TAMW CH56

When Qingming woke in the morning, he stretched his little hands, swatting blindly at the air.

The wet nurse had tended to him exceptionally well. Though somewhat frail and small at birth, four months of diligent feeding had brought his weight up to par with any normal infant; he ate heartily, slept soundly, and brimmed with vibrant health.

When Qingming was newly born, Yuqing insisted on seeing the child every single day. Even while his own body was still mending, he made sure to hold Qingming daily, letting the infant grow familiar with his true mother’s embrace. Yuqing had carried his frail constitution from the womb and lived in constant dread of passing that sickly inheritance to Qingming. Seeing the boy thrive without issue, a heavy stone finally lifted from his chest.

Above all else, he only wished for Qingming to be healthy.

Though a four-month-old infant could not sleep through the entire night, he could already take rice porridge, sparing the wet nurse from running back and forth at all hours. It wasn’t that Yuqing minded the disruption, but Zhou Xiao loathed it.

Ever since Master Zhou returned home, no one had set foot inside this bedchamber aside from the physician and the daily cleaning staff.

Zhou Xiao viewed this room as the private sanctuary of their shared bliss—outsiders were forbidden to tread lightly within, and having anyone barge in sourly grated on his temper. Nowadays, even if Deng Yongquan had pressing business, he had to knock politely from the outside, offer a formal greeting of “Master,” and wait until Zhou Xiao stepped out.

Zhou Xiao relished keeping the bedchamber strictly to himself and his wife.

Adding a child to the room was no grand intrusion—after all, it was their own flesh and blood. Besides, with the bed curtains drawn, the baby knew nothing anyway; an innocent babe would retain none of these early memories. Bolstered by this conviction, Zhou Xiao indulged himself without the slightest shred of restraint.

The moment the baby stirred awake, Zhou Xiao caught sight of those tiny hands batting at the rattle drum through the semi-translucent bed hangings.

Shifting his waist, he parted the curtain a fraction to peer out, coaxing softly, “Qingming, wait a moment; Father will come amuse you shortly.”

Qingming’s crib had raised sides; still unable to decipher where the voice was coming from or which way to turn his head, the boy simply focused on swatting at the bells hung by the rail.

“Mmh—” A stifled whimper was smothered before it could escape.

Hearing the chimes, Qingming’s toothless mouth broke into a gurgling chuckle.

Yuqing reached out to grip the bed hangings, bunching a fistful of sheer gauze in his palm. His veins stood out sharply, and his neatly trimmed nails turned stark white under the force of his grip. He clutched the fabric fiercely at first, only for his strength to drain away moments later, his wrist going limp until it dangled loosely over the edge of the mattress.

Zhou Xiao caught his hand again, lacing their fingers together, peppering the back of his hand with thorough, devoted kisses: “My sweet Qingqing…”

The pale blue veins along Yuqing’s neck strained taut, their delicate pathways etched with breathtaking clarity…

Zhou Xiao’s hands were dreadfully rough; a casual squeeze against Yuqing’s chest was enough to leave bright red marks, the stubborn calluses showing no signs of fading, seemingly destined to accompany him for a lifetime. With a fraction more pressure from Zhou Xiao’s hand, a stray spray nearly blinded his eyes, drawing a low chuckle from the man before he bent his back to kiss him anew.

Drifting in a daze, Yuqing vaguely recalled holding Qingming together late into the night to feed him rice porridge, watching the baby fall asleep side by side. How could Zhou Xiao possibly rise with such boundless vigor at the crack of dawn?

Yuqing’s mind was a muddled haze. Looking down, he could only make out a dark head of hair, unable to tell where the man was nestled.

Zhou Xiao was a light sleeper—or rather, these days beside Yuqing were already the soundest rest he had ever known. Still, the slightest stir would wake him; the second Qingming moved, Zhou Xiao would sit up, which was why he always woke so early.

Zhou Xiao had whispered that the baby was awake.

At that, Yuqing’s mind cleared of everything else; he clapped a hand over his mouth at once, terrified of making a sound.

The antique furniture in the estate consisted of genuine relics, and Yuqing lived in fear of damaging them—especially this bed.

It creaked and swayed ceaselessly.

If the servants were standing close by the door, they would surely catch every sound.

As the master of the house, it wasn’t mere embarrassment that bothered Yuqing; lifting his eyes, he noticed dawn had barely broken outside.

Was Zhou Xiao not tired at all?

