SFBF CH25

Snow had started falling outside again. Winter days in the north grew dark early, and with the overcast sky, the whole world looked a heavy, leaden grey.

But inside, the house was bright and warm, the heating wrapping around them the moment they stepped in — and Auntie Zhang had already prepared hot tea for their return.

“Madam, you’ve worked hard. It’s cold out — come have some hot tea to warm up.”

“…It wasn’t any trouble.”

Shen Qing genuinely didn’t feel like he’d done much. After all, they had the underground garage the whole way — car there, car back — and not a single snowflake had landed on his head.

The two children were perfectly capable of looking after themselves as well. Duoduo and Aozai took off their coats, drank their tea, and headed upstairs to their rooms, announcing they were going to nap.

Shen Qing glanced at the time. He’d spent plenty of time with the kids today — he could officially clock out!

Not that taking care of them had been especially tiring. In fact, because both Duoduo and Aozai were well-behaved and at least didn’t come running up to cause trouble in his face, playing with them had been genuinely stress-free.

But for someone who was, at his core, a working person, “clocking out” would always, always be better than clocking in — lighter, happier, just fundamentally more joyful!

In excellent spirits, Shen Qing smiled and asked Auntie Zhang: “Is there anything good to eat?”

Auntie Zhang loved to cook, and she was very fond of this bright-smiled madam of theirs. She immediately beamed back: “The carrot cake you asked for is already done — shall I bring you a slice to taste first?”

Shen Qing thought about it and nodded. “Sure. I’ll have a taste first then.”

Aozai didn’t like carrots. Every meal, the moment he spotted that “orange vegetable thing,” he’d pick it straight out. This had given Shen Qing the sudden idea to ask Auntie Zhang if she could make a little carrot cake.

He’d seen something like it scrolling through his phone and had asked on a whim.

Although the moment the words left his mouth, Shen Qing’s first instinct was that it was too fussy. Too much trouble.

After all, based on how he’d grown up — eating wherever he could, dependent on others’ goodwill: You dare to be picky? Go hungry for a few meals and you’ll get over it.

But perhaps precisely because of those experiences, once that thought passed and Auntie Zhang said she could make it, he went ahead and said: “Then let’s do it!”

Auntie Zhang was a very experienced household caretaker. Preparing food for children was her specialty — the moment Shen Qing proposed the idea, she understood exactly what he was going for.

She herself loved experimenting with recipes. Today, while Madam took the young masters out to register for classes, Auntie Zhang had nothing pressing to do, so she’d started researching.

She juiced the carrots and folded the juice into the batter, then used carrot and apple jam as the filling.

The resulting cake was soft and delicious, the filling generous, the sweetness and texture perfectly balanced.

Shen Qing had said he wanted to taste it first, so Auntie Zhang cut him a slice right away.

Knowing that Madam usually shared small sweets with the young masters, Auntie Zhang had made an eight-inch cake. Even cutting a quarter for Shen Qing left plenty — more than enough for the two young masters to enjoy later.

The batter made with carrot juice gave the cake a naturally warm orange-yellow color.

The jam in the middle was also Auntie Zhang’s own: made from fresh fruit, low sugar, no additives.

On top of all that, she’d spread a layer of white fresh cream over the outside, so at first glance it looked no different from any ordinary cream cake.

Shen Qing had assumed Auntie Zhang’s specialty was Chinese cooking — he hadn’t expected her to produce something like this. He couldn’t help complimenting her: “Auntie Zhang, you’re incredible! With skills like yours, why would I ever order dessert from outside again!”

Auntie Zhang laughed modestly: “Madam flatters me.”

Shen Qing picked up a fork and took a bite. The taste was genuinely good — far better than he’d imagined. The key was the restrained sweetness; it was much better than anything store-bought. And with the carrot worked into it, there was this delicate natural sweetness — not the sharpness of white sugar, just a soft, gentle sweetness.

Shen Qing, at least, loved it.

