Chapter 27: Phantom (Part 2)

Facing those eyes—calm as ancient wells, almost devoid of emotion and desire—Yang Changfeng felt a chill creep over him. Instinctively, he pulled Chen Aijia behind him and stood tall, shielding her from the woman before them.

It was his reflex; during disaster relief, he had always stood in front of others, chest forward, protecting them.

Chen Aijia opened her mouth, amused yet moved for the first time. Did he not even think to ask who this person was first?

“Who are you?” Before Yang Changfeng could ask, the woman spoke.

Perhaps because of Chen Aijia, her manner was not cold, only curious.

So it was someone familiar. That was a relief.

Yang Changfeng’s intuition told him this older woman was not to be trifled with. The moment she opened the door, he’d glimpsed a look in her eyes—a trace of deathly despair. It was a look he’d seen on the battlefield, in those utterly hopeless toward life. Such people were not necessarily strong, but the lifeless aura they exuded was something even seasoned warriors rarely dared confront directly.

How could someone like this be in Chen Aijia’s home? She lived well, her food, drink, and attire all of good quality, clearly far from the chaos and poverty of war zones. Why did her eyes hold such hopelessness, her entire being resembling a greyed, withered stalk?

Yang Changfeng stepped aside, allowing passage. Chen Aijia smiled warmly, saying, “Mother Yu, he’ll be staying here for a while. It’s fine. How have you been lately?”

So she was one of the family. That was reassuring.

Yet Yang Changfeng couldn’t shake his unease. Someone like this in Chen Aijia’s home—previously, it might have seemed harmless, but now that he was moving in as an outsider, could things remain so simple?

Did Chen Aijia know Mother Yu’s true background?

Mother Yu’s face softened into a gentle, loving expression; her eyes brightened, and she smiled as she stepped aside. Yet when she glanced at Yang Changfeng, her gaze still bore that shadowed scrutiny, making his flesh crawl.

She took Chen Aijia’s hand, accepting her bag. Her hands, surprisingly delicate for her age, caressed Chen Aijia’s—her care was evident.

“I’m fine. I just haven’t seen you home in days and wondered what you were up to.” Mother Yu led Chen Aijia inside, chattering away affectionately. “I wanted to visit you but didn’t want to disturb your work. It’s good you’re back, and you even brought someone—very good…”

Yang Changfeng felt Mother Yu’s sidelong gaze lingering on him.

Was she a master of some sort? Impossible—Yang Changfeng sensed no threat from her, apart from that initial gaze. She did not make him feel the slightest urgency. Mother Yu’s origins were likely a mystery.

Should he warn Chen Aijia to be cautious around Mother Yu?

He wrestled with the thought, then abandoned it. It was clear that Chen Aijia and Mother Yu shared a closeness beyond the ordinary; probably, Mother Yu was a housekeeper or elder whom Chen Aijia trusted implicitly—otherwise, she wouldn’t have stayed away from home for days without worry.

As for himself, he was Chen Aijia’s enemy—or so she believed. Between trusting her own people or an enemy, Chen Aijia would never hesitate.

But for Yang Changfeng, sometimes he would choose to trust the enemy. An enemy’s goals and actions seldom lie, while those who seem like allies often do. That was a lesson learned in blood.

He surveyed the luxurious villa. The interior was vast, a two-story house styled like a small manor. The second floor was out of sight, but the first floor was grand enough. Solid rosewood furniture, small pieces of rare wood like purple sandalwood, and even the flooring was 3D-printed to resemble earth. The entire first floor was decorated as a riverside bamboo grove, with real and artificial bamboo and flower beds on the walls and throughout the space, making one feel as if standing by a clear stream in the countryside.

Only the furniture betrayed the fact that this was indoors, not outside.

On the first floor were the kitchen, dining room, and two guest rooms, one to the east and one to the west.

Chen Aijia kicked off her shoes, walking barefoot across the floor, freeing her blood vessels from the constriction.

Mother Yu went to the kitchen, saying she’d prepare supper and juice for the two of them. Yang Changfeng watched her back for a long time.

Chen Aijia laughed, “What, do you think there’s something wrong with Mother Yu again?”

Yang Changfeng nodded, then shook his head. “Not really. Her eyes are unusual, though—filled with death.”

Chen Aijia’s expression changed, turning cold. “If you’d been through what Mother Yu has, you’d look the same. Anyway, you’ll be staying in the east guest room from now on. Don’t go upstairs without reason—I don’t like my private space disturbed. And,” she rummaged familiarly through the drawer under the living room coffee table, pulling out a set of car keys and muttering, “doesn’t seem to be the right one.”

Yang Changfeng quickly said, “No need to trouble yourself. I can take public transport.”

Chen Aijia scoffed, “Do you think there’s a bus route here? Besides, I go to and from work at least four times a day. You’ll be the driver.”

Was she making him her chauffeur?

Yang Changfeng didn’t mind. Driving wasn’t an issue. But wasn’t Anya coming as well?

Chen Aijia said, “Once Anya arrives, you won’t need to drive me anymore. You can go to work on your own—you’ll have plenty of free time.”

Suddenly, behind them, Mother Yu’s voice floated in, “How can two people talk like that? Come, sit down.”

Chen Aijia was unfazed, accustomed to Mother Yu’s sudden appearances. Yang Changfeng jumped, the hairs on his neck standing.

If he hadn’t known this was Chen Aijia’s home, he might not have been able to restrain himself, reacting with a lethal move.

Mother Yu placed a fruit platter on the coffee table—fruit, milkshakes, and juice. She wiped her hands and said, “You two should rest early. I’ll be off now.”

She didn’t live here?

Mother Yu left, and minutes later, a Volvo drove out of the underground garage connected to the main gate. Though old, it was hardly a cheap car.

Chen Aijia really was generous—she’d even provided Mother Yu with a Volvo?

This household was truly peculiar.

Chen Aijia sat upright on the sofa, suppressing her urge to let loose, and introduced Yang Changfeng with a solemn air, “Don’t underestimate Mother Yu. She’s no ordinary person.”

Of course she wasn’t.

Yang Changfeng grumbled inwardly, picked up a glass of orange juice, avoiding the milkshake, which he disliked.