AGRCIW CH7

Chapter 7: Father and Son Run a Street Stall

Lin Songyu stood by the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window, looking down. After a while, a tall man came out of the hotel doors, dragging a suitcase with one hand while carrying a toddler in the crook of his right arm. He walked at an unhurried pace.

While waiting for the ride-hailing car, the man placed the toddler on top of the suitcase. From above, one couldn’t see the face hidden under the hood—it looked just like a fluffy brown plush toy.

At first glance, Xie Zhuo resembled a spirited college student on his way to visit his girlfriend in another city, bringing along a giant teddy bear. But only up close would one realize: he was nothing but a widower dragging himself through life, raising a child alone.

There was someone who lived in his heart, and he shut everyone else out.

The car arrived, and the big one and the small one disappeared from view.

Lin Songyu withdrew his gaze and said to his assistant in a flat tone, “Find a way to send Li Xiuyu to tonight’s blind date dinner.”

Gao Yang nodded. He was well-practiced at this. First, he’d trick President Li into thinking there was a fancy dinner only his charms could handle. Then he’d deliver him to the event personally. After all, they were both single—who cares who ends up at which blind date?

Ding-dong—

A WeChat notification popped up from Xie Zhuo, but the message preview didn’t reveal the content.

Lin Songyu glanced downstairs. The car had only just pulled away and was already stuck at a red light, crawling through traffic.

He unlocked his phone with his thumb, gave the message a glance, and his expression darkened.

[X has transferred ¥20,000 to you]

His long lashes lowered, indifferent and cold. How laughable. The car hadn’t even driven a hundred meters before the man was already trying to settle accounts.

In their chat history, there were only two messages: Lin Songyu had transferred ¥15.5, and Xie Zhuo had now transferred ¥20,000. No pleasantries. Just money.

Lin Songyu immediately blocked Xie so-and-so and tossed his phone aside. “Forget it. I’ll go to the dinner myself.”

In the car, Xie Zhuo was carefully, painstakingly composing a message: “Thank you for the longevity locket. Huhu really likes it, but it’s too valuable.”

He hit send.

A bright red exclamation mark popped up.

[Message sent but rejected by the recipient.]

Xie Zhuo: “…”

He looked at Tang Huhu, a hint of helplessness flashing through his eyes—though he didn’t even realize it himself.

Tang Huhu looked up at his dad with wide, black-and-white eyes, as if he could read something from his expression: “Daddy, are you scared?”

Xie Zhuo was caught off guard. “Scared of what?”

Tang Huhu: “Scared of the car.”

He stood in the gap between the front and back seats, hugging his dad’s left knee like an airbag: “I’ll protect Daddy.”

Because Daddy had been in a car accident. He must be scared of riding in cars.

Xie Zhuo: “…” Not really.

He said, “You’re not wearing a seatbelt. Daddy will hold you.”

“Okay!” Huhu climbed up beside him and clung to him like a barnacle, burying his face into him. Muffled, he asked, “Daddy, will Uncle still listen to the radio with me tomorrow?”

Xie Zhuo thought, You two didn’t even listen to the radio today. Once Lin Songyu showed up, the radio was turned off—and the little guy hadn’t even noticed.

“Uncle goes to work really early every day. He can’t listen with you,” Xie Zhuo said as he gently pushed Huhu’s face aside and took a gold pendant and a candy from his inside coat pocket. “Uncle gave you this.”

Huhu took the candy: “It’s very, very expensive!”

Yes, so expensive Daddy got blocked over it.

Xie Zhuo said, “It’s okay, just this once.”

…

That night, Lin Songyu dreamt again—someone was asking him to go be Xie Zhuo’s housekeeper.

[You want me to be a nanny for some poor guy? Why not just hire him a hundred nannies myself?]
[What if someone recognizes me? This face—how humiliating. Pass.]
[You expect these hands to serve Xie Zhuo’s every need?]
[And my voice—I can’t bear to hear it grovel.]
[What a hassle. Should’ve picked someone else.] A soft voice sighed.

