Have You Lied Enough? - Chapter 1

A white cloth hung at the entrance of the house on the outskirts of town. A newly arrived funeral procession played somber music, and dozens of luxury cars blocked the road.

The deceased was Cheng Bo’s adoptive father. Fu Wansi and the old man shared no blood ties, but having grown up with him, Fu Wansi had always called him “Uncle.”

Northern China in the dead of winter was cold enough to seep into one’s very marrow.

Fu Wansi wore only a knee-length wool coat over his thin sweater, and the biting wind pierced through his flimsy trousers, turning even his fingertips pale.

He stood at the courtyard gate smoking. The people arriving were mostly Cheng Bo’s friends; Fu Wansi recognized them, but they weren’t close. An occasional nod was the extent of his greetings.

“Wansi, come inside and warm up by the stove,” Cheng Bo said, his eyes red but his smile gentle. He was bundled up and instinctively removed his scarf to wrap it around Fu Wansi’s neck.

Fu Wansi tilted his chin, flicking a piece of ash from his cigarette with his right index finger, declining the gesture.

“Let me freeze,” he said, taking a drag. “The cold keeps me clear-headed.”

Uncle had died of advanced liver cancer. Cheng Bo, his adoptive son, had spent a fortune on a liver transplant to extend his life, but the disease proved incurable. After enduring three years of suffering, Uncle had finally succumbed.

During the meal, the two biological sons circulated among the tables, handing out cigarettes and thanking everyone for their support. The guests offered condolences.

“It’s for the best. At least he’s no longer suffering. I visited my second brother at the hospital later. He’s so frail, he barely looks human anymore. It’s heartbreaking…”

“At least Cheng Bo is willing to spend money. There was an old man hospitalized with my second brother who didn’t even last two months before passing away… His family was too poor to afford insurance.”

“All those years of raising him weren’t in vain. Cheng Bo is truly filial…”

“We owe it all to Cheng Bo.”

As the conversation flowed, the words struck a chord with the biological sons, their faces flushing with embarrassment. Yet, pride prevented them from voicing their discontent.

Amidst the haze of cigarettes, Cheng Bo was the only one left without a pack.

Later that evening, Cheng Bo recounted the day’s events to Fu Wansi, feeling wronged. He wiped his face and slumped onto the sofa, muttering about being exhausted.

“Get out. Don’t dump your exhaustion on me.” Fu Wansi tossed him a pack of cigarettes. His eardrums still ached from a day of relentless praise, and his mood was sour. “You spent the money. Don’t expect anyone to thank you. It’s pathetic.”

Cheng Bo rubbed his temples. “You’re too perceptive. You haven’t spoken to Zheng Yuzhe and the others all day. They’re influential figures. If you take over your father’s company, you’ll need them eventually.”

“How old am I this year?” Fu Wansi glanced at him.

Cheng Bo lowered his hand. “Thirty-three, turning thirty-four at the New Year. Don’t give me that ‘strained father-son relationship’ talk. No matter how much those illegitimate sons scheme, as long as you and your sister keep speaking kindly to him, he’ll still favor you two the most. Who could ever outcompete you two direct heirs?”

Fu Wansi, tired of the conversation, took a drag from his cigarette and issued an unspoken dismissal. “The Qing Dynasty is long gone. Why bother with such outdated distinctions?”

“You’re just a scholar, too aloof,” Cheng Bo said, standing up with a teasing grin. “You look down on us money-grubbers, but money’s a wonderful thing. You don’t want it, and you don’t understand it.”

Fu Wansi nodded toward the door, silently ordering him to get lost.

Cheng Bo, with his wide network, had arranged for the overflow of guests to stay at the town’s hotels.

Early on the third morning, before dawn, Fu Wansi followed the motorcade carrying the old man’s body to the crematorium.

The old man, who had suffered most of his life, hadn’t even lived to see his sixtieth birthday.

When they brought the body in, Cheng Bo clung to his father’s hand, sobbing uncontrollably and calling out “Dad!” over and over.

The scene was so heart-wrenching that both acquaintances and strangers alike dabbed at their tears, while staff struggled to approach.

Fu Wansi frowned, pushing through the crowd and forcefully pulling Cheng Bo away by the shoulders. Cheng Bo leaned against him, sobbing uncontrollably, his words muffled but likely something along the lines of “Father raised me.”

The village buzzed with talk of the Cheng family’s “Cheng Bo” being a prodigy, as if their ancestral grave were emitting mystical green smoke. Fu Wansi didn’t know about the green smoke, but Cheng Bo was certainly about to burst into flames.

It’s said that those with fragile constitutions can’t withstand hardship. Cheng Bo’s constitution was probably finer than a needle’s eye. After returning from the funeral, he developed a high fever of over 40 degrees Celsius and was hospitalized.

The single-patient room was well-appointed, with fresh flowers arranged by the bedside. Fu Wansi could smell their fragrance from several meters away, standing in the doorway.

He usually tended to a few potted plants himself, but none of them ever bloomed. The sudden floral scent made him want to sneeze.

“I knew you’d be the last to arrive,” Cheng Bo said, his voice cracking as it emerged from his throat.

