There was never any “chip evidence.” It was just a chip Xun Xun picked up on a whim—same kind of program, different model. Those high-perched nobles wouldn’t dirty their fingers studying tools meant for slaves.

Guilt sat like a shadow in their hearts; even forged proof, flimsy as paper, would split their lacquered masks. With Xun Xun so sure, a fake could turn real.

Jiujiu had worried at first. Now the tide was with Xun Xun. Their plan had been tight: plant a chip in his head, make him obey, gag the victim, and drown truth in lies.

But Xun Xun came back with a clear head and no chip. As the one bitten, he knew someone in the clan had framed him. The Magic Tool that let him escape came from his mother; linking it to her was only natural.

He still lacked a killing blow—no decisive proof, just his word. She could slip away, shed the blame onto someone else: his second uncle, any aunt down the line, whoever fit the storm.

“I’m innocent too. Search me if you don’t believe it. Test whatever you want. You won’t find a trace of me.”

Xun Xun wanted to end the clash with flair, but her one line snapped him back to hard ground. He did have a chip—fake. If they dug, something would crack.

They had no hard evidence besides the Magic Tool she’d handed him. She smoothed it over with calm water: “Keeping little Xun inside isn’t good. I gave him a Magic Tool for protection outside. He’s always wanted to go out. As his mother, I should grant a small wish.”

On the face of it, nothing sounded wrong. But who outfits Xun Xun for a stroll with a Magic Tool? That’s help in another name—helping him slip the cage.

Even if she had joined the trap, people would say she’d been threatened. A mother harming her child? Unthinkable. And her Magic Tool was the key ring in his escape chain.

Wind flipped. Opinion turned. Xun Xun’s side fell under the draft. Calling his mother guilty made him look unfilial. Voices swelled, family tongues flapped, a clamor of judgment miles wide.

“So I’ll report.”

She saw the current settle and raised one delicate finger. It pointed to Xun Xun’s second uncle, who had been watching like a melon-eater at a street show, now suddenly the target. He froze, then cooled, face sinking like stone.

“First a child slanders his mother, then a mother slanders her kin. Fitting pair. But we speak with proof. What evidence says I laid hands on Xun Xun?”

“And my companies outside are blazing. Why would I seize family assets, steal my elder brother’s firm? Be blunt—what’s it worth? I can make more on my own.”

He slapped his chest, rolled his gut, and glared—like a red-faced opera general, all bluster, short of calling for a war blade.

Truth be told, his profits in recent years sat just a shade below Xun Xun’s father’s. Same clan soil, different trees. He didn’t surpass, but ran close.

If Xun Xun’s father was a born business genius, then the second uncle was the late-spring prodigy of the family.

Xun Xun’s father had stockpiled strength, then staked the second uncle, letting the clan’s funding chain lift his first bucket of gold. People said, if he’d had enough capital back then, he would’ve been the clan’s axis.

Start from the same line, build with bare hands—Xun Xun’s father still edged him out. So the second uncle stayed the late-blooming genius.

Back to the point. Faced with her accusation, the second uncle was rattled for a breath, then wore the steadiness of a man seasoned in offices and halls. His flare was a spark; his calm returned.

He wasn’t wrong. He was rich enough. He didn’t need the father’s assets.

With Xun Xun’s charge against his mother landing first, her words lost weight. As he said, this needed proof. He had no motive. Her story looked like smoke and misdirection.

Heads nodded. The crowd agreed—the second uncle had no reason to strike. Her claim felt pale, a topic shift. The focus slid back onto her.

Just when everyone thought the scene was closing, Xun Xun’s mother dropped a thunderclap.

“If you don’t believe me, search the second uncle’s personal effects. You’ll find the materials and evidence used to frame Xun Xun.”

Of course the second uncle refused. Who lets others paw through his private things? He wasn’t Xun Xun—his circle had layers of hands. No way unfriendly eyes got in.

But if Xun Xun’s mother clamped down like a mad dog and wouldn’t let go, Xun Xun’s father would push a hard search.

He didn’t want to turn the bridge to ash with Xun Xun’s father. So he opened wide—his private file bag, some important bundles—on one condition: only the father would look.

Xun Xun’s father took the items and turned each page with care. Office files sat neat and squared: mostly future plans. He skimmed and moved on.

At the last sheet, a sealed letter slipped free. It came from the mother’s clan, addressed to him. They wanted him to join hands and take down Xun Xun’s father, crown him the first genius of commerce. The letter looked fake at a glance, and the second uncle had done nothing.

Someone wanted the spearpoint to swivel at the mother’s clan. They were wealthy warlords in their own right—hard to bite.

The second uncle seemed unaware, yet it was a sharp piece of proof. Show it, and it marked him as plotting. The mother could claim clan coercion and wash herself clean.

And maybe the letter wasn’t fake. Her clan had tried to recruit the second uncle. He hadn’t opened this one, but doubt is a worm—once seen, it gnaws. He might talk about surpassing his elder by skill, yet the path on paper was ruin the rival, seize the firm, win by wreckage.

The hall turned noisy, heat and whispers rising. Xun Xun’s father stared at the letter for a long quiet, and the second uncle went pale—had someone slipped a knife-paper into his bag?

Xun Xun and Jiujiu stood center stage. Things were sliding off the track they’d planned. They were young; the culprit stood within arm’s reach, yet they had no blade to pin her.

She was too smart, a snake in grass. Xun Xun couldn’t catch a single scale of proof.

His father thought hard, measuring bridges and fault lines. The murmurs built like rain. He finally spoke, voice low but steady:

“This letter lists the plans of my child’s mother’s clan, delivered to Xun Xun’s second uncle. He hasn’t opened it. I’ll treat it as suspicion and place monitors in your company for one week.”

He paused, turned to Xun Xun’s mother, and sighed, long as wind in bamboo:

“Xun Xun’s mother was coerced by her clan. She can be forgiven. But you must choose a side—your clan, or us. A cold war is coming. I need to know where you stand.”

Her tears fell like pear blossoms in rain. She chose Xun Xun’s father without a blink. She said she had no tie to those old snakes who wanted to harm her child; she wished to fight for him.

Xun Xun hadn’t expected this turn. The one they aimed to bring down stood intact, her name shining brighter. And he, for one misstep, wore the tag of an unfilial son.

She stepped forward again—delicate face, wet lashes, panic ringed with soft love.

“Please don’t misunderstand. I was involved, but only under clan pressure. My child’s judgment was right. I owe him an apology here.”

At that moment she cut the gossip off at the root and lifted her own character another rung.

Xun Xun swallowed his unwillingness and smiled back at his mother.

Her voice faded, and the hall’s rumble fell to hush. Xun Xun’s father shook his head, broke the crowd apart, and drew Xun Xun and Jiujiu into an empty room.

“You did well this time. Compared to before, you’ve grown a lot. That makes me proud.”

Xun Xun had braced for criticism, but the first line was praise.

“Against rookies, you would’ve shut them down. But you faced an old fox with decades of polish. Losing was no shame. She’s thorough—clumsy in spots, but anything tied to her is mostly washed clean.”

“You’re my child. You have the right to chase what you want. The clan will break into strife. Will you stay, or go?”

Xun Xun drew a deep breath and glanced at Jiujiu.

“I’ll stay. It’s exactly why I came back.”