TAMW CH62

Yuqing had known early on that their child was remarkably bright.

Zhou Xiao could recite the Thousand Character Classic at three, compose poetry at five, and grasp worldly principles by six. Since the moment Yuqing could understand words, he had eavesdropped outside his elder siblings’ schoolroom, committing everything he heard to memory with effortless perfection.

Naturally, the child born of these two was exceptionally intelligent.

During the “drawing lots” ceremony at his first birthday, Qingming had chosen the abacus—a comforting sign that he would be a child who caused his parents little worry.

The abacus foretold a future intertwined with finance, and the Zhou family possessed boundless wealth for him to manage; there would be plenty of silver for Qingming to hone his business acumen through trial and error.

Yet Qingming remained blissfully unaware of his parents’ grand expectations.

Ever since he grew old enough to understand reason, his parents’ greatest expectation of him had been simply: “Qingming, eat a little less, won’t you?”

Qingming was a delightfully plump little fellow. At three years old, whenever he clenched his fists, his father would laugh, calling them “steamed buns” instead of fists.

Round, tiny, and wonderfully soft.

He was a child who adored eating, perpetually feeling as though his tummy was empty.

Because he was born premature, Yuqing had been terrified of poor health. During his nursing days, Yuqing had been exceedingly meticulous; two wet nurses worked in shifts to feed him constantly throughout the day.

In his infancy, Qingming’s tummy had never known emptiness, growing from a frail, tiny scrap into a plump, chubby bundle.

By the time Zhou Xiao and Yuqing realized the boy was growing far too round, his appetite was already somewhat beyond their control.

The physician explained that this was due to his varied diet as an infant. Other households, even if they hired wet nurses, usually employed only one. Not Qingming—he had multiple wet nurses from the start, and during the weaning phase, Yuqing had even nursed him for a spell. A varied diet early on built a high tolerance; naturally, he grew up entirely devoid of picky eating habits.

Qingming knew his mother was tender and his father doting; whenever his tummy rumbled, a little pleading to each of them was all it took to secure a full belly.

And so, this little spherical boy grew steadily rounder right alongside his tummy.

“Young Master, Young Master, slow down—!” Deng Yongquan chased after him, not even pausing to shut the car door. “Put that steamed bun down!”

No way! Qingming thought.

With a defiant huff, he sprinted into the main courtyard, leaving Deng Yongquan to catch nothing but the swaying tail of his braid.

Qingming was five this year. His mother had arranged for a private tutor to begin his education at three, but his father insisted a child should not be raised behind closed doors.

Thus, after less than a year of private tutoring, he was sent to study at the Baizhou Preparatory Academy.

The children there were quite young, ranging from four to seven, preparing for elementary school.

Qingming was not a talkative child, but thanks to his tutor, he was already tracing calligraphy models while his peers were just learning to write.

Today, a classmate had left half a steamed bun untouched at lunch. Qingming had secretly wrapped it in waxed paper, munching on it happily in the backseat during the ride home.

Spotting him, Deng Yongquan had tried to snatch it away; the Master and Madam had strictly forbidden the Young Master from eating too much.

The boy simply refused to be managed. Secure in his parents’ endless doting, though he spoke little, he did entirely as he pleased.

Chewing on the bun, Qingming pattered eagerly inside, figuring his mother hadn’t yet returned at this hour.

“My good Madam, have mercy…”

Qingming’s steps faltered, his eyes lighting up. It was his father’s voice!

“Mercy for what?” The responding voice belonged to his mother.

Tossing the half-eaten bun behind him without a second thought, Qingming peered through the crack of the door with bright, eager curiosity.

Obstructed by the folding screen, he couldn’t see much.

Yuqing held a long pipe between his lips, and Zhou Xiao leaned over to light it with a match. Then, hurrying back to Yuqing’s knees—whether kneeling or sitting, Qingming couldn’t tell—he buried his face into Yuqing’s chest, whining, “Don’t be angry, it’s bad for your health.”

“What good are you?” Yuqing took a draw of the jasmine leaves, tapping Zhou Xiao’s forehead lightly with the pipe.

“I am good for absolutely anything else; just spare me this one task, Madam, I beg you,” Zhou Xiao grumbled into his wife’s chest.

Hiding behind the door, Qingming covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. Father did something wrong and is being punished by Mother!

Tilting his head, Qingming thought: ever since he could remember, his parents never argued, never even raised their voices at one another. The servants always whispered that the Master and Madam were profoundly devoted.

Qingming frequently caught his parents kissing; to him, it was entirely unremarkable.

