Chapter 13: That’s Your Dad, Not My Husband…

Chapter 13: That’s Your Dad, Not My Husband…

Song Tan emerged from the room, freshly changed, to find Ji Fuxi already seated on the sofa, quietly observing Song Chuqing playing with Aqi.

Her cheeks still flushed, she composed herself and walked over.

Father and daughter turned in unison. Song Chuqing ran to her, and Song Tan scooped up the little one, asking first, "Where’s Sister Chenchen?"

Ji Fuxi replied, "I told her to rest. She’ll come later."

Song Tan offered an awkward smile, "Oh, I see."

Song Chuqing piped up, "Mom, why are you back?"

Song Tan tapped her tiny nose. "Because I missed you."

"Then sleep with me tonight!"

The heavy snow had halted work that afternoon. With the year-end rush approaching, there wouldn't be much time for rest, so Song Tan decided to use this half-day to visit home.

The weather forecast predicted the snow would stop tomorrow, meaning she had to return to work.

With an apologetic tone, Song Tan explained, "Mom has to work tomorrow and can’t sleep with Xiao Chu, but I’ll wait until you fall asleep before I leave."

Song Chuqing’s face visibly fell, and she pouted, "Okay."

"Kindergarten will be on break in a few days. Then, Sister Chenchen can take you to see Mom."

"Yay!" The little girl’s mood shifted quickly—a single sentence was all it took to cheer her up.

Only then did Song Tan turn to Ji Fuxi, momentarily at a loss for words. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen, and she casually asked, "Will President Ji stay for dinner?"

Song Chuqing, ever the curious one, interjected, "Mom, why do you call Dad 'President Ji'? What’s 'President Ji'? Is that Dad’s name?"

"..." What else was she supposed to call him? Fu Xi? Husband? Absolutely not.

Song Tan sidestepped the title entirely. "Would you like to have dinner with us?"

Ji Fuxi shot her a lingering look before nodding. "Together." This was the second time this month he was upholding their agreement.

Aunt Zhou had prepared the meal before leaving, but the food had cooled and needed reheating.

Song Tan went to the kitchen to warm the dishes. Dinner consisted of three simple dishes: sweet and sour ribs, beef with potatoes, and stir-fried greens.

As the microwave hummed to life, Song Tan glanced back at the living room. The two sat separately, each engrossed in their own activities—exactly like the photo Zhong Chen had sent her. They were still complete strangers.

But she couldn’t ask for more. Ji Fuxi keeping his word was surprising enough.

The kitchen and living room were connected. As the aroma of food filled the air, a tiny figure wrapped her arms around Song Tan’s leg. "Mom, I’ll help you!"

"Thank you, baby." Song Tan handed her a bowl. "Go dish out the rice."

Song Chuqing was capable of simple tasks like scooping rice, washing vegetables, and doing dishes. She pulled over a small kitchen stool, climbed onto it, and opened the rice cooker. The fragrant steam made the little girl exclaim, "Wow!"

Scoop by scoop, she finally filled a bowl. "Done!"

As she turned, her small body swayed. Song Tan was about to reach out when a hand appeared from behind, steadying the little girl firmly by the waist.

Song Tan looked up, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before she looked away.

The little girl, fully embracing the glory of labor, was oblivious, completely absorbed in her task. "Mom, I need another bowl."

Two bowls, three bowls—she served rice for the whole family.

But once seated at the dinner table, Song Chuqing’s mood soured.

When Mom wasn’t around, she could find countless ways to avoid eating her greens. But with Mom present, she had no escape.

Song Chuqing quietly pushed the greens Mom had placed in her bowl to the side, silently wishing: *Mom won’t see, Mom won’t see…*

"Song Chuqing!" The sharp, amplified tone made it clear: Mom was the real villain, like Mayor Humdinger from Paw Patrol.

The little girl lowered her head and reluctantly picked up a piece of greens.

*Ugh, so gross, tastes like grass.*

After two bites, tears welled in her eyes as she whined, "Mom, I want ribs."

"No one’s stopping you from eating ribs, but you have to eat everything."

Song Chuqing sniffled pitifully and looked at the man to her right. "Dad…"

Ji Fuxi had dined with Song Chuqing once before and knew her picky eating habits mirrored his own. He was about to say something when the woman across the table shot him a warning glance.