Lin Songyu woke up with a frown. Ever since meeting Xie Zhuo, he kept having dreams about being his nanny. What the hell? Was he asking for it?

Recurrent dreams often stem from suppressed real-life desires.

Clear-headed and rational, Lin Songyu dissected the bizarre dream.

It was because he didn’t want to admit he was paying too much attention. He didn’t want to admit that he actually wanted to care for a child he didn’t even know. So in his dreams, he painted himself as “forced” into the role.

Did he wish someone would make him become a nanny for Xie Zhuo and care for Tang Huhu? Or was it that he couldn’t bring himself to do it directly, so he mentally created another persona to sneak into the boy’s life?

???

What kind of messed-up analysis was that?

It was like knowing there was a lonely old lady living next door. Of course you’d check every morning to see if she’d watered her plants. If she didn’t appear one day, you’d worry all day long.

At the root of it, if Xie Zhuo had been a competent father, he wouldn’t be burdened with worrying over Tang Huhu like this.

Lin Songyu called his assistant and asked him to find someone.

“Xie Zhuo’s friend—Yang He. Figure out what business he’s in.”

If Yang He could repay the debt, maybe he could finally stop worrying.

Gao Yang jotted down the name. “Saturday is S University’s 120th anniversary celebration. Will you be attending?”

If not, he could just donate money to support his alma mater.

Lin Songyu: “No… Clear out three hours. I’ll attend.”

Maybe he needed a change of scenery. To go walk through campus again, where youth still lingered—to walk the same paths he’d taken at nineteen. Maybe then, he’d stop daydreaming about co-parenting someone else’s child.

It had to be a midlife-crisis thing. Environmental influence.

He opened his social feed and set all the executives posting about “loving wives and adorable children” to chat only.

“Daddy, it’s Saturday!”

Tang Huhu lay on the bed with his butt up, poking at a calculator. Some kids woke up and watched short videos. Huhu only needed a vegetable market-style calculator.

He placed it on his pillow and, as focused as a data analyst from the National Bureau of Statistics, began inputting every number he’d heard lately.

“16 + 23 + 11 + 2 = 52”

“Clear.”

“3.4 + 1.5 + 8 = 12.9”

“Clear.”

“4 times 12 is 48. Clear…”

Amid the constant “clear” sounds, Xie Zhuo drifted between wakefulness and sleep. Once the little one woke, he didn’t dare sleep deeply. But having stayed up last night, fully waking now was a challenge.

He knew exactly what Tang Huhu wanted today.

Sure enough, after a while, Huhu leaned in and whispered near his ear: “Daddy, it’s Saturday.”

Saturday. Time to set up the street stall. Sell the toys.

Last Saturday, they skipped it because of a cold. This week, the cold was gone—they couldn’t avoid it.

Yang He, Zhou Yong, and a whole bunch of junior colleagues would all buy toys for Huhu. And Xie Zhuo himself? He was the heavyweight.

Junior sisters, thinking “Senior’s been poor all his life and only rotates two jackets in winter, Huhu must not have many toys,” would show up with gifts—only to find the boy already had them.

For toddlers under three in daycare, costs ranged from ¥3,000 to ¥30,000 a month. Xie Zhuo could currently afford ¥11,000, but once he got a proper job, he was determined to send Huhu to one that cost ¥30,000.

For himself, he only needed to survive. But for Huhu, he had to follow Tang Yu’s standards.

Tang Yu might no longer be here, but he would raise her son the way she would have.

Would Tang Yu buy a remote-control helicopter for his son? Would he send him to a ¥30,000-a-month daycare? Would he let him run a toy-selling street stall?

Yes. Yes. No.

Xie Zhuo looked on helplessly as Tang Huhu tumbled out of bed and began dragging out his toys one by one—

Back in his student days, Xie Zhuo already had a habit of keeping product packaging to resell things secondhand. He never expected it would be passed down in his genes.

