Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning.

Bo Yiming’s study.

A lanky figure stood practicing calligraphy.

He was supposed to sit properly, but within half an hour, it felt like sitting on pins and needles—unable to stay still, fidgeting through a dozen positions in ten minutes.

Wen Cishu noticed and told him to stand instead.

Bo Yiming grumbled to himself, still hung up on his "showbiz dreams," though he dared not say anything out loud.

He snuck a peek at his dad, wondering why Dad suddenly cared so much about his studies.

Didn’t Dad always say that as long as he was healthy, everything else was fine?

Wen Cishu sat by the window, looking completely relaxed against a rosewood armrest.

Outside, lush plants swayed gently, sunlight filtering through in soft patches between the leaves.

In front of him was a plate of freshly cut seasonal fruit and a book titled *Tai Chi for Wellness*.

Holding a jade letter opener with intricate ruyi patterns in his slender fingers, he lazily flipped a page and said calmly, “Don’t look at me. Focus on the characters.”

“Okay.”

Bo Yiming had never heard his dad speak to him like this before—what was going on?!

Distracted, he dipped his brush to write a curved stroke, but the tip suddenly trembled.

He looked up in disbelief at his dad.

Were his dads having problems?

Otherwise, why was Dad acting so differently?

Being a second grader, Bo Yiming already had classmates from broken homes.

His amber eyes stared at the crooked calligraphy in front of him, the characters almost looking like they said, *You’re about to become a child of divorce.*

Before he could react, a housekeeper came in and said, “Sir, your eldest son is in his study and would like you to come over. He says it’s something important.”

“All right.” Wen Cishu remembered their conversation from last night.

Bo Tingyuan always kept his word—it must mean he’d gotten somewhere with it.

As Wen Cishu stood, his jet-black hair fell over his shoulders.

Tilting his head back slightly, he casually used the jade letter opener as a hairpin to tie up his long locks.

Before leaving, he placed the fruit plate on the desk and told Bo Yiming, “Just fifteen more minutes. Hang in there.”

“Mm-hmm!” Bo Yiming nodded eagerly, lifting his brush like he meant to keep going. But the moment his dad disappeared from view, he dropped the brush and ducked out through another door.

He went to find Old Xu and asked, “Grandpa Xu, what’s up with Dad?”

“What do you mean?”

Uncle Xu emerged from the kitchen, and when he noticed ink stains on his fingers, he pulled out a clean white handkerchief to wipe them off.

He had once served the old patriarch of the Bao family, and after Bao Tingyuan married, he was reassigned to care for him.

He'd seen Bao Yiming grow up since infancy.

Since he was unmarried with no children of his own, he treated the boy like family.

Bao Yiming wasn't sure how to phrase it, but after a moment's hesitation, he asked, “Why didn’t Dad go to the company today? Isn’t he busy?”

“Of course he’s busy.”

Uncle Xu pointed toward the eldest son’s study. “Albert just took up a stack of documents.”

He meant Bao Tingyuan’s assistant, Albert.

Although Albert had a Chinese name, Uncle Xu preferred calling him by his English name.

The phrase “a stack of documents” hit Bao Yiming’s ears and his mind instantly interpreted it as—“divorce papers,” “asset division agreements,” “custody arrangements.”

The teenager bolted upright, startling Uncle Xu.

He steadied the older man. “I’m going up!”

One day, when he held his concert, both of his dads absolutely had to sit side by side in the front-row VIP seats!

-

When Wen Cishu entered the study, he heard English conversation between two voices.

No matter the language, Bao Tingyuan’s rich baritone always commanded authority, making it instantly recognizable.

The other voice belonged to his assistant, Albert.

If Wen Cishu remembered correctly, Albert had worked with Bao Tingyuan during their time in Europe and later followed him back to China to join the Bao family enterprise.

As Wen Cishu appeared, the two paused their discussion.

Bao Tingyuan’s cool emerald gaze swept over him from behind his glasses.

Wen Cishu’s usually loose long hair was unusually pinned up in a chignon, revealing his slender, snow-white neck and accentuating his soft, rosebud lips.

Bao Tingyuan stood and gestured for Albert to move to the sofa.

As he approached, he took a closer look at the hairpin angled through Wen Cishu’s updo.

He focused on the pattern—it was indeed the Hetian jade book pick he had chosen two years ago.

At the time, the auction house had sent a catalog, and he’d picked out several items for Wen Cishu.

Back then, Wen Cishu had seemed indifferent, simply asking Aunt Zhong to store them away.

