Chapter 6 Reaching Out

Chapter 6: Reaching Out

“May I take a look?” Li Wei’an had been eyeing the rabbit for some time. Seeing Shen Shiyan pick it up, she asked with a smile.

Shen Shiyan handed it to her. She marveled at how such humble weeds could be transformed into a creature brimming with vitality. After examining it carefully, she placed the rabbit back beside Shen Shiyan’s hand with great care.

They began with the fundamentals of tutoring, so Shen Shiyan found it unchallenging. Li Wei’an came five days a week, and as she left, she told him she’d arrive at the same time each day.

“Goodbye, Teacher.”

Shen Shiyan saw her out. When he returned to the study, Shen Ci was already awake, rubbing his eyes as he gazed up at Shen Shiyan’s face. “Daddy, I want to go to school too.”

Shen Shiyan was taken aback. He certainly couldn’t afford to send a child who barely knew everyday characters to school. As for pleading with Shen Wenzhou for such a favor—Shen Shiyan dismissed the idea outright.

“Does it cost a lot of money?” Shen Ci’s longing gaze fell on the notebook where Shen Shiyan had taken notes, and he licked his lips.

He envied those children who could attend school. During his time on the streets, he’d often heard the lively sound of children reciting aloud outside school gates. After class, a crowd of well-dressed children would pour out of the classroom doors, each one radiant with joy.

But if he couldn’t go, then so be it. At the orphanage, Bai Cong had taught him to recognize a few characters, and he’d also found studying rather dull. Those children weren’t nearly as free as he was.

Shen Shiyan had no idea what Shen Ci was thinking. Seeing the boy unable to tear his eyes away from the notebook, he simply assumed Shen Ci genuinely wanted to learn. After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Shiyan glanced at the foxtail-grass rabbit and said, “All right—I’ll teach you.”

*Daddy’s handwriting is so beautiful. If I study, I’ll be able to write characters just like that.*

His mind was always abuzz with thoughts. Hearing Shen Shiyan’s words, he hopped down happily from the soft chair and threw his arms around Shen Shiyan. Just as he pressed against his waist, he suddenly remembered Shen Shiyan didn’t seem to enjoy excessive physical contact. He jerked his hands back as if shocked by electricity and looked up, searching Shen Shiyan’s expression.

It had indeed clouded over slightly.

*Better just paste on a smile, then.*

Shen Ci stiffly lifted the corners of his mouth toward Shen Shiyan and whispered, “Thank you, Daddy.”

He could feign one hundred percent kindness toward people he disliked—and harbor one thousand percent pure malice. But toward those he didn’t dislike—or even liked, somewhat—he was far less polished.

For Shen Ci, though practical benefits were certainly involved, Shen Shiyan was different from outsiders who used him for gain. His expression remained perpetually detached, treating everyone equally. Shen Ci thought that was good—it meant he could be sure his daddy wouldn’t harm him and could give him things others couldn’t.

Ethereal familial affection—or perhaps simply companionship and warmth, untainted by ulterior motive.

For dinner, Shen Ci, as the day before, ate two large bowls of rice—drawing even a sidelong glance from the nanny auntie. Children his age simply didn’t have such appetites.

Truthfully, he sometimes felt full—but after so many days and nights of hunger and cold, he simply couldn’t resist the temptation.

After dinner, Shen Ci officially began his lessons—starting with holding a pen.

For beginners, pencils and erasers were the obvious choice. Yet Shen Wenzhou hadn’t anticipated Shen Ci’s schooling; among the prepared stationery, only the black ink pens Shen Shiyan used were available.

His grip was highly unusual—even bizarre.

Normally, the first joint of the middle finger should support the pen from below, while the wrist provides the force to move the four fingers during writing.

Shen Ci propped the pen body up using the side of his little fingernail, while the other fingers gripped it with visible strain. His wrist bent at nearly a 90-degree angle, and the paper was covered in chaotic scribbles.

