Chapter Seventy-Four

—The memory continues—

Yingyue glanced around, then quietly lay flat against the door, not daring to make a sound. Rivers had warned before: without his command, no one was to approach the study. Originally, this was for better secrecy; now, however, it provided Yingyue the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop.

A sharp crash sounded from within—the shattering of something—and Yingyue’s heart leapt in her chest. She nearly pushed the door open and tumbled inside. Voices drifted out, barely audible.

“Heh, Father, you’re still the same as ever—not a bit changed,” Arthur’s voice rang out, laced with a wicked charm.

“My dear son, neither have you changed in the least,” Rivers replied, his tone solemn and cold.

“Of course. Isn’t there an old saying in China, ‘A tiger does not father a dog’? Sons always resemble their fathers the most,” Arthur said, gazing meaningfully at Rivers, a faint curl at his lips that held no trace of a smile.

Rivers, who had been looking elsewhere, suddenly turned his gaze upon Arthur. Their eyes could not have been more different. Arthur’s eyes were as clear as a summer sky, while Rivers’s were like ancient wells—so deep and dark one could not see the bottom, with a hint of blue in the gloom that chilled the soul, as if one were plunged into icy water.

“That woman’s influence on you runs deep indeed,” Rivers remarked, his lips curving into a cold smile as he looked at Arthur.

For a moment, Arthur’s face stiffened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“She’s just a child,” Arthur insisted, meeting Rivers’s gaze.

“A child?” Rivers looked at Arthur with a trace of amusement, then turned and sat behind his desk. One hand reached for an object on the desk, stroking it—a diamond figurine of a wolf howling at the moon. His left hand slowly caressed the wolf’s head.

“My dear Joseph, have I taught you to be too naïve? You truly see her as a child? Ha!” Rivers broke into laughter.

“But she’s only sixteen,” Arthur persisted.

Rivers’s laughter stopped abruptly. His eyes grew sharp as he stared at Arthur. “Your mother was only fifteen when she bore you.”

At these words, Arthur’s body jolted, his gaze flickering minutely. He bit down hard, afraid a sound might escape him.

“For a woman, her sole duty is the sacred right to bear children, granted by God. Her entire existence is for this purpose,” Rivers declared, his words merciless.

Arthur’s blue eyes began to redden. He had come only to speak about Yingyue, but now—

Outside the door, Yingyue clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. Her violet eyes shone as red as rubies.

Inside the study, Rivers kept his gaze fixed on Arthur, his left hand still stroking the wolf’s head, as if it were Arthur himself. He waited. He was waiting for Arthur to bow his head to him, as no one had ever defied him—least of all his own son.

Arthur looked at Rivers’s unwavering expression. Blood surged in his chest, but he forced it down.

Lowering his head, Arthur unclenched his fists, stepped heavily to the chair before the desk, and sat. He crossed his legs with casual confidence, interlaced his fingers, and slowly raised his head.

—The memory is not yet over—