Over here, the car door was pulled open. Tong Xi stood by the roadside holding Fu Jingxi, her eyes still rimmed red, the wind blowing stray hairs across her face.
Fu Xianshu hurriedly reached out to help her into the car:
“What happened? Did my brother kick you out?”
Tong Xi shook her head without speaking, looking down as she rewrapped her son.
Fu Jingxi let out a sleepy grunt, his little lips pursing again—he’d been jostled awake by the car change, but he didn’t cry.
Fu Xianshu’s temper flared. She pulled out her phone and was about to dial:
“I’m calling to give him a piece of my mind! What kind of person makes a nanny carry a baby out of the car halfway? The wind’s so strong by the road—what if Jingxi catches a chill?”
Tong Xi pressed down on her wrist, her voice a little hoarse:
“Don’t call. Mr. Fu… had an urgent matter to deal with. It was easier for me to get out with the baby. He didn’t kick me out.”
Fu Xianshu stared at her for two seconds, clearly unconvinced, but seeing her red-rimmed eyes, she put the phone away and leaned back into her seat sulkily:
“My brother is just… sick in the head.”
In the front passenger seat, Yang Zhongao’s sharp ears caught everything. He glanced back and exchanged a meaningful look with Fu Yulang.
Things were probably not that simple.
…
Fu Yanqin had indeed been angry all afternoon.
This anger wasn’t just because of Tong Xi—it was more because of Uncle Fu’s presumption.
He, Fu Yanqin, had dominated the business world for years. When had he ever needed his own butler to coax and trick a woman into his bed?
If that wasn’t looking down on him, what was?
It was like pouring a bucket of boiling oil on the matter of Tong Xi rejecting him.
He couldn’t vent his anger on a little nanny—that would make him seem petty, vindictive, and lacking in decisiveness.
So naturally, he took it out on that blabbermouth Uncle Fu.
Thinking of Uncle Fu dragging his plump body around scrubbing every toilet in the house gave him some satisfaction.
But he still felt stifled, because Tong Xi’s pale little face kept flashing before his eyes.
At noon she had scrambled out of his car in a panic, and even let out a few sobs as she got out—
all of which he’d heard, and an inexplicable irritation had coiled around his heart.
How could she be so timid? Her eyes were big though—round and wide when she stared, exactly like a startled cat.
Actually, he hadn’t meant anything by it. He just wanted to look at her * and figure out what his reaction to her really was…
But she seemed to have misunderstood him as some kind of tyrant who forces himself on others and coerces innocent women…
After turning it over and over in his mind, Fu Yanqin finally finished handling his documents at six in the evening.
He frowned, set down the papers, and ordered the car back to the old residence.
Even more distracted than Fu Yanqin was Tong Xi.
She had sat in the chair all afternoon, caring for Fu Jingxi.
She kept fearing that at any moment Sister Zhou or someone else would come tell her to pack her things and leave,
afraid that Fu Yanqin, the more he thought about being rejected, the angrier he’d get, and would just fire her outright—and also afraid of…
afraid of something else, something she couldn’t quite sort out herself.
…
At a quarter past six in the evening, the black Maybach drove through the gates of the old residence.
When Fu Yanqin got out of the car, Uncle Fu was already waiting at the bottom of the steps, his waist bent three degrees lower than usual, his face creased with earnest remorse, hands clasped in front of him in a posture of accepting whatever punishment was due.
“Sir, welcome home.”
Fu Yanqin glanced at him without responding, his long legs carrying him up the steps and inside.
Uncle Fu followed half a step behind, carefully choosing his words:
“Sir, the young master didn’t sleep well this afternoon. He woke up twice, and Miss Xi kept holding and soothing him. She didn’t even have time for dinner.”
Fu Yanqin’s steps paused briefly.
“She’s been in the nursery the whole time?”
“Yes. Except for coming out to pour some water when it was time to feed him in the afternoon, she’s been in the room the entire time. Even dinner was brought in by Sister Zhou—she didn’t come out to eat.”
Fu Yanqin said nothing and went straight up to the third floor.
When he reached the nursery door, his pace slowed slightly. The door was ajar, and a sliver of warm yellow light spilled out,
along with Fu Jingxi’s babbling coos, interspersed with Tong Xi’s low humming—an old lullaby with a very traditional tune.
He stood outside the door for two seconds without pushing it open, then glanced at Uncle Fu.
Uncle Fu stood in place, his eyes shifting, and he understood immediately.
He had worked in the Fu household for over twenty years, starting as the old master’s driver and working his way up step by step to the position of butler. What he relied on was precisely this ability to read people and situations.