Whatever Duoduo, Aozai, and Auntie Zhang might think of him, the truth was that Shen Qing didn’t actually have much of a sweet tooth. It wasn’t that he disliked it — the occasional piece here and there was fine — but eating it regularly would quickly become cloying. Not like hotpot or barbecue or spicy skewers, the kind of things you’d start craving if you went too long without. This cake’s flavor was refreshing, though, and neatly cut through any sense of richness.

And thanks to Auntie Zhang’s careful decoration, Shen Qing was fairly confident Aozai would love it — and wouldn’t be able to tell it was carrot.

“Go ahead and cut some now and send it up to them,” Shen Qing said. “I’m guessing neither of them is actually asleep. Oh — and remember not to mention the carrot.”

He’d entirely forgotten that back at the tutoring center, he’d already mentioned the carrot cake by name.

Still smiling, he added: “Right, and bring up some water too.”

“Of course!” Auntie Zhang lit up the moment she heard Madam wanted to send cake to the young masters.

Whatever else might be said, Madam now thought of the young masters at every turn, and never refused them food. That alone made Auntie Zhang’s heart feel a great deal lighter.

Even as an employee, she couldn’t have watched those sweet little boys go hungry — careless of any pay. That wasn’t a money problem. It was just something any person with a conscience couldn’t bear.

Thinking of how things used to be, Auntie Zhang hesitated a moment, then tentatively asked: “Madam — is Auntie Song coming back soon?”

Shen Qing: “Hm? Who?”

He didn’t register it for a moment.

Seeing Auntie Zhang’s slightly startled expression, Shen Qing quickly caught up: “Ah… yes, she should be back soon, shouldn’t she?”

Auntie Song was the other caretaker in the household — the one specifically assigned to look after Duoduo and the others.

In terms of seniority, she had joined the household even before Auntie Zhang.

Which was why she had been the first person the original host had sought to bribe.

The original novel hadn’t gone into great detail about how the original “Shen Qing” had managed the Gu household, but Shen Qing had managed to dredge up a few details from the corners of his inherited memories.

“Shen Qing” had never wanted to marry Gu Huaiyù, and had no interest in his two little burdens either. With nowhere to safely vent his resentment, he’d turned it on the two oblivious children — couldn’t even manage to tolerate them until Gu Huaiyù’s death, practically eager to make them miserable.

He could avoid most of the household staff, but the caretakers specifically assigned to the two young masters were harder to dodge.

So “Shen Qing” had bribed Auntie Song.

Auntie Song hadn’t been particularly fond of children to begin with — she’d taken the childcare job primarily for the good pay — and so she hadn’t been immune to the temptation of what was offered. Besides, she knew the master didn’t have long left. In the future, the household would most likely answer to the mistress. Knowing which way the wind blew, she’d accepted the original host’s terms.

And the original host hadn’t even asked her to do much — just turn a blind eye, keep quiet. That was enough.

But from Shen Qing’s perspective, Auntie Song’s conduct had sometimes crossed the line.

With that in mind, Shen Qing had already quietly decided what to do. He told Auntie Zhang to go send the cake up first, then called the head housekeeper over and gave some quiet instructions. After that, Shen Qing returned to the living room — to the spot by the fireplace, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows — and settled himself down contentedly with his afternoon tea.

It was quarter past three. Perfectly on time for afternoon tea.

Along with his coffee and small sweets, Shen Qing had a book in hand.

It was a foreign novel — a well-known one.

After the original host had bought it, it had promptly become a doorstop.

The original host had wanted to improve himself, to cultivate some cultural refinement — because even in the entertainment industry where academic credentials weren’t a formal barrier, your actual level would become obvious the moment you opened your mouth.

Between his low education and introverted personality, the original host had long struggled with deep insecurity.

Perhaps precisely because of that insecurity, he’d never been able to settle down and study. He’d barely read a single book.

But in Shen Qing’s hands, this book was exactly the kind of thing he’d been wanting to read.

He was the opposite of the original host — he’d always been too busy before. No time for insecurity or second-guessing, let alone leisure reading.

