She shook him off gently but firmly.
"Who are they?" she asked, her voice low and calm. "What happened to my mother?"
"What?" Long Yifan frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I never asked my mother to make any secret dish," Gu Jin said slowly. Her tone didn’t change, but something behind her eyes had sharpened. "Not yesterday. Not ever."
She turned toward the door, her steps staggering.
"I need to go," she said. "If they’ve been replaced or tampered with, then maybe... maybe my real parents are in danger."
Long Yifan caught up and placed himself between her and the door. "Gu Jin, wait. You’re sick. Feverish. You’re probably confused—"
"I’m not confused," she said clearly, looking up into his eyes.
"I know my parents. My real mother would never lie like that. She doesn’t even cook. That dish—whatever it is—was a trap. I don’t know who those people were, but they weren’t my parents."
Long Yifan stared at her for a long moment.
Then, to her surprise, he smiled.
No—he chuckled. A quiet, low sound that curled around the edges of the silence like smoke.
"You really are sharp," he said, amusement dancing in his voice. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to figure it out. Guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you."
That smile didn’t belong on Long Yifan’s face. It was too calm, too smug.
Not the same face that had looked at her with concern in the car. Not the same voice that had wrapped a blanket around her with gentle hands.
"...What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quiet.
He looked at her and tilted his head, still smiling.
"You were right," he said, as if commenting on the weather. "Those two people weren’t your parents. The real ones? They got into a little accident."
He stepped closer, tone light, even casual.
"I planned it myself, you know."
Gu Jin’s breath caught in her throat.
She stared at him, confusion turning quickly into disbelief. "You... what?"
Long Yifan didn’t blink. He didn’t look guilty. Instead, he looked pleased.
"I hired an assassin to kill your parents. I planned to use the fake the parents to control you but you are too smart."
His words struck her like thunder. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
"Why?" she finally whispered. "Why are you saying these things?"
Long Yifan’s smile stretched a little wider—and then, right before her eyes, his body began to shift.
His tall, strong figure shimmered, like heat rising off the pavement, and melted into something smaller.
When the light faded, standing in front of her was no longer Long Yifan.
Pale. Sickly. Eyes sunken, face thin. But those eyes—
Those same eyes that had once stared at her through the iron bars of her mansion gate.
The boy whose father had tried to kill her.
The boy who had cursed her with his final breath.
"Do you remember me now?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Gu Jin didn’t answer.
The boy smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You really didn’t expect me to survive, did you?"
"...You were dead," Gu Jin said softly, staring at him.
"But I was reincarnated in this world, too. At first, I wasn’t sure if you were the same mafia lord Gu Jin I had interacted with in a past life, but today’s hearing at court clarified everything for me."
Gu Jin’s face didn’t move. No emotion showed.
But her hands trembled.
"Why?" she asked again, voice dry. "Why go this far?"
"Why?" The boy laughed. It was a hollow sound.
"You killed my father, Gu Jin. He wasn’t perfect, but he was all I had. And when he tried to save me again, you struck first. No hesitation. No mercy. Just like a demon."
"He tried to kill me," Gu Jin said slowly, her voice still shaking. "He came with poison. A blade. I spared him once—and he came back."
The boy’s eyes flashed. "Because he was desperate! Because he didn’t have any other way! You don’t understand what desperation does to people."
He stared at her for a long moment, then said,
"You don’t even remember, do you? How cold your eyes were. How you looked at me from your balcony like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even human."
"I never hated you," Gu Jin whispered.
"But you didn’t care, either!" the boy shouted suddenly.
"You didn’t care that I had begged you! You didn’t care when I screamed that he just wanted to save me!"
Gu Jin’s voice was nearly inaudible. " I did once, but I couldn’t afford to care the second time."
The boy’s expression twisted.
"And now look at you. All grown up. Still the same. You didn’t even hesitate when it came to Han Xiaoyu."
Gu Jin’s head snapped up. "She tried to kill me first."
"She was scared!" he spat.
"You humiliated her. She lost everything—her family, her rank, her future. You made her look like a joke. Of course, she panicked. Her parents begged you not to take the matter further, and that someone else was behind it. But you—" his voice dropped, bitter and cold—"you just watched. Silent. Cold. Just like before."
Gu Jin’s eyes widened slightly. Her hands were clenched by her sides.
"They would’ve killed me if I hadn’t acted," she said, her voice a little louder. "If I let her go, she would’ve tried again. She almost did."
"But you never gave her a second chance," the boy said. "Just like you didn’t give my father one. You didn’t even look at their pain."
Gu Jin covered her ears.
"I did the right thing."
"What? Gu Jin you truly think that you would be able to escape the blame and the guilt just because you cover your ears? How naive." The boy mocked.
Gu Jin closed her eyes, and her head started to feel dizzy.
"Gu Jin! Gu Jin! Open your eyes!"
"Jin’er, please wake up!"
Gu Jin slowly opened her eyes, hearing the familiar voices.
Mrs. Gu’s worried face came into her view.
"Jin’er, thank god you are finally awake." Her relieved voice sounded.
Gu Jin blinked and called out softly as if she couldn’t believe,
Gu Jin stared up at her mother’s face.
The familiar features were all there—the gentle eyes, the slight crease between her brows when she was worried, the faint smell of herbs and soap clinging to her clothes.
It should have comforted her.
But instead, Gu Jin felt... nothing.
Not relief. Not fear. Not even confusion.
Just a strange hollowness in her chest, like something inside her had been scooped out and quietly thrown away.
"Mother..." she said again, but her voice sounded distant, like someone else was speaking through her.
Mrs. Gu touched her forehead gently. "You had a fever. You were unconscious for almost a full week. We were so worried."
Gu Jin blinked slowly.
Was that real? Or had everything she experienced been a dream?
But no—the memories clung to her like cold rain. The boy’s eyes, full of hate. His words are like blades. Her past, like a shadow pressed against her skin.
Her throat felt dry. Her limbs, heavy.
But nothing reached her heart.
"Are you in pain?" Mrs. Gu asked gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
Gu Jin’s lips parted, but it took her a long moment to answer. "No."
Her mother looked at her, concerned. "Then what is it?"
Gu Jin turned her head away slightly. "I’m... just tired."
That was the only thing she could say. She didn’t know how to describe this emptiness, this strange numbness stretching out across her soul like a frozen sea.
Mrs. Gu stood and turned to pour a glass of water. Gu Jin watched the movements, mechanical and practiced. Everything about the moment was normal. Ordinary.
And yet, it all felt like a play.
Is she even real? Gu Jin thought. Is this a new trick? A new illusion?
The doubt twisted in her stomach. But even that didn’t spark emotion. Just... more dullness.
Mrs. Gu handed her the glass. Gu Jin took it automatically, her fingers slow and careful, as if her body no longer trusted itself. The glass felt cold, but even the chill barely registered.
She drank just enough to wet her lips.
"You should rest," her mother said. "I’ll have the kitchen send up something light. Do you want porridge?"
Gu Jin hesitated, then shook her head. "Not hungry."
"Jin’er, you are a good girl, right?"
"Then eat something." Mrs. Gu said firmly, and this time, Gu Jin didn’t deny.
She just wanted to go with the flow.
"Good." Mrs. Gu smiled and caressed Gu Jin’s head.
For a brief moment, Gu Jin tried to feel it. That warmth, that motherly touch she used to lean into when she was small. She waited for the comfort to come.