AGRCIW CH1

At year’s end, the desk of the CEO’s office at Yanshi Group was piled high with preliminary summaries sent in from every department and subsidiary.

Reading reports, approving budgets, attending meetings… Whether working, eating, or commuting, Lin Songyu’s eyes were always on data, his ears filled with voices—his mind consumed by numbers.

At seven in the morning, Lin Songyu unknowingly paused his meal and rubbed his temples.

Beside him, the assistant reading out the project data from Yanshi Group’s overseas pharmaceutical factory paused and asked, “President Lin, shall we take a break—”

“Keep reading.”
His cold voice fell like freezing rain on glazed tiles, making the listener shiver despite shelter.

The assistant’s gaze shifted slightly from the report to his boss’s face—delicate and beautiful like a lotus emerging from water, yet exuding an aloof arrogance. Without so much as a frown, one look from him could make it clear he was displeased.

Sensing the mood, the assistant quickened his pace and no longer dared suggest the CEO eat in peace. Ten minutes later, he packed up the report and headed to the study to organize the documents brought back the previous night.

The private investment consultant then stepped in, reporting changes in global exchange rates and commodity futures while offering investment advice.

“Currently bearish on copper and aluminum—”

“Mm.”

Lin Songyu had little appetite. After eating half a pine nut pastry, he put down his utensils and walked to the study. It was Saturday, and he didn’t need to go to the office until the afternoon.

The assistant had just finished organizing the desk and was reaching up to retrieve some folders from the highest shelf. As he pulled one out, a sheet of paper floated down, landing softly at Lin Songyu’s feet.

He glanced down—it was a thin résumé, light on content but highly impressive in substance.

He thought for a moment but had no recollection.

The assistant quickly offered, “It’s probably one of the talent recommendations the R&D department sent in two years ago.”

Yanshi Group specialized in biopharmaceuticals. Since taking office, Lin Songyu had pushed heavily for R&D, recruiting talent from all walks of life to build a first-class lab.

He took this initiative seriously, but at the time he had just been in a car accident and had been in a coma for two months. By the time he woke up, the R&D team had already been finalized. Between rehab and clearing backlogged affairs, he had entrusted the whole process to his close confidant, Li Xiuyu.

Prompted by the assistant’s reminder, Lin Songyu vaguely recalled something and looked down at the résumé again. The photo showed a strikingly handsome man—unusual for an R&D candidate.
“Xie Zhuo… Is he employed now?”

He remembered Li Xiuyu praising Xie Zhuo two years ago as a biomedical prodigy—someone they must recruit at any cost once he finished his PhD, with plans to make him chief scientist.

The assistant replied, “No.”

Lin Songyu frowned. “Why not?”

The assistant quickly tried to explain, “It’s not a salary issue—he hasn’t finished his doctorate yet.”

Lin Songyu’s frown deepened. “Delayed graduation? This is the ‘genius’ Li Xiuyu was talking about?” He began doubting Li Xiuyu’s judgment. He’d invested so much in the lab—was it now just a makeshift setup?

The assistant added, “It’s not academic—apparently it’s a family issue.”

“What issue?”

The assistant hesitated. Working with Lin Songyu for years had taught him to keep things concise. He had thought “family reasons” would suffice, assuming Lin Songyu wouldn’t care for details.

“His girlfriend had a baby out of wedlock and left him. He has no living parents, so he had to take a year off to care for the child.”

Expressionless, Lin Songyu commented, “Useless. Don’t recruit him.”

Can’t afford a child but didn’t take precautions. Poor judgment in choosing a partner. A mess in both life and career.

The assistant replied, “Understood. I’ll inform Director Li.”
Typically, they didn’t concern themselves with candidates’ private lives. But just now, when the word “dropout” came up, the ever-stoic CEO had visibly shown anger.

Clearly, President Lin despised personal matters interfering with work. The assistant made a mental note to remain chaste and career-focused.

Lin Songyu glanced at the résumé, crumpled it into a ball, paused, then unfolded it again to review the list of awards.
Raising kids ruins ambition.

“Where’s Li Xiuyu? Tell him to come see me.”
Lin Songyu had decided to personally audit the recruitment standards of the tech department—just how much fluff was in there?