Though Yuqing was now the Chamber of Commerce President, managing Baizhou’s mercantile affairs with practiced ease, there were still ledgers to review, ships entering and clearing the port that required his stamp, large bank certificates of deposit to audit, and more…

Now, with land transport routes under his wing, the Chamber’s annual tax levies and the year-end dividend splits all fell upon his shoulders to calculate.

Yuqing possessed an innate gift for commerce; these matters were not insurmountable, merely taxing on his stamina.

With Qingming so recently born, Zhou Xiao personally ran the errands to collect the paperwork for various projects, frequently handling port affairs in Yuqing’s stead.

Whatever Yuqing decreed, Zhou Xiao carried out the moment he stepped past the gates.

In Shencheng, the coal sales had settled into smooth operation; within barely half a year, the line between Liu County and Shencheng had been connected, with railways extending to several surrounding counties. Benefiting the public was merely the smallest fraction of the gains; shipping coal out from Liu County to markets far and wide brought winter profits that nearly rivaled the entire Bank of Shencheng.

Zhou Xiao ventured out by day, leaving only the midday meal and the evening return to the bedchamber as his sole opportunities to touch his wife.

Yuqing understood his devotion to home.

After all, he was a father now; holding his family close was a virtue.

Yet how long had this routine persisted?

Looking at it now, it seemed he wasn’t merely devoted to the household…

Yuqing was beginning to suspect that Zhou Xiao was his true infant; otherwise, why would he spend every waking hour fixated on entering “home”?

The very “home” that had gestured and brought forth life had become an unyielding addiction to him.

From the day they were permitted to resume relations, not a single dawn had passed without Zhou Xiao demanding his share.

If Yuqing had pressing engagements the following day—heading to the docks or meeting public figures—Zhou Xiao might refrain from plunging inside, only to plaster himself against every other inch of skin instead. Back and forth it went, until Yuqing had long grown numb to his clinginess.

Master Zhou never displayed this face before outsiders.

Just as he refused to let servants enter the bedchamber to wait on them, Yuqing mused that Zhou Xiao simply couldn’t bear to let anyone witness him in this state.

Master Zhou possessed a keen sense of vanity after all.

In the early morning, Yuqing’s frame was jostled off-balance.

Since bearing Qingming, he could distinctly feel that his constitution had declined; his thighs frequently seized with cramps during intimacy, an affliction he had never known before.

The physician noted it was a depletion of vital essence and calcium, advising him to drink hearty bone broths daily.

Waking to cramps was a regular occurrence, all thanks to Master Zhou’s relentless antics; parted wide like this, no matter how supple Yuqing’s waist was, he could not endure it.

After a while, Yuqing shifted onto his knees to ease the cramp.

Hearing the rustle, Qingming turned his round eyes in the crib, seemingly pinpointing the source of the rhythmic, drum-like thumping at last. He giggled, reaching his hands toward the sound.

Catching sight of the adorable little hands through blurred, tear-filled eyes, Yuqing’s vision swam.

“Qingqing, your pelvic bones truly shifted; it’s so lush I can scarcely keep my grip.” Zhou Xiao caught him by the waist, dragging him straight back into his chest.

Before Yuqing’s outstretched hand could brush the crib, the bed hangings fell shut, swaying with a gentle, relentless rhythm.

With the air stagnant in the room, the curtains had no earthly reason to sway on their own.

Yuqing’s mind was a muddled blur, constantly shaken awake from half-slumber.

By the time his senses fully cleared, his body felt like a candied date stripped clean of its flesh—damp and slick all over, drenched in syrupy warmth.

His appetite thoroughly sated, Zhou Xiao finally slipped out of bed, calling for servants to warm the rice porridge.

Yuqing’s robe remained loosened over his shoulders, and Zhou Xiao let him hold the baby for a while to play.

Qingming smacked his lips eagerly, searching for food. At times, a little remained, but Yuqing’s health was frail, and nursing the child on such nourishment lacked proper sustenance; it could never compare to the wet nurse’s milk.

Yet Qingming loved smacking his gums against his mother’s bosom.

Carrying the warm rice porridge inside, Zhou Xiao teased the boy with a tiny spoon: “Son, stop tormenting your mother. Have some porridge instead?”

He nudged the spoon forward, but Qingming clung stubbornly to the swollen, tender spot, refusing to let go.

“He probably isn’t hungry, just missing me,” Yuqing stroked the baby’s rounded head with boundless maternal grace.

With one shoulder left bare, his cascading dark hair veiled the pale skin beneath; gazing upon that porcelain glow, Zhou Xiao found it far sweeter and more intoxicating than any rice broth.

