AGRCIW CH2

Lin Songyu arrived in Hang City a night early and checked into the hotel. For once, he went to bed early, but ended up trapped in a nightmare.

His head felt heavy, like an old black-and-white TV that needed someone to bang on it before the image would appear. His limbs were bound by an invisible force, and he couldn’t knock on his own head. After a long while, an image finally emerged.

The sound and picture were out of sync. In the dream, he was yelling at Xie Zhuo for applying for academic leave, scolding him for ruining his future, telling him to just hire a nanny to care for the child.

But in his ears, an unfamiliar voice was persistently trying to persuade him to be Xie Zhuo’s nanny, because Xie Zhuo was a genius, Heaven’s chosen one, with boundless potential—and many people were lining up for the job.

“I’m not going to be a nanny.”

He jolted awake, eyes met with the extravagant hotel ceiling.

He picked up the now-cold glass of water on the bedside table and took a sip. The chill ran down his esophagus and cleared his mind.

You dream about what’s on your mind—just because he heard about Xie Zhuo’s leave of absence, now he was having this kind of ridiculous dream?

He admitted he felt a bit of regret at the time, but that was all. He didn’t feel sorry for him one bit.

Dreaming like this—what a sign of regression.

Lin Songyu called his assistant to bring his laptop. He buried himself in reading emails, but the gloom in his mood lingered.

The assistant quietly closed the door behind him, thinking: Usually people are grumpy from lack of sleep—why is the boss in a bad mood even after a full night’s rest? Bosses really are impossible to understand. The boss might not be hungry, but he was.

In the hotel’s buffet breakfast area, there were barely any seats left.

YanShi Group had booked the entire hotel for the biomedical conference, so most of the breakfast crowd were attendees—eating with refined manners.

The assistant had a small bowl of noodles and glanced around, looking for a decent seat.

Left table? No good—facing several senior professors. What if they start quizzing him?

Right table? No, same problem. The expressions of those professors were just as stern as his boss’s. Definitely high expectations.

Middle table? Also no—just a group of young students clearly acquainted. Barging in wouldn’t be right.

Wait—there in the corner, a young man and a child sharing a round table. Big table, room for more.

Such a cute little human! The assistant rushed over with his tray. “Sorry, nowhere else to sit—mind if I join you?”

“No problem, Uncle,” said Tang Huhu, lifting his head from his bowl and politely responding.

The assistant paused, fingers instinctively pressing into his palm. The reason he was good at his job was because he could remember every face he’d seen and match it with names and occupations.

The kid’s features were really familiar—who did he look like? He must be someone the assistant knew well.

He racked his brain but came up blank—until the young man who had briefly left came back with a bowl of noodles. The moment they locked eyes, it clicked.

It’s you—Xie Zhuo, the genius!

So this child must be the one Xie Zhuo took a year off to personally raise?

Many people had criticized that decision—saying he could’ve just hired a nanny or two.

But now, staring at this adorable child carved like a doll, the assistant suddenly understood. It wasn’t about how many nannies—without a single trusted person in the house, how could anyone hand over their son with peace of mind?

Xie Zhuo nodded slightly, clearly not looking to make conversation.

But Tang Huhu, naturally sociable, looked curiously at the assistant—because this “uncle” was looking at him. Unlike his dad, who always ignored admiring glances, Huhu always stared back. Even with noodles at his mouth, he forgot to open it.

“Tang Huhu,” the little one introduced himself.

Xie Zhuo sighed. “Eat your noodles,” he reminded him, exasperated that his son was treating breakfast like a social hour.

The assistant kindly translated, “I think your son’s trying to say the noodles are too hot.”

Seriously, how is this dad not more attentive than me?

But the little one shook his head and told him, “Uncle, I’m Tang Huhu, and the noodles are not hot-huhu.”

He emphasized the word hot with exaggerated puffing sounds, puffing out his cheeks like he was using all the strength in his tiny body.

The assistant suddenly found his own noodles even tastier—the soup was even milky white.

More and more people were arriving in the dining room. With nearly 300 attendees expected at the conference, Xie Zhuo noticed people looking for seats and pulled Huhu onto his lap to feed him.

Huhu only sat still for one bite before squirming to get down. Xie Zhuo let him.

The little one stood at his dad’s right knee, hands resting on it, mouth wide open, waiting to be fed.

It was rare to see such a lively toddler who could stand quietly while being spoon-fed.

The assistant finished his noodles while debating whether or not to offer his seat to the little one.