Now five years old, the very first thing his parents did upon waking every morning was come to his room to rouse him.

Every day, he woke not only to his father’s kisses, but to his mother holding him with boundless affection, the comforting scent of jasmine enveloping him, making him feel impossibly secure and happy.

Yet in all his years, Qingming had never seen his parents argue or turn red with anger.

Finding the scene quite novel, he pressed closer, suppressing his laughter, listening intently.

Today, Yuqing wore a pale lotus silk gown embroidered with white bamboo. Though Western suits were growing increasingly fashionable across the Republic, and Yuqing often wore them to banquets or business meetings with prominent figures, he still favored traditional wear at home.

Qingming wondered why his mother had returned so early today, and more importantly, what on earth the two were arguing about.

Yuqing said, “Since you insist on partaking every single day, and since I have already borne a child, adding another member to the household would be a fine thing; a flourishing family is a blessing.”

Zhou Xiao retorted, “I’ll demand a sterilizing draft from Doctor Liu tomorrow to put an end to that notion. The two of us are perfectly fine. Once Qingming is a bit older and the Zhou estate feels too cramped, we’ll move into the mansion.”

“The side courtyards alone number more than a dozen; how could this place ever feel cramped?” Yuqing chuckled softly, seeing right through his lie.

“Those courtyards were once inhabited by a horde of concubines; the feng shui is dreadful. If we are to live well, we must reside in a proper house. My good Madam, spare me, please. I know my wrongs.”

“With the railway now complete, trade is booming. Zhou Zezhi, if you dare jeopardize our affairs again, do not blame me for showing no mercy.” Pinching his cheek, Yuqing’s tone hardened, shedding all indulgence—he was genuinely angry.

Sucking the breath from the room, a faint red rimmed Zhou Xiao’s eyes. “It was just Boss Li from Shanghai offering to show you around the city, and I refused. Because of that trivial matter, you come home and scold me like this…”

“Was that a mere refusal? Do you realize what banquet it was today, and who that Boss Li is?” Yuqing demanded.

The fighting between North and South had deliberately bypassed Shanghai. Any merchant capable of holding firm ground in Shanghai possessed a standing far beyond anyone in Baizhou.

Boss Li hailed from immense wealth, and his elder brother held high government office. During the banquet, he had politely invited Yuqing to visit Shanghai when time permitted.

Hearing this, Zhou Xiao had seized the moment Yuqing stepped into the washroom, pulling him into a stall for a frantic, bruising session. By the time Yuqing emerged, his neck was littered with aggressive marks. Boss Li, a man of the world, understood instantly what had transpired, dropping the invitation and awkwardly tabling their business discussions for a later date.

It wasn’t the loss of a single business deal that angered Yuqing, but Zhou Xiao’s gross lack of propriety.

Even in the Republican era, male wives were unheard of in polite society, let alone the fact that they had Qingming to consider.

In the eyes of the outside world, they were the eldest son and the adopted son of the Zhou family—brothers in name. If the truth were exposed, how would Qingming ever hold his head up in society?

Yuqing had returned to reason with Zhou Xiao.

He asked, if Boss Li had noticed their entanglement, and was a local from Baizhou rather than Shanghai, what would he have done?

Zhou Xiao answered with chilling ease, “In Baizhou territory, could he flip the heavens? Kill him, of course—”

Yuqing stared at him, his face turning frigid.

Then, Zhou Xiao had burst into tears, turning his grievance onto Yuqing. “If I hadn’t been intimate with you, can you honestly say that during the banquet, you didn’t entertain the thought of going to Shanghai?”

“You have a family, a business, yet you’d willingly abandon your husband and child—I can’t believe you’d stoop so low!”

Seeing him resort to his usual unreasonable tantrums, Yuqing refused to indulge the habit today, poking him firmly in the forehead. “Cry, cry, cry—a father of a child, and you weep and throw fits like this? When have I ever let you meddle in outside business affairs? I never even agreed to go to Shanghai, yet you’ve already pronounced my guilt. Hmm?”

Rubbing his forehead in disbelief, Zhou Xiao realized Yuqing was genuinely furious today. A flash of murderous intent crossed his eyes as he wondered which wretched Shanghainese interloper dared conduct business in their Baizhou territory.

He turned his head away, feigning sullen silence, muttering under his breath, “If Father knew…”

Yuqing’s temple throbbed. He suppressed a helpless sigh, caught between the urge to laugh and the realization that he spoiled the man entirely too much.

At the dinner table, he had merely offered a polite, “I shall visit Shanghai when time permits.”