Discovering that this transmigrated world contained a novel he’d once wanted to read, Shen Qing had naturally picked it up at once.

The slender young man reclined against a single-seat American-style armchair, one knee bent over the other leg, his posture loose and unhurried.

It had been snowing that morning outside, and the sky had remained overcast — but now the clouds had parted, and a slant of afternoon sunlight came through the floor-to-ceiling window and fell across him, casting a long, quietly beautiful shadow on the floor.

Before long, Auntie Zhang returned after delivering the cake and came to give her report.

“Madam, the young masters really weren’t sleeping at all — just as you predicted! You know them so well!” Auntie Zhang said.

Shen Qing smiled and let it go. There was nothing to be proud of. He’d just already come to understand the terrifying nature of these two children.

Aozai was one thing — that kid slept well. Tired himself out playing and naturally dropped off.

But Duoduo at this hour was probably quietly studying upstairs…

Then Auntie Zhang relayed another message: “Oh, right, Madam — on my way back down, I ran into someone sent by the master. He says whenever you have a free moment, could you come up?”

“Alright, sure.” Shen Qing agreed without asking what it was about.

From the memories he’d inherited, Director Gu rarely summoned the original host upstairs — he had no way of guessing what the man could want.

But since the message had specifically said “whenever you have a free moment,” it presumably wasn’t anything urgent. Shen Qing didn’t rush. He asked Auntie Zhang whether Duoduo and Aozai had eaten the cake and how they’d liked it.

Auntie Zhang’s face broke into that warm, gentle smile of hers: “The young masters loved it. Madam really does have the most thoughtful ideas.”

Picturing the young masters’ little cheeks puffed out as they ate, Auntie Zhang gave Madam a big thumbs up.

Shen Qing continued smiling contentedly.

Then picked his book back up and went on reading.

“Um, Madam,” said Auntie Zhang, now a little puzzled. “Aren’t you going up to see the master?”

She’d assumed that after chatting about the young masters for a bit, Madam had simply forgotten about the summons.

But Shen Qing was lounging right there, completely at ease, his whole posture relaxed and unbothered: “I’ll go up. I just want to finish eating this first.”

Auntie Zhang: “…”

Madam still had half his cake left. Well, not wasting food was indeed a good habit — but the thing was, it was the master who’d sent for him…

Having worked in several wealthy households over the years, Auntie Zhang had kept her mouth shut and asked no unnecessary questions, but she’d seen enough of the world to know what kind of man the master was on the outside.

In the past — even without comparing anything else — the moment Madam heard the master call for him, he’d have rushed upstairs immediately. Even if it was clear he went reluctantly and with some resistance.

But now? Auntie Zhang could only think: Madam didn’t seem reluctant, didn’t seem to resist — but he wasn’t especially eager either.

If she had to sum it up in one phrase: he was increasingly carrying himself like the true head of the household.

“Oh — is there any of the carrot cake left?” Shen Qing suddenly asked.

“There is,” Auntie Zhang nodded. “Since it’s getting late, I didn’t give the young masters too much — I took up just under half the cake. There’s a little more than your portion left.”

Shen Qing also nodded: “Then could I trouble you to pack it up? I’ll bring it up for the master.”

“Oh? That…” Auntie Zhang paused. “Can the master eat this sort of thing?”

The master’s diet was managed by a separate team — they didn’t even cook in the same kitchen as her.

But she’d heard that the master ate very simply, very little, with seemingly no particular appetite for food. Something as elaborate and fanciful as a children’s cake…

“It’s fine,” Shen Qing said lightly. “If he won’t eat it, I’ll just bring it back down.”

“Of course!” Auntie Zhang smiled — when she thought about it that way, yes, Madam and the master were family. Sharing food was perfectly natural. Worst case, if the master couldn’t eat it, they’d just bring it back.

She’d worked in grand households too long, seen too much marital coldness and discord, witnessed firsthand how selective wealthy people could be about what they ate. She’d unconsciously assumed that since the master had his own kitchen, Madam wasn’t supposed to send food from theirs.