He slowed down his eating, observing the father and son—Xie Zhuo, once a widely admired prodigy, had faded from YanShi Group’s research radar since his leave of absence.

Could someone who’d put their career on pause like that really commit to decades of relentless scientific research? Everyone was now uncertain. Someone like Lin Songyu had already crossed him off the list entirely.

When the pair finished eating, they cleaned up their trays. The little one insisted on walking by himself, but Xie Zhuo said, “Too many people—Daddy needs to carry you.”

So Huhu stepped in front of Daddy’s right leg, and with a bend of the knee, Xie Zhuo scooped him up easily.

The assistant watched them leave and scratched his forehead. There it is again—that damn sense of déjà vu. He had another talent: recognizing people just from their backs.

Everyone walks a little differently. And the way Xie Zhuo walked… looked an awful lot like Lin Songyu!

But not quite as natural—Xie Zhuo seemed to be following a deliberate rhythm, like he was trying to mimic someone’s steps.

Was someone really imitating Lin Songyu’s walk? The assistant laughed at the thought.

Noticing the time, he quickly cleaned up his tray and called the driver to take Lin Songyu to his next meeting.

Up on the top floor, he found Lin Songyu. The chicken noodle soup from the hotel was still on the table. Thinking of the hot, tasty noodles he’d just had with Tang Huhu, he blurted out, “Boss, the noodles were really good.”

Lin Songyu: “They’re yours.”

Assistant: “I already ate, you should eat too—or the chairman will start worrying again.”

Unwilling to hear more nagging, Lin Songyu picked up the bowl and began to eat. “Is the driver here?”

Assistant: “Yes.”

A business car pulled away from the hotel as the biomedical conference began check-in.

Professor Zhou had a reserved seat in the front row. Having been informed in advance, the nameplate was removed. Xie Zhuo, arriving a bit late, took a seat with Huhu in the back row by the window.

In the grand lecture hall, the tables and chairs were draped in soft lavender fabric, hiding everyone’s lower halves from view.

The father and son didn’t stand out. Xie Zhuo wore a charcoal-gray suit, and Huhu had on a padded coat in a matching shade.

Sitting on his daddy’s lap, Huhu looked more composed than first-time grad students—his eyes stayed focused, and he didn’t whisper or fidget.

A kid like this must sit in the front row at kindergarten.

At first, when people saw someone bringing a child to the conference, their expressions were stunned—driven by stereotypes, some even frowned.

But the well-behaved Tang Huhu, along with the powerful opening speech, quickly made people forget the oddity of it all.

Tang Huhu looked a little hypnotized by it all, trying hard to keep his eyes wide open and occasionally nodding slowly.

During the discussion session, the young man sitting next to Xie Zhuo even began to slack off:
“Xie Zhuo, don’t tell me your son actually understands this too?”

He had gone to school with Xie Zhuo and knew well the difference in IQ between an average test-taker and a true genius—he strongly suspected Tang Huhu was a prodigy too.

Xie Zhuo replied, “No, he doesn’t understand it.”

His classmate said, “Unbelievable. Your kid seems born for conferences—he looks the part perfectly.”

Another chimed in, “Right? Even though he’s not really listening, he still makes people feel like he’s taking it all in.”

…

“President Lin?”

Lin Songyu snapped back to focus. “What did you just say about the budget?”

The manager giving the report trembled slightly. That tone usually meant President Lin was questioning what had just been said.

He gritted his teeth: “At most, the budget can be cut by 10%—”

But Lin Songyu had actually just been distracted. He said, “Do another version and bring it to me tomorrow.”

Manager: “Understood.”

There was a fire burning in Lin Songyu’s chest, urging him toward the next task. “Meeting adjourned.”

His assistant closed his notebook. “Shall we head to the conference now?”

Lin Songyu: “Mm.”

The assistant got in the car with him and reported, “President Li asked if you wanted to give a speech on stage.”

Lin Songyu: “No.”

The assistant understood—he just wanted to “quietly” observe.

When they arrived at the hotel, Lin Songyu asked, “What part of the agenda are we in now?”

Assistant: “Just in time for group discussions—walking in now won’t be disruptive.”

Lin Songyu nodded.

He strode toward the conference hall. The staff at the door recognized him and, seeing his brisk pace, opened the two central doors without thinking.

Lin Songyu raised his hand too late to stop them.

The wide, four-meter doors slowly opened inward. Beneath them, all eyes turned toward the latecomer. As the light clarified his silhouette, Lin Songyu calmly scanned the entire room.

