Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Upstairs, in the bedroom.

Bao Tingyuan gently carried Wen Cishu to the bed and covered him with the blanket.

His large, slender hand brushed through the thick black hair while his emerald eyes—gleaming like gemstones behind his glasses—lingered on Wen Cishu’s reddened eye corners.

“Is your heart bothering you?”

Wen Cishu exhaled a long breath. “No.”

Though his heartbeat was steady, he stiffened as he recalled the original novel’s description, his expression momentarily frozen.

In the book, after Wen Cishu died of heart disease, Bao Tingyuan—who already had a pre-existing condition—could not accept the truth. At first, he barred anyone from nearing Wen Cishu’s body.

Only through persistent arrangements by both the Wen and Bao families was Wen Cishu’s body finally cremated according to funeral rites.

That very night, Bao Tingyuan took the ashes and returned to the French estate where they had once held their wedding, shutting himself away and becoming a withdrawn, brooding figure.

Even his own son, Bao Yiming, was kept at a distance.

Over the next two years, Bao Tingyuan suffered from severe dissociative disorder, living in delusions where Wen Cishu was still alive.

On the day he experienced a moment of lucidity, he dug a grave in the estate’s garden, placed a coffin inside, and lay down with the urn in his arms.

Bao Yiming had sensed something amiss that day but arrived too late—only to witness his father shoot himself.

Wen Cishu dared not dwell on the tragic scenes, his emotions momentarily frozen with grief.

Slowly, he lifted his slightly reddened eyes, glancing at the man before him to confirm he was alive and well, then lowered them again.

The deep double eyelid folds grew more pronounced, like the pleats of a Chinese fan, fluttering with each glance.

Bao Tingyuan noticed the subtle shift in his mood but couldn’t decipher the reason.

Wen Cishu parted his lips, unsure where to even begin.

Ten years of living together, yet he still didn’t truly understand Bao Tingyuan.

An impenetrable fog had always separated them.

Before, he had often been trapped in an emotional fog, unable to think clearly.

Now, he understood why.

The original author had only sketched out the parents’ story in a few lines, all for the sake of shaping Bao Yiming’s character.

After all, they were the antagonists of the story.

Readers didn’t care to know the details of their lives.

As Wen Cishu lowered his eyes in thought, his long lashes cast delicate shadows like phoenix feathers on his flawless cheeks, quivering with each flutter—so beautiful it made one yearn to kiss them.

Bao Tingyuan sensed that he seemed uncharacteristically agitated today, carrying an unusual spark of life.

He asked softly, “What are you thinking about?”

Meeting his deep green gaze, Wen Cishu remembered how deeply Bao Tingyuan loved him—to an extent beyond what most could understand—and felt an unexpected flush of shyness.

He quickly changed the subject to the child: "I'm fine, go check on Yi Ming. His little bottom probably hurts."

Standing nearby, Bao Tingyuan noticed a faint red mark on his porcelain-pale earlobe.

A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes behind his glasses.

"After the doctor checks you, I'll go down. Yi Ming's fine."

Wen Cishu listened to his Chinese—overly precise in pronunciation but spoken in a stiff, robotic tone, paired with a deep and cold voice, like a cold undercurrent in a deep pool.

In the past, whenever Bao Tingyuan spoke, it always gave him the impression of being aloof, indifferent, and even impatient.

The thing was, Bao Tingyuan never explained himself either.

A mute, maybe?

Meanwhile, Wen Cishu ignored Bao Tingyuan’s attentive care, as if he were blind.

All that talk of "love after marriage" was just a "blind and mute marriage."

Wen Cishu silently mocked:

*A mute paired with a blind man—who wouldn’t call them a "perfect match"?*

Bao Tingyuan noticed the slight furrow between his brows, as if some fleeting emotion had surfaced again, and couldn't help but frown as well.

-

Outside the bedroom.

