Chapter 5

Chapter 5

During the meal, Butler Zhong had the department store deliver children's clothes, toys, toiletries, and bath supplies. He also redecorated the room next to Wen Zhi’s, adding a child's bed, a nightlight, and plush toys—it looked incredibly cozy.

As Butler Zhong led the delivery staff through the living room, a highly resistant voice came from the bathroom: "The Grand Tutor said a ruler must dress properly..."

The staff exchanged glances, and Butler Zhong gave a knowing chuckle. "The little one watches too much historical drama."

From the moment they met, the young master had kept calling her 'Royal Mother Consort,' so Butler Zhong was already used to it.

In the bathroom, Wen Zhi held up a Doraemon-themed short-sleeved pajama set and coaxed, "Be good, Mu Mu. Everyone here wears this."

Little Dumpling stared at the powder blue Doraemon on the pajamas for a moment before reluctantly giving in. "Fine... but only at night. During the day, I want to wear something with sleeves."

Wen Zhi smiled and nodded. Take it slow—whatever other children had, her Mu Mu would have too.

Little Dumpling insisted on changing by himself. Wen Zhi showed him how to put on the pajamas and waited outside. Soon, he emerged in the powder blue Doraemon pajamas, clip-clopping into the room in duck-patterned slippers.

His porcelain-pale face was flushed pink from the steam, and his dark eyes looked up at her while his small hands fidgeted with the short sleeves. "Royal Mother Consort, I'm ready."

Wen Zhi was utterly charmed. She crouched down, pinched his cheek, and said, "From now on, you can't call me 'Royal Mother Consort' anymore. You have to say 'Mommy.'"

Mu Mu's face turned solemn. "I know. Big Head Toddler calls his parents 'Mommy' and 'Daddy.' Don’t worry, Mommy. Mu Mu understands. A lot of things here are different from Great Yong, but Mu Mu will work hard to learn."

"You're amazing, Mu Mu." Wen Zhi ruffled his hair. "Should Mommy tell you a bedtime story?"

Mu Mu blinked. "Can I use the iPad instead?"

The little boy had already realized how many things here differed from Great Yong—terms of address, habits, even the writing. He had so much to learn.

Wen Zhi nodded. "Sure, but not for too long." She handed him the iPad and pointed at the time. "You must sleep by ten."

Little Dumpling gave a faint smile, then quickly schooled his expression, as if fearing it wasn’t dignified enough, and made a firm promise.

Wen Zhi tucked a plush toy beside him. "If you get scared at night, you can come to Mommy’s room or hug this to sleep."

Little Dumpling glanced at the plush toy, his expression screaming refusal. "No need. I’m not a three-year-old."

Dead tired, Wen Zhi closed the door and headed straight to bed. When she got up for water in the middle of the night, she noticed light still coming from the next room. Curious, she cracked the door open and saw Little Dumpling hugging the plush toy, turning it left and right before burying his face in its soft belly and nuzzling it.

After playing with the toy, he lay on the bed, blinking as he examined the nightlight, pressing the switch on and off repeatedly. His eyes were shining with childlike wonder.

Once done with the light, he tiptoed to the floor-length mirror, touching it curiously. After exploring every corner of the room, he finally crawled under the covers and settled down to sleep.

Wen Zhi’s lips curled slightly. That's more like it—why hold back curiosity?

The consequence of staying up late was sleeping in until seven. Little Dumpling ate breakfast in a grumpy mood. Wen Zhi gathered the necessary documents, verified her identity at the police station, and registered Mu Mu’s household residency. Then, she took him to the cemetery to visit her parents’ graves.

The cemetery was sparsely populated; the occasional visitor came and went. Wen Zhi placed flowers at the tombstone, knelt in respect, then stood up to gaze at her parents' smiling portraits.

A breeze lifted the hem of her dress, and an aura of loneliness enveloped her.

Little Dumpling looked at the tombstone, then up at her, slipping his tiny hand into hers. "Mommy, don’t be sad. You still have Mu Mu."

Wen Zhi looked down at his sweet, milky-soft face, and the loneliness instantly melted away. She smiled softly. "I’m not sad. I’m sure they’ve gone to another Great Yong dynasty."

"As long as we live well, they’ll live well too."

Little Dumpling nodded half-understanding.