He recalled their first meeting and the questions she had asked him. A hidden smirk played on his lips as he finally understood the source of her past grievances.

He gave the little girl a slight shrug, indicating he was powerless to help.

But the next moment, Song Tan also placed a piece of greens in his bowl. She said nothing, only watched him with a knowing smile.

Their eyes met, and Ji Fuxi deciphered the silent warning in her expressive eyes: *Lead by example. You dare not eat it?*

He gave a helpless smile and ate the greens.

*It really was awful.*

Song Chuqing had no recourse. At mealtime, Mom was a demon, and even Dad had to obey her!

After dinner, Song Chuqing was the first to slide off her chair, leading Aqi to the living room. Song Tan called out, "Xiao Chu, go take a bath."

"But I want to play first."

"Ten minutes."

Song Chuqing pouted, then leaned down to whisper in Aqi’s ear, "Mommy’s being mean."

Only the two adults remained at the table, an awkward silence settling between them. After exchanging glances, Song Tan was the first to look away. "Sorry, President Ji. Xiao Chu is quite picky."

"I know. That’s my responsibility."

*Glad you know.*

Song Tan stood up. "Then, President Ji, you’re free to go. Thank you for your trouble today."

"I still need to tuck her in."

"I can do it."

The man insisted, "It’s fine. I’ve got it."

Song Tan raised an eyebrow. *Alright, his dedication to the contract is commendable.*

…

After a quick tidy-up in the kitchen, Song Tan ran a bath for Song Chuqing and joined her. As they bathed, Song Chuqing excitedly shared stories from kindergarten—games her teacher played with them, her best friends—and Song Tan listened attentively, offering responses now and then.

The bath lasted nearly half an hour before the little girl finally ran into the bedroom wrapped in a towel.

Once she was tucked into bed, Song Tan sat by the edge and said, "Xiao Chu, Daddy will read you a story and put you to bed later."

"Mommy, are you leaving?"

"No."

"Then let’s sleep together, and Daddy can tuck us both in!" Song Chuqing patted the sheets, enthusiastically inviting her.

"...That’s not appropriate."

"Why not?"

*Why else? Because… he’s your dad, not my husband.* Song Tan tucked in the blanket. "Mommy still has work. Daddy will tuck you in."

"Okay."

Song Tan went out to call him.

Ji Fuxi was on the balcony, on the phone, his posture straight, his white shirt tucked into dress pants, his waistline sharply defined.

She cleared her throat lightly. The man turned, his gaze landing on her, then said something into the phone before ending the call.

Ji Fuxi glanced toward the bedroom. "She’s all set?"

"She’s all set. Go ahead, Mr. Ji."

"Alright."

As Ji Fuxi passed her, a faint trace of elegant, serene agarwood cologne drifted past Song Tan’s nose.

In the pink room, the little girl was already comfortably snuggled in bed.

Ji Fuxi sat by the edge and asked, "Do you still want *Little Clumsy Bear* tonight?"

"No." Song Chuqing pulled out another book. "I want the story about the universe."

"Okay."

Before he could take the book, the girl spoke again, her tone unusually serious. "Daddy, you’re not good at reading stories. Not like Mommy—she’s much gentler."

Mommy had said that if you don’t know how to do something, you can learn. Daddy can definitely learn too. Song Chuqing flipped open the book.

"I’ll teach you!"

"..."

"All stories began with an explosion 1.4 billion years ago. It was a magical force…" The little girl narrated dramatically, her hands balling into fists before bursting open—"Boom!"—then startling herself.

She was too adorable. Ji Fuxi couldn’t help but smile quietly, his expression softening.

Song Chuqing continued, her voice lilting, "This was the Big Bang, but it wasn’t really an explosion—it was the universe itself expanding…"

After finishing the page, she looked up. "Daddy, did you get it?"

Ji Fuxi had no choice but to nod. His storytelling on the first night had indeed been stiff.

He took the book and tried to soften his voice, making it more lively.

Three minutes later, he paused to check his progress. "Is this better?"

Song Chuqing nodded, then shook her head—still not as good as Mommy.

But Mommy always encouraged her when she was learning, so she should encourage Daddy too. She gestured with her hands to show a small improvement. "You improved this much today!"

He smiled warmly. "Good."

…

With someone else handling bedtime, Song Tan sat on the sofa to review the next day’s script.