A little boy, monkey-like, dramatically clutched his bottom, leaning against the doorframe, whining softly: "Granny Zhong, is my little dad okay? Why aren’t Uncle Chen and the rest here yet?"

Uncle Chen was the Western doctor who often visited the house, accompanied by a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner surnamed Lin.

The Bao family estate was in the city center, within three to five kilometers of the nation’s best cardiac specialty hospital and the Bao family’s private hospital.

The doctors and their assistants wouldn’t take long to arrive from the hospital.

Just as Bao Yiming finished speaking, the two doctors had already arrived.

Uncle Xu came forward and asked, "Young Master, should Dr. Lin check you—"

Bao Yiming glared in a panic, signaling secrecy.

He only pushed the door open further. "Uncles, hurry and check on my little dad. He… he passed out because I upset him."

On the large bed, Wen Cishu, who had already recovered, said calmly, "Dad didn't faint."

"Oh!" Still mindful of his sore bottom, Bao Yiming avoided his big dad and ran to the other side of the bed, grabbing his little dad’s hand.

Though the two doctors often visited the Bao residence, every time they entered this bedroom and saw the frail yet strikingly beautiful young man, it felt like stepping into another world—their footsteps and voices unconsciously softened.

Standing by the bed in a black shirt and trousers, Bao Tingyuan’s icy gaze only intensified the doctors’ unease.

They examined Wen Cishu thoroughly—first the Western doctor with his stethoscope, then the TCM doctor checking his pulse.

Wen Cishu listed his symptoms clearly: rapid heartbeat, brief blackouts, and ringing in his ears.

Used to doctors since childhood, he always reported any discomfort right away.

Bao Tingyuan listened just as intently, not saying a word.

Both doctors said it was nothing serious.

Dr. Lin remarked, "As I mentioned to Mr. Wen last time, doing Tai Chi now and then and walking around the house grounds would be good for your health."

In the past, Wen Cishu had a tendency to give up on himself and neglected exercise.

Now he readily agreed, "Alright."

Almost everyone present noticed a new spark of life in his phoenix eyes at that moment.

The two doctors exchanged glances, both surprised and touched.

Mr. Wen, who had shown no interest in anything, was now displaying such a "desire to live"?

It was indeed rare.

Before leaving, Dr. Lin reminded him, "Second Master, try to stay calm in daily life. If anything happens, first try taking deep breaths and let it go calmly."

Wen Cishu nodded. "Today was different. It won’t happen again."

The doctors and their assistants left the bedroom first.

Only the family of three remained in the room.

Wen Cishu looked at the kid on his left.

He recalled the original plot and how the child had put up with the pain to check on him after being spanked, and he felt even more tenderhearted.

"Yi Ming, does your butt still hurt?"

He tried to sit up but was stopped simultaneously by both father and son.

Bao Tingyuan rested a hand on his shoulder, urging him to lie back down, his tone almost commanding, "Stay put."

Bao Yiming patted his little father’s slender arm. "My butt's okay, Daddy. Don't worry."

After being spanked earlier, he had thought really hard before realizing—if he entered the entertainment industry but his little father was too ill to watch him sing and dance, what good would that be?!

Of course—

The little one lifted his gaze and snuck a peek at his strict, imposing father.

—He was definitely going to write about the spanking in his diary tonight!

Hearing his well-behaved words, Wen Cishu felt deeply comforted and asked, "So, does that mean you won’t join the entertainment industry anymore?"

Bao Yiming pressed his lips together and, under his little father’s gentle gaze, silently lowered his head, mumbling in a tiny voice, "No… I still want to audition for the show."

Wen Cishu: "..."

Where on earth did this stubbornness come from?

Probably inherited from Bao Tingyuan?

Unable to resist, Wen Cishu gave a look at the man beside the bed.

