TAMW CH61

The voyage took nearly a month.

Yuqing’s greatest fear was that Qingming would struggle to acclimate to the sea and suffer from severe motion sickness. Many adults were racked with nausea, unable to keep food down; as a premature child, it was perfectly natural for Qingming’s adaptability to be lower.

Initially, the boy was indeed lethargic and unaccustomed to the rocking vessel, even vomiting once. But after two days of adjustment, he was thoroughly conquered by the array of Western cuisine he had never tasted before. Every morning upon waking, he demanded seafood pie. Despite the lingering unease of seasickness, he somehow managed to eat himself chubbier.

The luxury liner was vast, offering countless amusements. Below deck were music halls and ballrooms, while the children’s slides and block-building castles were more than enough to captivate a child of his age.

Yuqing had assumed the voyage would be tedious. After all, without ledgers to audit or the myriad affairs of the Chamber of Commerce to manage, the days felt remarkably akin to the quiet month of confinement right after Qingming’s birth.

Yet if there were plenty of amusements for children on board, there were even more for adults.

The upper deck featured a marine exhibition exclusive to high-class passengers, where one could fish directly from the deck. Any seafood hauled in was immediately prepared by the chefs and delivered straight to their suite.

Deep-sea fishing required no chumming; one simply dropped the line.

Yuqing’s luck was extraordinary. He hooked fish far faster than anyone else; when the catch was too large for his slender strength, Zhou Xiao would step up behind him to control the rod.

The two of them reeled in the richest bounty, drawing whistles of admiration and envious glances from the surrounding aristocratic anglers.

Yuqing drew eyes wherever he went—not merely for his traditional long gowns, but for his intrinsic aura. It wasn’t effeminacy, but an almost otherworldly allure. With his long hair pinned up, his breathtaking visage carried the serene, encompassing compassion of a creator deity, evoking an irresistible urge in others to draw near.

At the beginning of the voyage, Zhou Xiao was far more in his element, eagerly demonstrating how to glide across the ballroom floor.

Yuqing disliked bustling crowds, preferring to sit quietly in a corner, watching Zhou Xiao beam with radiant smiles. He genuinely wanted to see what Zhou Xiao’s life on a ship had once been like, and Zhou Xiao was thrilled to escort him everywhere. Yet the moment Zhou Xiao stepped away for even a second, Yuqing seemed to act like a magnet—a Caucasian face would inevitably materialize beside him, asking if he was lost or needed assistance.

Zhou Xiao would reappear with a thunderous scowl, furiously whisking his wife away, wishing he could lock him in the cabin for the rest of the trip.

Accustomed to his petty jealousy, Yuqing simply let him be; as long as Zhou Xiao was happy, he cared little for anything else.

But Zhou Xiao couldn’t bear to let his flower-like wife languish in boredom. Figuring that no one on the ship knew them anyway, he boldly paraded Yuqing around, holding his hand for all to see.

Within days, the entire ship knew of the inseparable same-sex couple.

Yuqing valued propriety and felt a twinge of embarrassment being led around so brazenly by the hand. Yet seeing couples sharing passionate, uninhibited kisses in the ballroom, he reasoned that Westerners truly were open-minded.

Perhaps brainwashed by Zhou Xiao’s relentless coaxing—reminding him that no one knew them, and once they disembarked, they would all go their separate ways and forget him entirely—Yuqing yielded.

So when Zhou Xiao held his hand on deck, or pressed cloyingly against his back to help him reel in a fish, Yuqing indulged him in tacit consent.

He let him make a fuss; he let him be affectionate.

When others were present, Zhou Xiao didn’t cross the line; at most, when someone inquired if Yuqing was alone, he would sling an arm over his shoulder and interlock their fingers, staking his claim like a possessive child.

Eating, drinking, and playing on the ship was indeed a leisurely existence.

Yuqing even tried something he had never experienced before: a bathtub.

At home, he had always bathed in a wooden barrel, which servants lugged in, filled bucket by bucket, and hauled out to empty afterward.

This was Yuqing’s first time using a modern bathtub. He had seen them before, but never used one. With a simple turn of the faucet, hot and cold water flowed freely—it was incredibly convenient.

Their suite was a double, so the bathtub was naturally spacious enough to accommodate the two of them without feeling cramped.

