Chu Xiangtian held him close, his palm gently stroking from the back of his head down his spine—like one might soothe a frightened little animal.
Stroke by stroke, slow and tender. The young master in his arms was, without a doubt, the most tearful person he’d ever met.
Chu Xiangtian had spent over a decade clawing his way through battlefield trenches—he’d always had a low tolerance for crybabies. But with Wen Tian?
Not only did he not find it annoying, he even… felt a little sorry for him.
Crying like that, so pitifully—he must have been deeply wronged.
Chu Xiangtian thought back to what he’d discovered earlier that day.
His brows furrowed slightly. If there was anything that could make Wen Tian cry this miserably, it had to be Wen Boli’s wretched, shameful actions.
Wen Tian had insisted he wasn’t sad—but of course, he was.
With that certainty in mind, Chu Xiangtian mentally added another score to settle with Wen Boli. Hearing the boy still sobbing softly in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel even more protective.
He gently pressed him tighter to his chest, voice low and rough from lack of use, clumsily coaxing him, “There, there. Don’t cry.”
Wen Tian clung to his clothes and rubbed against his chest, like he was trying to bury himself inside.
After sobbing his heart out, the tight knot in his brow began to loosen, but he still held tightly to Chu Xiangtian’s waist—drunk and unwilling to let go.
He nuzzled into the warm embrace like a little rabbit who had finally found its burrow after a long, exhausting journey, too attached to leave.
Chu Xiangtian couldn’t bear to push him away. Instead, he scooped him up into his arms. Wen Tian curled into a little ball naturally, clinging to the front of his robes, face buried in his chest.
He let out a soft hum through his nose, like a child pleading for attention.
Chu Xiangtian murmured a few more gentle words, then carried him off to find a carriage.
They hadn’t gone far when they ran into Wen Shuyue and the others, who were out looking for Wen Tian.
Wen Shuyue was walking alongside Zhou Chuanqing. Seeing Wen Tian cradled in Chu Xiangtian’s arms gave her a fright.
“What happened?” she asked anxiously.
“He had a bit to drink. Got drunk,” Chu Xiangtian replied calmly. His eyes, however, drifted toward the rabbit tucked in her arms.
It was small enough to fit in one hand, soft white fur, long ears flopped back, nestled motionlessly in her embrace.
It looked just like Wen Tian right now.
Chu Xiangtian momentarily spaced out. When Wen Shuyue stepped forward, seemingly trying to rouse Wen Tian, he sidestepped smoothly, holding him tighter.
“He’s not feeling well. I’ll take him straight back.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but Zhou Chuanqing laughed and said, “Don’t worry—he’s in good hands with our boss.”
Still hesitating, Wen Shuyue watched as Chu Xiangtian walked off with Wen Tian in his arms.
The gentle rocking of the carriage eventually woke Wen Tian. Still groggy, he blinked and tried to sit up, mumbling that he had to study.
He was so drunk his words slurred into a mumble, barely understandable.
Chu Xiangtian leaned closer, listening carefully before finally piecing it together: the young master wanted to study… for the imperial exams?
Chu Xiangtian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Typical kid—drunk and still thinking about titles and honors. Patiently, he comforted him a few more times until Wen Tian drifted back to sleep.
When they arrived at the Wen residence, Chu Xiangtian carried him all the way to the east wing.
Daifu had been sent back earlier after delivering a message and hadn’t slept a wink waiting for Wen Tian to return.
The moment he saw Chu Xiangtian carrying him in, he rushed forward, trying to take him from his arms.
But Chu Xiangtian, tall and solid, easily stepped past him and carried Wen Tian straight into his room, gently laying him on the bed.
“He’s drunk,” he said.
“Wipe him down, and give him some water later tonight.”
Drunk?
Daifu leaned in for a closer look, and only then did he relax. He quickly went to the kitchen to fetch hot water.
Chu Xiangtian sat by the bed, reached out, and poked Wen Tian’s soft cheek.
His finger lingered on the pale, smooth skin for a moment before he drew back like nothing had happened, murmuring under his breath, “Sleep well.”
The hangover hit like a hammer—Wen Tian groaned, rubbing his aching head. Half-awake, he pushed himself up, the bright midday sun streaming through the window.
Daifu, hearing movement, came in with a cup of warm water. Wen Tian drank it down in one go, then rubbed at his puffy, sore eyes.
“How did I get home last night?” he asked, frowning, trying to recall. He remembered Chu Xiangtian showing up, telling him something about Wen Boli… and then, nothing.
“Master Chu brought you back,” Daifu explained.
“You were quite drunk.”