-

As soon as Wen Cishu sat down, Bao Tingyuan slid a cushion behind the small of his back.

Assistant Albert also walked over from the desk and set a tablet down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

He smiled at the delicate but aristocratic-looking man. “Mr. Wen, you're looking well today.”

He clearly remembered that years had passed since he first met Wen Cishu, yet Wen Cishu seemed like some celestial being kept in seclusion—untainted by time or worldly cares, unchanging.

Wen Cishu offered a faint smile. “Yes, I've had more energy lately.”

He turned to look at Bao Tingyuan, "Is this about what we talked about last night?"

"Yeah." Bao Tingyuan picked up the tablet and opened the files for him.

Wen Cishu was eagle-eyed—he’d already noticed the well-organized show materials.

His left shoulder leaned close to Bao Tingyuan as he focused on the images and text on the screen.

The tablet, which Bao Tingyuan had originally meant to hand over, stayed in front of him instead, his right arm draped casually around Wen Cishu.

Tall and broad-shouldered, the gesture made it seem like he had completely enveloped the willowy Wen Cishu.

Unaware of these details, Wen Cishu asked with some surprise, "Are there really this many programs suitable for kids nowadays?"

Albert explained, "Yeah. Every TV station and online platform keeps pumping out reality shows and variety programs for ratings. I’ve already weeded out the repetitive ones and those with mediocre production quality."

"Alright, let me take a look." Wen Cishu swiped past the "Youth Singing Competitions" category.

Honestly, he thought sending their little troublemaker to sing would be torture for the judges and audience.

Some youth sports competitions could be an option.

But our little guy might not go for that.

Albert added, "There are also trainee programs from entertainment companies that don’t have strict requirements. But if he gets selected, it would directly affect the young master’s schooling. So I didn’t include those."

"Right, can’t interfere with school." Wen Cishu nodded, his fingers sliding to the "Parent-Child Variety Shows" section. "There are family shows too?"

The more he looked, the more intrigued he became. "Family travel—I could actually have fun with those."

Just as Albert was about to explain, Bao Tingyuan gave a slight gesture.

Silently, Albert stood up and slipped out of the study.

In the hallway.

Albert ran into Bao Yiming, who had been lurking around trying to eavesdrop.

Looking at the exceptionally good-looking kid, he smiled and asked, "Kid, what’s going on?"

Thanks to the excellent soundproofing at home, Bao Yiming naturally hadn’t heard a thing.

He hesitated, unsure whether to ask Uncle Albert.

Albert had held back earlier—given the boy’s mixed heritage looks, he wouldn’t even need to sing or dance to be a hot commodity.

It’d be like tossing a piece of bread into a koi pond—you’d have fish fighting over it.

And if those agency bosses ever learned of his background, they’d probably treat him like a golden goose.

Bao Yiming shook his head, deciding he’d have to observe the situation himself.

"Uncle, you understand my big dad better. So…"

He asked with slight hesitation, "Do you think he’d agree to let me join the entertainment industry?"

Albert gave a meaningful look toward the door, smiling as he lowered his voice. "Don’t worry, he’s discussing it with your little dad right now."

"Wait, really?!" Bao Yiming’s amber eyes sparkled brightly.

Inside the room.

Wen Cishu was reviewing several shows, comparing different scenarios, and only after a while did he realize the man beside him hadn’t said a word.

He straightened his posture, lifting his gaze to meet the other’s commanding look, unconsciously lowering his voice as he asked tentatively, “What do you think about me going on a show with Yi Ming?”

Bao Tingyuan hesitated for a second under the gleam of his bright black eyes.

“Your body can’t handle exhaustion.”

The small spark that had just ignited in Wen Cishu’s dark eyes was instantly snuffed out by those words.

He lowered his head, looking at the tablet, muttering under his breath, “I’ve heard that my whole life.” He was sick of it.

A few seconds later, it dawned on him—oh, right, this wasn’t about him going for fun, but about checking out a show for their child.

His eyes flickered guiltily toward Bao Tingyuan’s slender fingers holding the tablet.

At that moment, their little whirlwind burst through the door.

“Dad!”

It was unclear whom he was calling.

Both fathers looked up at the same time.

Excited, Bao Yiming braced himself on the back of the sofa and leaped to plop down next to his younger father.

Before Wen Cishu could react, the man on his left pulled him aside.

Bao Yiming had been about to hug his younger father’s arm, but his elder father got there first, pulling Wen Cishu up and moving to sit on the opposite couch.

“Dad, does this mean I can go on a show? The tryouts are almost over!”