*The Great Dream* was proving more challenging than she’d expected. The female lead had a complex emotional arc, and Director Fang demanded meticulous attention to detail—some scenes required over a dozen takes.

Fortunately, her co-stars were experienced actors, making the process smoother.

With filming halfway done, they should wrap up in another two weeks after the New Year.

After about an hour and a half, Song Chuqing’s door finally opened, and Ji Fuxi emerged, closing the door quietly behind him.

Song Tan set down her phone and asked quietly, "Asleep?"

"Mhm."

"What took so long?"

Ji Fuxi checked the time and realized it had indeed taken an hour and a half—much longer than he’d thought.

He’d never imagined bedtime could be so difficult. Those ninety minutes drained him more than hours in a boardroom.

Instead of answering, he stood a few steps away. "Are you going to the set later?"

Perhaps from overusing a "gentle" tone while reading, his voice came out unusually soft now, startling them both.

Song Tan gave an awkward laugh. "Yeah, I have to be on set at 7 a.m."

It was already 9:30 p.m., and the drive to the studio took three hours. A short nap would let her wake up at 5 a.m. for hair and makeup.

Ji Fuxi, also embarrassed, acted like he didn’t notice. "How are you getting there?"

"Driving." Her assistant wasn’t with her this time, so she was alone.

He frowned, checked the time again, and seemed to consider for a few seconds before saying, "I’ll give you a ride."

Song Tan blinked in surprise. "No need, I can manage. No trouble, Mr. Ji."

"Li will drive, not me."

"Mr. Ji, you don’t need to be polite. Our agreement only covers Xiao Chu—you don’t have to drive me."

"It’s late, and it’s snowed. It’s not safe to drive alone. Besides, I have something to discuss."

"..." *Fine.* A ride would help—she could nap in the car and be rested for work tomorrow.

Song Tan went into the room to check on Song Chuqing and left after Zhong Chen arrived.

His car was spotless—so pristine Song Tan almost didn’t dare sit. She thought to herself, *Like father, like daughter—same exact cleanliness hang-ups.*

It smelled like him—light sandalwood, perhaps blended with a hint of citrus, slightly tangy and refreshing with a touch of sweetness. Song Chuqing would probably like it.

Zhuang Cheng wasn’t around today. Uncle Li glanced back through the rearview mirror and finally got a look at the mother of Mr. Ji’s daughter. He was taken aback—she was stunning, straight-up celebrity gorgeous. No wonder Mr. Ji’s daughter was so beautiful.

Ji Fuxi spoke up, "Head to the studio, Uncle Li."

"You got it."

The revised agreement hadn’t been sent yet. Ji Fuxi took the document from the front storage compartment and handed it to her. "This is the amended custody agreement. I’ve already signed it. Sign if everything looks good—it’ll take effect immediately."

Song Tan skimmed the pages.

Most of her proposed conditions remained unchanged, but a few clauses had been added at the end—all concerning asset distribution.

Ji Fuxi was generous, granting Song Chuqing and her each 1% of Yuanhe Group’s shares.

*Shares. 1%.* Song Tan thought about Yuanhe’s market value and marveled—Song Chuqing would never have to worry about money for the rest of her life.

She didn’t hesitate, immediately signing her name. The more benefits Song Chuqing could secure, the better.

Ji Fuxi added, "The villa you’re living in has been purchased under your name. Someone will follow up with you on the details. Additionally, 18 million in child support has been transferred to your account in one lump sum."

Next to that 1% stake, the villa and 18 million were chump change.

Song Tan was thrilled—Song Chuqing’s dad was a goddamn cash fountain, incredibly generous.

She played it cool, snapping the folder shut with a polished smile. "Thank you, Mr. Ji."

Ji Fuxi glanced at her forced smile and lowered his eyes. "Don’t mention it."

"Gonna catch some Z’s. Buzz me when we’re there."

"Works for me."

The car was climate-controlled, whisper-quiet, and lightyears ahead of her rinky-dink Audi—most importantly, she didn’t have to drive.

Before closing her eyes, Song Tan stole a glance at the man beside her. He sat upright, his posture impeccable, his profile striking—quite pleasing to the eye.

His driver handled the road like a pro, too. When she opened her eyes again, they had already arrived.

