Lang Juntian had come knocking several times in a row, but Bai Maomao never gave him a friendly face.
Lang Junxian would occasionally see him, his expression restless and hesitant, seemingly genuine.
Yet, he still refused to acknowledge returning to the Lang Family.
As usual, Lang Juntian showed up again.
Bai Maomao never hid his dislike.
When he saw Lang Juntian, he snorted coldly and stared at him with a hostile gaze before entering the house.
Lang Juntian wore the mask of a loving father.
At this moment, he naturally could not lose his temper at his son’s friend.
He could only force a kind smile, feeling the tension building inside.
With a bang, the door shut, Bai Maomao’s mood sour, but he still followed.
A game of wits was unfolding.
Lang Junxian was brewing tea.
The rising steam blurred his face.
Lang Juntian sat opposite him, separated by a tea table. It wasn’t a warm reunion between father and son but more like a battle of wills.
Lang Junxian placed the brewed tea before him and said coldly, “I’ve said before, I won’t go back. You don’t need to come again.”
“Don’t you want to see your mother?”
Lang Juntian was determined this time.
He wasn’t interested in the Lang Family, but he didn’t believe his son would be indifferent to his birth mother.
Lang Junxian paused, then shot a sharp, icy gaze at him.
“Mr. Lang, be careful with your words. My mother has long since passed away.”
Lang Juntian took a slow sip of tea, praising, “Good tea.”
“Your mother’s grave…you haven’t gone to pay respects, have you?”
Lang Junxian pursed his lips tightly, fingers clenching involuntarily, the warmth of the teapot burning his hand red.
Bai Maomao gently placed his hand over his, taking the teapot from him.
“What do you want to say?”
“Your mother is buried in the Lang Family cemetery. As long as you return to the Lang Family, you’ll be able to see her.”
“And if I refuse?”
Lang Juntian smiled.
“You are my child of the Lang Family. One day, you will come back.”
Lang Junxian met his gaze coldly but eventually looked away in defeat.
The room fell silent for a long time before Lang Junxian’s voice finally broke the quiet.
“Fine.”
Lang Juntian revealed a satisfied smile, stood up, and patted his shoulder.
“Get yourself ready. Someone will come to pick you up tomorrow.”
Lang Juntian achieved his goal and left, fully satisfied.
Once he was gone, Bai Maomao, limber as ever, leaned against Lang Junxian.
“Xiao Hei, do you really think your mother’s remains are buried in the Lang Family cemetery?”
Lang Junxian scoffed, tone unreadable.
“Impossible.”
“Oh.”
Bai Maomao responded dryly, unsure how to comfort him.
According to Lang Family customs, maybe Xiao Hei’s mother’s body wasn’t even preserved.
But that was not something to say out loud.
Lang Junxian was lost in thought, absentmindedly stroking Bai Maomao’s fur.
After a moment’s silence, he said, “Tomorrow you’ll come with me to the Lang Family.”
“Eh?”
Bai Maomao was surprised.
“Me too?”
“Mm.”
Lang Junxian’s face was no longer gloomy; his upturned mouth was gentle.
“How could I bear to leave you alone out there?”
“Oh, really?”
Bai Maomao’s eyes widened, responding foolishly, feeling his heart race uncontrollably.
The next day, sure enough, the Lang Family’s people came.
The leader was said to be the Head Steward, standing respectfully at the gate.
When Lang Junxian finished packing and came out with Bai Maomao, the steward showed no surprise but cast a contemptuous glance over Bai Maomao’s face.
Lang Juntian did not come this time.
Lang Juntian’s absence was expected.
Since Lang Junxian had agreed to return, the family head naturally had to maintain his dignity.
Although not enough to issue a stern warning, he wouldn’t lower himself like before, pleading meekly.
Lang Junxian scanned the scene but asked no questions.
Signing Bai Maomao to sit in the back seat, the car started moving, its low hum stretching through the morning air.
The Lang Family Estate was located in the center of Shangjing, nestled against the mountains and rivers, occupying the finest land.
The car passed through the Lang Family’s gates and drove a considerable distance before stopping.
Bai Maomao squinted at the large, gilded character “Lang” on the gate plaque, silently admiring it.
No wonder it was one of the three great families of Shangjing.
