The voice on the other end of the phone was unhurried.

"Miss Yu, let's not speak in riddles. The old master means that young master Song Shian's illness will be arranged by the Song family. Outsiders should stay out of the Song family's internal affairs. It'll be good for you and good for everyone."

Yu Wantang savored the words for a moment and chuckled, "I'm the young master's bodyguard, not an outsider. I have only one duty: the young master's safety overrides everything else."

The person on the other end wanted to say more, but she didn't give them the chance and directly hung up.

What kind of nobody dared to talk big to her.

Returning to the dining room, the table had already been cleaned up.

Mama Wang came out of the kitchen holding a fruit platter, nudged the young maid beside her with her elbow, and lifted her chin toward the stairs, "Hurry up and take this up. It's rare for the young master to take the initiative and ask for fruit."

The fruit platter was exquisite, with the cantaloupe peeled and scooped into small balls, neatly arranged, with a silver fruit knife placed beside it.

Uncle Fu let out a long sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden of a thousand catties had been lifted off him, "That's good, that's good. As long as the young master is willing to eat, he'll be fine."

Half an hour later.

Yu Wantang's brows knitted together bit by bit.

No.

Something is very wrong.

What kind of personality did Song Shian have? He had just been forced to eat a meal, and he could turn around and be in a good mood to eat fruit?

As the saying goes, when a child is quiet, they must be up to no good.

...

Outside Song Shian's room.

The key was inserted into the keyhole and gently turned, making a soft click.

The door opened.

A suffocating aura hit her face. The dark gray curtains were drawn tightly, the pitch-black bedding caved in with a human-shaped depression, and even the carpet was gray, stepping on it felt like stepping on a freezing cold concrete floor—standard decoration for a gloomy male lead.

The fruit platter was safely placed on the coffee table, not a single cantaloupe ball had been touched.

There was no one in the room.

Yu Wantang's heart sank half a beat.

The sound of water.

From the direction of the bathroom, the faint sound of rippling water could be heard.

She rushed straight in. She originally raised her hand to kick the door, but retracted her foot halfway. Fortunately, the door wasn't locked.

Pressing her palm against the door, it swung open at the sound.

The bathtub was filled with water, and Song Shian was lying inside.

He hadn't even taken off his clothes; soaked in water, they clung to his body, outlining his slender shoulder blades. His hair was damp and plastered against his forehead, with water dripping from the ends of his hair. His right hand rested on the rim of the tub, loosely holding a fruit knife between his fingers, the blade shining with a cold light, pointed directly at his own wrist.

Faster than lightning.

The next second, she moved.

Rushing to the edge of the tub in two or three strides, she snatched the fruit knife away and slapped him across the face.

Slap!

A crisp sound echoed through the spacious bathroom.

"Yu, Wan, Tang!" Song Shian squeezed out word by word through his teeth, "Are you even a bodyguard?!"

"How am I not?" Yu Wantang shook the water off her palm, her tone calm, "The kind that protects your life."

"What kind of bodyguard slaps their employer's face?!" He was so angry that his chest heaved, causing the water surface to ripple along with it.

"What kind of employer eats and drinks their fill, then soaks in a bathtub and plays with a knife?"

"I was just..."

"Just whating what." She raised an eyebrow, waving her golden palm in front of his eyes, "It seems you want to learn from your cousin and taste a golden slap as well? Fine, I'll grant your wish today. Speak up, do you want the left side, the right side, or symmetric ones?"

Song Shian was so angry that his chest heaved even more violently.

After heaving for a long time, the anger slowly leaked out.

He lowered his head, his soaked bangs clinging to his face, obscuring his brows and eyes. Water droplets trickled down from the ends of his hair, drop by drop, hitting the water and rippling into tiny circles.

When he spoke again, his voice was very soft, carrying a bit of a nasal twang, muffled.

"I, I just feel that living is meaningless..."

