Chapter 10

Chapter 10

After spending some time together, Gu Shenhan had originally assumed Rong Yu’an was quite well-behaved—only to discover, to his utter astonishment, that this brat had actually been entertaining the idea of recruiting a son-in-law.

He looked obedient enough—but his eyes wandered.

Gu Shenhan sneered inwardly. The old lady had entrusted Rong Yu’an to him precisely because she trusted his character—how could he possibly allow a fresh college graduate to harbor such a lack of ambition?

That same night, after bringing Rong Yu’an home, he delivered a thorough lecture—covering, among other things, how modern men ought to be self-sufficient and strive for independence; how one shouldn’t fixate solely on dating and marriage; how studying and making progress were paramount; and how romantic partners were utterly unreliable—mere passing clouds!

The more Rong Yu’an listened, the more uncomfortable he grew: “Han Ge, why do you think that way?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Of course you are. It’s admirable for a man to stand tall, defend his country, and accomplish great deeds—but tending to the household and ensuring one’s husband has no worries at home is equally noble. Can’t we simply work as a team? The eagle father hunts; the eagle dad stays in the nest to care for the chicks. If both fly off, what happens to the nest? Han Ge, your thinking is very strange.”

“…Who’s the one being strange here?! A man should focus on his career—not domestic matters! And since when does an eagle’s nest have both a father *and* a dad?”

“Rong Yu’an, you fossilized little relic—how *is* your brain wired?”

“What is ‘brain wiring’?”

“You wouldn’t understand even if I told you!”

“Oh, then I’ll learn slowly on my own,” Rong Yu’an said. “I’m really tired. I’m going to wash up and go to sleep.”

Gu Shenhan watched that slender white figure vanish from sight—and asked himself: *What am I doing? Am I out of my mind?*

Why should he care whether Rong Yu’an was independent or not? Even if they divorced someday, the old lady would handle Rong Yu’an’s future arrangements. Why was he fretting over it?

So starting the next day, Gu Shenhan made Rong Yu’an study Arabic numerals, pinyin, and the English alphabet.

Fortunately, Rong Yu’an was eager to learn too—so he settled down and focused.

Arabic numerals were easiest—after writing them a few times on the tablet, he’d mastered them. Next came telling time—a skill akin to reading a sundial: he merely needed to convert corresponding time periods into modern terms and memorize them. That wasn’t difficult either.

Pinyin and the English alphabet proved trickier. Following Gu Shenhan’s advice, Rong Yu’an began with the English alphabet, then moved on to pinyin. After three days, he’d just finished learning all twenty-six letters and begun tackling pinyin’s initials and finals.

Every evening after work, Gu Shenhan spent about half an hour reviewing Rong Yu’an’s daily progress—checking for difficulties.

That evening, Rong Yu’an had just completed a practice sheet of English uppercase and lowercase letters when he complained: “Han Ge, learning this stuff isn’t really useful.”

“This is the foundation,” Gu Shenhan replied. “Once you master it, you’ll be able to learn truly useful things later.”

Rong Yu’an remained frustrated. He’d assumed mastering these basics would let him finally grasp things previously incomprehensible—but as he studied, he realized it wasn’t that simple. Knowing individual strokes didn’t mean he could write Chinese characters—he still had a long way to go.

“For now, just learn the fundamentals. Everything else can come gradually. Most importantly, you need to completely overhaul your way of speaking first.” Gu Shenhan flipped through Rong Yu’an’s day’s work, looking somewhat begrudging. “Your handwriting is acceptable.”

“Oh.”

“What’s this?” As he flipped further, Gu Shenhan suddenly spotted an unfamiliar sketch. “Did you draw this recently?”

“Give it back!” Rong Yu’an shot up from his chair, voice unusually agitated. “Han Ge—hand it over *now*!”

“Fine, fine—why so nervous?”

Gu Shenhan examined the drawing: a group of people dressed in long robes resembling Ming-era Hanfu. Among them were an elderly couple with snow-white hair, a middle-aged couple radiating affection, and three teenagers—two boys and one girl. The eldest boy appeared sixteen or seventeen; the younger two, around twelve or thirteen.

“I spent ages on this. I was afraid you might accidentally damage it.”

Gazing at his family in the sketch, Rong Yu’an felt a pang of sorrow.

