I’m Begging You
The expression on Pu Shulan’s face was truly something—first stunned, then quickly turning to embarrassment.
As if he could see through her thoughts, Peng Huarong looked her straight in the eye and slowly took off the cap on his head. He added:
“I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Peng Huarong, executive director of the Chinese Physical Society, national physics competition judge, and professor of astrophysics at Che University…”
Behind that long list of honors lay great status and power—something Pu Shulan was naturally aware of. She had already thoroughly investigated Peng Huarong’s background.
Clang!
Startled and flustered, Pu Shulan accidentally knocked the glass sitting on the edge of the table to the floor. It shattered into countless pieces with a crisp crack.
The blue enamel coating had chipped off, revealing the white ceramic base underneath—matching the pale color of her face.
“Professor Peng…” she forced herself to stay composed and tried to squeeze out a smile. “When… when did you get here?”
“Not long ago,” Peng Huarong had already regained his calm. He sat gracefully across from the two, a faint smile on his face, a stark contrast to Pu Shulan’s nervousness. “Just in time to hear you say you never considered Mudong your son.”
Because of mobility issues, he hadn’t taken the stairs but had come up using the side elevator—fortunately hidden from view—allowing him to fully witness the true nature of this mother and son.
“That’s not what I meant,” Pu Shulan wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and tried to explain, “I just… just…”
“Just treated me as a tool you could use.”
Qin Mudong stood up from the side and walked toward them step by step.
“Mudong?!” Pu Shulan cried out in surprise, and Peng Huarong frowned deeply.
Lu Xingjia quickly got up and followed behind Qin Mudong, softly calling his name.
But Qin Mudong acted like he hadn’t heard anything, his expression icy as he stood in front of Pu Shulan, towering over her.
His eyes were still pitch black, but now they resembled a pool of stagnant, dead water—thick and dark. Even if a heavy rock were thrown into it, not even a ripple would form.
The pink jewelry box in his hand was completely crushed out of shape. Through the cracked packaging, the faintly glowing butterfly hair clip peeked out—mocking, ironic.
He had tried, step by step, to accept her. He’d attempted to open his heart to her, to trust her, and to crave even a sliver of love. But it had all been a grand illusion from the start. He was nothing more than a fool helping his own seller count money—a gullible idiot who’d offered his sincere heart to someone playing him like a pawn.
He looked at her. In his eyes wasn’t just anger, but also deep disappointment and sorrow—a tangle of pain. His voice remained firm:
“Too bad this tool won’t fulfill your wishes. The name Hou Ruicheng will never appear alongside mine.”
His fingers at his sides clenched and released, veins bulging across the backs of his hands. Several times, he looked like he was about to raise a hand, but when his gaze fell on Lu Xingjia—standing behind him, visibly anxious—he barely clung to his remaining sliver of reason and let his hand drop.
“Out of respect for you being my biological mother, let’s call our past a closed chapter. But from now on, don’t ever appear in my life again. If I see you—or your idiot son—again, I’ll beat you both each time.”
Qin Mudong’s tone wasn’t fierce or threatening, just a calm statement of fact. But Pu Shulan froze—something seemed to finally strike her.
This cold-eyed boy, now filled with gloom, had once clung to her leg, calling her “Mom.” He had once looked at her with starlit eyes, yearning for her praise.
And now… there would be no more contact?
“Mudong…” Pu Shulan moved her lips, wanting to say something, but Qin Mudong was no longer giving her any chance.
He tossed the crushed jewelry box—hair clip and all—into the trash bin beside the table and walked away without looking back.
His posture was tall and straight, yet his back carried such loneliness.
“Qin Mudong!” Lu Xingjia called after him but got no response. Afraid he might do something drastic, Lu Xingjia hurried to follow him. Before leaving, he cast Pu Shulan a complex glance and said, deeply disappointed:
“You’re not worthy of being a mother.”
Pu Shulan instinctively took a step after them but looked at her son beside her… and eventually just stood there, watching them walk away.
