And just like that, Lin Chen stayed on in the Cheng household.

The Cheng home was almost exactly the same as it had been a year ago.
Living here, eating and using the things here, Lin Chen always felt a special sense of habit and familiarity.

For example, the bathroom still used the same dark gray toothbrush-and-cup set that had been replaced two years ago, and the facial cleanser was still the very familiar tea-scented foaming kind.
At one point, on a whim, he had added three sets of bright red bowls and chopsticks into the middle of the Cheng family’s jade-white kitchen set.

Even now, those three sets of tableware—slightly ruining the uniform aesthetic of the kitchen—were still neatly arranged inside the cupboard.

Lin Chen sipped porridge in small spoonfuls.

The “two hours to repair the stomach” promised by the system had indeed been fulfilled.
However, the results of this initial repair were far worse than he had imagined.

For three days straight, he was almost only able to eat liquid food. He had to eat at least five or six times a day, one bowl of porridge each time, just to barely avoid starving himself.

Just as he finished eating and was about to go downstairs, he suddenly noticed a faint light seeping out from deep within the second floor—that was Cheng Yiming’s bedroom.

…So, was Cheng working in Cheng Yiming’s room again?

The system muttered, tattling to its host in a low voice.

“Host, let me tell you,” it said, “Cheng Huanzhen always secretly uses your room at night… He seems to really like the desk in there. Every night he goes there to make plans for the next day.”

The system even came up with an idea. “If you ask me, he should just move that desk into his own room and use it there. Would save him running back and forth between two bedrooms every day. What a hassle!”

Lin Chen humored it with a compliment. “Mm, genius.”

He didn’t bother checking whether the system was wagging its metaphorical tail at the praise.

Looking down the deep corridor at that quiet, solitary streak of light leaking from the door crack, he thought for a moment, then turned his steps and walked toward Cheng Yiming’s bedroom.

Knock, knock, knock.

He politely tapped on the door.

The door hadn’t been fully closed, and at the knock, the crack widened a little.

Hearing the sound, Cheng looked over. His eyes met Lin Chen’s.

He was currently wearing a dark blue shirt and suit trousers, the only difference from his daytime outfit being the absence of a belt.

Lin Chen did not step in.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, he smiled. “Working?”

Cheng stood up. “Not really. Just doing some summaries and planning for work… What’s wrong, Lin Chen? How are you feeling today?”

Lin Chen didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked curiously around the room.

Everything in Cheng Yiming’s bedroom was as familiar as ever, almost unchanged from when Lin Chen had left a year ago.

The plants on the windowsill were still carefully tended.
The floor, desk, and windows were spotless—no dust to be found.

Only the items on the desk had changed into Cheng’s things.

The system, having already seen all this through the cameras, couldn’t help sighing again now.

“Host, he really loves the things you picked out for him,” it said.

Lin Chen let his gaze fall back on Cheng.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he said. “But you—these three days, I don’t think I’ve seen you rest at all.”

“Not rested” was already a tactful way of putting it.

From what Lin Chen had observed over the past three days, Cheng was essentially working more than fourteen hours a day.

And by “working,” it didn’t just mean making money in the narrow sense.
The actual time he spent on money-earning tasks was probably only about four hours.

The remaining ten hours were mostly: looking for his little uncle, observing and testing Lin Chen, then going back to searching for his little uncle.

Arms folded, Lin Chen leaned against the doorframe and chatted lightly, “I heard from the butler that the previous owner of this bedroom is the ‘little uncle’ you’ve been looking for?”

Cheng pulled out a chair and motioned for him to come in.

“He’s still the owner,” Cheng answered simply.

Lin Chen sat down beside him. “So, you firmly believe he’s still alive.”

Cheng pressed his lips together and said nothing.

In fact, the instant he invited Lin Chen into this room, he had already felt a bit of regret.

…This was his uncle’s bedroom.
Aside from family, no outsider had ever been allowed inside.

But once Lin Chen had actually walked in and sat down beside him at the desk, that brief pang of regret oddly faded.

After three days of watching, the nearly dead suspicion in Cheng’s mind had come back to life just a little.

He had carved out a large block of time in his schedule for this—not for normal work, but specifically to observe the young man he had “picked up.”

The man was very quiet.

In a twenty-four-hour day, taking away eight hours of sleep, Lin Chen spent around ten hours reading.

Sometimes he read in the bedroom.
Sometimes in the living room.
Sometimes by the floor-to-ceiling windows, soaking in the sun as he read.

His little uncle had liked reading too.

Only, his uncle had never been the sort of person who could truly sit still, even with a book. New ideas would pop into his head at any time, and once they did, the book was tossed aside and the new idea was eagerly pursued.

