Zhou Muyang set his suitcase down, his expression speechless. “You really are my biological mother.”
“You’re already back, and the dishes are just ready.”
Zhang Ya carried out a plate of watermelon. At the dining table, she pulled out two wet wipes—handing one to Zhou Muyang while she used the other to carefully wipe Yu Huan’s hands clean.
“Here, wipe your hands first and have some watermelon. Your Aunt Rong and I picked this one specially—it’s very sweet and seedless.”
Yu Huan didn’t like holding watermelon slices to eat. She preferred them cut into small pieces, placed in a bowl, and eaten with a fork.
Every time Zhang Ya bought watermelon, she would always cut the sweetest part into neat, bite-sized pieces and leave them for Yu Huan. The less sweet parts were left for herself and Yu Hezhang.
This time was no exception.
The bright red watermelon sat in a cute porcelain bowl, looking especially appealing.
“Aunt Zhang, you’re so thoughtful. This is exactly how I like my watermelon—one bite per piece.”
Zhou Muyang quickly wiped his hands clean, grabbed a fork, and ate several pieces in quick succession, flattering her as he ate, making Zhang Ya smile nonstop.
Yu Huan had a small appetite. After eating a few pieces, Zhang Ya coaxed her to stop. “Fufu, eat your meal first. You can have more watermelon after.”
Zhou Muyang had long been eager to eat.
Watching Yu Huan eat slowly made him feel restless all over. Seeing her palm-sized bowl filled with rice no bigger than an egg made his mouth itch to complain.
“You’re so skinny you look like a monkey. I’m afraid a gust of wind might blow you away.”
Yu Huan finished the peeled shrimp Zhang Ya had given her. Hearing that, she slowly glanced at him, her almond-shaped eyes carrying a hint of mockery. “The rice is pitiful for being eaten by you. You’ve eaten so much and still haven’t gained any weight—those grains died for nothing.”
Zhou Muyang mimicked her tone. “Those grains died for nothing.”
He looked as annoying as possible.
Yu Huan didn’t tolerate him and kicked his shin.
Zhou Muyang hissed in pain. “Damn, Yu Huan, that was brutal.”
Rong Xia smacked him lightly. “Stop teasing your sister.”
Zhou Muyang: “…”
Fine.
In this family, he had the lowest status.
After finishing the food in her bowl, Yu Huan put down her chopsticks. “I’m full. I’m going back to my room.”
Zhang Ya couldn’t help but say, “Fufu, that’s all you’re eating? If you don’t want rice, at least eat more dishes—you barely touched—”
“Ah, I’m full.” Yu Huan cut her off. “Mom, you guys eat. If I get hungry later, you can just cook for me again.”
She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Zhang Ya thought about it and agreed, only reminding her not to lie down immediately after eating.
“Got it,” Yu Huan replied.
She pushed open her bedroom door. The air conditioner was already on, and a wave of cool air greeted her as she entered.
Yu Huan’s room was the largest in the house, decorated entirely according to her preferences.
Zhang Ya and Yu Hezhang always wanted to give her the best. During the time Yu Huan wasn’t home, the room had been filled with even more cozy touches.
She walked to the hanging basket swing by the bay window and sat cross-legged.
When she had just arrived downstairs earlier, Zhu Heqing had already messaged her asking if she had arrived.
At the time, Yu Huan had been tired from the ride. She glanced at it and didn’t feel like typing, so she didn’t reply.
Now, when she took out her phone, she saw that Zhu Heqing had sent several more messages. Afraid of annoying her, he hadn’t sent them too frequently—there was at least a ten-minute gap between each.
Yu Huan pressed the voice message button, her voice crisp and sweet. “I’m home. Focus on your work and don’t be too clingy.”
Zhu Heqing couldn’t help but laugh when he received the message.
He cleared his throat and replied with a voice message as well. “Understood, my Little Princess.”
Coincidentally, just as he sent the message, his assistant pushed the door open with some documents and happened to hear the unusually gentle tone of his boss.
Assistant: “…”
Not even worth commenting.
Zhu Heqing’s expression remained calm as he asked, “What is it?”
The assistant placed the documents on the desk, his tone formal. “There’s a file that needs your confirmation.”
Zhu Heqing took it and began reading carefully.
Recalling the gossip he had overheard when entering the company earlier—that Assistant Qin had recently stopped hiding in the break room to make phone calls—he glanced at his assistant and asked casually, “I heard you haven’t been making many calls lately?”
Assistant: “…”
His already cold face turned even colder. Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Mm. I’ve been busy lately. My girlfriend got mad.”
As for why he had been so busy?
Those who understood, understood.
Zhu Heqing paused, not expecting himself to be part of the reason.
He touched the tip of his nose, quickly signed the document, and for once showed a hint of awkwardness toward his assistant—who was also his junior.
“I’ll give you a week of paid leave. Go make it up to her.”
The assistant’s cold expression finally showed a trace of surprise. Even capitalists could show humanity?
But free leave was free leave—he wasn’t about to refuse.
“Thank you, President.”
“Mm. Go on.”
That very day, another piece of gossip spread through Zhu Corporation’s internal chat group—
What exactly had President Zhu given Assistant Qin to make the cold-faced “King of Hell” suddenly “bloom like spring”?
Yu Huan noticed someone else had sent her a message.
She exited her chat with Zhu Heqing and glanced at the name—Chen Jiahao.
Yu Huan hadn’t always lived in this residential community.
Back then, they had lived in an urban village. Later, after redevelopment compensation, they received money and a new house, which was how they moved here.
Though it was called a residential community, their building was filled with people they used to know. Neighbors upstairs and downstairs were all familiar, and kids of similar ages often played together.
Chen Jiahao was two years older than Yu Huan and had been one of the older kids in the area. When they were younger, he often played with her and Zhou Muyang.
As they grew older and Chen Jiahao entered middle school, he gradually drifted away from them.
Although they had added each other’s contact information, they rarely spoke.
Yu Huan was always surrounded by people and never lacked companions. Over time, her impression of Chen Jiahao faded more and more.
Now that he suddenly messaged her, Yu Huan had to think for quite a while before barely recalling who he was.
But remembering his name was one thing—if he stood in front of her, she probably wouldn’t recognize him.
Even after recalling him, she couldn’t figure out why he was contacting her.
Fortunately, Chen Jiahao remembered that talking to Yu Huan required getting straight to the point. After a brief greeting, he stated his purpose:
“Little Huan, I heard from my mom that you’re back. I happen to be free these days, and it’s been a long time since we last met. Want to hang out sometime?”
Yu Huan rejected him without a second thought.
Chen Jiahao sent a crying emoji, trying to change her mind.
Yu Huan glanced at it and went back to scrolling through her feed.
After that, Chen Jiahao kept messaging her, clearly determined not to give up unless she agreed.
Yu Huan originally wanted to block him, but staying at home was too boring, and she had nothing to do. On top of that, Chen Jiahao changed his approach—he stopped bothering her on WeChat and instead came to call on her in person.
Out of boredom, Yu Huan eventually agreed to Chen Jiahao’s invitation.