Otherwise it would only invite trouble for himself — and might even displease the master.

She’d somehow forgotten the rather important detail that they were family.

Compared to those stiff, rule-laden wealthy households, Madam was truly something else. Just being around him made everything feel more alive.

Auntie Zhang quickly packed up the cake. Shen Qing finished his own slice, then carried the tray up to the third floor.

He hadn’t actually laid eyes on the big boss in a couple of days — but he also hadn’t heard anything about Gu Huaiyù being ill again. So he was probably just busy.

Shen Qing had assumed he’d find him in the office dealing with work.

But when he arrived on the third floor, the assistant stationed outside the office area informed him: Director Gu was currently in his bedroom.

Li Hong: “Director Gu also said — when Madam arrives, please go to the bedroom to find him.”

Shen Qing: ?

At first, Shen Qing thought he’d come at a bad time. But then he heard that the director wanted him to come to the bedroom…

“Would that — wouldn’t that disturb Director Gu’s rest? Maybe I should go back and come again once he’s better rested…”

Li Hong glanced at the tray in Madam’s hands, and smiled: “Director Gu shouldn’t be resting at this hour. And he’s been in the bedroom all day — even if you came in the evening, you’d still end up going there to see him.”

Shen Qing: “…”

So why, for no particular reason, was he being sent to a bedroom?

He knew nothing was going to happen between him and the director — but they were still, at least on paper, a married couple. Sharing a room was one thing. Sharing a bedroom was…

Unless the director was feeling unwell again and couldn’t get out of bed?

Shen Qing considered asking more questions.

But then he remembered the last time he’d tried to inquire about the director’s health with Assistant Li, and the sense that Gu Huaiyù had something of a forbidding reputation among his subordinates — many secrets, Li Hong unwilling to say much.

He didn’t press further. He had no choice but to walk deeper down the corridor, toward Gu Huaiyù’s bedroom.

He knocked on the heavy, antique solid-wood door, then pushed it open — and immediately spotted Gu Huaiyù sitting at a writing desk across the room.

Hm?

The original host had never set foot in the director’s bedroom before.

And from what he’d heard — that this man had converted his bedroom into something resembling a hospital ward — the image Shen Qing had built in his mind was:

A wide, stark space. At first glance, nothing but cold, clinical white. In the center, a lone adjustable hospital bed with crisp white sheets, the sides flanked by monitoring equipment and oxygen tanks and tubes, machines emitting a steady chorus of beeping.

What he found instead, upon actually entering, was:

Directly facing the door — and along the wall beside it — a full row of bookshelves, floor to ceiling. Along one side, a wide writing desk. By the two windows, a small table and a side table respectively, each with chairs of different styles arranged around them. And on the walls, several oil paintings.

The entire room was done in a palette of white, grey, and brown, with natural wood throughout — simple in style, limited in color, no unnecessary ornament. But it was nothing like the grim, sickroom atmosphere he’d anticipated.

Not even close.

Or rather — the one thing he’d guessed correctly was that the room was spacious. Everything else was the complete opposite of what he’d imagined.

Even as large as the room was, without much decoration, it didn’t feel empty at all.

Those two full walls of bookshelves, lined from end to end with books, elevated the entire space — you’d never call it bare or hollow.

“…So this is actually your bedroom?”

Shen Qing looked around once more, eyes sweeping the room. Even without much decoration, those few paintings on the wall looked far from ordinary.

…One of them, in fact, appeared to be an extremely famous piece — so famous that even elementary school students would recognize it…

He quickly looked away and turned back to Director Gu at the desk: “You’re sure this isn’t some kind of private collection gallery?”

Gu Huaiyù: “?”

In that moment, Shen Qing felt less like he was visiting a husband and more like he’d come to see a major shareholder.

Director Gu’s handsome face remained as pale and bloodless as ever — his frame thin, almost alarmingly gaunt — but his posture was still impeccably straight.

