The Fallen, Stubborn Prince - Chapter 12

She could clearly feel the warmth radiating from the chest before her — it seeped into her bit by bit, burning gently through her defenses. Her tears, once held back, began to fall uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Su Qian’s warmth melted something inside her. Each tear that fell into his palm, he held as if it were something precious — something worth protecting. He clumsily tried to collect them, as though afraid to let a single drop slip away.

Fang Xian’s tears were rare, and that made them all the more precious.

Yet in the end, she still refused his kindness.

It was understandable. Fang Xian was a proud girl — too proud to lean on anyone, no matter how reasonable the reason or how kind the offer. She couldn’t bring herself to burden someone else with her problems. She would rather exhaust herself completely than lower her pride.

Su Qian could only watch her go, lonely and heartbroken. Her figure, walking away toward the setting sun, was resolute and unyielding. The sunlight stretched her shadow long across the ground, as if even it was trying to keep up with her strength.

A few days later, Fang’s mother found another envelope — the third one — lying in their mailbox. Like the others, it was a brown kraft paper bag, with nothing written on it except her late husband’s name.

She lifted it in her hand; this one felt heavier than the last two.

Carrying it upstairs, she placed all three envelopes side by side on the table. They were identical — the same brown paper, the same glue-sealed flap. Only the first one had been opened.

Inside that first letter was a note:

The sender claimed to have once received great kindness from her late husband. Upon hearing of his death, they said they were filled with regret for never repaying the favor — and so, they sent money in gratitude.

Fang’s mother wasn’t a greedy woman. She hadn’t touched a single cent inside those envelopes. But even as she debated what to do with the money, another letter always seemed to arrive before she could decide.

She sat there, deep in thought, until she heard the front door open. Fang Xian was home.

“Why are you so late? Did you have evening study again?” her mother asked.

Fang Xian hesitated — she couldn’t tell the truth, that she had been looking for part-time jobs. “It’s almost exam week,” she said lightly. “The teachers are making us stay late to review. Students have to sacrifice for the cause, right?”

She smiled to hide her worry. Lately, she could hardly look her mother in the eyes without guilt. “Mom, you mentioned selling the land before… Did anyone come to ask about it?”

Her mother sighed. “Not a word from the agent. It’s strange — your father’s land is flat, fertile, and in a prime location. Before, even without selling, people kept asking about it. But now that I’ve put word out, nobody’s come at all.”

Fang Xian stayed silent. Deep down, she guessed it must be the Su family’s influence blocking any potential buyers. But in a way, she was grateful. As long as the sale was delayed, there was still time. Once the exams came and went — and she skipped them — her mother’s anger might finally force her hand.

She pulled an envelope from her schoolbag and handed it to her mother. “Mom, don’t worry too much about the loan. Waiting for a buyer isn’t helping. You can use my savings to pay the interest for now.”

Her mother hesitated, torn between pride and necessity. The bank’s reminder notice was due the next day — if they didn’t pay, they could lose everything. After much thought, she finally accepted the money.

“When the land sells for a fair price, I’ll return all of this to you,” she promised.

Fang Xian smiled faintly. “It’s fine. It’s not like it’s not ours to begin with.”

Her eyes then drifted to the table — where she noticed the three letters. “Mom, what are these?”

Her mother didn’t hide it. “Anonymous letters. The sender claims to have been your father’s friend. Said they knew we were struggling, so they wanted to help.”

Fang Xian picked up one envelope. Her father’s name was written neatly across the front — but the handwriting stopped her cold.

It looked familiar. Too familiar.

“How did this get here?” she asked quickly.

“They were in the mailbox. No stamps, no sender’s address.”

Of course — not mailed, but delivered by hand.

Fang Xian’s expression darkened. She snatched the other two envelopes and stuffed them into her schoolbag. “Mom, we can’t use this money. It’s not from Dad’s friend,” she said firmly, then turned toward the door.

“Xian! Where are you going?” her mother called.

“To find whoever sent this!”

“Wait—take this note with you!” Her mother rushed over, pressing the small handwritten note into Fang Xian’s hand. “If there’s any misunderstanding, clear it up. We can’t just accept money from strangers without knowing why.”

No matter how desperate they were, Fang’s mother still had her principles.

Fang Xian glanced down at the note — and her heart clenched. The handwriting was unmistakable. Su Qian’s.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I’ll clear this up.”

It was already six in the evening. Normally, students who skipped evening study would already be on their way home — and Su Qian, being inseparable from her, usually followed her lead. By now, he should have been at home.

But when she arrived at the Su residence, the housekeeper shook his head. “Young Master hasn’t come back yet.”

Fang Xian frowned. “How could that be? Where did he go?”

“That’s why I came to find you, Miss Fang,” Ye Feng said calmly. But beneath his composed expression, she sensed a quiet heaviness.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is something you need to tell me?”

Ye Feng gave a faint smile. “Yes. There are things you should know.”

Under the soft glow of the Su family’s gate light, Ye Feng led her inside. His voice was calm but grave.

“Ah Qian is… a special child,” he began. “He was born with Asperger’s Syndrome. Because of that, his life in the Su family has never been easy. The other young masters and ladies have always excluded him — once, they even pushed him into the pool and claimed he jumped in himself. They laughed at him behind his back, mocked his intelligence, called his differences strange.”

Ye Feng sighed deeply. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he didn’t lose his mind back then.”

Fang Xian’s chest tightened painfully.

She had never known what kind of world Su Qian had grown up in. How cruel it must have been. All this time, she had thought the Su family’s wealth meant he lived comfortably — but now she realized how wrong she’d been.

“He was sent to this town not for ‘recuperation,’ but because they didn’t want him around,” Ye Feng continued. “They call it recovery, but it’s exile.”

“Exile?” Fang Xian echoed in disbelief. “Was it really that serious?”

Ye Feng nodded. “He can’t even greet strangers properly. He gets lost in his own world, obsessed with small things — invoices, collections, anything familiar. People who don’t understand just shake their heads.”

Fang Xian remembered the first time she met him — in the snack shop near school, his eyes fixed on a pile of receipts as if nothing else existed.

Ye Feng went on, “His studies were interrupted. He couldn’t even stay in school for long. Don’t be fooled — he’s in the same grade as you, but he’s actually two years older.”

Fang Xian’s face grew pale as she listened. Every word sank into her heart like a weight.

Ye Feng glanced at her and sighed softly. “I can tell his story pains you — but it’s something you deserve to know.”