Someone recognized him and came up to shake hands.

As he returned the gesture and moved toward the right side, Lin Songyu clearly didn’t intend to walk down the center aisle and make a scene, but too many people knew him. Even by the time he reached the far-right row of seats, he was still surrounded.

He quickened his pace, then suddenly stopped in his tracks.

On the south wall was a row of vertical skylights. The curtains had been pulled and gathered into bundles with silver tassels.

A tiny baby sat by the wall, resting against the curtains, his head bobbing slightly.

Startled by being stared at by so many people, the little one lifted his head. His sleepy eyes widened as he looked at Lin Songyu, frozen like a plush toy that had just been put on pause. He seemed stunned, locked in eye contact with Lin Songyu.

Neither of them moved.

Like a peacock who thought nothing could block its way, only to find a newly-hatched chick suddenly in its path—just one more step and he’d trample it.

Lin Songyu hesitated. He could have walked around, but instead he stood there as if trying to share a narrow road at the edge of a cliff… Waiting. For what? Waiting for a baby who looked no older than two to make the first move?

The assistant recognized Tang Huhu and was about to help move him, when the people following Lin Songyu also noticed the child and began to scold from above:

“Whose child is this? Why leave him here? It’s such disrespect to academic discourse. I don’t think he should be allowed to attend in the future.”

“Truly inappropriate.”

The academic world had its own factions. Some just wanted to show off in front of Lin Songyu. Others, knowing the child belonged to a doctoral student brought by Professor Zhou Yong (whom Lin disliked), used the moment to ridicule.

“Shut up,” Lin Songyu said coldly.

The room fell silent. Because of YanShi Group’s research stature, Lin Songyu had always treated scholars—whether real or fake—with polite respect. So when he lashed out, even the senior professor who had been criticizing now looked embarrassed—his face cycling from red to green.

The little one by the curtain realized something had gone wrong. He had caused trouble for his dad and shrank into the curtain to hide.

The heavy fabric weighed down on his tiny body. Inside, the little one didn’t dare to breathe too loudly.

But fate wasn’t on his side.

The curtain hadn’t been cleaned in a while. Once it covered his head, the dust tickled his nose—he sneezed immediately.

At that moment, Lin Songyu suddenly felt like he was the one trapped under that suffocating curtain.

Just as he was about to step forward, someone beat him to it.

Xie Zhuo, who had gone up earlier to submit a report on behalf of his mentor, rushed back, peeled away the curtain, and found his baby sobbing silently. His little face was tear-streaked, eyes and nose red from dust, and his whole body radiated misery without making a sound.

The baby gave Lin Songyu one last pitiful glance, then buried his head in his father’s chest.

That single look, full of grievance, stunned Lin Songyu. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but it felt as if he had just shouted at the child himself.

“Sorry,” Xie Zhuo muttered under his breath and quickly carried his son out.

As they passed by, Lin Songyu thought he saw the man’s eyes rimmed red.

Lin Songyu clenched his fingers and told himself, What does this have to do with me? But his body disobeyed him—his gaze continued to follow the two figures.

The poor little one, clinging to his dad’s shoulder, eyes brimming with tears that refused to fall, his wet lashes sticking together in clumps.

Soon, the father and son disappeared from view.

But in Lin Songyu’s ears and eyes, all that remained was the little one’s tearful sneeze—the ache in his chest like someone had just pulled his heart, dripping wet, from water.

The little incident didn’t affect the conference schedule. The crowd surrounding Lin Songyu, sensing his silence, wisely dispersed.

When Li Xiuyu found Lin Songyu, he was slouched in a chair at the far right of the front row, dazed.

“Word is, you made Xie Zhuo’s kid cry?”

Lin Songyu looked up, clearly unsure of himself. “What nonsense is that?”

Li Xiuyu sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned closer—clearly about to say something just for the two of them.

“No matter what you think, I’m recruiting Xie Zhuo. You don’t get to be biased against him just because he took a leave of absence. Take back that ‘don’t hire him’ comment. I checked—he came back from leave even more capable than before. Do you have any idea how rare a genius like him is? I’m competing with the whole world for talent!”

Li Xiuyu said with conviction, “You know, you not only failed to help—you’re dragging us down. It’s like you want to be the kid’s stepmother, but you hit the child on day one.”

Lin Songyu’s crystal-colored eyes flicked over to him, then slowly said, “Who said I want to be a stepmother? Let him raise his own kid.”

Li Xiuyu held his head. “Is that really what we’re talking about right now?”