It was only later, when his uncle could no longer see, that he finally quieted down a bit—listening to Cheng read aloud to him, or to audiobooks in his room when Cheng was busy.

His uncle’s reading tastes were extremely broad.

From astronomy to geography, from distant history to current technology, from practical guides to abstract philosophy—Cheng always felt that as long as you put a book in front of him, his uncle would read it.

Lin Chen seemed the same.

Cheng had made a point of noting what he chose: on the first day, a Western history book; on the second, a finance book; today, a volume from Cheng Zhaorui’s study titled How Good Actors Are Made.

In both breadth and speed of reading, Lin Chen seemed no worse than his uncle.

But compared to his uncle, Lin Chen was far more mature and much quieter.

One glance at his uncle back then, and anyone could tell he was someone who had never truly been out in society.

Lin Chen was different. Without even needing deep conversation, Cheng could easily tell that this was a man who had been grinding it out in the real world for years.

This was different from Li Shuyun as well.

Li’s mental age had not been that far from his uncle’s.

But Lin Chen was different. His bearing and presence were worlds apart from those of both his uncle and Li Shuyun.

Each day, Cheng watched these little details.

And each day, he felt his suspicions and thoughts grow more absurd.

…He had already forcibly ignored the basic biological differences.
Was he now supposed to ignore temperament and aura as well—things built from experience and perspective?

Every day he told himself that maybe he should stop this observation, or stop this crazy speculation altogether.

Yet, inexplicably, every time he spoke with Lin Chen and their eyes met—when he saw himself reflected so clearly in those eyes—he would hesitate and think, “Maybe… just one more day.”

Dragging it out like that, three days had passed.

Lin Chen’s condition had clearly improved these past two days.

At least he could move freely now, and he hadn’t fainted again.

He reached out curiously to touch a plant on the windowsill. The serrated leaf edge skimmed across his fingertip and nicked a very small cut.

Lin Chen calmly drew his hand back, then turned to ask, “I heard your uncle has been missing for a year. Have you ever thought about what you’ll do if, after spending so much time searching, you still never find him?”

“Then I’ll keep looking,” Cheng said, voice calm and instantaneous, without any hesitation.

“Is it worth it?” Lin Chen asked.

“In terms of cost and return, they’re clearly out of balance, aren’t they?”

“How can you compare it that way?” Cheng frowned slightly.

He fell silent for a moment, then said, “He’s my uncle.”

Lin Chen smiled. “I have a question I’m curious about. May I ask?—How big a price are you willing to pay to find him?”

He tossed out an example. “Say… thirty to fifty million a year?”

Cheng needed a second to react before realizing it was probably meant as a joke.

He wasn’t very good at handling jokes.

He could only think about it seriously and reply, “Where is there a place where I can pay thirty to fifty million a year and they’ll find him for me? If such a place really exists, you must tell me.”

“You know, in my line of work,” Lin Chen said, “I occasionally hear about some… less proper methods. Offerings, sacrifices… If I ever come across something that suits your situation, I’ll recommend it to you.”

It sounded like casual talk.

Soon, the topic drifted away.

“These days, thank you for everything,” Lin Chen said naturally. “I’m mostly recovered. I can take care of myself. If I keep staying here, I’ll feel a bit embarrassed.”

He smiled lightly. “I have a few bottles of aged liquor at home. Do you drink? If you like it, I’ll have someone send some over in a couple of days.”

Cheng shook his head. “I don’t drink. This isn’t any big deal, and I didn’t help you for the sake of a reward.”

Lin Chen’s departure came sooner than Cheng had expected.

But this wasn’t his first time treating someone with suspicion and watching them closely.

So the next day, when Lin Chen was ready to leave, Cheng stopped him at the door.

“I’ll drive you back,” he said. “Call it a favor to our meeting.”

Standing at the doorway, with the morning light spilling in behind him and outlining a composed figure on the floor, Lin Chen smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble to take me, that would be great.”

And so, Cheng obtained Lin Chen’s address.

When the car finally arrived at its destination, Cheng frowned at the overly quiet villa in front of them. “Where’s your family?”

“I live here alone,” Lin Chen said.

“You should hire some people,” Cheng said seriously. “A butler, security guards—you need them. Your health isn’t great; it’d be best to have a family doctor on call too.”

He paused. “Finding people yourself is a hassle. Why don’t we add each other on GreenChat? I can recommend some to you.”

Lin Chen tilted his head slightly and thought for a moment. “Mm—”

Then he smiled, eyes curving. “All right.”

The words had barely left his mouth when his head was suddenly filled with the system’s frantic buzzing.

“Host! You can’t just say ‘all right’! Did you forget he saw your giant strawberry at Cheng Zhaorui’s place? That strawberry mark still hasn’t been replaced!”