Chapter 26 was written by her granddaughter, Shen Linyue.

A son-in-law’s love for his daughter was something Kong Yizhen had never once doubted. Though her daughter had acted rashly this time, she had finally done what she had not dared to do in the past ten years. The enmity of a murdered husband was irreconcilable; though they had spent years searching for evidence of Shen Yi’s crimes, nothing decisive had ever been found. In some ways, her daughter had given voice to the ten years of stifled anger she herself had endured. Kong Yizhen felt comforted that raising her daughter had not been in vain. Yet, as a mother, she could not help but worry about her daughter’s predicament—after all, the evidence was damning, and the Shen family would certainly not let go so easily. There was no way this matter could simply fade away. Her son-in-law, Luo Minglang, was the only hope for rescuing her daughter—and the last hope she clung to as a mother.

“Mom, I swear I won’t let Guoguo come to any harm, nor will I let her spend even a second behind those cold iron bars,” Luo Minglang said, holding his wife’s shoulders tightly, his eyes firm yet gentle. Zhang Guoguo felt deeply comforted. In that instant, she thought, this is enough; having him by her side in this life was more than enough.

The door opened again. A young policeman whispered a few words to the officer conducting the interrogation. The interrogator nodded and said, “Understood.”

Then, turning to Luo Minglang and the others, the officer said, “The victim, Shen Yi, has been rescued and is out of immediate danger, though he remains comatose. This case will require further investigation before the family can bring charges.”

“So my client can be released on bail!” At that moment, the lawyers Wang He and Tao Deli entered. Wang He continued, “Officer, good evening. I am Ms. Zhang Guoguo’s attorney, Wang He.”

After the paperwork was completed, the police informed Zhang Guoguo that she was restricted from leaving the country, so she could only return home with her husband, who had posted bail. But as soon as they arrived home, before they even got out of the car, Luo Minglang received a call from Tao Deli. Somehow, the media had gotten wind of the incident and rushed to question Luo Minglang about his wife’s involvement in the assault. He denied all accusations sternly and made it clear that any reckless reporting would not be tolerated. Deterred by Luo Minglang’s influence, the media dared not publish anything without confirmation. As a result, both the mainstream news and the tabloids kept the matter under wraps.

Back home, Zhang Guoguo felt dazed and numb. Her thoughts were filled with worries about her grandmother’s health—whether she would recover, and whether learning that her younger son and daughter-in-law had been killed by her eldest son would plunge her into depression and grief. She was afraid, terrified that she might lose her beloved grandmother as well.

She hesitated many times over her decision. Though it was far from the best moment to reveal her true identity, she felt she had to give her grandmother hope to hold on. Knowing she could not approach her grandmother directly, she seized a moment while Luo Minglang was in the shower to write a letter. Because of their special circumstances—and because of Luo Minglang—she did not mention anything about her identity in the letter. Instead, she filled it with memories of the things she and her grandmother had done together when she was a child: places they had visited, films they had watched. These were beautiful, cherished moments, belonging to just the two of them. She was certain her grandmother would understand.

When Luo Minglang stepped out in his bathrobe, he saw his weary, sorrowful wife waiting for him at the door, holding a letter.

“Honey, could you do me a favor?” she asked.

“What is it?”

“Please deliver this letter, by hand, to Madam Shen Hanqing of the Shen family.”

“Is it an apology?” he asked, puzzled, as he took the envelope and glanced at the elegant, unfamiliar handwriting. “This isn’t your handwriting.”

“No, it isn’t. It was written by her granddaughter, Shen Linyue. She gave it to me a while ago, and I forgot to pass it on. Given the current situation between me and the Shen family, they’d never let me see Madam Shen, so I have to trouble you with this. I’m sure you’ll find a way to deliver it.”

“All right. I promise I’ll give it to her myself.”

“Thank you, darling. I’m going to shower now.”

She kissed him and disappeared into the bathroom. Luo Minglang sat at the edge of the bed, placing the letter on the nightstand. Only when he lay down did he notice a black smudge of ink on his thumb. Confused, he sat up and picked up the letter again, noticing that the handwriting on the envelope was still wet and slightly blurred.

In that moment, as he stared at the letter and the closed bathroom door, an emptiness filled his heart.

She had said it was Shen Linyue’s handwriting. But Shen Linyue had died long ago—and this writing was freshly penned.