“How could he not be hungry? He hasn’t eaten since midnight; he’s bound to be starved.” Zhou Xiao continued using the spoon to coax the baby’s mouth open, attempting to free his mother.

“Eeyah~” Qingming was preparing to cut teeth, reaching the peak of his fussy stage.

As Zhou Xiao pressed the spoon close, Qingming refused to open his mouth, twisting his head away instead—a movement that pulled sharply at Yuqing.

Yuqing drew a sharp breath of pain. Zhou Xiao set the porridge down in an instant: “If you won’t eat, then don’t! Alright, alright, Father was wrong—don’t go hurting your mother!”

He hurriedly steadied the infant’s head, pleading and coaxing as though praying to the ancestors.

Yuqing had never seen Zhou Xiao plead with anyone before.

Shameless as a pup in private, the man was a force to be reckoned with outside. He had heard that during his stints overseeing the port on Yuqing’s behalf, Zhou Xiao had brandished a gun without hesitation, putting bullets through several smugglers who still dared traffic opium.

Though Yuqing hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, Zhou Xiao had returned reeking of metallic blood several times.

Besides, the dock subordinates answered to Yuqing and reported every detail back to him. Zhou Xiao kept silent upon returning home, yet Yuqing saw through every move.

Out in the world, Master Zhou’s reputation was iron-hard…

Yet here he was, reduced to begging a tiny infant. Yuqing could not suppress a chuckle.

Catching his smile, watching the tiny mole beneath his wife’s eye dance with life, Zhou Xiao asked curiously, “Which word made Qingqing laugh?”

“Hmm? What?” Yuqing hadn’t heard clearly.

“Which word brought a smile to your face? I’ll say it again,” Zhou Xiao pressed his cheek close. “Coaxing you to smile suits you; you’re breathtaking.”

“You certainly know how to cajole me,” Yuqing pinched his nose. “I only found your way of coaxing the child rather endearing.”

“I told you long ago that a man is never to be called endearing.” Zhou Xiao moved to nip at Yuqing’s fingertips.

Yuqing pulled back playfully, dodging his teeth.

Zhou Xiao leaned forward in pursuit.

One nipped, the other dodged.

Watching them dart back and forth, Qingming found it utterly delightful. Pouting his lips and waving his arms, he cooed loudly, trying to catch his mother’s fingertips as well.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Zhou Xiao scooped the child into his arms, rocked him twice, and tucked him back into the crib.

“Let me look—did he bite you hard?” Zhou Xiao hovered over him, eager to inspect the damage.

“What is there to look at? He’s just a child; could he ever torment me half as much as you?”

Faced with the question, Zhou Xiao didn’t even blush, declaring with open brazenness, “I know to mind my teeth, whereas he only knows how to gnaw. Clearly, I am the far more obedient one, aren’t I?”

Even with only the two of them present, such wanton talk made Yuqing flush; he clapped a hand over the man’s mouth. “Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Between husband and wife, this is called bedchamber passion—how is it nonsense?” Zhou Xiao nuzzled his ear, licking away a stray droplet of rice porridge near his collarbone. “You always stay so quiet; how can that do?”

Yuqing had no idea what sound the man was demanding from him. Once the skin was licked clean, he shoved the man’s head away. “Go on, it’s time you set out.”

Pushed aside, Zhou Xiao beamed with pure satisfaction. “Yes, my good Madam—whatever you decree, I obey.”

“I’ll have the wet nurse take Qingming out shortly; go back to sleep for a bit. You have no dinner engagements today, right? Rest well at home. If you’re cramping, make sure you eat the meat along with the bone broth; otherwise, how would I dare use any force? It feels as though you might break…”

“Madam, what are you doing?” Zhou Xiao was fastening his cufflinks.

Yuqing threw back the quilt and stepped out of bed. Zhou Xiao dropped his cufflinks at once, rushing forward to catch him.

“Don’t step down—”

“I am fastening the Master’s tie.”

As Zhou Xiao reached out, Yuqing rested a hand gently against his arm.

His slender fingers worked nimbly around Zhou Xiao’s collar, knotting the silk.

A flicker of bewilderment crossed Zhou Xiao’s gaze; his lips parted, but he said nothing, merely lifting Yuqing’s thighs to wrap them around his waist, refusing to let his feet touch the floor.

Though a thick rug covered the boards, Zhou Xiao despised the thought of his feet touching anything coarse.

Those feet were meant to step only on him.

