"Let me ponder for a moment," Yanyan mused. "There is the Xie family from the south of the city, known for their material supply business. But their new head has only been back in the country for a few years, maintaining a low profile."

"If Xie Weihuan were truly connected to the Xie family, she'd be far more brazen. I suspect you're overthinking this," she analyzed with a seriousness that belied her usual flamboyance.

"Ah, I must go, my honey calls. We'll catch up later," she chimed before abruptly ending the call. Her sudden departure didn't bother me.

Yanyan was right; if Xie Weihuan had the backing of the Xie family, studying abroad would be a trivial matter, unworthy of the extreme measures taken against my sister.

The source of Xie Weihuan's wealth deserved a closer inspection, yet where to begin eluded me.

This enigma often distracted me during my tutoring sessions with Gong Jue, leading to moments of absent-mindedness.

"Shuang Shuang," Jiang Lun waved his hand before my eyes, concern lacing his voice, "Are you unwell?"

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I snapped back to reality, offering a noncommittal reply before returning to the task at hand.

"Just feeling a bit under the weather," I admitted, brushing off his concern.

Gong Jue's increasing attachment and invitations for solo outings were all gently declined by me.

"Shall I accompany you to the hospital?" Jiang Lun's worry seemed genuine, his hand tentatively covering mine.

His concern wasn't for me, though, but rather for the unresolved matters with Xie Weihuan, the stress of his debt-ridden household wearing him thin.

I withdrew my hand, indifferent. "No need."

Desperation crept into Jiang Lun's demeanor as he raked his fingers through his hair.

"Could you wait for me after work? I have something to say," he requested, hope flickering in his eyes.

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded, curious about his intentions.

His surprised reaction was almost comical, and he quickly ascended the stairs, barely containing his eagerness.

When our work concluded, and we sat across from each other, Jiang Lun's arrogance returned.

"Jiang, what was it you wanted to discuss?" I inquired, cautious not to provoke him.

"It's nothing major. I noticed you weren't feeling well, so I had the kitchen prepare a soup for you. Perhaps you're just overworked. Have some and rest," he urged, pushing the bowl towards me.

The rich, oily sheen of the chicken soup seemed inviting, a signature of our housekeeper's culinary skills, yet something about it seemed off.

"My stomach's been sensitive lately; it's too rich for me," I declined, attempting to push the bowl away, only for Jiang Lun to insist.

"Just a sip; it's very nourishing," he persisted, confirming my suspicions of foul play.