The sea wind was damp and briny; after fishing, Yuqing’s hair always felt sticky, prompting him to bathe. Yet halfway through, Zhou Xiao would inevitably slip inside, impossible to shove out.

If the nanny returned with Qingming at that moment, Yuqing couldn’t even make a sound.

Hearing the splash of water from the bathroom, Qingming asked curiously, “Auntie, is there a rattle drum inside?”

The nanny hurriedly ushered the child back out to play. Hearing the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a rattle drum in his memory, Qingming eagerly dug through his toy bag, found his own rattle drum, and happily shook it as he toddled out the door.

The ocean-view suite offered many diversions, and Zhou Xiao partook in them tirelessly.

Still, the bathtub was the best—it saved him from having to draw a second bath for himself.

The ship was full of novelties, but even if Yuqing ignored the outside amusements, there were far too many games to play with his husband within the cabin. With the child asleep, Zhou Xiao would deliberately nip at him; unable to make a sound, Yuqing found the stifled restraint carrying a unique thrill of its own.

Using a hairdryer for the first time gave Yuqing quite a start.

Blasted by the sudden rush of warm air, he froze, half-terrified it might spew fire or scatter a person’s soul—a mix of fear and sheer novelty.

China and the West had long diverged; modern metropolises like Shanghai or Shengjing already featured such amenities in grand mansions or luxury hotels. But Yuqing was traditional, harboring little interest in modern contraptions.

Encountering it now, though he found it amusing, he had no intention of bringing one home. The Zhou estate was ancient; electrical wiring required extreme caution. Every brick and tile had been passed down from their ancestors, and he would not risk the slightest mishap.

“Madam, this is a hairdryer. Let’s get one for the new mansion, shall we?” Seeing Yuqing’s adorable, dazed expression, Zhou Xiao couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss.

Bathed in the gentle, warm breeze, the flush on Yuqing’s cheeks hadn’t yet faded. He gave a languid “Mm.”

“Since Qingming has grown up, we can leave the old estate to him later. We’ll furnish the mansion with all the modern Western novelties you like—how does that sound?”

Hearing this, Yuqing’s expression in the mirror turned utterly bemused. He raised an eyebrow: “Qingming is two and a half.”

How had he suddenly “grown up”?

Though they had agreed not to subject the child to the harsh, rigid upbringing of the old days, opting for a freer approach to ensure his happiness, claiming a two-and-a-half-year-old was fully grown was a notion Yuqing had never heard in his life.

Zhou Xiao countered, “By three, I could recite the Thousand Character Classic; by four, I held a brush; by five, I composed essays; by six…”

“By six, you learned to write in a little notebook,” Yuqing teased, squeezing his hand.

Caught in his own boast, Zhou Xiao leaned down: “Written specifically for you to read. By fourteen, I was already traveling to the West all on my own.”

“And isn’t that exactly why I am here?” Yuqing replied.

He truly wanted to see France with his own eyes.

It had become fashionable among wealthy domestic families to send their children abroad for education—a process known as “gilding.” As his only child, Yuqing naturally couldn’t bear to part with Qingming. Yet if the outside world truly offered better prospects, why shouldn’t the child walk a brighter path?

While Zhou Xiao handled the logistics at the parts factory, Yuqing intended to tour foreign universities to see how their scholars compared to those back home.

Ironically, Zhou Xiao—who had lived it—strongly opposed sending their child abroad.

France was far from peaceful; firearms were legal, the culture was unrestrained, and only a child with a ruthless, hardened streak could thrive there. But their Qingming was a soft-hearted boy who buried his face in his mother’s chest at the slightest headache or fever.

Soft-hearted men required soft-hearted nurturing; pulling shoots to help them grow would do more harm than good.

Yuqing found reason in his words. Merely discussing their child’s future occupied them for hours—from Qingming’s coming-of-age ceremony all the way to his future marriage. Looking back, they realized the boy was only two and a half, still a tiny toddler who ate purees.

Meeting each other’s eyes, they burst into laughter.

They had finally tasted the profound, far-reaching anxiety of parenthood.

His hair fully dried, cascading loosely down his back, Yuqing stood up and rested his forehead against the man’s. “Are we overthinking things?”

Zhou Xiao nodded: “Perhaps. But as first-time parents, thinking far ahead is only natural because we love him.”