Song Tan shifted, and a cashmere blanket slid off her. She caught it and looked over—Ji Fuxi was leaning against the seat, seemingly asleep as well, his expression peaceful, breathing lightly, his body more relaxed than before.

Uncle Li wasn’t in the driver’s seat; she didn’t know where he’d gone.

Overheated, Song Tan rolled the window down a slit. Outside, the night sky was dotted with scattered stars, the surroundings quiet except for the occasional chirp of insects.

Her phone blinked 3:40 a.m.

She’d crashed for two extra hours in the car.

Song Tan reached out and nudged him. "Ji Fuxi?"

"Mmph." His voice came out gravelly as he rubbed his brow, gradually waking.

When he looked over, his dark, deep eyes reflected her image clearly. Song Tan jerked back, eyes darting away. "Why didn’t you wake me when we arrived?"

"You were out cold."

Song Tan folded the blanket on her lap twice and handed it back. "Appreciate it."

He didn’t take it. "Morning chill’s coming. Hang onto it."

*Whatever.* She pressed the car door handle, hesitating for a few seconds before turning back. "Mr. Ji, would you like to have breakfast together?"

Call time was 5 a.m., and Song Tan didn’t plan to sleep anymore—five or six hours in his car was enough.

The film studio operated early, and some breakfast shops were already open. Couldn’t let him drive back on an empty stomach.

Ji Fuxi paused, then gave a curt nod. "Alright."

They got out of the car. Uncle Li stubbed out his cigarette and ambled over. Song Tan waved at him. "Uncle Li, it’s cold. Come have some breakfast to warm up."

Uncle Li glanced at Ji Fuxi, waiting for silent permission before agreeing. "Why not?"

A greasy spoon hugged the curb, its plastic wind flaps fluttering, looking warm inside.

They were the first customers. Makeup-free, Song Tan ordered without hesitation.

The small shop’s tables and chairs were relatively clean, but the germaphobe CEO hovered before reluctantly perching, likely wrestling with himself internally.

Ji Fuxi’s face went stony. His hand twitched toward the scratchy napkins before aborting the mission, leaving them untouched.

Song Tan suppressed a smile. "Suffering for art, Mr. Ji?"

Uncle Li chuckled. "It really is. Ms. Song, our Mr. Ji here’s got a PhD in clean."

"Oh I’ve noticed."

"Do you now."

The man across from her lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

Song Tan replied naturally, "Xiao Chu’s clone—won’t eat street food, flinches from hugs, insists on bathing every day for at least half an hour, and sometimes two or three times a day when it’s hot."

Uncle Li was both surprised and understanding. "Apple didn’t fall far."

The cook slapped down bowls of nuclear-hot pídàn shòuròu zhōu, the heat rising in waves. Song Tan’s appetite surged, eagerly scooping a bite—only to recoil from the scalding heat.

Uncle Li, disarmed by her ease, started chatting. "But Xiao Chu doesn’t look much like Mr. Ji—she resembles you more, Ms. Song."

Song Tan: "Yeah, I’ve heard."

She went in for another bite, huffing on the spoon like a steam engine before cautiously testing the temperature and finally eating it with satisfaction.

Ji Fuxi’s gaze lingered. *Carbon copy.*

Xiao Chu did that exact over-cautious blowfest before every bite, her little cheeks puffing up, then wiggling happily with her chopsticks after finishing.

He eyeballed the funky congee, nose wrinkling, spoon hovering.

One whiff and he noped out, sliding the bowl away.

Song Tan side-eyed him. *Divas, both of them.*

She ran the same play on Xiao Chu—death glare first, then sweet talk, and the kid always folded.

But the person wasn't Song Chuqing. Song Tan waved to the shop owner and waited for him to approach before ordering again, "Boss, one hot soy milk." She then turned and asked, "Want any sugar?"

Ji Fuxi replied, "No sugar, thank you."

When the fresh soy milk came, he finally began to eat.

After a while, Uncle Li suddenly asked, "Ms. Song, how did you and Mr. Ji meet?"

Song Tan had just taken a sip of porridge and nearly choked, coughing violently, her face turning red.

A pure white handkerchief was handed to her. Without thinking much, she grabbed it and covered her mouth, taking a while to recover. She glanced up at the man across from her before quickly lowering her head again. "You should ask your Mr. Ji about that."