The disturbance attracted the attention of the restaurant staff. A few waiters came over with brooms and cloths to clean up the shattered ceramic.
While they were cleaning, Peng Huarong also stood up and said to Pu Shulan:
“I think we have nothing more to discuss.”
He glanced at the two frozen figures across from him.
“Mudong is a good kid. I will look after him. As for your son…”
Peng Huarong pulled his gaze back, put on his hat, and said lightly,
“Your son’s name includes the word ‘cheng’—‘sincerity.’ I hope he learns how to be a decent human being before attempting to do academic work. Be a person of integrity and honesty.”
“Professor Peng!” Pu Shulan cried out, trying to stop him. But Peng Huarong didn’t even look at her and walked away without hesitation.
If Pu Shulan had felt even a fleeting moment of guilt or regret earlier, now she was left only with fear.
Now that someone like Peng Huarong had witnessed their disgrace, if Hou Ruicheng ever tried to pursue physics—or anything remotely related to science—his future would be bleak.
No mentor or research institute would want someone known for cheating, manipulation, and exploiting his own family.
“Ma’am… over here…” a nearby waiter cautiously asked. Pu Shulan pressed her temples and steadied herself, though the despair in her expression could not be hidden.
“…Check, please.”
“Mom, what do we do now? What… what about my future?!”
Only now did Hou Ruicheng finally panic. He grabbed Pu Shulan’s hand and cried out in desperation.
Pu Shulan dazedly tugged at his arm and stood up, like a stray dog, her steps unsteady.
“Xiao Cheng, don’t say anything. Let’s just go home.”
……
Peng Huarong rushed out of the restaurant, but the two boys were nowhere to be seen. His heart was filled with worry—terrified something might happen to Qin Mudong. He called both of them again and again, but all he got was a busy tone.
Surrounded by the bustling street, with people coming and going, Peng Huarong felt completely unfamiliar with this area and could only send Qin Mudong a text message:
[Call me back when you see this.]He prayed they were okay.
Peng Huarong suddenly thought of Lu Xingjia’s bright smile.
With this cheerful and sunny boy accompanying him… please, let nothing happen.
Their phones kept ringing, but neither of them had the heart to answer.
Lu Xingjia had called out to Qin Mudong several times from behind, but Qin Mudong acted as if he hadn’t heard, not even turning his head.
So Lu Xingjia stopped calling. Like a little tail, he followed Qin Mudong step by step, wherever he went, Lu Xingjia followed.
Their path was aimless and erratic, and somehow they ended up in a desolate construction site.
In front of them was a pool of stagnant water, overgrown with weeds and reeking of decay. Qin Mudong had nowhere else to go and finally stopped. Lu Xingjia also stopped a few steps behind him, softly calling out:
“Qin Mudong?”
“……”
“Mudong Ge?”
“……”
“Mudong gege.”
“……”
Qin Mudong gave no response, but Lu Xingjia kept calling again and again, his voice soft and patient.
No one knew how much time passed before Qin Mudong suddenly turned around, took two steps forward, and pulled Lu Xingjia into a tight embrace.
He held him with force—their ribs collided with a dull thud, followed by a wave of aching pain.
But instead of pulling away, Lu Xingjia hugged him back even tighter, clutching his clothes as if afraid he might disappear.
Qin Mudong was trembling.
His whole body was shaking uncontrollably.
A muffled, choked sob reached Lu Xingjia’s ear, and his body went stiff.
Was he crying?
Lu Xingjia’s heart ached with a dull pain. He instinctively tried to pull back to see what was happening, but a pair of large hands pressed against his back and pulled him back into the embrace.
“…Don’t move,” Qin Mudong’s voice was nasal and low, with a tone of pleading. “Just let me hold you for a while.”
Lu Xingjia’s nose burned, and he dared not move. He wrapped his arms around Qin Mudong’s waist and let him hold him like that.
“Xingxing…” Qin Mudong’s voice was barely above a whisper, his chest trembling with every word, each one excruciatingly difficult to utter. “I think maybe my luck really is bad. Family, friendship—those things everyone praises… for me, they’ve become weapons to hurt me.”