Yuqing smiled softly. Before he could praise Zhou Xiao for finally looking the part of a father, the man added, “Unlike me. I never knew a mother’s love as a child. In all my life, aside from Qingqing, who has ever cared for me like this?”

“Smooth talker.”

Yuqing pinched his cheek, knowing full well that whenever he turned petulant and clingy, it meant he was hungry.

Qingming was two and a half, yet Yuqing’s supply had not entirely receded.

Though nowhere near as abundant as before, it was still there. Wet nurses throughout history were the same; as long as there was a demand to be met, the body replenished what was drawn, defying logic.

More importantly, this overgrown child of his was impossible to satisfy. If denied, he would genuinely fret. Unable to wean him, Yuqing had simply let it be.

Yuqing’s daily diet consisted of premium tonics and flawless ingredients; his body remained rich and nourished without needing special care.

When Yuqing shed his clothes now, his silhouette from behind rivaled the alluring grace of any calendar model. Having nursed a child, his body carried a distinctly mature allure.

Such a breathtaking beauty—Zhou Xiao knew that even if he scoured heaven and earth, he would never find another.

“Daddy, Mother…” The little fellow woke up. Finding the nanny absent, he climbed out of bed to seek an embrace.

Yuqing hastily shoved the man away, hurriedly pulling his bathrobe tight. Blushing furiously, he crouched down: “Why are you awake?”

“Need to pee. Tummy hungry.”

He tilted his head back, his chubby cheek resting directly against Yuqing’s thigh, clearly still half-asleep: “Qingming’s tummy is hungry…”

Looking at the plump child clinging to his leg, Yuqing mused: Why does this boy seem to take after Zhou Xiao more and more?

Qingming wasn’t tall enough to reach Yuqing’s waist, so he simply hugged one leg, looking as though he would fall asleep right there if Yuqing didn’t answer.

Qingming possessed an excellent sense of smell. He loved eating and adored sweet scents. Catching the faint, lingering aroma of milk in the air, he smacked his lips, mumbling, “I really want goat’s milk…”

At home, the child drank goat’s milk; on the ship, it was mostly cow’s milk, which Qingming wasn’t entirely used to. After days of eating meat, eggs, and shrimp, he suddenly craved the familiar meals of Baizhou.

“Mother, Qingming is hungry…”

Though the boy had outgrown his oral fixation, catching the scent of milk only sharpened his hunger.

Yuqing couldn’t help shooting Zhou Xiao a glare that clearly said, This is all your fault.

Zhou Xiao turned his back, not daring to face them. His trousers were currently unfit for public viewing; even under his wife’s reprimand, he could only endure it helplessly in silence. He thought to himself: Qingming needs to grow up fast so I can take Yuqing away to live in the mansion.

“Alright, Mother will take you to eat.” Yuqing took the child’s hand and led him out of the bathroom.

It took Zhou Xiao two full minutes to compose himself before stepping out.

Little Qingming claimed he was hungry, but in truth, he had been woken by the noises from the bathroom. After Yuqing patted his back a few times, he fell right back asleep, forgetting his hunger entirely.

Stroking the child’s face with maternal fondness, Yuqing remarked that he truly had the fleeting heart of a child.

Zhou Xiao threw back the quilt and climbed into bed. Western mattresses were exceedingly soft; moving recklessly would wake the child, so Zhou Xiao had to settle for holding his wife respectably: “He only knows how to torment you.”

Yuqing countered, “You’re the only one who knows how to torment me.”

Had Zhou Xiao not satisfied his cravings twice in the bathtub just now, he undoubtedly would have slipped inside at this very moment.

After drifting on the ocean for a month, as they disembarked, Qingming exclaimed in surprise, “Mother, I don’t know how to walk anymore!”

“That’s because the ship rocks constantly; stepping onto solid ground suddenly takes getting used to. Daddy will carry you,” Zhou Xiao said.

“Mother, you and Daddy are wearing the same clothes~”

Yuqing had changed into a Western suit for the disembarkation. Unable to hide his long hair entirely, he wore a fedora to mask it slightly, making him look far less conspicuous.

France was teeming with foreigners—Caucasian and Black faces alike, all speaking a foreign tongue. Horse-drawn carriages clattered down the streets, bells jingling at their fronts; Ford automobiles were far more common here than in Baizhou. Women in sweeping, extravagant gowns reached out their hands for the chauffeurs to assist them into cars, and the drivers would press a kiss to the back of their hands.