He swore he never taught Huhu this.

Well, okay, maybe once—in front of the kid—he had packed some early education toys back into their boxes and handed them to the courier.

“Daddy, we’re selling all of these!” Tang Huhu packed an entire suitcase and turned into a worn-out little Huhu.

Then, he dragged out a tiny astronaut suit from the closet: complete with a helmet, a space backpack, a jacket, gloves, and boots. It wasn’t some cheap inflatable plastic set—it was highly detailed, the kind that cost several hundred yuan.

“Daddy.”

Resigned, Xie Zhuo crouched down to help him into the complex spacesuit. In just a moment, the chubby baby Huhu transformed into a dashing little astronaut.

Xie Zhuo lifted the visor on the helmet, revealing a chubby-cheeked face stuffed full of baby fat.

If a kid like this ever went to space, he’d get abducted by aliens for sure.

Aliens… Tang Yu, who had gone to another world—could he count as an alien?

Aliens couldn’t see that their child was running a street stall on Earth, right?

Xie Zhuo lightly patted the little one’s rear through the spacesuit. If your other parent could see you now, he’d be furious.

While father and son were heading to the square to claim a spot, Lin Songyu also arrived unhurriedly at his alma mater’s main athletic field.

The front-row seats were marked with name tags—reserved for distinguished alumni.

The weather was clear, the sun driving away the morning chill. Lin Songyu listened absentmindedly to the principal’s speech. When it came time for the donation ceremony, he sent his assistant up to take the photo while he wandered off, far from the crowds of teachers, students, and alumni.

The school hadn’t changed much. The new library was grand and stately, the endless rows of lecture halls imposing, the dorms still livable.

Lin Songyu had never lived on campus, so he hadn’t walked many of these student residential paths before.

If it were Xie Zhuo, he surely would have. Probably even applied to stay during winter and summer breaks.

Winter vacation was approaching, and many seniors about to start internships were beginning to clear out their dorm clutter.

On the side of the road, Lin Songyu spotted a recycling vendor. Two girls were bringing down armfuls of books to sell by weight.

“These books were expensive. Why not try selling them in a secondhand group chat?” the girl with glasses said regretfully.

“It’s too much hassle. Forget it. I never want to see anything related to grad school again. I’m definitely not retaking the exam,” said the girl in yellow. “I want to work, but my mom forced me to take the exam.”

“I thought you were really serious about it—you studied so hard in the prep course.”

“Heh!” The girl in yellow grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? The instructor at the prep center was super hot!”

“How hot?”

“Hot enough to bring the heavens crashing down. But what really made him stand out was this scholarly aura—cold and aloof—the kind of academic vibe your idol could never have.”

“…And you didn’t go after him?”

“Come on! The guy was literally bringing a kid to class. What’s there to chase?”

“Wait, what kind of prep center lets someone bring a child to lecture?”

“He’d been part-timing there for a long time. His lectures were great. The kid would play in the room next door. Honestly, everyone in our small class probably passed—except me, haha. Oh, and his son is super cute too. We always saw him. His name’s Tang Huhu.”

“Always saw him? He always brought the kid?”

“Yeah, I think so. Cold, aloof academic in class. Gentle single dad after class. With just the right amount of fatigue… If I’d taken the exam a year earlier, I might’ve seen him on crutches, too. Classic ‘strong-beautiful-tragic’ type.”

As they chatted, the recycling vendor finished weighing the books and tossed them into a small truck.

Some pages from an untied stack scattered, fluttering in the wind until one landed by Lin Songyu’s feet.

It was a colorful flyer for a grad school prep center.

[Top Scholar Prep—Elite Instructors | Math | English | Subject Courses]

Lin Songyu bent down, picked it up, folded it, and tucked it into his suit pocket.

So what if it’s miserable? These hardships—Xie Zhuo willingly endures them.

