After deciding to atone for his sins, Huo Junfeng no longer drowned himself in alcohol or wallowed in despair.

He handled his official business and rushed to Hong Kong City as quickly as possible.

Originally, he had planned to find He Qihong to sign several documents—
to establish a charitable foundation in He Yanzi’s name,
and to launch a new brand under her name as well.

But when he arrived, he found the He family calm and undisturbed.
He Qihong appeared exactly as usual.

He immediately sensed that something was wrong.

He had personally witnessed how dearly He Qihong treasured his only daughter, He Yanzi.

The sons of Hong Kong’s elite families were famously indulgent and flirtatious.

Yet He Qihong was the sole exception.

Back then, Hong Kong media had even reported him as an anomaly—a man deeply devoted to love.

He married the woman he loved and placed her firmly in the position of Mrs. He, shielding her so thoroughly that no crack was left unguarded.

Because Mrs. He was in poor health, he never allowed her to attend public events or banquets, nor did he permit the media to disturb her.

That was, until the day she suffered complications during childbirth and died of amniotic fluid embolism while giving birth to He Yanzi.

He Qihong released photos of his beloved wife, and for a time, Hong Kong media was filled with nothing but images of Mrs. He.

She was a woman whose beauty could rival the nation.

Her eyes seemed to hold a fine, misty rain—soft and watery, hazy with tenderness, enough to stir deep compassion.

While she was alive, countless women had tried every possible means to seduce He Qihong, hoping to become the second or third mistress of the He family.
Not a single one succeeded.

After her death, He Qihong held the grandest funeral imaginable, one that shook all of Hong Kong.

From that day on, he lived as a widower, devoting himself entirely to the daughter his beloved wife had left behind.
Aside from work, there was only his child.

He paid no attention whatsoever to the women who flocked around him.

When He Yanzi was kidnapped at the age of eight, He Qihong had nearly turned all of Hong Kong upside down.

When she was safely returned, he distributed tens of millions in red envelopes across the city.

He said it was to let all of Hong Kong share in the joy of his—and He Yanzi’s—safe return.

How could such a man remain unmoved by the death of his treasured daughter?

Unless… he had known from the beginning that she wasn’t dead at all.

Huo Junfeng connected the dots quickly—it wasn’t difficult.

The film He Yanzi had acted in was originally a Hong Kong production.
The director, producers, and most of the crew had come from Hong Kong.

Given the He family’s standing in the city, manipulating things behind the scenes would have been effortless.

He Qihong had caught him completely off guard.
With further cleanup handled personally by He Qihong, Huo Junfeng found nothing at all.

Everything he knew was only what He Qihong had allowed him to see.

And yet—even so—

Huo Junfeng was grateful.
Grateful to He Qihong, grateful to fate, that the accident had not truly taken He Yanzi away.

Everything was still in time.

That very night, Huo Junfeng went out to buy new clothes, replacing everything from head to toe.
Early the next morning, he went to a high-end salon for a fresh haircut and styling.

Once he was certain everything was perfect, he accepted the safety deposit box delivered by the bank.

Inside were jewelry pieces he had bought at auctions around the world over the past few days—spending extravagantly, all for He Yanzi.

Several of them were one of a kind, unique in the world.

But when he arrived—

What he saw was He Yanzi, dressed in a pale yellow pinafore dress, wearing a little yellow duck hat, smiling sweetly as she placed her hand in that of a young man with dimples on his cheeks.

The man held her hand and was about to turn and leave.

In an instant, Huo Junfeng lost all composure and reason. He rushed forward.

“Yanyan!”

He Yanzi turned around in surprise and looked up.

But the look in her eyes toward him was calm and distant—like that of a familiar stranger.

“Uncle Huo.”

The smile on Huo Junfeng’s face froze. Pain flooded his eyes, mixed with disbelief.

“Yanyan, I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. Could you please—”

She cut him off.

“Uncle Huo, are you here to see my father? He’s not at home—he’s at the office. If you need him, you can go there. I still have things to do, so I’ll be leaving now.”

From beginning to end, her hand never left Song Chengyu’s palm.

She turned, intending to leave with him.

But Huo Junfeng called out once more.

“Yanyan!”

The pain in his voice was unmistakable.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Now, He Yanzi was no longer someone Huo Junfeng could sway.

After a moment’s thought, she agreed—but set her condition.

“Xiaoyu is coming with me. I’ll talk to you, and he can wait nearby. We already made plans to go to Disneyland.”

Huo Junfeng had no choice but to agree.

He Yanzi refused to get into his car. Instead, she sent him the address of a cha chaan teng, then drove off with Song Chengyu in a sports car, the engine roaring as they sped away.

Huo Junfeng’s low-key yet luxurious Cadillac followed behind.

When the cars stopped and Huo Junfeng entered the café, he saw Song Chengyu squatting by the roadside, feeding stray cats.

Huo Junfeng cast him a cool glance, adjusted his cuffs, and walked inside.

He Yanzi was already seated.

At this hour, breakfast tea was already over, and lunch hadn’t yet begun.

The café was almost empty.

Huo Junfeng sat down across from He Yanzi, greedily taking in her face, unwilling to look away.

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