Seizing upon that single phrase, Zhou Xiao became convinced he was leaving and launched into a full-blown meltdown.

Over the years, Zhou Xiao’s jealousy had only intensified. Initially, he could tolerate the presence of figures like Zhao Fu or Jiang Sui, provided they kept their distance from Yuqing.

But two years ago, after returning from France, Zhou Xiao discovered that in Yuqing’s routine correspondence with Zhao Fu, he had casually mentioned Zhao Fu’s frostbite, urging him to mind his health.

For a master to express concern for a subordinate was entirely normal; Yuqing hadn’t even seen Zhao Fu in years, writing the words without a second thought. Yet Zhou Xiao had read them, tossing and turning for several sleepless nights.

Shortly after, he shipped Zhao Fu off to France.

He reasoned that since the parts factory was there, and Zhao Fu was a year younger than him, someone raised by Yuqing’s side wouldn’t fare poorly. Besides, France was warmer; his frostbite wouldn’t flare up again.

The bank’s affairs were handed over to Deng Yongquan.

Zhou Xiao absolutely could not tolerate anyone remaining by Yuqing’s side longer than he had, nor could he allow Yuqing to remember a single trivial detail about anyone else.

He wasn’t born of Yuqing, merely a husband bound by Zhou blood. If he didn’t maintain a vice-like grip, who knew what temptations might swarm around him?

As for Jiang Sui, once the war between North and South stabilized, Zhou Xiao penned a letter to Shanghai and had the man reassigned far away.

Yuqing marveled at his sesame-seed-sized pettiness, yet invariably surrendered to his heartbroken tears.

No matter what Yuqing did, Zhou Xiao was perpetually consumed by a profound lack of security.

Seeing his tears, Yuqing would recall how his father had entrusted him to his care; as a wife, he always felt he had perhaps fallen short, constantly causing him to weep.

At this thought, he pulled Zhou Xiao’s head into his embrace, stroking his hair. “Then let us have another child.”

Yuqing said, “Since you are so uneasy about me leaving the house, let us have another child. What do you say? That way, I can rest peacefully at home and won’t feel bored.”

Yuqing was a man who thrived on managing affairs; in his eyes, expanding the business was just as vital as continuing the Zhou bloodline.

Since his husband abhorred him stepping out, having another child was the perfect solution.

Speaking, Yuqing moved to unbuckle his belt.

This was the first time Zhou Xiao had ever been faced with his wife actively unbuckling a belt; he dared not comply, hastily surrendering, chanting over and over, “Madam, I won’t dare do it again.”

How could he dare let Yuqing suffer pregnancy again? How could he bear it…?

Yuqing cupped his face. “Look at you—is this any way for a father to act?”

His tears wiped away by delicate fingertips, Zhou Xiao pressed himself even closer against his lower abdomen, hugging his waist tightly as he nuzzled, “Mother… Zezhi simply couldn’t bear to part with you…”

What child under heaven could bear to leave their mother?

Though Yuqing had not given birth to him, he had borne his child, and remained the deep-rooted, anchoring jasmine blossom of their family.

Yuqing laughed helplessly, scratching beneath his chin. “How else must Mother coax you? Hmm? Are you quite finished crying?”

Zhou Xiao whined softly in his embrace like a devoted pup.

Their arguments invariably played out this way; whenever a true quarrel failed to ignite, it was drowned out by Zhou Xiao’s weeping. Yuqing was soft-hearted, and a mother naturally favored indulging her child.

Qingming leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head. Seeing his father’s polished shoes shuffle against the floorboards, seemingly about to tackle his mother to the ground, he blinked his wide eyes.

Suddenly, Deng Yongquan hurried over. “Young Master, what are you doing standing here?”

He knew full well the Master and Madam inside the main hall were likely up to no good; the Young Master absolutely could not be allowed to see.

“Qingming?” Hearing the voice, Yuqing hastily shoved the man in his arms away. “When did you get out of school?”

Caught in the act, Qingming felt a sudden flush of embarrassment. He shot Deng Yongquan a resentful glare before trundling slowly into the room.

Less than half a minute had passed, yet stepping inside, everything seemed vastly different from what he had just witnessed.

Through the crack in the door, he had clearly seen his father weeping in his mother’s arms, even calling him “Mother.”

His father had been kneeling on the floor.

Their family of three frequently knelt in the ancestral hall to offer incense. Qingming had seen his father kneel before, but his father never possessed the profound reverence his mother displayed.

Yet in that brief scene just now, he knew his father had knelt with absolute devotion, much like his mother offering incense to the ancestors.