Since taking office, he had anchored the company’s future ten- to thirty-year strategy on “cell therapy,” alongside their ongoing work on innovative drugs. This meant a huge demand for biomedical talent.

The assistant answered, “Director Li is in Hang City, attending the Biomedical Annual Conference.”

It was an elite event for the field, and Yanshi Group was as always both host and sponsor.

Lin Songyu thought for a moment. “I have a meeting in Hang City tomorrow, don’t I?”

“You do.”

“Try to end it early—I’ll drop by the conference.”
He sat down at his desk and resumed work.

The assistant noticed his boss had settled in and didn’t seem likely to move anytime soon. He tried again, “Would you like more breakfast? I can ask the housekeeper to make porridge.”

He had only eaten half a pastry all morning. Plus, several projects in the reports hadn’t met targets—whenever that happened, Lin Songyu would start thinking deeply, lose his appetite, and rush to the study to work.

Chairman and doctors had both tried persuading him to stop mixing meals with work. But he still did as he pleased. He had lost a lot of weight during his coma and had yet to recover fully.

Lin Songyu gave a vague nod, his pen moving across the page, head bobbing slightly—clearly brushing off the suggestion.

He wasn’t in the mood to eat. Even if he did, he wouldn’t digest it.

“Daddy, no radio today?”

At the children’s dining table sat a toddler, not yet two years old. As his father tied on a bib, the little one craned his neck, big round eyes trying to catch his father’s gaze.

“Kids with colds shouldn’t multitask. It’ll hurt your digestion.”

The man, nearly 1.9 meters tall, had to bend his knees just to sit by the tiny table. Legs crossed, he shared the small table with his son, hunched over to mix the rice.

“Hot rice, time to eat.” Xie Zhuo called his son’s name.

“Nooo,” the boy insisted, rubbing his round tummy over the bib. His baby voice was laced with a sniffly nasal tone. “I can digest.”

Xie Zhuo scooped up a spoonful of minced meat and rice, held it to his son’s lips, and playfully poked his chubby cheek.

The toddler clamped his mouth shut, lips hidden beneath soft baby fat—no way in. His little nose was red from the cold, bright eyes locked onto his dad’s.

They stared each other down for three seconds. Once again, Xie Zhuo gave in. He pulled out his phone and turned on the radio, tuning in to the daily fresh market price report.

[Tomatoes are 3.9 yuan per jin, bell peppers 8.9 yuan per jin…]

The moment the radio came on, the little one perked up and opened his mouth for a big spoonful. Tiny body, huge appetite—and mealtime wasn’t complete without his food-themed broadcast.

As he listened, the boy’s face clouded with concern. “Daddy, tomatoes got more expensive?”

What was going on?

Xie Zhuo didn’t know how to respond. Yep—this little one remembered the prices from yesterday and even last week. The moment something went up, he knew.

With the New Year approaching, produce prices were rising across the board—this deeply saddened the toddler.

Soon, he was frowning, staring at his peeled boiled egg with deep worry. “Eggs too?”

“Huhu won’t eat eggs tomorrow.”

Xie Zhuo: “…”
He usually checked produce prices in advance. If they were rising, he’d skip the broadcast, saying the announcer had a cold or something. But every time Huhu pleaded with that sweet baby voice, he couldn’t bear to say no.

No matter what, the boy couldn’t eat properly.

With the radio on or off, he still worried.

Tang Huhu corrected seriously, “Daddy, last week it was six yuan and ninety cents.”

Xie Zhuo: “…”

Such outrageous vegetable prices. Sure, he was the one who did the grocery shopping, but every week’s menu was decided by the little one.

Tang Huhu’s principle: if the price goes up, don’t buy it.

Xie Zhuo believed he’d never let his son go without food or clothing—he gave him the best life he could manage. But perhaps frugality was ingrained in his bones. Even a two-year-old child could sense his father’s lack of wealth, and was already worrying about market prices while still drinking milk.

[This week’s pork price: 22.27 yuan per kilogram, up 11.3% year-on-year.]

Tang Huhu stared blankly: “Meat is more expensive than last year!”

Xie Zhuo regretted ever explaining the concepts of “year-on-year” and “month-on-month” to the kid. Just one casual mention, and the little guy remembered it for life.

