella, signaling for Lin Shuanghuai to join him.
“But the wind is too strong; the umbrella might break,” Lin Shuanghuai protested.
Yuan Bozhu simply looked at him and said, “Try it.”
Lin Shuanghuai had always thought Yuan Bozhu’s voice was pleasant—more mature and resonant than other boys his age.
Every time he heard it, his ears tingled.
Today was no different.
When those two words were spoken, Lin Shuanghuai felt a shiver run through him, as if “try it” held a hidden sweetness.
He secretly deepened his feelings for Yuan Bozhu, then pretended to be calm as he followed him into the rain.
Strangely, even though Yuan Bozhu’s umbrella looked so flimsy, it held up against the fierce wind and rain.
Lin Shuanghuai didn’t get a drop of water on him; in fact, he felt warm.
He quietly extended his hand, felt the heavy rain, and when he pulled it back, his palm held a small puddle.
“A Zhu, your umbrella…” Lin Shuanghuai exclaimed, shaking off the water in surprise.
“It’s really good quality!”
With a deadpan expression, Yuan Bozhu replied, “It’s alright.”
From then on, the two didn’t speak.
Lin Shuanghuai was still in a daze, while Yuan Bozhu’s attention was elsewhere.
As they approached a corner of the building, Yuan Bozhu casually tilted the umbrella slightly towards Lin Shuanghuai.
His gaze briefly flitted over the clock tower before quickly returning.
Until they left the school, Yuan Bozhu never explained why he had come back.
Lin Shuanghuai didn’t ask.
He didn’t dare to ask.
Afraid this might be a beautiful dream, and asking would wake him up.
The two boys’ figures were shielded under a gray umbrella until they disappeared from Yuan Qifeng’s sight.
He stood on the clock tower in the rain with a black umbrella, his expression dark and stern.
The phone screen was still lit, showing the latest directive from the Bureau: to investigate the source of the divine bird’s bloodline energy field.
Yuan Qifeng was almost certain that the unstable energy fluctuations came from Lin Shuanghuai.
He had even attached a photo of Lin Shuanghuai in his report.
Once Lin Shuanghuai left school, the Bureau’s people would stop him.
But then Yuan Bozhu showed up.
What a damn coincidence.
He couldn’t let his brother get involved in this mess.
Yuan Qifeng ground his teeth in frustration on the rooftop for a while before finally giving up.
He deleted the message.
Watching Yuan Bozhu and Lin Shuanghuai exit the school and get into Yuan Jilang’s car, he thought, to hell with it.
His brother was such a straightforward kid; he couldn’t let him be frightened.
Yuan Jilang assumed he was just giving another child a ride home and didn’t think any further.
He actually thought it was good that Yuan Bozhu was making friends.
So as soon as Lin Shuanghuai got in the car, he started making small talk with him.
Yuan Jilang had plenty to talk about, covering everything from interstellar history to recent drops in housing prices.
Usually, his family would barely engage with him.
Zhang Shu would respond with “Mm-hmm, yes, Dad knows so much,” while Yuan Wanjiao and Yuan Qifeng would listen patiently for a bit before yawning, and Yuan Bozhu would just ignore him.
Lin Shuanghuai was different.
He seemed to have endless energy, engaging with every topic, even knowing about events on other planets.
“The route to Peda Fortress has been blocked for several months; they’ll probably be going to war in another six months. Can you believe it? It hasn’t been long since the interstellar peace treaty was signed, and already, restless people are stirring things up.”
Yuan Jilang mentioned it casually, not even considering that a high school student would know about it.
Yet Lin Shuanghuai replied immediately, “It shouldn’t take long; I saw in the news that the Alliance government has already calmed the protest fleets.”
“Really? I haven’t seen today’s news. What did they say?”
Yuan Jilang, having been busy all day, was unaware of the latest updates.
“It seems they said that if Peda Fortress can disperse the protest fleet within seven interstellar days, the Alliance government will provide humanitarian aid, allocating 30 trillion universal credits to address the interstellar refugee issue.”
“Wow, that’s great! Those old hands in the Peda government must be waking up smiling.”
Watching Lin Shuanghuai and Yuan Jilang engage in back-and-forth conversation, Yuan Bozhu looked at him with curiosity.
He couldn’t quite understand it.
How could Lin Shuanghuai be so free to follow such trivial information, able to respond fluently to all of Yuan Jilang’s topics?
When they dropped Lin Shuanghuai off at his home, Yuan Jilang reluctantly asked, “Hey, Lin, why don’t you come over for dinner? I feel like we really hit it off.”
Yuan Bozhu’s expression suddenly blanked.
He hadn’t expected Yuan Jilang to invite Lin Shuanghuai over.
Thankfully, Lin Shuanghuai was sensible and politely declined, saying, “Thank you, Uncle, but it’s too late today. I’ll visit you next time. Thanks for the ride today.”
Before getting out of the car, Lin Shuanghuai glanced at Yuan Bozhu.
He felt strangely bashful; he had chatted so easily with Yuan Jilang, yet couldn’t muster the courage to speak with Yuan Bozhu.
He was worried that if Yuan Jilang discovered his secret feelings, he would be looked down upon.
As he was about to leave, Lin Shuanghuai finally dared to look at Yuan Bozhu.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, quickly averting his gaze and hurrying out of the car, barely hearing Yuan Bozhu’s “goodbye.”
“Son, your classmate is really impressive!”
Yuan Jilang exclaimed.
“It’s been a while since I’ve met such a thoughtful young person!”
However, Yuan Bozhu didn’t agree with that praise.
Lin Shuanghuai had just been going along with whatever Yuan Jilang said, not really expressing any thoughts of his own.