“Oh…” Wen Tian still couldn’t remember. He rubbed his temples, setting that aside and turning to more pressing matters.
“Where’s Mother?”
“In the garden with Miss Shuyue, enjoying the flowers.”
Wen Tian nodded. He forced his hungover body out of bed, cleaned up, changed into fresh clothes, and headed to the garden.
Now that he had found where Wen Boli had hidden the woman, there was no time to waste. He had to tell his mother immediately.
Fu Youqin and Wen Shuyue were sitting in the garden pavilion, admiring the blossoms.
Wen Tian hurried over but didn’t even get a word out before Fu Youqin pulled him close and scolded, “Drinking is bad for your health. Look at those dark circles!”
Wen Tian reflexively touched under his eyes, glancing at his worried mother and sister.
He hesitated, then waved the servants away and said in a low voice, “Mother, I found her.”
Fu Youqin blinked, then her expression hardened.
“Where?”
“On a manor near Hongfa Temple. Hidden in the charity hall.”
Wen Shuyue looked completely lost.
“What are you talking about?”
Fu Youqin sighed and looked at her daughter. Sooner or later, she’d find out. There was no point in hiding it.
“Your father… kept a mistress.”
Shock, disbelief, confusion—all passed across Wen Shuyue’s face.
“How could he…”
Fu Youqin squeezed their hands, her voice gentle but firm.
“Leave the rest to me. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Wen Shuyue was still reeling and couldn’t speak. Wen Tian pressed his lips together and hesitantly asked, “Mother… will you divorce him?”
She hadn’t expected that question. Fu Youqin paused, then gave a faint smile.
“Do you want me to?”
Wen Tian nodded seriously.
“This house should have always borne the Fu name.”
“My good child,” Fu Youqin said softly, stroking his hair. In such a short time, he had grown from a naive boy into someone much sharper.
She didn’t know what had happened to cause this change, but as a mother, it pained her.
She would rather her children stay innocent forever than be dragged into the filth of household politics.
Now that it was settled, Fu Youqin took over completely.
She ordered an investigation of the manor near Hongfa Temple and began auditing Wen Boli’s assets—many of which had originally belonged to the Fu family.
Out of trust—or perhaps sentiment—she had never interfered before. But now?
It was time.
By her calculations, Wen Boli wouldn’t be back for another two weeks.
She dove into work, hardly seen by anyone in the house. The entire manor buzzed with tense, hidden energy.
With the steward’s help, she reviewed every account book, every estate, and the deeper they looked, the more problems they found.
Wen Tian, kept out of the process, grew increasingly uneasy. In his past life, Wen Boli had colluded with the authorities to crush him and his mother.
This time, though Wen Boli had already fallen out with the Jiao family and had less political leverage, Wen Tian couldn’t shake the anxiety.
If Wen Boli had once bought off officials… then he could do it again.
So Wen Tian decided to strike first.
He rummaged through his secret stash of silver and sent Daifu to deliver invitations to several respected elders in town.
Better to lay the groundwork now than get caught unprepared like in his past life.
On the 16th day of the second lunar month, Wen Tian hosted a banquet at Fuxi Tower.
The town elders came, each surprised to find not Wen Boli, but the soft-spoken young master welcoming them.
He wore a black silk robe, hair neatly tied in a crown. Without his usual smile, his quiet demeanor carried surprising weight. The servants poured tea.
Wen Tian took a small sip, then began chatting, circling around the real topic.
The elders were no fools. After enough polite maneuvering, Wen Tian finally steered the conversation toward business. Daifu entered, placing a tray on the table.
On it were three heavy wooden boxes.
The elders exchanged knowing glances. Wen Tian sipped his tea slowly.
“Thank you for coming. Just a small token of appreciation.”
The elders gave a token protest, then accepted the boxes.
They’d heard of the Wen family’s soft-hearted little son—but now, seeing him in person, they weren’t so sure.
If they had once leaned toward supporting Wen Boli, now… the scales were tipping.
Between a cunning old fox and this newly sharp young wolf, they knew exactly which way the wind was blowing.
With an informal alliance reached, Wen Tian stepped out of the restaurant and rubbed his stiff face—only to hear a familiar voice behind him.
“What were you doing with those town elders?”
He turned and saw Chu Xiangtian leaning against a pillar, arms crossed.
Lowering his eyes, Wen Tian quietly explained, “Wen Boli has close ties with them.”
Chu Xiangtian understood instantly. The young master was worried Wen Boli would pull strings with the officials—so he’d come early to build his own network.
“Don’t worry,” Chu Xiangtian said, walking over and ruffling his hair.
“They won’t be around much longer.”