The room was arranged with extreme simplicity. Every object in its proper place, nothing superfluous, nothing out of order. This made Gu Huaiyù, sitting neatly behind the writing desk in a light robe, appear almost mechanical in his precision.

Especially with those sharp eyes, those deep, unfathomable pupils, and those pale, colorless lips.

It made Shen Qing think of the snow falling outside earlier, and of the frost that had crackled against the car windows when they’d left the house that morning.

Inexplicably, he had the sense that the big boss’s mood today was not quite right.

Whether that was because his body was giving him trouble again…

“The French class — did you get him enrolled?”

While Shen Qing was still quietly observing, Gu Huaiyù suddenly spoke.

Shen Qing answered honestly: “Yes.”

He hadn’t reported his plans to the big boss before leaving, but he had asked the housekeeper to arrange the driver on his way out. He wasn’t surprised if the housekeeper had passed that along to the master.

And in the interest of his own survival, Shen Qing had spent the last couple of days straining to recall details from the source novel, and had eventually dredged up a small but relevant point: even in the later stages of his illness, Gu Huaiyù had still, just before his death, caught on to the original host’s scheming — setting up surveillance and monitoring throughout the house. It was only because “Shen Qing” and Dr. Ling had formed an alliance and accelerated his death that the original host had successfully inherited the estate.

By the novel’s timeline, all of that should still lie far ahead. He was, for now, in the clear.

But Shen Qing couldn’t afford blind confidence that things would simply unfold as written.

Comfort breeds complacency. Hardship builds vigilance.

And considering that right after he’d arrived in this body, Gu Duo had come to probe him for information — even arranging for his little uncle to eavesdrop from outside the room…

Though Duoduo hadn’t appeared to tell his small uncle anything conclusive at the time, Gu Huaiyù was not a foolish man. That much had become evident through their few interactions so far — he wasn’t even slightly mentally diminished by his illness, and was nothing like the easy, manageable target the novel had made him sound.

Any person of normal intelligence who cared even a little about those children would have replayed that scene in their mind, and eventually noticed something off.

And then there was the fact that Gu Huaiyù had subsequently replaced his entire medical team…

Taking all of this into account, Shen Qing suspected the big boss had probably already begun to suspect something.

The sudden replacement of the medical team had, understandably, set the household staff on edge. Nobody knew what the team had done to earn the director’s displeasure, and Gu Huaiyù had been staying home these past days rather than returning to the hospital. His very presence had a way of making people unaccountably tense.

No one could read the boss’s moods, and everyone was terrified of losing their position. Losing the job was the smaller fear — actually offending Director Gu was a far worse outcome.

Who wouldn’t be anxious?

And yet, among all those anxious people, Shen Qing was notably absent.

It wasn’t that he had unusually strong nerves.

He was simply a thoroughgoing… let-it-go kind of person.

And even that wasn’t really a choice — most of the time it was just what the situation called for. What else was there to do?

Everything the original host had done had already happened. Shen Qing had already done his best to make amends. He’d done everything within his power, everything he could think of. He was only an ordinary person — there would always be things he couldn’t do, things he hadn’t considered.

But what could he do about that?

Since there was nothing he could do, anxiety served no purpose.

Every extra worry was just pointless mental wear and tear. Too much inner turmoil and he’d end up like his past life — running himself into the ground, collapsing from exhaustion.

The let-it-go approach required no particular mental strength or survival skills.

Just do what you can, trust in what comes after, and then lie back and let things be.

So Shen Qing kept his composure as if nothing were out of the ordinary — no panic, no guilt — and said in a perfectly even tone: “Duoduo wanted to study French, and he specifically wanted a class rather than a private tutor, so I found a nearby place and enrolled him.”

And sure enough, that perfectly calm delivery, reaching Gu Huaiyù’s ears, sounded like nothing more than the natural act of someone doing exactly what an auntie-by-marriage was supposed to do — looking after the children, just as promised, so the big boss could focus on his recovery without worrying about anything else.

It left Gu Huaiyù with nothing to say.

