The butler swiftly picked up the utensils and quietly placed them on the nearby serving cart, replacing them with a new set for the old duke.
The old duke was in no mood to eat.
Though faced with Shi Yuan’s table of practical meals—outwardly splendid but inwardly lacking, yet undeniably nutritious—he truly lacked the courage to take a second bite.
Sweat beaded in his palms as his gaze kept drifting toward Cai Tou. He asked Shi Yuan, “Is this your own son?”
Shi Yuan thought the manor owner was concerned about him bringing a child to the interview and nodded frankly. “If it’s inconvenient, you can just say so.”
Before coming, his sister had already communicated with the employer, who hadn’t given a definitive answer, only asking Shi Yuan to come for a trial meal first and then discuss further details.
Even for a formal job, it was a mutual choice between employer and employee, let alone for a part-time position. Shi Yuan didn’t want to lower his head for Cai Tou’s sake. If it came to that, he might as well borrow money directly from Uncle He.
Back then, letting Cai Tou recognize Uncle He as his grandfather was just to make Uncle He happy. As for the big red envelopes He Jingchuan often slipped to Cai Tou, Shi Yuan hadn’t touched a single one.
A flicker of reluctance flashed in the old duke’s eyes as he pressed further, “Did you really give birth to him yourself?”
The little one looked so much like his own son when he was young, especially those eyes, as if carved from the same mold. But Huo Sang had only shown interest once in all these years, and that had ended without any result. He hardly seemed like the type to father a child.
Shi Yuan’s heart skipped a beat.
That was a tricky question.
He parried it with a calm reply, “I had him together with his mother.”
As for who the mother was—don’t ask. If you must know, she passed away peacefully.
The old duke’s hanging heart finally sank.
He actually didn’t doubt Shi Yuan, because upon closer inspection, aside from a slight resemblance to Huo Sang, Cai Tou’s entire demeanor and aura were identical to Shi Yuan’s. They were unmistakably father and son.
Shi Yuan had overthought it. The old duke had no intention of pressing about the child’s mother.
He raised his hand and instructed the butler, “Tidy up the largest master bedroom on the second floor and let the father and son stay.”
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, though his eyebrows lifted slightly as he gave Shi Yuan a meaningful glance.
That master bedroom… was reserved specifically for the future duchess.
The old duke’s intentions were practically written all over his face.
Cai Tou, observing the situation, asked Shi Yuan, “Dad, did you get the job?”
Shi Yuan was taken aback.
He didn’t know. It all felt rather hazy, but it seemed he had passed.
Shi Yuan said to the old duke, “No need to trouble yourself. I’ll just come over on weekends, provide the menu for the next week, prepare the nutritious meals, and leave.”
The old duke, who had spent most of the day mentally preparing himself, breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.
That was close! He almost had to eat “leftover student meals” every day!
Maintaining a calm expression, he said, “That’s even better. Bring the child over on Saturday and leave on Sunday to avoid the hassle of traveling. Your salary will be based on the standard for a full-time chef, paid as usual.”
Then, his gaze settled on Cai Tou, his expression softening as he spoke in Chinese, “This child is really handsome. Come here and let Grandpa take a look.”
Shi Yuan said Why does he have an accent?
An employer whose whole family loved Chinese culture speaking a few words of Chinese wasn’t surprising. But being so fluent that he sounded like he’d been marinated in Northeastern dialect—that was just bizarre.
Caitou turned to look at his dad and, receiving a nod from Shi Yuan, toddled over to the old duke on his short little legs.
Dad had come here to find work to earn money for his milk powder—it was tough. Caitou felt for his dad and was determined to make him proud, not hold him back.
Besides, this grandpa in front of him looked kind and even spoke Chinese. Caitou naturally felt a bit of affection for him. With a soft pat, his chubby little hands wrapped around the old duke’s leg, and he handed out a “good person card” in his milky voice: “Grandpa, you’re really nice.”