Held in his arms, Yuqing tied the knot with practiced grace, chuckling softly, “Zezhi is so terribly clingy.”

Once the tie was set, Zhou Xiao couldn’t resist nuzzling against his collarbones, murmuring in a deep, smitten rumble, “Only clingy to Qingqing.”

Only to my love…

Hearing that sweet, brazen declaration, Yuqing gently kneaded his ears. “Very well.”

Zhou Xiao carried him back to the mattress, asking softly, “Do you want to hold Qingming a while longer?”

“I’ll lull him to sleep for a bit,” Yuqing nodded.

Zhou Xiao lifted the child into bed, instructing the wet nurse outside to fetch the baby in an hour; by then, the swaddles would need changing, and he refused to let Yuqing handle such chores.

Whatever burdens he could shoulder, he would; Yuqing had already endured the agonizing trials of labor, and from now on, his sole duty was to enjoy the child’s presence—nothing more.

Zhou Xiao stepped out, carrying the task list Yuqing had drafted yesterday.

Every afternoon, Yuqing reviewed the calling cards delivered by the staff in the study. Some invited the Chamber President to dinner, others inquired whether shipping ventures could secure loans through Qingming Bank, and so on…

For loan applications, Zhao Fu conducted the initial assessments; once Yuqing approved the drafts, Zhou Xiao headed to the harbor to arrange docking clearance for the merchant fleets.

Zhou Xiao had become his indispensable right hand, cutting an imposing figure at the docks with a firearm at his hip.

Once he had gone, Yuqing lay beside Qingming.

Lying on his side, he studied the boy’s long, curled lashes; the child’s features had begun to open up, though whom he resembled remained an enigma.

Smiling, he looked like Yuqing; straight-faced, his eyes bore the docile, obedient look of a pup, just like Xiao’er at home.

Yuqing extended a slender finger, which the infant caught in his grasp at once.

“Qingming…” Yuqing rested his forehead against the baby’s, whispering his name, “Do you love me?”

In the past, he had dreaded the thought of Qingming having two fathers. Zhou Xiao had thrown endless tantrums, refusing under any circumstances to act as Qingming’s uncle in name; after endless circular logic, Yuqing had somehow accepted the title of “Mother.”

The child could not yet speak, but the father used the title with tireless enthusiasm.

Hearing it daily, Yuqing had grown entirely numb to the address.

When pleasure peaked, Zhou Xiao frequently bit his neck or earlobe, chanting, “Mother…”

“Qingqing, give birth to me as well, won’t you?”

And upon slipping out the following morning, Zhou Xiao would murmur, “Has Qingqing truly birthed me now?”

Who else in the world could utter such shameless debaucheries?

Looking at the child, anticipating the day when the boy would call him Mother, the only figure that came to mind was Zhou Xiao—that meddlesome rogue who had barged headlong into his life…

In the past, Yuqing had been cool and detached, never believing he would lose his heart to anyone.

He had merely wished to live out his days in the Zhou estate, seeing the family legacy endure…

Never had he imagined that Zhou Xiao would crash through his tranquil existence, roaring that he would tear the house down if he weren’t granted the most vital place in his heart.

Recalling it now, Yuqing could only laugh.

“My good Qingming, you must never learn your father’s shameless ways,” he teased the baby’s cheek.

Tended to by Zhou Xiao, his body seemed even more sensitive than during pregnancy. Holding the child for a short while, his chest began aching with fullness again.

He cradled Qingming and offered him sustenance. The child didn’t care much for it—the fluid was too thin; having grown accustomed to the rich milk of the wet nurse and the supplement of rice porridge, the boy’s palate had turned rather selective.

Qingming latched on for only a moment; Yuqing’s supply was scarce, and nursing by raw infant instinct, the pull was fierce and painful, drying up in an instant.

Yuqing touched himself in disbelief; it was truly empty.

So quickly?

It felt as though barely a few minutes had passed.

If the child finished so swiftly, what on earth had Zhou Xiao been doing dallying for nearly an hour every single morning?

Yuqing let out a helpless, breathy laugh.

Picky as the child was, hunger compelled him to nurse, and having had his fill, he drifted off peacefully in Yuqing’s arms, his little fist curled around a lock of Yuqing’s dark hair.

An innocent, darling babe.

Once the child was sound asleep, the wet nurse knocked carefully and carried him away.

Yuqing caught a brief morning nap before finally rising.

Now that Deng Yongquan had returned to the Zhou estate alongside Zhou Xiao, leaving the Shencheng railway to the Li family’s second son, Butler Deng had entered a quiet retirement.