After changing out the medical team and the medication, Gu Huaiyù had had very little energy these past two days. But today he’d woken up with his head clearer than expected. He’d gotten through his morning work, and after noon he’d heard that Shen Qing had taken the children out.

Upon learning this, he’d immediately asked someone to find out where they’d gone.

It was also around this time that he happened to glance at his phone, and noticed the flurry of activity in the residents’ community group chat — which was how he’d found out that Shen Qing had taken the children to sign up for a tutoring class.

…This was the complete opposite of how the novel’s dream had described Shen Qing.

In that dream, “Shen Qing” had refused to let the two children study at all — intent on ruining them. He would never have taken them to a tutoring center.

…

A moment later, Gu Huaiyù asked: “Duoduo wanted to learn French?”

Shen Qing: “Yes. He brought it up himself a few days ago — I’ve been looking into it ever since.”

As he spoke, Shen Qing stifled a yawn.

Not because he was deliberately playing up exhaustion to earn credit — he simply hadn’t slept through the afternoon and was genuinely a little tired.

Gu Huaiyù said: “You’ve worked hard.”

Shen Qing said: “No trouble. Just serving the people.”

Gu Huaiyù: “…”

His gaze dropped to the small tray the young man had been holding this entire time. Gu Huaiyù shifted topics: “What’s that you’re carrying?”

Still standing near the door, Shen Qing seemed to only now remember he was holding something.

He quickly stepped forward and set the tray directly on the big boss’s writing desk: “Oh, this? It’s specifically for you.”

“Here.”

Gu Huaiyù looked down at the elegant tableware on the tray, and the small, rather nicely shaped dessert resting on it. He paused.

Looking more closely at the little pastry, he asked: “For me?”

…Shen Qing had been back for a while now without coming upstairs to check in or say anything — was this what he’d been busy with?

Shen Qing was already smiling: “That’s right.”

Concerned that the big boss might have dietary restrictions, he added an explanation: “Auntie Zhang made this cake fresh — no additives, no preservatives, low sugar, low fat, not sweet at all. The main ingredients should be flour, carrot, and apple purée…”

He noticed Gu Huaiyù’s gaze had shifted away from the cake and was now slowly rising to rest on him. Shen Qing felt oddly self-conscious all of a sudden.

The big boss’s eyes weren’t as cold and severe as they’d been when he first walked in. In this one moment, they’d warmed considerably.

Why?

After a small blink, Shen Qing continued: “So I figured you should be able to eat this, right?”

A pause after he finished. He waited for the big boss to respond — but Gu Huaiyù just kept looking at him, saying nothing.

Shen Qing was about to say something else — when Gu Huaiyù spoke first.

“You want me to eat this that much?”

Shen Qing: …

Hss. What kind of question was that?

“I wouldn’t say I especially want you to or not…” Shen Qing felt the big boss was overthinking things again.

He just thought this was something the big boss could probably eat, and had wanted to share it. Simple as that.

So he wasn’t going to push it. He reached for the tray, saying: “If you don’t want it, that’s fine…”

The sentence went unfinished.

And the tray didn’t get taken away.

Gu Huaiyù raised a hand, two fingers pressing down on the far edge of the tray, and said sharply: “Wait.”

“?”

Shen Qing: “What?”

Gu Huaiyù looked down at the cake, brows faintly creasing, his expression carrying a subtle, layered complexity: “I never eat this.”

Shen Qing: “Oh, you don’t — that’s fine, I’ll take it back down.”

Gu Huaiyù: “What I mean is, I don’t eat sweets.”

Shen Qing: “…Okay, noted. I’ll make sure never to bring you anything like this again.”

At that, Gu Huaiyù abruptly looked up. His gaze landed directly on Shen Qing’s face — unblinking, unwavering. The two fingers resting on the tray showed their knuckles, finger pads pressing down with clear intent.

No sign whatsoever of letting go.

Shen Qing: …?

So what exactly did he want?