“……”

Shen Shiyan demonstrated the correct grip several times—but Shen Ci never quite got it right.

Shen Ci wrote his own name on the paper. The character *Ci* (瓷) was difficult; he drew it—in fact, Shen Ci hadn’t even known what his own name looked like until now.

When he drew the character *Ci* for the third time—with its components completely scattered, top, bottom, left, and right—Shen Shiyan finally couldn’t bear it any longer. He stood up, walked around to the right side of the soft chair, leaned down, and gently took hold of Shen Ci’s pen-holding hand.

His slender fingers guided Shen Ci’s hand into the proper position. His large palm, dry and warm, pressed firmly against Shen Ci’s right hand. The pen tip glided across the paper, the black strokes bold and powerful, forming a beautifully written *Shen Ci* (沈瓷).

“Daddy is amazing!” Shen Ci praised sincerely. He looked down at his name and added, “How do you write Daddy’s name?”

The child’s body temperature ran slightly warm. Helping Shen Ci write demanded far more effort from Shen Shiyan than writing alone. His palm grew faintly damp with sweat—but he showed no impatience. He wrote his own name on the paper before releasing Shen Ci’s hand.

“Can you hold the pen properly now?”

*Shen. Shi. Yan.*

Shen Ci silently recited the name in his heart, thinking it sounded very nice. He nodded, intending to write both his own and Daddy’s names again.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt a flicker of anticipation. Shen Shiyan stared at Shen Ci’s pen-holding hand. It was marginally more standard—but soon reverted to a claw-like grip.

“……”

It wasn’t that he couldn’t write—but the characters he produced were oversized and ugly. Shen Shiyan had already promised to teach him and wouldn’t abandon the effort halfway.

“First, practice holding the pen correctly.” Shen Shiyan said, adjusting Shen Ci’s posture once more. He repeated this many times. Soon, over a dozen sheets of scrap paper—covered in crookedly written *Shen Ci, Shen Shiyan*—piled up on the desk.

By the time the living room clock chimed, it was already midnight. Shen Ci finally managed to write two names of normal size—though still somewhat awkward.

Shen Shiyan exhaled in quiet relief. Glancing at the desk piled high with versions of *him*, he asked Shen Ci, “Why did you write my name?”

Shen Ci set down the pen. A faint mark lingered on his finger from gripping it too tightly, and it ached slightly. He rubbed his stomach with his other hand and replied solemnly, “Because you’re my Daddy!”

Shen Shiyan looked away and silently gathered all the scrap paper, placing it in a drawer of the desk.

“Go to sleep. It’s very late.”

Shen Shiyan’s voice had lost some of its earlier chill. Yet even after he opened the study door, Shen Ci didn’t move.

His brow furrowed again, and he glanced over with mild impatience.

Shen Ci continued rubbing his stomach. Meeting Shen Shiyan’s gaze head-on, he said, “Daddy, I don’t feel well.”

“What’s wrong?” Shen Shiyan turned back, stopping directly in front of Shen Ci and looking down at him.

Shen Ci pointed to the area beneath his chest, his voice muffled. “It’s very bloated here—and achy.”

Shen Shiyan followed his finger. He was likely indicating his stomach. Shen Wenzhou had vaguely mentioned a few things about Shen Ci’s past. Shen Shiyan surmised it might be a digestive issue—alternating between starvation and overeating before, and now gorging himself for two consecutive days. His stomach probably couldn’t process it all at once.

Shen Ci was genuinely uncomfortable—his stomach bloated and painful. He had only Shen Shiyan now, and instinctively relied on him. “Can Daddy carry me back?”

Shen Shiyan fell silent again. Finally, seeing the faint redness gathering at the corners of Shen Ci’s eyes and his hand persistently rubbing his stomach, his heart softened slightly. He said, “Reach out.”

Shen Ci obediently opened his arms and wrapped them around Shen Shiyan’s neck as he leaned down. Shen Shiyan slid one arm around his waist and lifted him effortlessly into his arms.