But in those fleeting seconds…

Qingming rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

His mother, who had been smoking a jasmine pipe, now held nothing at all, opening his arms with a gentle, radiant smile, calling out, “Qingming.”

Qingming looked up at his father.

His father was adjusting his tie, the very pipe his mother had been smoking tucked into his pocket. His expression was impeccably composed, devoid of a single tear track, standing before him with stern dignity. Ruffling his son’s hair, he asked, “Little rascal, what were you eavesdropping on?”

Qingming shook his head, insisting he hadn’t been eavesdropping at all.

In a daze, five-year-old Qingming genuinely began to believe that the scene he had peeked at was merely an illusion, like a dream.

Yes, it must have been a dream.

His mother and father were… deeply respectful of one another! Yes, according to the servants, they treated each other with the utmost mutual respect.

Ever since Qingming could remember, the phrase he heard most often from the staff was, “The Master deeply respects the Madam.”

But when Qingming turned eight, someone handed him a miscellaneous book that stated, “Between husband and wife, if there is obligation but no passion, only ‘respect’ remains.”

Most people rarely retained memories of events before the age of three.

Qingming was no exception; he had long forgotten how his parents interacted in those early years, recalling only that once he became aware, his father no longer allowed them to sleep in the same room.

Even if he longed for his mother’s embrace and fell asleep in his arms, he always woke up in his own separate room.

His father told him that a true man could not cling to his mother’s embrace; he had to be independent, a man had to grow, and his thoughts had to progress alongside society.

Their generation’s foremost duty was to revitalize the nation, study diligently to serve the country, and never remain tethered to domestic trivialities.

Thus, every morning, Qingming was subjected to his father’s grand lectures before being packed off in the car to school.

Yet he never quite understood why his father always returned to his mother’s bedchamber immediately afterward.

One day, he finally understood. Having taken the wrong textbook, he was nearly at school when he had the driver turn the car around to head home.

Arriving back, his father was just stepping out of the bedchamber. Qingming finally realized why his father always hurried back after sending him off—he went back to change his clothes.

The shirt his father wore in the morning was invariably swapped for a fresh one after re-entering the bedchamber.

His father was a fanatic for cleanliness; apparently, eating breakfast wasn’t enough, he had to change his clothes too. Or so Qingming thought.

Qingming knew his parents were devoted, but it was an abstract, subconscious belief.

As he grew older, save for that fleeting, dream-like memory at age five of his father weeping and his mother coaxing, he had never once seen his parents kiss.

His mother never kissed his father the way he kissed him.

Since childhood, his mother had instructed him never to mention to outsiders that his mother was a man.

Though no one had ever thought to ask the gender of Qingming’s mother anyway.

But Qingming was an obedient boy; he never brought it up. If asked, he simply replied that his parents were deeply devoted.

Originally, Qingming had no idea what business his mother managed, nor the extent of their family enterprises.

Since he started school at five, his parents always had a hot meal waiting at home for him to eat together.

Qingming was a precocious and frugal child; owing to his voracious appetite in childhood, his father taught him that every grain of rice was hard-earned. He must study hard so that in the future, more impoverished people could afford to eat white rice.

Qingming believed his father possessed a grand, patriotic heart, resolving to inherit this noble ambition by rising early to study every single day.

When he woke, his mother was rarely awake.

For some reason, he always felt his mother was a deeply industrious person who would never sleep in, yet in Qingming’s memory, his mother truly could never get out of bed in the morning.

When he went to offer his morning greetings, his mother would merely extend a weak, limp hand from beneath the covers to stroke his cheek, then pull him in for a soft kiss.

His father, however, rose exceptionally early, having bank affairs to manage.

His mother told him the Zhou family ran honest, respectable businesses.

His father told him the Zhou family legacy stretched back a century; as the sole heir, every shred of hope rested entirely upon his shoulders.

Qingming’s childhood was joyous, fulfilling, and grounded. He etched the words Strive for Excellence deeply into his heart.

He remained largely ignorant of the true nature of his mother’s business.

Until he turned ten and entered elementary school.

Adjacent to his elementary school were the high school and university campuses. One day, the university students launched a protest, claiming a ruthless boss had bullied a laborer to death.

The students marched through the streets, demanding accountability from the Chamber of Commerce.

The Baizhou Chamber of Commerce was now an organization commanding even greater authority than the military garrison, simply because the troops stationed in Baizhou relied on the Chamber for provisions and funding.

Having finished classes, Qingming’s curiosity got the better of him, and he mingled into the marching crowd.