Before much more could happen — the big boss, brow faintly and unusually furrowed, suddenly reached for the small dessert spoon on the tray, scooped out a small mouthful of cake, and lifted it to his own lips.

Shen Qing: “???”

Didn’t you just say you don’t eat it?

So do you eat it or not?!

Genuinely baffled, Shen Qing gave up wrestling with the tray and straightened up.

Gu Huaiyù chewed.

…One small, small bite of cake, and the big boss chewed it for what had to be thirty-odd times. The whole thing took upward of a full minute…

Shen Qing: Okay, are you running it through a juicer in there, or is this a poison-detection protocol?

A minute later, Gu Huaiyù swallowed.

…It really seemed like swallowing was genuinely difficult for him. Like he truly didn’t like eating. Shen Qing, reading the room, reached for the tray again.

Gu Huaiyù stopped him. Again.

This time, the big boss placed his entire hand flat on top of the tray.

Gu Huaiyù said: “Leave it. No need to take it back.”

Shen Qing: ?

The hand resting on the tray was pale to the point of near-translucency, the veins visible through the skin, and scattered across it — unmistakably — were the marks of repeated needles, dense and small, tinged with muted purple-blue.

And yet that hand held with no small amount of force.

The two of them in a quiet standoff, Gu Huaiyù looked at Shen Qing with something like puzzlement: “Didn’t you want me to eat it? Then let it stay.”

Shen Qing: “…”

He had just finished saying he didn’t especially want that, hadn’t he?

Completely blindsided by the big boss’s logic, he genuinely had no words. He’d only brought it up to offer, what was the big deal — how did eating a simple pastry become this complicated in a wealthy household?

Wait…

Shen Qing suddenly had a strange thought.

Could it be… the big boss actually liked this?

It was a slightly absurd idea — but then he remembered the way the director’s manner had suddenly warmed earlier, and that full minute of deliberate chewing, and Shen Qing found himself thinking, with a creeping sense of possibility — maybe Gu Huaiyù’s faintly furrowed brow hadn’t been from distaste.

Maybe it was from savoring it.

…

Maybe even the part where he’d insisted he didn’t like sweets was just… saying the opposite of what he meant while eating happily.

Once that thought surfaced, the more Shen Qing turned it over, the more it seemed to fit.

…In which case — so it wasn’t Duoduo who took after his little uncle in this particular way. It was Aozai!

Nephews taking after uncles wasn’t anything new.

And Shen Qing had always assumed it was little Duoduo — with his perpetual blank expression and air of deep seriousness — who resembled their small uncle more.

He never would have guessed that Aozai was the one who’d inherited the hidden traits.

Shen Qing was still turning this over in his mind and hadn’t noticed that the big boss had already changed what he was doing.

Gu Huaiyù pulled something from a drawer in the writing desk — a paper gift bag with a texture suggesting real quality. The bag was understated and refined, with one small logo printed in a nearly invisible corner. Shen Qing couldn’t make it out — he only saw Gu Huaiyù slide the bag across the desk toward him.

“There was another reason I called you up.” Gu Huaiyù said.

“?”

Shen Qing’s expression turned questioning. “What reason?”

“A gift.” Gu Huaiyù: “For you.”

Shen Qing: “?!…What kind of gift?”

Why was he being given a gift again?!

Gu Huaiyù: “Open it and see.”

Shen Qing: “…I’m not sure I can accept something like this.”

Even as he said it, he reached out without hesitation and picked up the bag. Inside was an exquisitely made small box.

It looked like a jewelry box.

!

After the previous experience of suddenly receiving a property worth 300 million, Shen Qing’s instincts told him that anything from Director Gu would not be ordinary.

But there was still one thing he couldn’t figure out.

“What I mean is — why are you suddenly giving me a gift?”

While asking the question, he had already opened the small box.

The box was a little snug, with a particular clasp mechanism — but the design was thoughtful and not difficult to figure out.

The moment it opened, something blazed out at him — a burst of light that nearly blinded him before he could prepare himself.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw what was resting inside: a brooch.