“Sometimes I wonder, do these emotions even truly exist? If they do, why can’t I ever have them? They lift me to the clouds only to slam me back down. They let me taste sweetness, only to stab me in the heart. I don’t deserve love. Everyone will leave me. Only physics—only the eternal truths—won’t betray me.”
Lu Xingjia felt like his heart had been plunged into acid—burning and painful. In a flash, he remembered the line Qin Mudong had written before his suicide in their past life:
“The world is filled with eternal darkness; only truth is light.”
So that… that was the truth behind his suicide in his previous life.
This time, they had met Peng Huarong earlier than before, but the rest of the story seemed to be following the same path.
After recognizing Qin Mudong’s brilliance, Pu Shulan had meticulously laid out a trap and manipulated him into trusting her—all just to secure advantages for her younger son.
What had Qin Mudong been like back then?
Lu Xingjia racked his memory and vaguely recalled that many of Qin Mudong’s award-winning papers from back then also had the name “Hou Ruicheng” on them.
He’d assumed he was just an assistant and hadn’t thought much of it—until now. Now, he understood. Every achievement Qin Mudong had once taken pride in was etched with his deepest pain.
He had trusted her. He had used his life’s work to pave a path for her son, only to be stabbed in the back.
In their previous life, they hadn’t met Peng Huarong early enough, and this confrontation never happened. So Pu Shulan’s true face must’ve been exposed much later.
For years, Qin Mudong had been placing a bet with the world—slowly opening up, learning to trust, even relying on Pu Shulan more than he did now. He had taken her to be the last bit of warmth in his life.
But in return, he didn’t get love. He got manipulation and betrayal. And in the end, when the truth was finally revealed, every bit of trust he had in the world collapsed. The last ember of love died out—and so he turned away from the world and threw himself into the only thing that never betrayed him: truth.
But what about this life?
Suddenly, Lu Xingjia was terrified, his body trembling uncontrollably.
A few meters ahead was a deep, murky pit of water, covered in green scum and reeking with a fishy stench carried on the wind. The place was deserted. If Qin Mudong suddenly jumped in, Lu Xingjia wasn’t sure he could save him.
Panicked, he clutched at Qin Mudong’s shirt with trembling fingers, barely able to grip it. His voice cracked as he blurted out:
“You don’t only have physics. You have me too! You—you can’t leave. If you disappear, I’ll be sad. Really, really sad. I—I…”
Darkness clouded his vision as a wave of dizziness surged through him, like sinking into a foul-smelling swamp. Lu Xingjia gasped for air, so panicked he couldn’t even form words.
He had dreamed of Qin Mudong dying countless times, in all kinds of ways, while he stood by helplessly—only to wake up drenched in sweat and tears.
To gain something only to lose it again was a thousand times more painful than never having had it at all.
At this moment, Lu Xingjia once again felt Qin Mudong’s sorrow and despair deep in his bones.
“…Mhm.” Just as he felt he was about to drown, a low voice sounded like a gift from the heavens, pulling him back from those torturous thoughts.
“Xingxing, I only have you now,” Qin Mudong’s voice was very low, as fragile as a spider’s thread in the wind, so faint it felt like it could dissipate at any moment. “Don’t leave me.”
“…Please.”
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
Tears blurred Lu Xingjia’s vision instantly, and he was completely choked with sobs.
Under the cruel hand of fate, Qin Mudong had shouldered far too much alone. Even though this life had his involvement, the boy he loved was still covered in wounds.
Thankfully, under the weight of destiny, he wasn’t a praying mantis futilely blocking a cart, but a butterfly flapping its wings with all its might—finally stirring a tornado in the deep abyss.
Thankfully. Thankfully.
“I won’t leave,” Lu Xingjia’s lips trembled as he buried his head in Qin Mudong’s chest, choking on his tears as he spoke, “I won’t leave you.”
Author’s Note:
The most heartbreaking part of the story is finally over, so I finally dare to show myself (：з」∠)
awwww mi cosito 🙁