The master might not say it aloud, but those little twists and turns in his heart—how could Uncle Fu not see through them?
Whether he had taken a fancy to that wet nurse was still hard to say, but he certainly cared about her.
And since he cared, then the bad idea Uncle Fu had blurted out that morning couldn’t be made up for just by scrubbing toilets.
He needed to restore the master’s dignity and smooth over Miss Xi’s feelings.
Otherwise, this fire would eventually burn its way to his own head.
Uncle Fu straightened his sleeves and turned to go downstairs.
Twenty minutes later, Uncle Fu reappeared in the second-floor corridor, carrying a rosewood brocade box about a foot square, heavy and substantial in his palms.
He walked to the nursery door and raised his hand to knock lightly twice.
The door opened a crack, and Tong Xi’s somewhat haggard face appeared,
with faint shadows under her eyes and lips even paler than they had been that morning.
Seeing it was Uncle Fu, she was slightly taken aback:
“Uncle Fu?”
Uncle Fu put on a warm smile:
“Miss Tong, do you have a moment to talk?”
Tong Xi hesitated briefly, then stepped aside from the doorway: “Please come in.”
Only a bedside lamp was on in the nursery, casting a soft glow.
Fu Jingxi lay in the small bed, wrapped in a light blue swaddle, his little hands curled into fists by his ears, sleeping soundly.
Uncle Fu walked in quietly and stood two steps from the crib. His gaze rested for a moment on that soft, pink little face,
and a genuine tenderness surfaced in his eyes. Then he withdrew it and turned to Tong Xi.
He placed the rosewood brocade box on the low table nearby and gently opened the lid.
Tong Xi’s gaze fell on it, and she froze.
Inside the box, lined with deep purple velvet, three items were neatly arranged: a pair of mutton-fat white jade bracelets,
a thin rose gold necklace with a pink diamond pendant the size of a soybean,
and a jadeite hairpin of excellent quality, translucent green, carved into the shape of a budding orchid.
Any one of them would be enough for an ordinary family to live on for a lifetime.
Tong Xi asked, puzzled:
“Uncle Fu, what is this…?”
Uncle Fu opened the lid fully, held the box with both hands, and extended it slightly toward Tong Xi, his tone gentle:
“Miss Tong, the master instructed me to bring these. He spoke a bit hastily in the car this morning and his tone was harsh. After returning to the office, he felt uneasy about it and asked me to pick out a few things to apologize to you.”
Tong Xi’s fingertips curled into her palms:
“Uncle Fu, these items are far too precious for me to accept. And Mr. Fu… how could he possibly be at fault?”
Uncle Fu could tell at once that Tong Xi was still feeling uneasy inside.
“I’ve been with the Fu family for over twenty years. I watched the young master grow up. He may come across as cold and harsh to outsiders, and his words aren’t always pleasant to hear, but he’s not the type to bully others with his power.”
He paused, his gaze settling on Tong Xi’s pale face, and his voice took on a gentler, elder-like warmth:
“Those words he said in the car this morning—he really shouldn’t have said them, and he regrets them himself. But with his temperament, making him bow his head and admit fault face-to-face is harder than killing him.
That’s why he had me bring these things over—it’s his way of showing his sincerity.”
Tong Xi lowered her eyes, looking at the three pieces of jewelry gleaming in the brocade box.
She didn’t know whether Fu Yanqin truly regretted it, or whether Uncle Fu was just speaking well of him on his behalf.
But she did know she couldn’t accept these things.
If she did, what would that mean?
A gift of apology?
She raised her eyes:
“Uncle Fu, please tell Mr. Fu for me that I appreciate his kindness. But I truly cannot accept these things.
I’m just a wet nurse. Keeping such expensive jewelry would be improper, and if word got out, it wouldn’t reflect well on Mr. Fu’s reputation. Besides, I have never harbored any improper intentions toward Mr. Fu.”
Uncle Fu looked at her, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes.
This young woman—she seemed soft and delicate on the surface, but she had a strong backbone underneath.
No wonder the young master had hit a wall with her.
He didn’t press further. He closed the lid of the brocade box, tucked it neatly into the crook of his arm, and said with a chuckle:
“Very well, I’ll take these back for now, and I’ll relay your words to the young master exactly as you’ve said them, Miss Tong.
But if I may be so bold as to add one thing—the young master is in his study, and he hasn’t had his dinner yet.”
With that, he gave Tong Xi a nod, turned, and quietly let himself out, pulling the door shut behind him.