After the Young Master’s Death, He was Kissed by His Mortal Enemy! - Chapter 59

Shen Ran’s question was perhaps a little too blunt.

At the very least, it startled Cheng Yi, who was sitting right next to him.

Originally, Cheng Yi was only there as Shen Ran’s “family member.” The conversation between Luo Mu and Shen Ran had nothing to do with him.

In other words, at this moment, Mr. Cheng was merely a bystander, a spectator of drama, and also Shen Ran’s boyfriend.

Cheng Yi sat with his legs crossed, sipping coffee leisurely, looking completely relaxed.

But as soon as he heard Shen Ran’s question, his hand trembled, and he nearly spat out his coffee.

“Pfft—! Cough, cough, cough…”

Shen Ran really dared to ask that? Cheng Yi thought to himself.

He had known Luo Mu for quite some time. They were more than just acquaintances—they were solid business partners.

From what Cheng Yi remembered, Luo Mu always had the same expressionless face.

He only talked logic. Only talked interests.

As for emotions? Never mentioned them.

Over time, Cheng Yi naturally assumed that someone as cold and distant as Luo Mu simply wasn’t interested in romantic relationships.

And yet now, Shen Ran had gone and directly asked Luo Mu if he liked Director Ai?

If Cheng Yi hadn’t just overheard Luo Mu talking about his past with Ai Ziqing, he probably would’ve tried to cover Shen Ran’s mouth and told him not to speak so recklessly.

Luo Mu, the cold-faced CEO… in love with Director Ai of City F…?

Shen Ran’s eyes burned with curiosity as he stared at Luo Mu.

Cheng Yi looked casual on the surface, but he too was waiting for Luo Mu’s response.

Faced with Shen Ran’s intense, inquisitive gaze, Luo Mu’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. He simply gave a small nod.

“Yes. I used to like him.”

“And now?” Shen Ran pressed urgently. “You used to like him—what about now? Don’t you like him anymore?”

“Now, I love him.”

Luo Mu’s tone was calm, but firm—leaving no room for doubt.

He meant it—seriously and without hesitation.

The feelings he had as a child were blurry and uncertain. Back then, Luo Mu couldn’t yet define what he felt for Ai Ziqing.

But from the very first moment he saw Ai Ziqing, he could sense the deep sorrow clinging to him like a heavy fog.

At the time, Luo Mu didn’t understand it. Ai Ziqing looked like such a beautiful child—he should have been cheerful and outgoing.

Yet Ai Ziqing sat alone in an empty room, repeating the same motions with his building blocks. He never spoke, and his face was blank.

Just like Luo Mu himself—always alone, even at such a young age.

Maybe it was that similarity. Or maybe… it was simply because he was Ai Ziqing.

In any case, from the moment Ai Wenchuan brought Luo Mu back to the orphanage—when he first met Ai Ziqing…

…when he first embraced Ai Ziqing…

Luo Mu realized that their lives would be forever intertwined.

And so it was. They grew up together, lived side by side for years, and shared countless experiences.

By the time they reached university, Luo Mu had finally and clearly understood his own heart.

He loved Ai Ziqing. And to him, Ai Ziqing wasn’t just someone he loved—he was family.

He was the only one who accepted and cared for Luo Mu after all his relatives had abandoned him.

As a child raised in an orphanage, Luo Mu never asked for anything—not even when he needed it.

But Ai Ziqing always noticed. He would secretly save food for him, share his clothes and toys, and care for him in every way.

And yet… Ai Ziqing was also a patient.

It was Ai Ziqing who gave Luo Mu the ability to feel love—after his heart had gone completely numb.

If it were possible, Luo Mu would never want to leave Ai Ziqing.

He wished he could stay by Ai Ziqing’s side every second of every day—just like when they were children.

But growing up in Qingshan Orphanage had forced Luo Mu to mature far too early. And so he knew—he knew—just how hard Ai Ziqing’s future would be.

Ai Wenchuan was getting older and would soon retire.

Qingshan Orphanage’s facilities were aging, donations were dwindling, and its financial situation was dire.

Even during university, Luo Mu and Ai Ziqing had to work part-time just to cover tuition and living expenses, knowing full well that Ai Wenchuan was already under enormous pressure.

In truth, Luo Mu knew that their university years hadn’t been particularly happy.

It was just studying and working—no entertainment to speak of.

Only those quiet moments, exhausted and resting in each other’s company, gave them a fleeting sense of peace.

Although Ai Ziqing had outgrown his autism and shown his gentle nature, he still didn’t enjoy socializing.

And Luo Mu—he remained silent and cold as ever. One stern look was enough to keep anyone at bay.

So really, they only had each other.

…Only each other.

The decision not to return to Qingshan Orphanage had been an incredibly difficult one.

But Luo Mu had no choice.

He needed money. Ai Ziqing needed money. And the orphanage needed money more than anyone.

If they had returned after graduating, the situation would’ve only worsened.

Ai Ziqing was too kind. As director, he would have run himself ragged for the sake of the children and elderly—scrambling for funds, stressing over every cent.

How could Luo Mu possibly let that happen?

Money is indispensable.

Only by easing the financial burden could Ai Ziqing live with a little more peace.

With that belief in mind, Luo Mu threw himself wholeheartedly into his career. After years of relentless effort, he became the now-renowned President Luo.

But President Luo was no longer qualified to receive Ai Ziqing’s love.

Luo Mu had gone back to Qingshan Orphanage more than once, but Ai Ziqing refused to see him every time.

The last time, it was only thanks to Shen Ran’s help that he even managed to catch a brief glimpse of Ai Ziqing.

“The one who’s been donating anonymously to Qingshan Orphanage all these years… is me.”

Luo Mu said it calmly.

“Does Brother Ziqing know?” Shen Ran pressed on, “Does he know all that money came from you?”

Luo Mu shook his head.

He was afraid that if Ai Ziqing knew the donations were from him, he would refuse to accept them.

So Luo Mu had always donated under various aliases, changing the method each time—carefully crafting the illusion that the orphanage had several donors.

“Oh, come on! At the very least, let Brother Ziqing know it’s you!”

Shen Ran was getting anxious, his tone full of frustration. “He should at least know how much you care! Otherwise, how are you two supposed to break the ice? How can you ever get back together?”

“When I made that decision back then, I had already prepared myself for the possibility that Ziqing would walk away from me forever.”

“Then why are you asking me to help now…?”

“You know Ziqing’s current state.” Luo Mu tapped his long fingers lightly against the table, a flicker of pain flashing through his eyes. “Returning to Qingshan Orphanage is part of his sense of duty—but it’s also a way of escaping reality.”

“He’s so young. He shouldn’t spend his whole life trapped in a small city like F, locked away inside Qingshan Orphanage. His world should be much bigger than that.”

Shen Ran nodded in silence. Everything Luo Mu said was true.

If no one pulled Brother Ziqing out of Qingshan Orphanage, out of F City, then he would probably remain there forever, closed off from the rest of the world.

“—And I regret it,” Luo Mu finally said, quietly but with full sincerity. “I’ve realized—I can’t be alone.”

At last, Luo Mu spoke the words he had buried deep inside for so long.

If Ai Ziqing hadn’t had autism, hadn’t struggled with communication…

If he hadn’t been so silent and introverted, if he could say what he felt…

Then perhaps, back then, they could have spoken openly—like ordinary people—said what was in their hearts, and understood each other.

Shen Ran could hear the weight in Luo Mu’s voice—could feel the depth of his love for Ai Ziqing.

Luo Mu had never once abandoned him.

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