Fu Wansi chuckled heartlessly, comparing him to a rooster that couldn’t crow. “If you were lying down begging for food right now, I’d probably still agree.”

Cheng Bo chuckled too, then coughed. “What if I asked you to be my lover?”

Fu Wansi pointed at the hospital bed, his usually aloof and dignified face now blunt and unreserved. “Get down and let me inspect the goods first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Don’t make me think you’re a beast,” Cheng Bo said, looking utterly exasperated. “I just got out of bed after a fever.”

Fu Wansi sat with him for a while, but his patience wore thin. The hospital room reeked of disinfectant, and his nose couldn’t take it.

“There’s something I need to ask you,” Cheng Bo suddenly said.

Fu Wansi, eager to leave, snapped, “What?”

“I can’t go back for a few days. Could you keep an eye on the shop? I’m worried they’ll get up to no good without anyone watching. It’s not like it’s my business, but I don’t want to get dragged into their mess,” Cheng Bo said, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t trust anyone else, but I know you’ll do right by me,” Cheng Bo wheedled, deploying his silver tongue to flatter the man before him. “You’re the only one I can count on.”

Fu Wansi was a crafty fellow. Though he’d been ready to help from the start, he deliberately dragged out the conversation, forcing Cheng Bo to wheedle and cajole before finally asking, “Which shop?”

“The Yitu Club, the new one. The name’s clever, isn’t it? ‘Yitu’ means ‘hidden intentions’; it sounds sophisticated.”

Fu Wansi couldn’t see what was so sophisticated about it.

“Wansi, your big brother won’t shortchange you. The waiters at the club are all gorgeous, and a few are right up your alley,” Cheng Bo coughed a couple of times. “Gentle, handsome, and great at taking care of people.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fu Wansi casually started peeling an apple, clearly bored.

Cheng Bo continued, “You’ve always liked them fair, cute, and a little handsome. Your taste hasn’t changed in all these years.”

The fruit knife was stuck in the apple. Fu Wansi glanced at him.

Lying immobilized, Cheng Bo couldn’t stop talking, listing off the young men Fu Wansi had dated before as if reciting family treasures. He said sourly, “They’re all good enough, just not me.”

“You’re not good enough,” Fu Wansi shot back without mercy. “You’re neither fair nor cute.”

After the small talk, Fu Wansi didn’t stay longer. He placed the peeled apple on the small table and pulled a nearly one-inch thick red envelope from his pocket, tossing it to Cheng Bo.

“Two plus four eights. To calm your nerves.”

28,888 yuan.

Cheng Bo accepted it with a thick face, praising him, “Wansi, bro didn’t waste his time hanging out with you. Out of all these people, you’re the most generous.”

“Next time I get cancer,” Fu Wansi said as he walked out, “I’ll give you an even thicker envelope.”

“Ahem… ahem… ahem…” Cheng Bo tried to laugh but choked instead.

The hospital corridor was drafty, so Fu Wansi deliberately closed the patient room door. As he rounded the corner, he faintly heard the sound of a door opening, neither close nor distant.

He glanced back.

No one came out, and he didn’t see anyone go in.

Must have misheard.

Cheng Bo was about to pick up the apple Fu Wansi had peeled for him when the patient room door suddenly swung open.

He thought it was Fu Wansi returning, but the taller man who walked in had lazy, peach-blossom eyes that swept lazily over him, his lips carrying a faint, indistinct curve.

“Zuo Chi?” Cheng Bo’s eyes lit up. He withdrew the hand he had extended, straightened his hospital gown, and sat up a little straighter.

“It’s just a minor cold. I’m a little overwhelmed by your visit.”

“Overwhelmed already? Were you scared to death in your past life?” Zuo Chi scoffed mockingly, pulling out the chair Fu Wansi had just vacated. His peripheral vision caught the apple on the table, and he casually picked it up and took a bite.

Cheng Bo felt like he’d been slapped with a cold fish after a warm embrace. He’d just seen off one tyrant, and now another had arrived.

Fortunately, years of enduring Fu Wansi’s biting sarcasm had numbed him to such provocations. He simply smiled and asked, “Is it good? My buddy bought it for me. He always picks the best stuff.”

Zuo Chi neither confirmed nor denied its quality. He finished it in a few bites, tossed the core into the trash, and demanded Cheng Bo give him the contact information for the manager he’d promised to introduce.

Noticing the red envelope in Cheng Bo’s hand, Zuo Chi said, “The new club; get me an employee card.”

“Are you planning to waitress again?” Cheng Bo asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He chalked it up to a generational gap. His thirty-five-year-old mind couldn’t fathom why a twenty-two-year-old heir like Zuo Chi would willingly work as a waitress despite his family’s wealth.

Maybe his rebellious phase isn’t over yet.

Knowing he couldn’t afford to offend Zuo Chi, yet unable to refuse outright, Cheng Bo studied Zuo Chi’s expression and suggested, “I haven’t been around lately, and the guy I asked to watch the place is a bit difficult to deal with… Why don’t you come back after I return? How about that?”

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