The old duke hadn’t expected this little one to be such a sweet bean. Instantly, he felt Caitou was nothing like Hawthorn, who’d always worn a sour face since childhood.
His regret deepened, but another kind of ambitious determination surged up urgently.
He’d decided—he was going to matchmake Hawthorn and this little chef.
That way, Caitou could rightfully become his grandson. After all, that brat Hawthorn could never produce such an adorable child on his own!
The old butler watched this harmonious, almost picture-perfect scene of family warmth, covering his mouth to stifle a quiet laugh. He then led Shi Yuan and Caitou toward the master bedroom on the second floor.
Along the way, he cleared his throat and tactfully explained to Shi Yuan, “The master has asked you both to stay, likely hoping that when the young duke returns tomorrow, he can formally meet you.”
As the old duke’s confidant, he could easily read such intentions.
Shi Yuan nodded in understanding.
Arranging postpartum meals for the wife—it made sense for the master of the house to vet things in advance.
He noted the butler’s choice of address: the master of the house was a duke, no wonder they were so wealthy.
Caitou, perched on Shi Yuan’s shoulder, opened his round, curious eyes wide, taking in the centuries-old architecture with keen interest, looking left and right, thoroughly absorbed.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and his little finger pointed toward a wall ahead: “Shiny gold!”
Shi Yuan followed his gaze to a display wall densely covered with various trophies and medals.
Caitou’s vocabulary was still expanding; faced with this wall of honors, he could only describe them by color.
“These are all awards our young master has won in various competitions since he was little,” the butler said, seizing the chance to sing Hawthorn’s praises and drop a hint in Shi Yuan’s ear. “The young master is quite accustomed to winning awards.”
Shi Yuan nodded, holding Caitou as he walked past without a sideways glance.
“Is he as impressive as my senior brother?”
Seeing Shi Yuan almost out of sight, the butler grew anxious. “Oh dear!” he exclaimed, stopping purposefully by the display wall. “How did this skiing championship trophy get dusty? The young master has a cleanliness obsession—he wouldn’t like seeing this.”
With that, he took it out and meticulously dusted it inside and out.
Since the butler wasn’t moving, Shi Yuan had no choice but to stop and wait.
The butler repeated the trick, dusting his way along, very casually introducing each trophy as he went.
Shi Yuan listened patiently.
Inwardly, he tagged this young duke with a label: a bit fussy, a bit of a show-off.
His gaze drifted unintentionally and suddenly fixed on a white yacht model in the corner.
“That looks familiar!”
The butler, sharp-eyed, immediately struck: “This is a yacht model personally designed by the young master, specially made for his future wife. The original version cost over a hundred million. Our young master has always been generous.”
Hinting that if Shi Yuan and Hawthorn could make it work, a life of luxury would surely follow.
Shi Yuan remembered—he’d seen it two years ago in Portofino Bay.
At the time, he had wondered in his heart which wealthy individual’s asset it was, never expecting that after all the twists and turns, he would encounter it again here.
Shi Yuan caught the key phrase in the butler’s words.
Future Madam.
So this young duke already had a child but wasn’t married yet—pregnancy before love, perhaps?
Shi Yuan settled down in the manor with Caicai.
Just then, he received an email from the university: the scholarship he had applied for this semester had been approved, and the funds had already been deposited into his account.
Shi Yuan’s eyes lit up at the sight of the money: “Boss Cai, your milk powder money for the rest of your life is secured.”
In reality, Boss Cai could only drink milk powder for at most another year!
Meanwhile, at the Duke’s residence in Mayfair, London, Hawthorne received an email from the educational foundation under his name.
It was the list of the latest scholarship recipients from Cambridge this year.
Hawthorne usually never paid attention to such emails, but today, for some inexplicable reason, he clicked on it.
Though the chances were slim, what if?
And then he saw the first name on the list—
Shi Yuan.