Crossing the threshold and weaving through the corridors, they finally reached the reception hall at the back.
Many people were present.
Lang Juntian sat in the main seat, face stern and imposing.
To his left sat two men bearing similar features, and to his right sat a middle-aged woman, richly adorned, clearly the Matriarch of a prominent household.
Others took their seats according to rank, curiously eyeing the two newcomers.
Lang Junxian held Bai Maomao’s hand calmly, standing in the center.
The Matriarch lifted her teacup, sipped the froth, and smiled gently.
“So this is Junxian? Your father has worked hard to find you. Consider this your home—don’t be shy.”
Lang Juntian at the main seat nodded.
“Sit down. You’re home now. No need to be reserved.”
They casually found places to sit.
Lang Junxian spoke little.
Either he answered questions or remained silent, lips pressed tight, perfectly playing the role of the stoic, reticent type.
Bai Maomao found the performance tedious and soon nodded off little by little.
The Matriarch, still waxing poetic about her magnanimity, darkened for a moment before recovering, “After all I’ve said, you came all this way early and probably haven’t eaten. I’ll ask the steward to—”
“No need. I’m a bit tired.”
Lang Junxian looked directly at Lang Juntian.
Lang Juntian ignored his wife’s displeased glance, cleared his throat, and said, “If you’re tired, go rest first.”
With that, he ordered the steward to take them to a prepared courtyard.
Lang Junxian woke Bai Maomao, who was still dozing.
He glanced at the two brothers with ill looks, a secret smile twitching at his mouth.
Lang Juntian had put considerable effort into winning over this capable illegitimate son, so naturally, their living quarters wouldn’t be shabby.
Their courtyard was secluded, some distance from the main house, surrounded by quiet paths and lush trees.
The steward escorted them, then arranged breakfast to be delivered.
Originally intending to gather information, he gave up after noticing their guarded expressions and respectfully withdrew, leaving the space to the two.
Bai Maomao yawned widely, a tear hanging at the corner of his eye.
His strikingly handsome face made it all the more endearing.
Lang Junxian felt a tightening below his navel.
Trying to cover his feelings, he passed Bai Maomao a chopstick of food, took one for himself, and lowered his head to eat, diverting his attention.
Bai Maomao looked drowsy and adorable, long lashes blinking slowly, stirring something fierce in Lang Junxian’s abdomen.
Lang Junxian gritted his teeth, grabbed the nearby wine, and aggressively downed a cup.
The spicy taste scorched down his throat to his stomach, intensifying the tender atmosphere.
Lang Junxian stared blankly at Bai Maomao, his eyes turning green.
Bai Maomao, puzzled by the gaze, leaned closer and asked, “What are you looking at? Something on my face?”
He unconsciously licked his lips with his tongue.
The scarlet tongue flashed between his white teeth, the pink lips glistening like a ripe fruit waiting to be picked.
Lang Junxian’s breathing grew heavy.
Heat rose in his belly, and a faint blush spread across his face.
He was frustrated—the wine was stronger than he expected, and after one cup, his longing only intensified.
Bai Maomao waved his hand in front of him, puzzled.
“Xiao Hei? Are you drunk?”
Lang Junxian’s gaze remained locked on him, shining green.
“How are you drunk after just one cup?”
Bai Maomao mumbled.
He picked up the cup and took a sip himself.
The spicy burn exploded across his lips and teeth, followed by a strong aroma of alcohol.
“So fragrant.”
Bai Maomao squinted and smacked his lips, taking another sip.
Lang Junxian still sat rigidly, staring straight at him.
After tasting the wine, Bai Maomao couldn’t stop drinking.
He quickly finished one cup and, wanting more, grabbed the wine pot to pour another.
“Go to sleep.”
Lang Junxian caught his hand, gaze still intense, making Bai Maomao’s scalp tingle and break out in goosebumps.
Without room for argument, Lang Junxian pulled him towards the room.
Bai Maomao pouted but reluctantly set down the cup.
Lang Junxian was clearly drunk.
First, he held Bai Maomao’s hand, then said he couldn’t walk, flopping onto Bai Maomao’s back like a giant koala, holding him tight.
Big bear holding little bear, step by step, they moved toward the bedroom.
The warm breath brushed Bai Maomao’s cheek.
For some reason, Bai Maomao suddenly felt flustered.