Yuqing suddenly realized: Zhou Xiao loved kissing the back of his hand—was this where he had learned it?

Their car arrived. A Caucasian man stepped out, greeting Zhou Xiao with a hearty, “Boss!”

Zhou Xiao introduced his wife and child in a foreign language. He opened the door, settled the child inside, then reached out to help Yuqing into the car.

Yuqing extended his hand, which was caught firmly in Zhou Xiao’s grip.

Instead of getting in, Yuqing tilted his head, looking at Zhou Xiao: “Aren’t you going to kiss it?”

“Hmm?”

“So it wasn’t a local custom after all.” Yuqing let out a soft scoff. He had assumed Zhou Xiao’s penchant for kissing his hands and feet was a French tradition; apparently, it was not.

His slender fingers, with their perfectly proportioned joints, looked like carved jade under the sunlight. Just as he moved to pull his hand back, Zhou Xiao caught his meaning, gripping it tight and bowing his head to press a lingering kiss against it: “It is a point of etiquette. But I hope Madam allows only me to observe this etiquette with you. May I?”

Petty and possessive, he naturally couldn’t tolerate anyone else kissing Yuqing’s hand.

His hand kissed, Yuqing smiled brightly and stepped into the car.

Everything in France was a novelty—the architecture, the vehicles, the customs, all vastly different.

Qingming stared at everything with wide-eyed wonder, asking repeatedly, “Mother, did Daddy live here before?”

“Yes. When your Daddy came here, he was only fourteen.”

Qingming’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ shape, marveling, “Daddy was so big!”

“Silly boy, fourteen is very small.”

Having only lived for two and a half years, fourteen was an unfathomable eternity to Qingming.

Ignorant of the jest, the boy had his head playfully ruffled by Zhou Xiao and happily buried his face in Yuqing’s embrace.

Looking out the window, Yuqing noticed a commotion down the street. Gunshots rang out sporadically, yet the pedestrians walking the pavements didn’t even turn their heads, as though entirely accustomed to it.

Zhou Xiao explained, “There are Black slaves here. They’ve been rioting for equality lately. This didn’t happen before, but things have been rather restless recently.”

“Hmm?” Yuqing’s eyes widened. “They have servants here too?”

“They aren’t servants; they’re slaves,” Zhou Xiao clarified. “Similar to servants, I suppose.”

Domestic servants born into the estate, like Deng Yongquan, were servants in name, but within the Zhou household, their standing was second only to the masters. Even servants had their hierarchies.

Moreover, if they served well and saved enough money, they could buy their freedom.

In France, these slaves were different—condemned to be eternally inferior for generations, beaten or killed at will. They had rioted for equality for heaven knew how long, yet to this day, no progress had been made.

“Did you have slaves serving you back then?” Yuqing asked.

“No.”

Yuqing nodded, resting his hand over Zhou Xiao’s: “Alone in a foreign land, with only Yongquan to serve you… it must have been incredibly lonely, wasn’t it?”

Zhou Xiao opened his mouth, eventually forcing out an “Mm,” quickly adjusting his expression. “The people here discriminate against folks like us. They used to bully me constantly… I was so young back then…”

Hearing this, Yuqing’s heart ached terribly.

Hierarchy existed everywhere. So young, entirely alone in a strange country, surrounded by a foreign tongue—it was truly heartbreaking.

If Deng Yongquan were present, he would undoubtedly be screaming in his heart: Madam, you’re being swindled again!

The slave trade was rampant in France. Having finally escaped the Zhou family’s control, Zhou Xiao used the funds Zhou Yuzhang provided to trade in French watches and goods; as he grew older, he shifted to arms trafficking.

Amassing a fortune at a young age, he bought a sprawling estate. The sole reason it lacked slaves was… Zhou Xiao absolutely could not stomach their scent.

He was a fanatic for cleanliness.

As an immigrant facing discrimination himself, Zhou Xiao harbored even greater prejudice against those with body odor; no amount of heavy perfume could mask the strange, pervasive scent of their sweat.

The servants who attended him at the estate were all hired from Chinatown—immigrants from fallen families or bankrupt students. Zhou Xiao recruited them all, ensuring even the chef perfectly matched his palate.

He had always pursued pleasure. Having suffered in his youth, once free of everyone’s control, why would he ever shortchange himself?