Just as the two were about to leave, Wen Jinyuan and his wife approached with flowers in hand.

Wen Zhi narrowed her eyes: *Since they couldn’t get into the old mansion, they’ve cornered me here instead.*

She turned to take another path, but Wen Jinyuan stepped in front of her first, eyeing Mu Mu with a forced smile. "Xiao Zhi, is this really your son?"

Wen Zhi replied coldly, "Spit it out."

Wen Jinyuan’s smile vanished as he squinted. "I heard the child’s surname is Lu? I’m just here to remind you—the Wen fortune shouldn’t go to someone with an outsider’s name. Even if he’s your son, it’s not right."

Wen Zhi played nice. "Then who do you suggest they should go to?"

Wen Jinyuan had the gall to say, "Of course, to my Xiao Wen! Your father was out of his mind leaving everything to a married daughter, but you shouldn’t make the same mistake."

In Great Yong, some without sons would pass their wealth to nephews, leaving daughters with nothing.

*The Qing Dynasty’s long gone, but this uncle’s still stuck in the past.*

Wen Zhi sneered, "Then, Uncle, will you leave all your assets to your son in the future?"

"Obviously," Wen Jinyuan snapped impatiently. "And another thing—how can Wen Group be managed by an outsider? You should go to the company and speak up, get that Yun guy removed from the CEO position."

As he rambled, Wen Zhi cut in, "What does Wen Group have to do with you?"

Wen Jinyuan faltered.

Wen Zhi took Mu Mu’s hand to leave, but he blocked her again. "Who raised you?"

Mu Mu frowned and kicked him square in the kneecap.

Wen Jinyuan dismissed the child, refusing to dodge as he reached for Wen Zhi. But the next second, his knee exploded in pain, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes before the tombstone, tears welling in his eyes.

"You little—" Before he could curse, Wen Zhi slammed his head onto the cold stone. Her voice was icy. "If you came to pay respects, then kowtow like you mean it."

His wife lunged forward, but one look from Wen Zhi iced her in place.

Only after forcing him to knock his head twice did Wen Zhi stand, warning, "Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Count yourself lucky you still have a desk at the company—ending up homeless wouldn’t be fun."

Sunglasses on, she led Mu Mu away, Zhou Li’s shrieks trailing after them.

Wen Zhi smirked. *Some parents ought to do the world a favor and drop dead.*

After returning from the cemetery, Mu Mu was glued to his tablet, cramming like his life depended on it, while Wen Zhi met with a lawyer to put the Wen fortune legally in her name.

Butler Zhong wired the payment to Director Fang, who promptly sent over the show’s filming schedule, asking for their address. The crew’d show up at 8 sharp two days later to film the preview at each guest’s home.

Since she figured she’d just ride out this season with Mu Mu and bail, Wen Zhi saw no need to reveal too much. She chose a plain two-bedroom flat in one of the Wen properties for filming.

That night, after packing, Wen Zhi ordered a full table of high-end raw seafood. Mu Mu took one bite and spat it out, his face twisted like he’d bitten a lemon. "Raw?"

Wen Zhi happily devoured a shrimp, grinning. "Can’t handle it? No worries—Mom’s got it covered. I’ll ask the chef to make you a kid’s meal." *Haven’t pigged out like this in ten-plus years.*

As he ate his meal, Mu Mu kept glancing at his teary-eyed mother, chest tightening. *Are things so bad we can’t even light a stove? She’s choking this down just to pretend—look, she’s even tearing up…*

Right then, he swore to himself: study like hell, earn money, and give his mother a better life.

Meanwhile, the staff peeking from the kitchen gaped, *Damn, that’s some cash! This spread’s gotta be six figures easy!*

After finishing the seafood, Wen Zhi drank an entire bottle of Lafite, getting so drunk that she smothered Mu Mu with kisses and lifted him up high.

She ended up falling asleep while telling a bedtime story.

Little Dumpling thoughtfully tucked her in, sitting by the bed and copying his nanny’s way of patting the quilt to soothe him. In a tiny, babyish voice, he murmured to himself, "Mommy, don’t be sad... Mu Mu will be your daddy."

In the middle of the night, her stomach churned with sharp pain, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

*Thud!*

The bedside lamp was knocked over, and her eyes flew open as the stomachache intensified.