Tang Huhu said, “Daddy, Huhu grew one year older, and the little piggies grew one year older too. The piggies got more expensive, and so did Huhu.”

By “more expensive,” he meant it cost more to raise him.

Xie Zhuo replied, “Baby hasn’t become more expensive. Raising a baby only costs a little bit of money. Daddy has lots of money—enough to buy endless food.”

But instead of being comforted, Tang Huhu reached a conclusion that made his father nearly black out: “Then Huhu won’t eat meat anymore.”

[This week’s wholesale price of beef: 59.84 yuan per kilogram, down 16.7% year-on-year.]

Xie Zhuo quickly said, “Beef got cheaper! Daddy will buy beef tomorrow.”

“Okay!” Tang Huhu cheerfully agreed.

But then—he took another bite of rice and, with intelligence seemingly restored, swallowed and smoothly changed his mind: “No good! Beef is still more expensive than pork.”

“Daddy, don’t buy it,” the little one said with utmost seriousness.

“Okay, Daddy knows.” Xie Zhuo also answered with matching seriousness.

Ultimately, kids had strong principles, but adults knew how to play along and bend the rules. As long as Xie Zhuo shaped the food into unrecognizable meatballs, Huhu had no idea what he was eating.

Finally, there was some good news in today’s broadcast: carrots, potatoes, and Chinese cabbage had all dropped in price.

Tang Huhu immediately said, “Daddy, carrots got cheaper! Carrots are good for your eyes.”

Xie Zhuo felt both helpless and heart-aching. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong to make Tang Huhu so mature at such a young age.

Just then, the phone on the table buzzed. Tang Huhu spotted it immediately and pointed, “Daddy, answer the phone.”

The name “Director Zhou” flashed on the screen. Xie Zhuo’s eyes darkened. Suddenly, he remembered a call he had deliberately tried to forget.

Two years ago, his boyfriend Tang Yu passed away, leaving behind a newborn baby.

At the time, Xie Zhuo hadn’t yet recovered from fractures due to a car accident—he was physically impaired and shouldering critical research work.

He had been walking this world alone since the age of seven. Tang Huhu was his only remaining family. No matter what, Xie Zhuo couldn’t bear to entrust his son to someone else. Even with a postpartum nanny hired, he had to personally oversee everything.

All his loved ones were gone. Each loss made his life more lonely and bitter.

Unable to be in two places at once, Xie Zhuo had weighed his options and ultimately chose to take a leave from school, even if it meant handing over an important project to his junior.

When his advisor heard, he called and gave him a severe scolding.

But when he realized Xie Zhuo was firm in his decision, the advisor suddenly offered a solution: he knew a married couple—both high-achieving professors—who had no children. They were wealthy, kind-hearted, and willing to adopt Huhu.

Since the biological father was still alive, formal adoption procedures were out of the question. But the couple wouldn’t insist on that. Huhu could simply live with them, as if gaining a godfather and godmother. Xie Zhuo would be free to visit anytime and could even tell the child the truth about his parentage.

It was a compassionate and reasonable offer, with almost no grounds for refusal.

Back then, Xie Zhuo had no money to raise a child. If he agreed, he could focus on his career and later acknowledge his son once he was a successful scientist. Huhu would grow up privileged—born with a silver spoon—and envied by many.

It felt like a bridge had suddenly appeared before him, yet crossing it brought nothing but pain. All the suffering that followed was still easier to bear than that one moment of silence.

And so, he made the most selfish decision of his life—he would raise Tang Huhu himself. He and Tang Yu’s child.

Was it selfish?

Perhaps. But he was too afraid—afraid that if he looked away again, someone he loved would disappear.

He had no regrets.

He would never give up Tang Yu’s child. Not unless one day, Huhu chose to leave on his own.

Looking at the incoming call, Xie Zhuo steadied his emotions and answered. “Hello, Teacher.”

Director Zhou: “Aren’t you supposed to represent me at the biomedical conference tomorrow? Why is your junior going instead?”

Xie Zhuo: “Sorry, Huhu has a cold. I can’t leave him.”

Director Zhou asked, “How’s Huhu doing?”