Uncle Li was too curious and worked up the nerve to ask, "Mr. Ji?"

Ji Fuxi set down his spoon and glanced over.

His glare instantly shut Uncle Li up, who laughed nervously and said, "Let’s eat."

The sky began to brighten, the horizon paling with dawn.

More people gradually filled the breakfast shop. When they’d finished eating, Song Tan prepared to leave. The three returned to the car. "Thank you for driving me here. Drive safe."

Ji Fuxi gave a slight nod, watching as she walked away.

Wrapped in her cashmere shawl, her slight frame gradually disappeared into the cold wind.

Uncle Li asked, "Shall we go, Mr. Ji?"

"Mm." Ji Fuxi opened the driver’s door. "I’ll drive back."

Uncle Li wasn’t surprised and got in the back without protest.

…

Song Tan arrived earlier than usual. The dressing room was deserted. She set down her shawl and grabbed herself a cup of hot water to warm her hands.

The weather was cold. They filmed outdoors when it wasn’t snowing, and indoor scenes when it did. Today, the snow had stopped, so they’d likely be filming outside.

Song Tan sighed softly. The money sure wasn’t easy.

She was fine, but dozens of crew members—set assistants, cinematographers, makeup artists, lighting technicians, and prop masters—all worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk just to make a living.

Her thoughts wandering, the makeup artist, Sister Wang, arrived. "Teacher Song, you’re here so early?"

Song Tan smiled. "I rested for half a day yesterday. I went back to Beijing to see my daughter and only arrived this morning."

After working together for nearly two months, everyone knew about Song Tan’s situation—she had a daughter, but she’d never once mentioned the child’s father. It was quite mysterious.

Sister Wang had been in the industry for over a decade and knew what questions to avoid. She didn’t push and simply remarked, "This cold snap’s brutal."

"Yeah, it’s not snowing today, but the temperature’s even lower than yesterday."

Sister Wang sat down to eat breakfast and spotted the cashmere throw draped over the chair. Recognizing the brand, she let out a low whistle. "Teacher Song, is this your shawl?"

Song Tan glanced over but neither confirmed nor denied it.

Sister Wang asked curiously, "I’ve heard this brand is insanely pricey. This one goes for like six figures, right?"

Song Tan didn’t recognize the brand but balked at the price tag.

She had earned a decent amount over the years, but she wasn’t one for extravagance or waste. A cashmere shawl wasn’t her thing, let alone spending six figures on one.

She walked over and folded the shawl, dismissing casually. "How could I afford this? It’s borrowed from the brand. I have to return it." Whether she actually would was another matter—with all these people around, she couldn’t risk losing it.

After breakfast, Sister Wang started applying her makeup. More people filtered into the room. Assistant Tao Tao brought her breakfast, but Song Tan said she’d already eaten and told the others to finish it.

By the time full daylight came, male lead Pei Ling arrived on schedule.

The first scene today was an outdoor separation between the leads. The two ran lines while getting their makeup done.

Song Tan admired hardworking, driven people. It was fine if they lacked skill or knowledge, as long as they were willing to learn. Pei Ling was exactly that type. He was two years her junior in the industry, but she’d had a five-year hiatus, so now they were learning from each other.

"Teacher Song, I feel like the emotions in the script aren’t fully developed. Freezing on their shared gaze before cutting to special effects seems too simplistic."

Song Tan thought for a moment. "You could reach out and touch my face. Your hand is covered in blood—that’d really pop on screen."

"Mm, I’ll ask the director later."

Midway through their rehearsal, Tao Tao let out a yelp and rushed over. "Sister Tan, you’re blowing up online!"

Song Tan set down the script. "What happened?"

Tao Tao handed her the phone.

#SongTanSecretMeeting

At 4 a.m., actress Song Tan got caught meeting her boyfriend (husband?). Her rich beau slummed it with Song Tan for a roadside breakfast.

Two grainy shots ran with the story—one of them getting out of the car, the other inside the plastic tent eating breakfast.

Song Tan could only stare. The paparazzi had staked her out at 4 a.m.? Talk about dedication.

Sister Wang glanced at the screen from behind and, recalling their earlier conversation about returning to Beijing to see her daughter, casually asked, "Teacher Song, that your old man?"

Husband.

Song Tan went rigid, then blanked completely.

How the hell was she supposed to explain this?