Hu Yaozong's face went pale as he stared at Zhou Huaian, his legs trembling uncontrollably. After muttering "Zhou Xiaocheng...", he found himself unable to speak another word.

Just as he felt he might lose control of his bladder, he suddenly remembered—the Zhou family had recovered another son. This must be Zhou Huaian.

Yet the panic didn't subside. Why did Zhou Huaian look so much like Zhou Xiaocheng?

As soon as Li Yunlan entered the room, she noticed Zhou Xiaohong and Hu Yaozong had taken only one room. Frowning, she asked, "Why just one room? Are there no others?"

Zhou Xiaohong stood up, blushing, unsure how to explain.

Suppressing his own unease, Hu Yaozong offered a smooth smile. "Auntie, we've been sharing a room throughout our journey. It's easier for me to look after Xiaohong this way. Besides, we're getting married soon."

Li Yunlan fixed a stern gaze on Zhou Xiaohong, holding back her anger with visible effort.

Lin Xiaoxiao began to understand why Zhou Xiaohong was so determined to marry Hu Yaozong. They'd likely already been intimate—whether willingly or not, she couldn't tell. But in these times, reputation meant everything.

She also noticed that ever since Zhou Huaian appeared, Hu Yaozong's slick arrogance had vanished. He became cautious, almost nervous, avoiding even a glance in Zhou Huaian's direction.

The room was too small. After standing inside briefly with Zhou Huaian, Lin Xiaoxiao called for Zhou Xiaoling, and they prepared to leave.

Hu Yaozong eagerly escorted them out. At the guesthouse entrance, he smiled obsequiously toward Zhou Huaian. "Eldest Brother, if you have time, you must come to Beijing for our wedding."

Zhou Huaian merely glanced down at him, his gaze sharp and icy, radiating an intensity that made Hu Yaozong's scalp prickle. He didn't dare say another word.

This man was nothing like Zhou Xiaocheng.

Zhou Xiaocheng had been like a gentle breeze—calm, refined, his thoughts hidden deep, impossible to read.

Zhou Huaian's eyes were like a blade, piercing straight through him, laying his darkest secrets bare.

Hu Yaozong stood frozen until Zhou Huaian, Lin Xiaoxiao, and Zhou Xiaoling were well out of sight. Only then did he finally exhale, realizing his legs were still shaking, weak with lingering fear.

Why did Zhou Huaian look exactly like Zhou Xiaocheng?

He'd stolen a watch from Zhou Xiaocheng's fiancée, making Zhou Xiaocheng believe Luo Anran had been kidnapped. Zhou Xiaocheng was ambushed and severely injured while trying to rescue her, then disappeared.

As for Zhou Xiaoming's petty schemes—they were just the Hu family's opening move, bait to lure Zhou Xiaocheng into a trap so he could be captured alive.

A living Zhou Xiaocheng was far more valuable than a dead one.

But he'd managed to escape, gravely wounded, and his fate remained unknown.

The Hu family had been declining, but they found new opportunities—collaborating with foreign agents, trading secrets, and targeting those they wanted eliminated.

Zhou Xiaocheng had once sniped an enemy commander. He was on their blacklist—but they wanted him alive.

They staged his death, laid a trap, and ambushed him. Yet even critically injured, he got away.

The thought still made Hu Yaozong break into a cold sweat. But now he was marrying Zhou Xiaohong. Once they were family, if anything happened to him, the Zhou family would be implicated too.

Buoyed by that thought, Hu Yaozong straightened up. So what if it was Zhou Huaian? Even someone as sharp as Zhou Xiaocheng had been fooled. What could Zhou Huaian do?

Li Yunlan firmly refused to let Hu Yaozong and Zhou Xiaohong share a room. Marriage plans or not, she insisted Zhou Zhennan stay with Hu Yaozong, while she stayed with Zhou Xiaohong.

That night, lying in bed, Li Yunlan sighed softly. "Since you're getting married, make the best of it. If Hu Yaozong ever mistreats you, come home. Your eldest and second brothers will make him pay. Even your father can still knock his teeth out."

Zhou Xiaohong stayed silent, feeling only darkness ahead.

"Don't rush into having children," Li Yunlan added. "If things don't work out, get a divorce and come home. We'll take care of you. There's no shame in that."

Tears welling in her eyes, Zhou Xiaohong thought of her mother's illness and whispered, "Don't worry, Mom. I'll make it work."

Li Yunlan didn't know what her daughter was truly thinking. She could only sigh quietly, powerless to change things.

A heavy rain fell that night, washing out the roads to the county and the city. Li Yunlan and the others were stranded in town.

The next morning, Lin Xiaoxiao heard on the radio that the roads were damaged—no buses would run for days. With toothpaste still in her mouth, she rushed back inside. "Zhou Changsuo, your parents can't leave. Should we go check on them?"

Then she remarked curiously, "Our roof didn't leak at all in that storm."

"I had it fixed by the housing department when you were away," Zhou Huaian replied. "I'll go into town at noon. You don't need to come."

But he wanted to see Hu Yaozong again. There was something off about the man—the way he avoided eye contact, the nervous evasion. Zhou Huaian needed another look.

Lin Xiaoxiao wanted to go anyway. "Let's both go at noon. We can eat in town—there's a food stall near the state-run canteen that makes amazing potato fish. I've been craving it."

Zhou Huaian agreed. "I'll pick you up after work."

Expecting him to borrow a bicycle again, Lin Xiaoxiao dressed in pants and a shirt. To her surprise, Zhou Huaian arrived in a jeep from his unit.

"When did you learn to drive?" she asked, intrigued.

Zhou Huaian paused. "I never formally learned. But I've driven tanks before."

Lin Xiaoxiao grinned and gave him a playful salute. "I'm impressed!"

He nodded. "It was part of our training. Later, when there was no driver, I just figured it out myself."

He spoke more than usual, sharing stories from his early army days—how his poor education and quiet nature landed him jobs feeding pigs and growing vegetables.

Lin Xiaoxiao listened, fascinated. Zhou Huaian's life could fill a novel—a story of grit and growth.

But what surprised her more was how openly he was talking—sharing small, everyday memories.

Since when did Zhou Huaian, a man of so few words, become such a storyteller?

She glanced at him as he focused on the road, a teasing smile on her lips. "Not bad. You should tell me more stories like these—how many times you were injured, funny things that happened, which girls had a crush on you, who wrote you love letters or mended your shoes..."