Fresh from leading the werewolf pack to a resounding victory in reclaiming the borderlands,I was suddenly bathed in a newfound aura of honor and power.

As I stood there, basking in the afterglow of our success, my phone buzzed, shattering the momentary peace.

A selfie from my son, Cupid, materialized on the screen.

One glance at his face, marred by a deep - set frown and a look of abject misery, and my heart, which had been forged into an unyielding steel through countless savage battles lurched violently

My initial impulse was to tell Cupid that in a few days, upon my return to the werewolf stronghold, I would whisk him away to the most enigmatic and breathtaking valley within the pack's domain.

My eyes locked onto the faint, yet unmistakable bruises that mottled his skin, some purple, some green, like a macabre map of pain. Instantly, a sense of foreboding gripped me.

I treaded carefully, choosing my words with the utmost caution.

But his responses were disjointed, a jumbled mess of half - formed thoughts and evasions.

Before I knew it, the conversation abruptly ended, and he ceased to reply, leaving me in a state of growing anxiety.

Determined to uncover the truth, I decided to delve into his "werewolf social sphere."

I scrolled through the posts.

And then I stumbled upon a post from my adopted son, Bran. It was a photo of his room, and in an instant, my blood ran cold. There, perched on Bran's bedside table, was the Transformer toy that Cupid had cherished above all else.

It was his constant companion, a source of comfort in the darkest of times.

I could still vividly recall that fateful day when Cupid, as a young pup, accompanied an elder on a long and arduous journey to a distant land for a sacred ceremony.

He had wept inconsolably for three long days and nights,all because his beloved toy was left behind.

From that moment on, no matter where Cupid ventured, we made it an unbreakable rule to ensure his Transformer toy was by his side. And now, here it was, in Bran's possession. ​

I hastily dialed my wife about the whereabouts of the Transformer toy. However, she merely scoffed .

"Our son is already three years old. He's a little man now. Isn't it natural for him to lose interest in that old toy? Perhaps Cupid no longer wanted it and gave it to Bran."

"Don't be silly," And with a sharp "snap," she abruptly ended the call. My wife had always been dotingly affectionate towards Cupid.

When he was a baby, even the slightest scrape or bruise during playtime would reduce her to tears.

The memory of Cupid's inconsolable weeping for three long days and nights when he was separated from his Transformer toy, followed by a severe illness that left him bedridden, was seared into our mind. There was no way she could have simply forgotten such a significant event.

But in the past two years, her attitude towards Cupid has seemingly changed completely, turning unusually cold.

Cupid was accidentally scratched by his opponent while practicing the Wolf 's combat technique, with a long gash running across his arm. In the past, she would have rushed over immediately, looking at the wound with heart - wrenching concern. But this time, she merely cast a cold glance and said indifferently, "Go and have the witch doctor take care of it yourself."

I decided to immediately set off back to the Wolf Castle.

Full of misgivings, I opened Bran's "Wolf Circle" page once again. However, this time, the page was completely blank.

Suddenly, I remembered that I had a secondary account that had once added him.

So, I quickly switched accounts and entered his "social circle" with the secondary account.

As expected, the photo of his room that he had previously posted was still there. But, he had blocked me.

Suppressing the seething anger and unease within me, I scrutinized that photo with meticulous care.

Numerous peculiarities came to light.

By his side lay a limited - edition Rolex watch. Then, there was the remote - control racing car model he was idly playing with in his hand. A quick search revealed that it was a globally limited - edition custom - made item, worth a staggering tens of millions.

He was merely an adopted son I had sponsored two years ago, a 16 - year - old youngster. Where on earth did he get so much money to buy these top - tier luxury items? Moreover, ever since Cupid was young, I had taught him that as a member of the pack, one should revere strength, not material possessions. His usual attire was nothing more than a simple wolf - skin tunic, and his only accessory was a plain wolf - tooth pendant, which was worth no more than a hundred silver coins.

I called steward and the captain of the guards. "How has that kid Bran been performing lately?" I tried my best to sound nonchalant.

The steward's voice respectful and gentle. " Young Master Bran has been extremely well - behaved at home. He trains assiduously and never causes any trouble."

The captain of the guards chimed in from the side.

"Indeed. Young Master Bran leads a simple life. Every day, he either hones his skills in the training ground or studies ancient tomes in the library. He rarely even goes out for amusement."

Their words sounded as if they had rehearsed them in advance.

I pressed further.