He knew how to make the conversation feel comfortable, but he had no interest in what Yuan Jilang was talking about.
“You should say less next time.”
“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”
Yuan Jilang grew anxious.
He felt the weight of parental authority and didn’t want to make a mistake in front of his son’s friend.
“No,” Yuan Bozhu sighed, “he’s just nervous.”
“Huh?” Yuan Jilang was surprised. “Nervous about what?”
“Afraid he won’t be able to answer your questions.”
Lin Shuanghuai seemed to be speaking smoothly, but his palms were sweating profusely, worried that the next topic might land him in a knowledge blind spot.
He felt tense the entire way.
Yuan Jilang was so caught up in the conversation that he didn’t notice.
“This kid is interesting. It’s just casual chat; who cares if he doesn’t understand?”
He laughed.
“He doesn’t need to respond to everything; he’s too serious.”
“That’s just how he is.”
After saying that, Yuan Bozhu paused for a moment.
Lin Shuanghuai really was that kind of person.
When that thought occurred to him, Yuan Bozhu realized he had formed some kind of conclusion about Lin Shuanghuai.
His understanding of Lin Shuanghuai was deeper than he had thought.
When they got home, Zhang shu had already prepared dinner.
But Yuan Wanjiao was nowhere to be seen.
She didn’t come out of her room until they sat down to eat.
Yuan Bozhu glanced at her door.
Zhang Shu thought he was concerned about his sister, so he explained, “She’s probably under a lot of stress lately. When she went out with me today, she got caught in the rain a bit. She said she had a headache, so she went to bed. Don’t worry, I’ll make her some porridge later.”
Yuan Bozhu nodded and quietly ate.
He wasn’t worried about Yuan Wanjiao.
Or rather, he knew exactly what was happening with her.
After their soul-sharing with the Lich, he understood when Yuan Wanjiao’s spirit left her body.
He wasn’t indifferent; he just felt it wasn’t yet time for him to care.
Unlike Yuan Qifeng, Yuan Wanjiao’s stance had always been ambiguous.
She was wavering but had never made a choice.
Yuan Bozhu was waiting for an opportunity.
Yuan Wanjiao had been raised by Satan, and while they hadn’t explicitly defined their father-daughter relationship, many in the Spider Domain knew that Satan had a pureblood Lich daughter.
He raised her until her bloodline awakened, gaining all the prophecies that would later be confirmed.
Satan viewed Yuan Wanjiao as his most precious gift—he believed she could convey his oracles.
Before becoming Yuan Wanjiao, she had done many things for Satan.
Even now, after being Yuan Wanjiao for ten years, it didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t suddenly realize she wasn’t human and revert to helping Satan fulfill the last part of his plan.
Yuan Bozhu was waiting.
Perhaps taking away the Lich spirit would be a good opportunity.
It could help Yuan Wanjiao fully understand that Satan, whether as a father or partner, wasn’t worth returning to.
At 1 AM, Yuan Wanjiao’s coughing echoed lightly, revealing her suppression.
Yuan Bozhu lay in bed, slowly opening his eyes.
This wasn’t the first time he felt lost.
In eighteen years, Yuan Bozhu had made many choices.
Of course, he couldn’t be right every time.
As an outsider, he had worked hard to achieve what he had today, navigating life through exploration and trial.
But he still needed to keep striving, hoping not to make mistakes with every next step.
“Cough…”
The cough was forceful.
Yuan Bozhu seemed to hear her vomiting, but since she hadn’t eaten dinner, it was likely blood.
His fingers tightened slightly, and he felt the urge to sit up, but he ultimately lay back down.
Satan wouldn’t move against the Lich spirit for now, let alone kill Yuan Wanjiao.
For now, he was just letting her endure a bit of hardship.
Once she lost hope in Satan and the Spider Domain, Yuan Bozhu would do everything he could to protect her.
He just needed to wait a little longer.
A few minutes later, Yuan Wanjiao seemed to get out of bed.
She went to the bathroom to wash her face but didn’t return to her bedroom.
Instead, she entered Yuan Bozhu’s room.
This wasn’t Yuan Wanjiao’s first time entering Yuan Bozhu’s room—over the years, for various reasons, she had often sneaked in at midnight to perform divinations on him.
In her eyes, Yuan Bozhu was an unguarded, ordinary person, and she never considered that he observed her every move.
Yuan Bozhu, as before, pretended to be asleep.
He thought that this time, she would pull his hair or cut him to use his blood for her prophecies.
Yuan Wanjiao must have been very curious about why she could never see his complete past and future.
She was still filled with doubt about him.
However, this time, Yuan Bozhu guessed wrong.
Yuan Wanjiao didn’t want his blood; instead, she pricked her own finger, using her blood to create a Heart-Union Talisman Spirit for him—she had done the same for Zhang Shu and Yuan Jilang.
Although it couldn’t protect them like a Lich spirit, the talisman could convey thoughts.
If something happened to her family, she would sense something was off.
After completing her task, she quietly left the bedroom.
Yuan Bozhu sat up slowly after she had been gone for a while.
Blood is a flowing soul.
In that moment, he felt an emotion he had never comprehended before:
Sacrifice.
Cultivators often believe that purity of mind leads to enlightenment.
Many times, they understand human affairs less than ordinary people.
Thus, many advanced practitioners rely on self-sacrifice to help others as a means of emotional growth.
Yet, because Yuan Bozhu was so powerful, he could easily resolve all internal and external troubles, leaving him with little opportunity for such selflessness.
He struggled to understand how humans could give up their lives for greater love or personal feelings.
But Yuan Wanjiao possessed that awareness.
She loved specific people in this house.
Yuan Bozhu realized that the opportunity he was waiting for might not exist at all.
Human emotions couldn’t be measured in such a way.