Wen Cishu spoke before Bao Tingyuan could, “Yi Ming, your elder father and I were thinking of finding you a different show.”

He handed over the tablet. “What do you think of this one?”

Bao Yiming quickly skimmed through the images and text on the screen. “Wow! Are these all with other celebrities? Really?”

Seeing that the little troublemaker seemed easily convinced, Wen Cishu relaxed.

“These shows also have tryouts too. It’s not just signing up—you actually have to get chosen. Yi Ming, do you think you’ve got what it takes?”

“Of course I can!” Bao Yiming laughed, hugging the tablet as he flopped back on the couch. “Dad, no matter what show it is, I’ll definitely get picked!”

Wen Cishu wondered—whose unshakable confidence had this kid inherited?

“Then now you need to ask your elder father if he agrees to let us go.”

“Huh?” Bao Yiming had thought everything was all settled, but it turned out his elder father hadn’t even agreed yet?

He could only sit up properly again, already making his best puppy-dog eyes before even speaking, looking toward the stern father figure.

“Elder Dad?”

Facing two faces that shared some resemblance, their eyes shining with hope, Bao Tingyuan suddenly remembered last night—when Wen Cishu had tugged at his sleeve…

Wen Cishu's heart raced as he noticed Bao Tingyuan seemed to be deliberating.

If possible, he really wanted to accompany the kid out for some fun.

Bao Yi Ming saw nothing but refusal in his father’s deep eyes, and his face fell.

“I’ll have Albert register for you first. If the program invites you, I’ll agree.”

Before Bao Tingyuan could even finish his sentence, the excitable kid across from him had already whooped with excitement and lunged forward.

With a firm grip on Wen Cishu’s waist, Bao Tingyuan effortlessly lifted him onto his lap, frowning as he reminded his son, “Yi Ming, don’t always pounce on your Dad.”

Yi Ming bounced around excitedly in front of the sofa, shouting, “Yes!!! I’m gonna go tell Grandpa Xu and the others~~~”

Wen Cishu leisurely teased, “It’s like having nonstop monkey business at home.”

When he lifted his gaze, he was met with a pair of deep, emerald-green eyes.

Dark and intense, they threatened to swallow him whole, making him unconsciously hold his breath.

Only after several seconds did Wen Cishu finally notice that he was entirely wrapped in Bao Tingyuan’s embrace, his arms looped around the man’s broad shoulders.

He hurriedly pushed himself up, grumbling, “Yi Ming doesn’t even know what he’s so excited about. He still has to pass the screening first—it’s not like he’s getting on the show right away.”

Amid the commotion, his bun had come loose, strands of hair brushing against Bao Tingyuan’s neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“Whether you can join the program or not, you need to exercise more.”

“Oh.” Wen Cishu thought he sounded like a scolding parent.

He had accidentally lost one of his slippers and bent down to look for it, only to see Bao Tingyuan’s hand swiftly pick up the slipper.

Standing still, he lifted his foot like a kid, watching as Bao Tingyuan bent down to slide the slipper on.

The loose opening should have been comfortable, but as it slowly covered the top of his foot, it suddenly felt too tight.

Through the soft fabric of his socks, the man’s knuckles grazed Wen Cishu’s slender ankle, making his ears turn red, his gaze darting away—though he couldn’t help sneaking looks at the broad shoulders and dark brown hair.

Unlike Wen Cishu’s own jet-black hair, Bao Tingyuan’s strands carried hints of deep golden-brown at the tips, while the roots were a solid, rich brown, stiff and wiry to the touch.

Wen Cishu recalled the tragic endings described in the original novel and was struck by an inexplicable urge to ruffle his hair.

But once his slipper was on, he hurried away. “I’ll go find Yi Ming.”

“The note of command in his voice made Wen Cishu freeze in his tracks.

He felt the man behind him stand and step closer.

Then, with a gentle tug, his bun came undone, and his hair tumbled down.

Bao Tingyuan held the hairpin that still carried Wen Cishu’s warmth. “Your hair’s a mess.”

They were standing too close. His voice, already deep and magnetic, felt like it was murmured right against Wen Cishu’s ear.

Now genuinely flustered, Wen Cishu hurried off, blurting, “Uh, I’ll go find Yi Ming.”

Behind him, the man’s reminder followed.

“Don’t walk too fast.”

Wen Cishu’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst right out of his chest.

Inside the elevator, he stared at the decorative doors and muttered to himself in confusion, “Damn… haven’t we been married for ten years? Why am I so nervous around him?”