"What about his daily expenses then? Has he purchased any special items?"

The steward hastily replied, "Young Master Bran is extremely thrifty. He never spends all of his monthly allowance and often donates the surplus to help the injured tribesmen."

Yet, the limited - edition remote - control racing car model worth tens of millions and the Rolex watch in Bran's social media posts were in stark contrast to the frugal image depicted by the steward. If Bran was truly as plain - living as they claimed, how could these luxury items be explained? Could it be that, as my wife had said, I was being overly sensitive and paranoid?

Finally, I reached the Wolf Castle.

It was midnight.

I noticed that the lights in my son Cupid's room were ablaze.

I quietly made my way to his door. Through the crack in the door, I saw him facing a pile of training equipment. His face was etched with anxiety, and his eyes were empty and dull.

I thought the training intensity arranged by the pack was simply too much, making him have to do extra training this late at night. I pushed the door open, intending to surprise him.

At the sound, he reacted as if a dangerous alarm had been triggered. He instinctively and swiftly shielded his body with his arms, curling up into a terrified ball.

"Cupid, don't be afraid. It's Dad," I quickly called out to soothe him.

Upon hearing my voice, he froze for a moment.

Then, like an arrow released from a bow, he flung himself into my arms, crying out in a sobbing voice,

"Dad! You're finally back!" He whimpered, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.

I held him tightly, gently patting his back "Dad is back. Why are you still training so late?"

Just as I reached out to pick up the training record book beside him, he was quick as a flash and snatched the book away.

But in that split second, I still managed to see the name on the book -- Bran.

This training record book wasn't his.

Just then, a voice came from the doorway.

"Dad, when did you get back?" Standing at the door was my adopted son, Bran.

I looked at him and pointed to the training record book, asking, "Bran, why is your training record book in Cupid's room?"

A flicker of panic flashed across Bran's eyes.

Then he looked at Cupid and said, "My little brother saw that I was so tired from training and volunteered to help me complete the training tasks."

Cupid lowered his head, his voice barely audible. "Y - yes... I offered to help my brother. It has nothing to do with him."

His voice quivered, and his body trembled uncontrollably.

My gaze immediately shifted to Bran.

Bran wore a nonchalant expression, "You heard him. My little brother said he volunteered to complete my werewolf training record. I didn't force him. Right, little brother?"

He deliberately elongated the last word, "brother."

To my ears, there seemed to be nothing amiss.

But upon hearing this, Cupid's face instantly turned deathly pale.

"Yes, brother," Cupid replied in a feeble voice.

His humble demeanor made my heart ache unbearably, and a fierce anger flared up within me.

When on earth had he fallen to the point of having to watch an outsider's expressions?

"Bran, take your training record and complete it yourself. Don't always expect others to do your work for you," .

Bran dared not refute.

He picked up the training record book and scurried back to his room.

As I drew closer to my son, I was shocked to notice his heavy dark circles, as if he hadn't had a proper rest in ages.

Most importantly, his complexion was extremely poor, sallow and emaciated. Compared to how he looked before I went on the expedition, he seemed like a completely different person.

Cupid clung tightly to my hand. With a sobbing voice, he asked, "Dad, are you not going to leave again this time you're back?"

"Dad won't leave. I'll stay right here with Cupid,"

Over the years, I had been completely absorbed in the affairs of the pack. Now, looking at the state my son was in, I was jolted into realizing how utterly wrong I was.

At his age, the care and nurturing of his soul were equally crucial.

When I asked about the whereabouts of his mother, a sudden flash of panic crossed my son's eyes.

"Mom said the pack affairs are thorny and she won't be back until very late tonight," he replied.

What on earth could be so urgent in the pack that she had to deal with it herself at such a late hour?

I told Cupid to go to bed early, but he clung tightly to the corner of my clothes. I decided to take him to my study, where there was a soft carpet and thick blankets.

I took down an ancient werewolf legend from the bookshelf, sat on the carpet, and began to tell him the story in a soft voice.

In the story, how the heroic werewolf defeated the evil forces and protected his pack.

As I was telling the story, I inadvertently caught sight of my son's leg. In the dim light, there seemed to be a fresh scar there.

"Cupid, how did you get that wound on your leg?"

At these words, he looked towards the study door in horror, as if he was afraid of being spied on by something.

Then, after stammering for a long time, he managed to squeeze out a sentence, "Dad, please don't ask. I got it by accident myself." His voice was extremely low.