Well, whether it was technically a brooch wasn’t the point.

…The point was that the diamond sitting in it — larger than his thumbnail — surely couldn’t be real? Right???…

He caught himself.

What on earth was he thinking? If Gu Huaiyù had given it, how could it possibly be fake?

That would be an insult to the big boss!

And even without knowing the jewelry market, Shen Qing had a general sense of what a one-carat diamond went for — and knew that the larger the carat, the rarer and more precious the stone became.

Something this size, of unclear carat count… clearly well beyond the range of any simple per-carat calculation…

Click — Shen Qing snapped the box shut again.

Nothing was wrong. It was just that the light blazing off the contents was genuinely a bit hard on the eyes.

And also his hands had started shaking a little, and he was worried about dropping it.

…Now that he knew what was inside, looking back at the jewelry box itself, it appeared the exterior was also inlaid with small diamonds along the rim.

…Each of those were probably at least half a carat each!

He was suddenly finding this box uncomfortably hot to hold. (qwq)

From opening to closing, the whole thing had taken only a few seconds.

Fast enough that it was only now, beside him, that Gu Huaiyù supplied the answer: “It’s a return gift. For the present you gave me.”

“…What present did I give you?”

Shen Qing thought back for a moment, startled: “You mean — that Peppa Pig figurine??”

Gu Huaiyù neither confirmed nor denied.

The big boss merely tilted his chin up slightly and asked: “Do you like it?”

“This.”

Shen Qing clutched the jewelry box tighter in his hands: “Who could possibly not like this!”

This was money! Money!

Word was that large diamonds started at tens of millions — so he estimated this one brooch alone had to be worth at least several tens of millions… for this tiny little thing.

Shen Qing ran his fingers along the velvet texture of the little box, still slightly hesitant: “I just still don’t quite understand one thing…”

Gu Huaiyù generously indicated his willingness to explain. He rested both elbows on the desk and studied the young man carefully: “Go ahead.”

“Was this brooch something someone gave you?”

Gu Huaiyù shook his head.

Shen Qing: “Then it’s a family heirloom?”

A flicker of puzzlement in Gu Huaiyù’s eyes — but again he shook his head.

“Then it’s something you’d meant to give some other person close to you, but never did?”

Gu Huaiyù’s brow furrowed: “What are you talking about?”

Shen Qing hadn’t expected to actually irritate the big boss. Now he was confused too: “Then where did it come from?… Don’t tell me you bought it… You bought it specifically to give to me??”

“…”

Gu Huaiyù no longer had his elbows propped on the desk. He leaned back in his chair, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and asked: “Why not?”

Shen Qing: “…”

Shen Qing reopened the jewelry box and held the brooch out toward Gu Huaiyù: “But this is a pink diamond… you bought this specifically for me — why a pink diamond?…”

Weren’t pink diamonds the sort of thing meant for queens?

How was he supposed to wear that?

No matter how he looked at it, he simply could not convince himself that this was a gift the big boss had deliberately purchased for him.

Well — even if it had been meant for someone else and gotten redirected to him, that was fine too.

It wasn’t as if he would turn it down.

The diamond and the value it represented were entirely innocent.

But Gu Huaiyù glanced at the brooch and replied, with complete matter-of-fact certainty: “Isn’t pink your favorite color?”

Shen Qing: “…? Since when do I like pink??”

Wait.

Now that he thought about it… the original host’s room, with all that pink décor. The pink wallpaper…

He’d packed away the decorations over the past few days, but hadn’t gotten around to changing the wallpaper yet.

Gu Huaiyù had seen the state of that room. He’d probably drawn the wrong conclusion…

That was Shen Qing’s theory.

But Gu Huaiyù had other evidence.

The director laid out his case with the flat delivery of someone reciting established facts: “The gift you gave me was pink. The shower gel you borrowed was pink…”

Shen Qing: “…”

Gu Huaiyù: “Even the scent on you is strawberry.”

Shen Qing: “…………”

“And you still say pink isn’t your favorite color?”

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