Earlier that day, while studying, he’d stumbled upon the word “mother” on the tablet—triggering memories of his own mother and other family members. He might never see them again—and the thought terrified him. He feared one day forgetting them entirely. So he’d drawn them.

He hadn’t meant for Gu Shenhan to see it—but had forgotten about it entirely while reviewing.

“I’m sorry, Han Ge, for my tone just now—and for using your paper without asking. I’m truly sorry.”

A single sheet cost 2,200 steamed buns. He’d asked Lu Yi how long it took an average person—no special skills, average ability—to earn that much. Lu Yi said about half a month.

Half a month—just one sheet demanded half a month of grueling labor. It was truly precious.

Though born into a marquis’s household—thanks to his grandfather’s military exploits and imperial favor—his grandmother and mother ran the household with strict frugality, forbidding extravagance.

Had it not been for the fact that higher-quality paper better withstood the ravages of time, he never would’ve used such expensive stock.

Gu Shenhan handed the sketch back. “Did you used to enjoy not only wearing Hanfu but also reading historical fiction?”

He sensed Rong Yu’an seemed immersed in some era—or story. Within this system, Rong Yu’an’s logic remained internally consistent and reasonable—only clashing with modern society.

Could it be this guy saw himself as a character from an ancient tale?

“Historical fiction? Han Ge, what kind of books are you referring to?”

“For instance, time-travel novels set in historical periods—or similar fictional historical settings. Or perhaps you’re fond of period fiction?” He still recalled Rong Yu’an’s startled reaction when he’d substituted “Procuratorate” with “Censorate” in the car—suggesting “Procuratorate” likely registered in Rong Yu’an’s mind as “Censorate.”

“Han Ge, I don’t quite follow what you’re saying.”

“Fine. Then tell me—who are these people in your drawing?”

“They’re… no one in particular. Just figures that came to mind—I drew them.” Rong Yu’an carefully rolled up the sketch.

He’d cut the long Xuan paper in half for the drawing. Stored properly, such high-grade paper could last decades—ensuring he wouldn’t forget.

Gu Shenhan locked eyes with him. “Are they the family in your mind?”

Rong Yu’an stiffened.

He wanted to say no—but couldn’t deny it. So he asked, “Han Ge… why do you think that?”

Gu Shenhan replied, “Didn’t you notice, while drawing them, that you resemble every single one of them?”

Rong Yu’an hadn’t noticed at all. He’d simply recalled how his family usually looked and what they liked doing—then started drawing. He hadn’t deliberated long—he’d only just realized he’d been thinking of them less and less.

When he first arrived here, their faces filled his days, their voices echoed constantly—he ached to return. Now, he dared not hope anymore—and thought of them far less often.

But if he stopped thinking of them entirely… he truly feared one day forgetting them completely.

Gu Shenhan said, “Never mind. Since you don’t wish to discuss it, I won’t press you. And the paper is yours to use however you like—even to wrap French fries. I wouldn’t mind.”

Rong Yu’an: “What are French fries?”

Gu Shenhan: “…” You *really* know how to zero in on the important stuff!

At 8:30 p.m., Gu Shenhan drove Rong Yu’an to a KFC.

He ordered a combo meal for Rong Yuan, which included fries, as well as cola, a burger, grilled wings, a strawberry sundae, and a red bean pie.

Gu Shenhan said, "Try it."

Rong Yuan had never eaten any of these before, but he looked through the food and asked softly, confused, "Han Ge, don't they give chopsticks here?"

There wasn't even a spoon, nor a fork—was he supposed to eat with his hands?

He glanced at those around him; it seemed that was indeed the case.

Rong Yuan got up to wash his hands, then came back and started eating with his hands, and immediately loved the taste.

The fries were crispy outside, soft inside. Dipped in ketchup, they were sour and sweet, and they were wonderfully fragrant to chew—he couldn't stop eating!

He'd learned about tomatoes in his studies that day, and connecting it helped him remember it better.

And the sundae and burger! The character for "sheng" (meaning "saint") was in simplified Chinese, as on the billboard.

Rong Yuan asked, "Han Ge, aren't you eating?"

Gu Shenhan had long lost interest in this kind of food. If it weren't for the fact that making it at home would take too long and the chefs hadn't prepared in advance—home-cooked would be better—he wouldn't have brought Rong Yuan to eat here.

