Chapter 22: The Door He Could Never Close
Lin Xu had never driven so fast in his life.
The city lights of Linyun blurred past in fractured streaks as he rushed through wet midnight streets, one hand gripping the steering wheel too tightly, the other clenched around Lu Zhen's phone.
The cracked screen still glowed faintly in his palm.
The message beneath the photograph had not changed.
Come get him before I lose patience.
No signature.
No name.
But Lin Xu already knew exactly whose shadow had stepped back into Lu Zhen's life.
And the thought of Lu Zhen facing that man alone—
terrified him.
—
By the time Lin Xu reached the apartment building, rain had begun again.
Cold and sharp against pavement.
The hallway outside Lu Zhen's apartment was empty.
Only scattered keys on the floor.
A dropped bag.
And silence.
Lin Xu's pulse pounded as he bent quickly to gather them.
Then—
the apartment door across the hall opened.
An elderly neighbor stepped out, startled by the sudden movement.
"You're looking for the young man from 8B?" she asked.
Lin Xu turned sharply.
"Yes. Where is he?"
The woman hesitated.
"He ran outside. Looked terrified."
Her voice lowered.
"There was an older man here. They argued."
Lin Xu didn't wait for more.
He ran.
—
Three blocks away, near the abandoned riverside warehouse road behind Lanqiao Bridge,
Lu Zhen sat crouched beneath a broken bus shelter in the rain.
His breathing came in ragged bursts.
Hands shaking violently.
Rainwater soaked through his coat unnoticed.
His phone was gone.
His keys gone.
Everything blurred in fragments around him.
The sound of footsteps in puddles made him flinch so hard his whole body recoiled.
Then a familiar voice broke through panic:
"Lu Zhen."
Lin Xu.
The name alone cracked something inside him.
Lu Zhen looked up—
and the moment he saw him,
whatever fragile control he had left collapsed.
Lin Xu reached him in seconds.
Dropped to his knees in front of him without hesitation.
"Hey—hey, it's me."
Lu Zhen's lips trembled, but no words came.
Only breathless panic.
Only terror still trapped in his chest.
Lin Xu removed his own coat immediately and wrapped it around Lu Zhen's soaked shoulders.
Then pulled him into his arms.
Tight.
Steady.
Protective.
And for the first time that night—
Lu Zhen let himself break.
A sound escaped him—
small, shattered, almost childlike.
Not crying exactly.
Something older than tears.
Something grief-shaped.
Lin Xu held him closer.
One hand against the back of his head.
The other bracing trembling shoulders.
"You're safe," he whispered.
"He can't hurt you."
But Lu Zhen was shaking too hard to believe safety yet.
Because safety had never come this quickly before.
Never stayed.
—
It took nearly twenty minutes before Lu Zhen's breathing slowed enough for words.
They sat inside Lin Xu's parked car afterward,
heater running softly.
Rain tapping against windows.
Lu Zhen stared blankly ahead,
hands still trembling in his lap.
Lin Xu said nothing at first.
Only waited.
Finally—
Lu Zhen whispered:
"…He used to lock me in closets."
Lin Xu turned toward him slowly.
The words were quiet.
Flat.
As if emotion had frozen around them long ago.
"When I cried too loudly.
When I made him angry.
When my mother tried to stop him…"
His throat tightened visibly.
"…He said fear made children obedient."
Silence filled the car like a wound opening.
Lin Xu's hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.
But he forced his voice calm:
"Your father?"
Lu Zhen nodded once.
A broken motion.
Then pressed trembling fingers against his mouth as though trying to hold himself together physically.
"…After my mother died, he got worse."
Lin Xu stopped breathing.
Because now pieces were falling into place.
The slammed doors.
The fear of shouting.
The panic at sudden touch.
The shattered reflexes built from surviving cruelty.
And suddenly—
Lin Xu understood how much pain Lu Zhen had carried alone.
How much of him had been built from endurance.
—
Meanwhile, across campus,
Zhou Kai and Song Yan were halfway through late-night noodles when Lin Xu's emergency text arrived.
Need help. Lu Zhen crisis. Hospital café entrance.
Zhou Kai stood so abruptly his chair nearly fell.
Song Yan was already reaching for his coat.
Neither asked questions.
Some things required only presence.
—
Back at the apartment building—
Lu Zhen's father was still there when police arrived.
Because Lin Xu had called them before leaving.
He stood calm in the hallway,
hands folded in coat pockets,
expression unreadable as officers questioned him.
When Lin Xu returned later to retrieve Lu Zhen's belongings,
the man looked at him with unsettling composure.
"You must be Lin Xu."
Lin Xu stopped cold.
The older man's gaze was sharp.
Measuring.
Predatory in a way too controlled to be loud.
"He talks in his sleep," the man said quietly.
"He used to say your name recently."
Rage flashed hot behind Lin Xu's ribs.
But he held still.
Because anger would give this man power.
And Lin Xu understood immediately:
This was a man who weaponized calmness.
Who injured through control, not chaos.
"He's not your possession anymore," Lin Xu said coldly.
The man's expression did not change.
"He is still my son."
"No," Lin Xu answered.
"He is someone who survived you."
For the first time—
something dangerous darkened the man's face.
But before he could respond,
the police officer returned and instructed him downstairs for formal questioning.
He left without another word.
Yet the silence he left behind felt like unfinished threat.
—
At St. Aurem Medical Center café waiting lounge,
Lu Zhen sat wrapped in blankets with untouched tea before him.
Zhou Kai arrived first,
breathless and pale.
The moment he saw Lu Zhen's face—
his usual humor vanished completely.
"…Why didn't you call us?"
Lu Zhen lowered his eyes.
Because he had no answer.
Song Yan sat beside him quietly.
Not speaking.
Only placing one hand over Lu Zhen's clenched fist.
A small steady weight.
And somehow—
that simple gesture nearly brought tears again.
Soon after, Lin Xu returned.
The second Lu Zhen saw him—
his breathing visibly steadied.
That did not go unnoticed by anyone.
Especially not Zhou Kai,
who looked away with suspiciously wet eyes and muttered:
"…You two are disgustingly in love."
Song Yan elbowed him sharply.
But even Lu Zhen managed the faintest broken laugh.
And in that fragile exhausted moment—
surrounded by the people who had chosen to stay—
something unfamiliar settled inside him.
Not peace.
Not yet.
But the beginning of it.
Because for the first time since childhood,
when terror came for him—
he had not faced it alone.