“President Lin? Huff—” his assistant finally caught up to him, panting. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? The anniversary performance is starting. They’ve invited you to attend.”

Lin Songyu patted his phone—he had silenced it earlier at the field.

His fingers brushed against the thin flyer in his pocket, and instantly he lost any interest in the social event.

“You go in my place. Have the driver take me back to the office.”

Exiting from the north gate of the dorms, Lin Songyu stood by the road to wait for his car.

His eyes wandered the area outside the school. He recalled from Xie Zhuo’s resume that they hadn’t attended undergrad in the same city and had never crossed paths—but the research institute where Xie Zhuo currently worked was nearby.

A low-key black sedan pulled up with its hazard lights blinking. Lin Songyu paused for a second before walking over.

Ever since an enemy deliberately caused a car accident two years ago, Lin Songyu had frequently changed cars. The driver might use a white one today and a black one tomorrow.

Driver: “President Lin, back to the office?”

Lin Songyu: “Yes.”

Ten minutes later, they passed through a busy part of town. One side of the road was a public square, the other a park. It was common to see adults holding children’s hands as they crossed the street.

It was a sunny Saturday—students, couples, and families of three or four were all out and about. The government allowed people to set up stalls on weekends in the square. Vendors sold balloons, clothes… The whole scene was colorful and bustling with life.

The driver slowed down. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he noticed his boss’s increasingly grim expression. He regretted not rerouting earlier when the GPS had warned of congestion.

“Stop the car.” Lin Songyu suddenly lowered the window and stared intently at something on the square.

It was an unremarkable toy stall—or rather, a ring toss game.

A man in a dark cotton coat sat on a folding stool. In front of him was a simple setup with scattered toys on display.

And in the middle of the toys was a child in a spacesuit, with a big helmet, sitting on the ground—almost indistinguishable from the other toys.

“Babies can toss the rings too!”

“Hit one and you get candy!”

Many people were drawn by the sweet babyish voice. When they saw how irresistibly adorable the child was, they couldn’t help buying a round—who cared about the toys? The kid was cuter than anything they’d ever seen. They didn’t just want to toss rings—they wanted to throw a sack over him and take him home!

Thunk—a ring hit the helmet and bounced off.

Missed.

Another hit the backpack, then the boots—also bounced off.

The distance wasn’t far, and the strength used wasn’t much. Xie Zhuo hadn’t bought traditional thick rings, but lighter, thinner ones. Inside the suit, Tang Huhu couldn’t feel a thing.

Thunk thunk thunk thunk… Rings flew at the toys, some sailing over the helmet.

Thunk. One ring landed on Tang Huhu’s foot, right over his tiny astronaut boot.

“Oh!” Tang Huhu stood up excitedly and grabbed a candy from the basket, handing it to the young lady. “Big sister, have a candy!”

The little guy was clever. When he saw someone with good aim, he became a moving target. Because they didn’t have a lot of candy—and Daddy couldn’t afford to take losses.

Compared to the stall next door, Tang Huhu’s was ridiculously crowded.

“Move the car! You can’t park here!” a traffic officer knocked on the window. “Otherwise you’ll get ticketed!”

The driver glanced nervously at his intimidating boss in the back seat and stammered, “Go ahead and ticket us. We really have to be here.”

Officer: “Two hundred yuan and three points?”

The driver nodded frantically.

The officer gave him a side-eye, then briskly wrote a “Refused to Move” ticket and slapped it on the window.

Lin Songyu didn’t even blink. His gaze remained fixed on the honest man guarding the stall and the child playing the moving target.

Xie Zhuo had taken off his lab coat and blazer. Gone was the scholarly elegance—he now looked like an old man roasting sweet potatoes in the village square. And the little one, wrapped up in the spacesuit, was so unrecognizable that Lin Songyu nearly didn’t recognize either of them.

The father and son had only been working the stall for a few minutes.

Would they even make two hundred yuan?