Before Bao Tingyuan could speak, Bao Yiming puffed out his cheeks, let out an "Ow!" and flung himself into his dad’s arms, squirming and clinging as he whined sweetly, "Mommy~~ Mommy~~"

When Bao Yiming was first learning to recognize people and speak, he couldn’t tell his two dads apart.

For a while, he would affectionately call the long-haired, gentle younger dad *Mommy*.

As he grew older, Bo Yiming still occasionally whined and acted spoiled.

Wen Cishu's heart softened, but then he noticed an arm stretching over his leg.

A large, powerful hand grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt and hauled him up, dragging him straight out.

Bo Yiming kicked and squirmed helplessly. "Papa, put me down now!"

Though he wasn’t short for his age, he stood no chance against his six-foot-three father.

Seeing that Papa remained unmoved, the boy quickly changed tactics, grabbing his father’s shirt and trying to sweet-talk instead: "Daddy~~"

But his sweet talk didn't work.

Bo Yiming was hauled right out the door.

Bo Tingyuan bent down, placing his hand on the back of the boy’s head, and whispered a reminder: "I've told you many times not to call your little dad that."

"Oh…" Bo Yiming pouted, eyes welling up.

But with his still-sore bottom, he had no choice but to nod. Just as he was about to bring up the feasibility of his "entertainment industry project" again, he saw Papa retreat into the bedroom.

The door slowly shut behind him.

Furious, Bo Yiming squatted on the ground and grumbled, "Hmph!"

—Little Daddy was about to agree, after all.

-

Inside the room.

Wen Cishu watched as Bo Tingyuan walked back in, his stoic face revealing nothing. He finally asked, “You’re okay with letting him join some talent show?”

Bo Tingyuan’s voice was calm and indifferent: “Tonight I’ll contact Mother about arranging a boarding school in France. He leaves the day after tomorrow.”

"Huh?" Wen Cishu was so shocked his eyes widened as he stared.

His tone made it sound as simple as taking out the trash!

Was Bo Yiming even his real son?

The original novel didn’t mention anything like a baby switch plot, did it?

Noticing his surprise, Bo Tingyuan leaned down and brushed a lock of hair from Wen Cishu’s face. “No need to worry, I won’t let Yi Ming suffer abroad.”

The way Wen Cishu heard it, this sounded final—no room for debate.

Instinctively, he blurted out, “No. I don’t want Yi Ming going abroad yet.”

Who knows what might happen?

At the very least, he wanted to see this child grow up safely, didn’t he?

Bo Tingyuan’s chilling gaze was as inscrutable as glacial ice, impossible to read.

Wen Cishu met his intense stare, just as locked in scrutiny.

His head was spinning, but he thought fast and explained, “He’s still so young. You can’t just suppress him—you have to guide him. Instead of opposing outright, why don’t we screen the shows ourselves and see which ones are appropriate? Maybe… maybe once he tries one out, he’ll see how tough it is and quit.”

After saying all this in one breath, his breathing grew slightly heavier.

But Bao Tingyuan remained completely unmoved.

It reminded Wen Cishu of the time he had slaved over a feasibility analysis report just to convince his parents to let him travel alone to France.

In the end, his parents sat in stunned silence for thirty minutes after reading it.

Gazing at the man who still said nothing, Wen Cishu arched one eyebrow slightly.

Didn’t Bao Tingyuan “deeply love” him?

Couldn’t he even agree to this?

Was the original author lying then?

Under the bone-chilling pressure, Wen Cishu feared he would oppose the idea and dig in his heels about sending the little one to France.

His slender fingers instinctively clutched the cuff of the black shirt. “Do you understand what I mean?” His almond-shaped eyes blinked rapidly as he pleaded, calling out, “Daddy?”

The slightly upturned corners of his eyes, his gaze like silken threads, seemed to entangle the other man.

A few seconds later, the prominent Adam’s apple at the collar of Bao Tingyuan’s shirt bobbed slightly, as if a faint “Mm” had escaped from his chest.

After a pause, he said, “I’ll make the arrangements.”