Yuqing had always treated the household staff with grace.

Especially those who had served his late father, he showed immense courtesy, sharing a portion of his daily meals with Butler Deng.

In advanced years, drinking tonic broths was essential for health.

Deng Yongquan had taken over his father’s household duties; whenever Zhou Xiao stepped out, the younger Deng would accompany him, leaving Butler Deng to tinker with miscellaneous chores around the estate.

As the old man put it: having labored in the Zhou house for a lifetime, how could he sit idle in his old age?

Seeing him content, Yuqing humored him.

Stepping into the side courtyard, Butler Deng was reviewing newly arrived domestic servants.

In the Republican era, lifetime indentured servitude was outlawed, but impoverished families with many mouths to feed often signed their children’s identity papers over to wealthy estates, retaining the right to redeem them later.

After the old master died, Yuqing had felt the withered household had no need for grand displays and dismissed a large portion of the staff.

During meals, sixteen servants used to stand in two neat rows outside the dining hall—some serving dishes, others holding warm basins to rinse fingers, with staff posted at the doors to swap water the second it cooled…

The moment Zhou Xiao returned, he restored every shred of that grandeur.

Not for vanity, but because he felt Yuqing deserved to be waited on hand and foot without enduring a sliver of discomfort; even if there was little to do, the staff had to be stationed—it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford a few servants.

Yuqing let out a soft sigh, gesturing for Butler Deng to continue, turning away from the study.

Noticing him, Butler Deng set down his brush and hobbled over with his cane: “Where is the Madam heading?”

Yuqing asked, “Has the Master commanded you as well? Keeping tabs on my every step in this estate? It truly has become his realm…”

“The Master merely instructed that if you venture out, you must dress warmly, and the driver must take the roads with utmost care. Wherever you go must be heated beforehand; early spring carries a chill, and you must not catch cold.”

Childish as Zhou Xiao was, his care was impeccably thorough.

“I understand,” Yuqing smiled softly. “I am not leaving the estate; I am going to the kitchen.”

“Today is his solar calendar birthday. Did anyone prepare longevity noodles for him this morning?”

“Good heavens!” Butler Deng smacked his forehead. “I’ve gone completely senile!”

People in Baizhou celebrated lunar birthdays, but when the date arrived last month, Qingming had been running fevers for days, keeping the entire estate in a frantic spiral.

Zhou Xiao hadn’t remembered it either.

Deng Yongquan had mentioned that during all those years abroad, he had never seen the Master celebrate a birthday.

Yuqing set his ledgers aside for the day, heading to the kitchen to knead dough before dispatching someone to purchase a Western cream cake. He had no skill with Western dishes, so a bowl of longevity noodles was all he could muster to humoring this new father.

He wondered if the man was still the same boy who would shed tears over a single boiled egg.

Kneading the dough, Yuqing shook his head with fond warmth, realizing he spent far too much time thinking of Zhou Xiao these days.

Perhaps it was becoming a mother, having his own flesh and blood, that made his heart soften toward vulnerable souls.

Returning that evening, Zhou Xiao specifically had Deng Yongquan detour to an import shop to buy slender candles.

He had wondered about it: the estate burned thick, red mandarin duck candles, so why had Yuqing jotted down “five slender candles” at the very bottom of the daily task list?

Still, he had bought them without question.

Unsure of the exact thickness Yuqing required, he had bought a bundle of every size, leaping from the car before it had even halted: “Qingqing!”

Fewer red lanterns were lit along the corridors tonight; the estate lay hush and still, with scarcely a servant in sight.

Zhou Xiao mused that this new batch of staff was far too lazy and deserved wage deductions.

Yet stepping past the covered walkways toward the bedchamber, his sharp ears caught the faint, melodic strumming of an instrument. No one in the Zhou household played music.

The notes rang clear and crisp, more agile than a pipa, nimble and bright.

Strings capable of producing such a brisk timbre had to be short.

Zhou Xiao quickened his pace. He knew there was a master of the liuqin under this roof.

The liuqin—commonly known as the willow lute.

He knew Yuqing could play, yet had never heard him perform.

Zhou Xiao had feared the instrument might unearth painful memories from his past; he had heard endless tunes in his life, but having the instrument’s master play for him of his own accord carried an entirely different weight.

His strides grew hurried. Before he could cross the threshold, the figure within had already caught the sound of his approach.

Yuqing’s voice drifted out, soft and silky, calling through the windowpane:

“Master Zhou, care to request a tune?”