But Yuqing knew none of this.

By the time Yuqing set foot in the estate, the servants had long been dismissed in preparation for Zhou Xiao’s return to China. The estate was meant to be sold, but since Zhou Xiao had never returned, the paperwork was never finalized.

The sprawling mansion was empty, save for a skeleton crew hired purely for cleaning and upkeep.

The estate was no smaller than the Zhou compound; walking a single floor took a good ten minutes.

Seeing the grandeur of the place, Yuqing couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“Why the sudden sigh?” Zhou Xiao asked, brewing coffee for him.

Taking off his fedora, Yuqing rested it on the kitchen island. Leaning against the counter, he smiled: “It seems Yuqing worried for nothing.”

“Hmm?”

“Master Zhou took excellent care of himself. There was no need for my worry or heartache.” The smile on Yuqing’s lips deepened.

Zhou Xiao knew Yuqing was sharp. Realizing he couldn’t hide it, he decided to play the shameless rogue to the end: “Why shouldn’t you ache for me? When I first set foot in this place, I truly was miserable…”

Burying his nose into Yuqing’s neck, inhaling that faint, beloved jasmine scent, he pressed in with slightly more force, nearly bending his high nose out of shape. “My good Qingqing, you must dote on me more…”

Taking a sip of coffee, Yuqing reached up to stroke the face resting on his shoulder. “When have I ever not doted on you?”

“Seeing you live in such a fine house brings me joy. I only feared you had suffered here, and we didn’t even know each other then.”

“Qingqing aches for me.” Zhou Xiao pressed lingering kisses to his neck. “And I ache for you.”

If only he had returned to China sooner, if only he hadn’t been so stubborn, perhaps they could have met much earlier.

Or rather, he wished time could flow backward—to stay by Yuqing’s side from the very start of his pregnancy, casting aside all pride to remain steadfastly by his side.

Heaven had played a cruel joke on them, making them endure every bitter trial before finally bringing them together.

Had they met before the suffering and relied on each other through it, looking back on those bitter days now might have actually felt like a sweet memory.

Yuqing stroked his face with fond comfort.

He loved this posture too—Zhou Xiao holding him from behind, his chin resting on his shoulder. With a slight lean backward, their heads would press together, offering an immense sense of security.

“Daddy, Mother, I want a hug too~!”

The nanny had taken Qingming for a walk around the estate. Returning, the child spotted his affectionate parents from afar and came toddling toward them with wobbly steps.

“Little ancestor, slow down.” Yuqing crouched down to catch him.

Zhou Xiao stepped ahead, catching the boy under the arms and hoisting him into the air. “Is it fun? Is it big? Do you like living in a house like this, or the one at home?”

Qingming tilted his head, thinking seriously, as if genuinely weighing the merits of both houses. Finally, he declared in his milky voice, “I like Mother and Daddy’s house!”

“Sweet talker, just like your father,” Yuqing pinched his nose.

Qingming grunted like a little piglet, reaching his arms out, desperate to dive into Yuqing’s embrace.

Zhou Xiao told him he was already too heavy; his mother couldn’t hold him.

Qingming kicked his little legs, asking to be set down. He wanted to hold Daddy’s hand with one hand, and Mother’s with the other: “Flowers are blooming out back!”

It was the season for tulips to bloom.

Zhou Xiao hadn’t ordered any specific flowers planted here, but left unattended for so long, the tulips had grown into a sprawling sea of gold. Having just stepped off the azure ocean waves, they now dove into a vibrant sea of blossoms.

“Can this count as the flowers I’m giving you?” Zhou Xiao placed the estate’s insignia armband into Yuqing’s palm. “I didn’t have time to buy flowers right off the ship.”

Yuqing replied, “We already have more than enough flowers at home.”

The tulips grew thick and lush, brimming with life.

“It’s never enough. I have to keep giving them to you—I have to give you so many more.” Zhou Xiao lifted his hand, kissing the back of it.

Yuqing’s eyes curved into crescents: “Alright.”

Qingming looked up at them blankly. Though the tiny child couldn’t understand what they were saying, he was happy, reaching out to hold both their hands.

Being so small, he stared eagerly at the towering tulips before him.

Deep within the tulip bed, springing from heaven knew where, a single jasmine plant grew beneath the golden blooms. Though it didn’t thrive, it remained in season, bearing a single, delicate white blossom.