Behind him, Deng Yongquan sweated profusely, clutching Qingming’s schoolbag, pleading in a hushed whisper, “Young Master, let us go home.”

Qingming shook his head, marching excitedly alongside the crowd. “Father said that eras are meant to be overthrown and rebuilt. If I do not seek justice for this laborer today, more wicked bosses will arise tomorrow. I must lend my strength to fight for his righteousness!”

Deng Yongquan thought to himself, What strength are you lending? You’re smashing your own family’s signboard!

The throng of students marched to the docks, raising banners before the Chamber of Commerce building, demanding justice for the laborer.

Qingming shouted along with them. Within moments, soldiers arrived to clear a path, presenting the official confession: the ruthless boss had admitted to abusing the laborer and withholding wages, and was sentenced to death on the spot.

Qingming watched as the gentle mother who had held and stroked him since childhood stepped into view.

These students, completely detached from the business world, were merely ordinary citizens seeking answers; none had ever imagined the Chamber President would possess such a breathtaking visage.

Yuqing addressed the crowd: “The Chamber will naturally deliver justice, and a definitive answer will be given for the laborer. All withheld wages and compensation shall be paid in full by the Chamber, to pacify the public’s outrage.”

The ruthless boss was shoved forward by several guards, screaming Yuqing’s name: “Ruan Yuqing! I am one of your men! You won’t even protect your own?!”

The entirety of Baizhou fell under the Chamber’s governance; even the President could not possibly monitor the daily deeds of every subordinate.

Seeing that Yuqing offered no quarter, the boss shoved a guard aside and attempted to flee.

Qingming watched in shock as his gentle mother calmly drew a short-barreled pistol from the bodyguard beside him, aimed at the fleeing man, and placed a single bullet squarely through his kneecap.

Yuqing said, “Zezhi, hand him over to the military command.”

“Understood.” Qingming watched his father step forward to drape a shawl over his mother’s shoulders. “Mind the wind; don’t catch a chill.”

His mother nodded gracefully, before his father callously dragged the screaming, bleeding boss away by the collar.

Having witnessed the swift resolution, the crowd scattered like headless flies, returning to their daily lives.

Qingming stood frozen, his mind reeling: The President of the Baizhou Chamber of Commerce… is Mother?

His mother’s health had always been fragile; childbirth had left him with lingering ailments, suffering frequent backaches, unable to rise in the mornings, taking medicinal broths daily.

A sudden realization struck Qingming: he had believed this was his first time visiting the Chamber building, yet why did he sense his mother’s office was on the third floor?

It felt as though he had been here in his early childhood.

“Young Master, let’s hurry home. If the Master and Madam find out, I’ll be in terrible trouble.”

Qingming followed Deng Yongquan back home.

He had always thought their family only ran a bank, which was why he had become exceptionally skilled with the abacus since childhood, mastering interest rates and loan calculations with ease.

It turned out their family owned far more than just a bank.

Neither his father nor his mother had ever mentioned it.

Qingming arrived home before they did. After offering incense to the ancestors as usual, he recalled his father’s teachings—that he was the sole, pure-blooded heir of the Zhou family, the future hope of their legacy.

The Zhou family had always been honest, decent folk. His mother had taught him to work steadily, without haste or malice, keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Qingming tilted his head slightly, wondering if his parents’ teachings all these years had actually been genuine. He had always believed his parents were paragons of virtue, leading by example.

Usually, Qingming finished school late, and his parents were already home. Today, the roles were reversed, so he waited eagerly by the gates.

Watching his parents’ car pull in, he rushed forward, bursting to ask if the awe-inspiring figures he had seen today were truly them.

But as he drew near and the car rolled to a halt, Qingming peered through the window—only his mother was visible inside.

“Where is Father?” he asked.

His mother, who had been resting with closed eyes, was startled to see Qingming upon waking. “Why are you home from school so early today?”

Pushing away the figure in his lap, Qingming finally noticed his father. Frowning slightly, he asked, “Father, why were you hiding under Mother’s shawl?”

His father emerged, staring blankly at him before furrowing his brow, checking the watch on his wrist. “You’re back so early—are you skipping class? You little brat, get over here and confess where you’ve been! Deng Yongquan—!”

“Father, Father, that hurts—”

“Zezhi, the child is grown; let him go.” His mother couldn’t bear it, pulling the boy into his embrace. “Tell Mother, why did you come home early?”

Interrupted by his parents’ fussing, Qingming promptly forgot the question he had meant to ask.

It wasn’t until many years later, when he had a wife of his own, that he finally understood exactly what his father had been doing.

— End of Extras —