CHAPTER 319: TRIAL BY ELDER (PART 2)

Micah lay motionless on the padded bed, his head turned slightly to one side as Uncle Lin carefully inserted the next thin needle into his arm.

Micah pressed his lips together. "I know you advised me not to stray from my goal, that the universe had chosen me to carry this responsibility for a reason, that maybe I’m the last hope..." he paused, "But it’s really hard to..." his voice faltered. He swallowed hard, gaze flickering toward Uncle Lin before darting away, ashamed of sounding weak.

Uncle Lin’s hand paused in midair, the last needle balanced deliberately between his fingers. His eyes narrowed, creases deepening across his weathered face. To him, the boy’s hesitation carried a different meaning. His heart sank like a stone tossed into the water. Did Micah mean it was hard because of Clyde?

When his son, Lin Heye, told him that Clyde was Micah, his heart had swelled with joy. He had almost believed fate was merciful for once. But now, hearing Micah’s fragile words, the joy turned to anger. His brows furrowed.

What on earth had that brat done? How had Clyde pushed Micah so far that he sounded weary of being by his side? Uncle Lin’s fingers itched with the childish urge to tug Clyde’s ear until he admitted every sin. That damn stone-faced boy!

His voice softened, though, hiding the storm inside. He adjusted the angle of the final needle and said calmly, "No one said you had to carry it alone. You can always ask for help. Even from me." His tone carried weight, firm yet comforting, as if to stake a claim: Micah had backup.

Micah’s expression softened. So it wasn’t that bad to let Clyde know. Yeah, he needed Clyde’s support. He feared he would break before he could help anyone. "Thanks, Grandpa Lin. I’ll hold to that offer."

"Good." Uncle Lin gave a satisfied nod, tucking the tray aside and straightening up. His eyes gleamed with quiet resolve. "Now tell me what he has done. I’m his elder. You can complain to me." His hands rested firmly on his lower back, the picture of an old general demanding intelligence before a battle.

"Right.... Well, He is so pushy. Always nagging me about what to do and not to do!" Micah grumbled. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he spoke.

"Probably he worries too much." Uncle Lin said mildly.

"Don’t take his side, Grandpa Lin!" Micah wailed. "If you knew everything he has done, you would be the first to tell me to kick his ass! But alas! What can I do? He is annoyingly nice, without him, I would have screwed up several times!" His tone shifted midway, softening with reluctant honesty, lips curling into a pout he tried to hide.

Uncle Lin arched a brow, his mouth twitching upward. "Are you praising him or complaining about him?" he asked with a chuckle, voice carrying both amusement and relief.

Micah smiled despite himself. "That’s the problem." His eyes softened, betraying a warmth that contradicted his words.

Uncle Lin shook his head, his sigh barely audible. At least Micah still spoke fondly of Clyde. He hadn’t given up on him. That was enough for now. But still, Uncle Lin’s eyes hardened as he adjusted his robe sleeves. Clyde needed to be warned. Yeah. He had to talk to that stone-cold, rigid man. If he continued pressing without care, annoying Micah, he might truly lose Micah.

For heaven’s sake, this might be Clyde’s last chance to find happiness. What if Micah cut him off completely?

Uncle Lin formed a plan in his head to scold Clyde after the session.

As Micah settled back against the pillow, a faint smile tugging at his lips, the frustration that had pressed him down earlier seemed to vanish. Talking with Grandpa Lin about Clyde, being able to grumble openly without judgment, felt like a release. More than that, Grandpa Lin hadn’t scolded him, hadn’t looked disappointed. Instead, he had reassured him. Told him he didn’t have to give up Clyde. That simple validation soothed Micah’s stormy heart.

Outside, Clyde sat oblivious, unaware he was being roasted mercilessly by the very boy he liked. He hunched forward on the wooden chair in the hallway, elbows braced on his knees, one hand pressed to his mouth in thought. His phone glowed in his other hand as he flicked through messages to his assistant.

He was too busy plotting ways to bend the university’s rules subtly, to slip Micah an exemption from dorm living. His mind spun in circles: dorm regulations, loopholes, leverage. Screw it. He couldn’t stand the idea of going days without seeing Micah. His brows furrowed, thumb flying across the screen with urgent instructions.

When the session ended, Micah stepped out of the treatment room. His gait was lighter, shoulders unburdened, his expression calmer than it had been all evening. He spotted Clyde immediately, hunched over like some restless beast chained too long, and a pang of amusement softened his lips. Still, his steps slowed.

Behind him, Uncle Lin emerged, his robe swishing softly as he walked. His face, however, had transformed; gone was the warmth he had shown Micah moments ago. His features set into stern lines, eyes sharp as steel. His hands folded neatly behind his back, posture straight as a rod.

"Clyde," he called, his voice curt. "Can I have a word with you?"

Micah paused, blinking between them. His eyes widened slightly. Wait! Was Grandpa Lin serious? He thought the old man had been half-jesting when he threatened to meddle. But now... oh no. What if he really gave Clyde an earful? A hard time? Wouldn’t that make him a snitch? Micah’s chest tightened with sudden guilt.

Then again...Micah’s lips twitched. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He didn’t have the heart to scold Clyde harshly himself. If Grandpa Lin did it for him, maybe it would balance things out. Maybe Clyde would actually listen to him. The thought sparked a mischievous glint in his eyes. He smirked faintly, deciding to let the old man handle it. Without hesitation, he slipped toward the reception desk, pretending to busy himself with booking another session.

Clyde straightened immediately at the summons, sliding his phone into his pocket. He stepped into the room behind Uncle Lin, the door closing softly behind them.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Uncle Lin stood upright in the centre, his silhouette outlined by the window’s muted light. His hands remained clasped behind him, his back straight, every trace of gentleness stripped away. He looked formidable. Like a magistrate ready to pass judgment.

"Uncle Lin." Clyde dipped his head respectfully.

"Tell me," Uncle Lin began, his tone clipped. "Can’t you show more flexibility toward him? You know he is younger than you. Even though you didn’t get to spend your younger years like others did, you can at least try to understand him. He should experience things to grow up. Too many shields won’t be good." His gaze bored into Clyde, voice rolling like a lecture that carried both authority and disappointment.

Clyde stood, puzzled. What exactly had that mischievous boy told Uncle Lin? Surely Micah hadn’t mentioned Asena. Or the WeChat account pretending to be Aidan. No, he wouldn’t. But then, what had he said? Let him experience what?

Clyde didn’t talk back. He dropped his head dejectedly and listened to the older man scolding him nonstop.