Yu Wantang crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, "Song Shian, I think you're just too full."

"If you're really that idle, go to the hospital or check out the vegetable market at midnight! So many people are struggling hard to live, and what about you? Healthy in body and sound in limbs, yet you're soaking in warm water playing with your own life. Do you think you're worthy of Mr. Song?"

Song Shian suddenly raised his head, his voice abruptly rising, "Does he still care about me? He's busy with work every single day!"

Yu Wantang looked into his bloodshot eyes, "Song Shian, are you a child? No one in this world has to revolve around you."

"Mr. Song manages the entire Song Corporation. If the company goes under, how many employees will lose their jobs? By making a fuss like this, other than giving your old man a few more white hairs, causing the servants to shed a few more tears, and making your good cousin laugh a few more times, what do you even get out of it?"

Song Shian: "..."

"Besides, Miss Xie has already made changes."

Hearing this name, Song Shian's fingers gripping the edge of the tub twitched: "Qingyao, what happened to her?"

Yu Wantang wore a look of disgust, looking him up and down, "She's currently interning at the company, preparing to inherit the family business. Here you are acting like your life is ending, while she's out there braving the wind and waves. You're both peers, aren't you ashamed?"

"As the heir of the Song family, you should take good care of your health, make the enterprise bigger and stronger in the future, and create more jobs for more people. That's what you call true capability. What's the point of soaking in a tub? Even soaked wood ear mushrooms have more prospects than you—at least they can still be stir-fried into a dish."

Song Shian: "..."

"Get up, dry off, change your clothes." She turned and walked out.

"Ten minutes. If you don't come out, what greets you won't be a slap anymore."

...

Yu Wantang paced around the room for two rounds, the more she looked at it, the more displeased she became.

This room was black, white, and gray, practically the classic configuration for a male lead's bedroom. Staying in this room for too long would depress even a healthy person.

Her gaze swept past the bedside table and stopped.

A small white medicine bottle stood on the edge, its body smooth with no label attached, the cap screwed on tightly.

The system suddenly exploded: "Host! It's detected that there's a problem with that bottle!"

"What problem?" Yu Wantang's footsteps paused, "Is there a problem with the medicine?"

That wasn't right. She turned it over in her mind. Zhao Yu and Song Shian were brothers; if there really was a problem, Song Shian would have met with disaster long ago and wouldn't have lived until today.

"It's not Dr. Zhao's problem," the system replied quickly. "It's the medicine inside the bottle; someone has swapped it. The original medicine was for auxiliary sedation and had no toxicity. This bottle now won't kill anyone, but long-term use will continuously damage liver function and worsen emotional depression."

Yu Wantang poured out a pill. It was white, uniform in size, and couldn't be found with any flaws by the naked eye.

No wonder in the original plot, the male lead went crazy from time to time and his illness didn't improve for ten years. It turned out not to be entirely psychosomatic—it was man-made.

The filthy business of wealthy families, to put it bluntly, was the same old soup in a new bowl, repeating the exact same routines over and over again.

Without even thinking, it was definitely the handiwork of the Song family's second branch.

Competing for power legitimately was one thing, but using such despicable methods to target a young person.

Then she wouldn't hold back.

No help for it, she was a clean freak and couldn't stand dirty things.

The bathroom door opened.

Song Shian walked out drying his half-dry hair, and at a glance saw her standing beside the bedside table, his brows knitting together.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Yu Wantang turned around, holding the medicine bottle in her hand, "Just studying what kind of medicine this bottle of yours is."

Song Shian glanced at it, his tone indifferent: "Oh, I don't know. Zhao Yu prescribed it."

"Every medicine has a bit of poison, does he even know what he's doing?" Yu Wantang wore a heartbroken expression, "You've been taking it for ten years and haven't gotten better; maybe it's just his medical skills that are subpar. Don't take this anymore."

Song Shian was noncommittal; anyway, he didn't eat much of it either.