Wen Zhi mentally cursed herself: *I knew my stomach was weak, yet I still recklessly ate so much.*

The light in the next room flicked on first, and Little Dumpling came running in his slippers, pitter-patter. When he turned on the light and saw her ghostly pale and drenched in sweat, he screamed in fright.

Soon, Butler Zhong and the others were alerted.

Fifteen minutes later, the Wen family’s usual doctor arrived, checked her over, and started an IV drip. Little Dumpling stared at her lying motionless on the bed, then at the long IV tube, and his face scrunched up. With a loud wail, he burst into tears.

He threw himself onto the bed, clutching her waist, and cried fearfully, "M-Mommy, don’t die! Don’t leave Mu Mu!" To Little Dumpling, even though this was his mother’s hometown, she was the only person he knew and relied on.

For all his maturity, he was only five, after all—and he was truly terrified.

Wen Zhi’s stomach ached from his shaking, but she fought back nausea and patted his back with her free hand. "It’s okay, Mu Mu. I’m fine, just had a stomachache."

Little Dumpling peered up, eyes swimming with tears. "Really?"

After receiving reassurance from Wen Zhi and the doctor, he finally stopped crying.

Once her symptoms eased, the doctor advised, "Ms. Wen, you’ve always had a weak stomach. From now on, you must be careful with your diet—avoid raw, cold, and spicy foods."

Wen Zhi waved it away, but Mu Mu listened intently.

Due to the upcoming show recording, the still-weak Wen Zhi and Mu Mu were moved to a small two-bedroom apartment in the city center.

Uncle Zhong, worried, asked anxiously, "Should we cancel the show? A measly hundred grand isn’t worth it." The Wen family’s wealth was enough for the miss and young master to live comfortably for generations.

Wen Zhi shook her head. "I promised Mu Mu I’d go with him. Just this once."

By the day of the official recording, she had recovered somewhat.

At five in the morning, Mu Mu woke up on time, changed clothes, washed up, folded his blanket, ran through a martial arts routine, and then sat in the living room studying while waiting for Uncle Zhong to send breakfast over.

The doorbell *ding-donged*, and Mu Mu set down his iPad, running to open the inner door. Through the security gate, he faced a faceless camera lens.

Behind the camera, the director and a small assistant smiled and greeted him, "Hello, Mu Mu! We’re from the *Baby!* program team. Can we come in?"

In the middle of summer, the little boy in front of them was dressed in long sleeves with an additional vest layered on top—he must’ve been boiling.

Meanwhile, the official *Baby!* livestream platform was flooded with comments:

"OMG… Where did this little angel come from? He’s like a jade dumpling—I wanna pinch him!"

"A long-haired little prince! Oh my god, his eyes are so beautiful!"

"AHHHHH, my maternal instincts are kicking in! Whose celebrity kid is this?"

"Why is the mom dressing him in so many layers?"

The two people standing at the door were strangers Mu Mu didn't recognize. He remembered TV warnings about never opening the door for unfamiliar faces.

But recalling that they were shooting a show today, Mu Mu worried they might actually be from the production team. So he said firmly, "Can I see your IDs?"

The director and assistant stood there, stunned.

They wanted to, but their IDs were downstairs with their colleagues. They had only brought the equipment up.

Seeing no response, Little Dumpling frowned and slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

The director and assistant stood there frozen.

Live stream viewers were full of confused comments.

"??? What’s happening? LMAO, the crew got left outside?"

"I thought the kid was cute earlier, but now he seems so rude."

"How is that rude? Not opening the door for strangers is basic safety rules. If the crew can’t prove who they are, they deserve to be locked out."

"LMAO, the crew can’t prove they’re the crew."

"Seriously, this kid is so stern. So adorable but doesn’t smile—not liking this +1."

"Not liking this +2"

The director knocked on the door a few more times, but there was no response. The assistant, in a flash of inspiration, turned to the live stream viewers for help: "We’re in a bit of a situation here. Could any kind viewer call the production team to confirm our identity with the guest inside?"

Live stream viewers were cracking up.

"Hahahaha, the crew’s never faced this before, I’m dead!"

"Don’t call, just leave them hanging outside, hahaha."

"You guys are evil."

Despite the jokes, some helpful viewers did call the production team. Ten minutes later, soft footsteps were heard inside, and the door unlocked with a click.

Live stream viewers leaned in curiously...