But seeing Rong Yuan eating so happily now, he thought it wouldn't hurt to try too, so he simply ordered another combo.

Rong Yuan noticed that the restaurant had set up a play area for kids, with many toys inside, and he couldn't help stealing a few glances.

If he hadn't married such an unreliable man in his previous life, he'd probably be a dad by now. Kids were so cute.

Gu Shenhan asked, "What are you staring at?"

Rong Yuan pointed at the kids' play area and whispered, "Han Ge, what is that called?"

Gu Shenhan felt his ears grow strangely warm and slightly dodged away. "Just talk, don't get so close."

Rong Yuan said, "Someday, I'll bring my baby here to play."

Gu Shenhan snorted, "You're thinking way ahead. Who was it earlier talking about finding a live-in son-in-law or something? And now you want a baby?"

Rong Yuan didn't quite get it—what was wrong with wanting both? Of course, he'd need to find someone to have a baby with. But it wasn't worth bringing up again—after all, they weren't divorced, and technically he was still Gu Shenhan's husband, er, male wife.

"Han Ge, you not eating this?" Rong Yuan changed the subject, pointing at the red bean pie that Gu Shenhan hadn't touched.

"Too sweet."

"Can I eat it then? Waste not, want not."

"Up to you. But don't eat too much this late—hard to digest."

"I'll just take a walk in the yard when we get home."

Rong Yuan took it without hesitation and finished it in a few bites, savoring the crispy sweetness, and his heart no longer felt as heavy.

At that, he paused and looked at Gu Shenhan thoughtfully.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Out with it if you have something to say."

"Han Ge, did you bring me out to eat this because you saw I was sad?"

"Were you sad just now?"

"...No!"

If he admitted it, he'd be asked why he was sad again.

Gu Shenhan said, "If not, then why are you guessing? Finish up and let's go back."

Rong Yuan quickly ate the last fry, wiped his mouth and hands, crumpled the napkin into a ball and put it into the empty burger box, then followed the example of others and threw the trash into the bin.

He felt that today he had become even more like a modern person!

Gu Shenhan noticed that Rong Yuan now got into the car without needing a reminder—he sat in the passenger seat and the first thing he did was buckle his seatbelt. The second thing was to take out a small blanket, open it, and cover himself. The whole routine was smooth and effortless. He learned fast.

"What's wrong, Han Ge? Is my face not clean?"

"No, I just noticed you're pretty skilled at this now."

"It's not that hard."

"Then what can you do that's a bit harder?"

"I can... do needlework? Does that count? But it's only average—mainly the embroidery isn't great. I can also make a few types of pastries, but not as good as the chef at home. I can also keep accounts and manage a household."

"Really?"

Gu Shenhan was skeptical, but just then, a major shareholder from Qianhai Shipping, surnamed Zheng, suddenly called.

Gu Shenhan answered. The person on the other end asked, "Young Gu, are you busy?"

"Zheng Ge, go ahead."

"It's like this," Zheng Weiping said with a smile. "This weekend is my wife's birthday. I've planned a birthday party for her. I was wondering if Young Gu would be interested in bringing your wife along to join us?"

"Since it's Sister-in-law's birthday, I'll definitely come, but I need to ask my other half first."

"Alright, seems like you treasure her. I'll wait for your reply."

"Okay." Gu Shenhan hung up with a cold expression.

"What's wrong, Han Ge?"

"Nothing. Just a bunch of disgusting people I have to deal with."

The Zheng family.

Gu Chengzhi asked, "So? Is he coming?"

Zheng Weiping said, "Gu Shenhan said he will. But whether that little male wife of his comes, he said he needs to ask. I didn't expect him to respect that little male wife so much."

"All just for show," Gu Chengzhi said disdainfully. "That's just a newly graduated art college student. Low education, weak professional skills, no family background, no talent—only a decent face. Could Gu Shenhan be lacking a vase? It's just for profit. Anyway, this time we have to take him down a notch and not let him gain a foothold at Qianhai."

"Do you think he'll bring that little male wife? According to what you said, bringing her out would be an embarrassment. This isn't just playing around—she's his legally registered wife." A wife was a member of the family, representing the family's face, not like a casual mistress you could take out.

"He will bring her," Gu Chengzhi said confidently. "I know my cousin—he likes to charge head-on. Remember to have everything I told you to prepare ready. Then I'll see how he gets out of that situation."