Xie Zhuo glanced at the toddler, who was still intently listening to the market broadcast. “He’s doing okay.”

Upon hearing his name, Tang Huhu leaned over, cheeks pink like two little peaches. “Good morning, Grandpa Zhou!”

“Good morning.” Director Zhou’s voice softened a little, but then turned stern again. “Since he’s doing fine, why can’t you just bring him along? It’s only an hour by high-speed train. You’re keeping him locked up at home just because he’s sick?”

Xie Zhuo was surprised. He’d never heard of anyone bringing their kid to an academic conference—was Director Zhou seriously suggesting it?

Director Zhou continued, “Pack your bags and head out now. I’ll be at the evening banquet—I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

Perhaps fearing refusal, he added a threat: “Do you want to graduate and earn a good salary to raise that kid, or not?”

He sure knew how to hit a student’s weak spot.

“Okay. Thank you, Teacher.”

“Little Huhu, make sure your dad wears a suit,” Zhou reminded the child.

Softly, Huhu answered, “Okay, Grandpa!”

Then he waddled to the bed with his short little arms and legs, pulled off the cartoon pillowcase, and began stuffing a small blanket into it—one hand holding the case, the other pushing in the blanket.

His arms were too short, so he had to use all his strength to push.

Once the blanket was inside and the pillowcase was full and puffy, Tang Huhu declared his packing done.

He picked it up, climbed down the bed with a bounce, and placed it carefully into Daddy’s suitcase.

When Xie Zhuo turned around after mixing a packet of cold medicine, he saw his son had already packed the pillow and blanket.

Tang Huhu gulped down a cup of brown medicine, then set the cup down and declared, “Huhu needs to get more sunshine. Next time, Daddy won’t have to buy cold medicine!”

Xie Zhuo ruffled his hair. “It’s totally normal for little kids to catch colds in the winter. Huhu is already doing better than most children.”

Raised on formula and baby food, this little one had been brought up entirely by Xie Zhuo, who studied parenting like it was an academic discipline. He never paid for any test prep courses in his student days, but in raising a child, he had bought quite a few.

Originally, Xie Zhuo had planned to leave in the afternoon, but the little guy was too eager, so he had no choice but to pack immediately.

In the farthest corner of the wardrobe hung a charcoal-gray suit protected by a garment bag. Just by the fabric, it was clear that this suit was in a different price range from the rest.

Xie Zhuo bypassed the suit, reaching for something else, when a fuzzy little head poked in.

“Daddy, Daddy—wear this one!”

Xie Zhuo stared at the suit in silence. It was bought with his first bonus—the first time he’d handed cash to Tang Yu to spend as he pleased. He had assumed Tang Yu would spend it on some indulgence he wouldn’t understand. Instead, Tang Yu came home with a suit.

“Next time you go out with me, you’re wearing this,” Tang Yu had said.

But that day never came.

“Daddy?”

Xie Zhuo could never refuse anything related to Tang Yu or the traces he left behind. He looked down, picked up his son, and said softly, “Okay.”

Cradling the child in his left arm, he reached out with his right to grab the suit.

Tang Huhu clung to his daddy’s neck, then shifted from his father’s left side to the right like a little monkey.

Daddy had suffered serious injuries to his left arm and leg. He wasn’t allowed to lean on that side.

Xie Zhuo had no choice but to switch him to his right arm and said, “Daddy can hold you with both hands.”

Tang Huhu pressed his soft cheek to his father’s shoulder, nodding gently. Like a milky steamed bun rubbing into a cotton shirt, he murmured, “Mm.”

Since they’d be gone for two or three days, the most important task was watering the little pine tree on the balcony.

“Pine Tree Brother, you have to stay well!” Tang Huhu said as he watched Daddy squeeze some plant nutrients into the pot.

The fir tree—supposedly capable of being cultivated into a beautiful Christmas tree—still looked sparse and worn. Two springs had passed overhead, yet not a single bud had bloomed.

It had fallen into a deep slumber the winter Tang Yu left—and never woke again.

Tang Huhu stood up from where he had been holding the planter. His head now seemed just a bit taller than the tree. Two years had gone by in a blink.

Thankfully, the child Tang Yu left behind had not turned out like the pine tree he left behind.