21
The next morning was bright and sunny, and the bed was cozy and warm.
Ye Susu rolled over in bed, scratched her little belly, and then heard the sound of a task notification.
[Yesterday’s Task 2: Little Cub’s homework progress is good, evaluation pending.]
[Today’s tasks will be assigned after yesterday’s tasks are cleared.]
“Aww… Little Cub?”
She yawned, sleepily patted the small pillow beside her, and found it empty. Instantly, half her drowsiness vanished.
She jolted awake and sat up, looking around the room.
No one was there, but the bathroom door was closed again.
She frowned immediately.
“Little Cub, are you really having trouble with bowel movements?”
From last night until this morning, why had the little one been spending so much time in the bathroom?
This task system was also terrible. Apart from checking his mood, there was no way to assess the little one’s health condition.
She patted her head. “Did you eat any vegetables at kindergarten yesterday? I’ll make some for you now.”
Yesterday at the restaurant, she’d overheard many girls saying that eating vegetables was essential to avoid constipation.
Although her previous owner had taught her this, with hairball remedy paste—a magical tool for promoting bowel movements—she had often been picky and willful in the past.
“N-no, I was just… washing up.”
Ye Xun’s voice quickly came from inside.
Ye Susu instantly shrank back.
Hearing the word “wash” made her feel uneasy all over.
One of the scariest things about this new home was that most faucets were automatic sensor-activated. As soon as a paw was extended, water would gush out wildly… terrifying.
Yesterday, it took her about half an hour of mental preparation just to wash up. In the end, she turned into a thoroughly soaked, exhausted cat.
Just thinking about that wet, dripping feeling made her legs go weak, and she could barely stand.
Was the little one also preparing himself mentally?
“Take your time, then. Come down later for some little mouse buns, okay?”
Ye Susu added softly, then tiptoed away.
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Ye Xun was sitting on the toilet, holding his phone with his little hands, his small face flushed and dejected.
“Why aren’t there any uncles or aunties yet?”
“I really… am not likable at all…”
His little head drooped sadly.
In the room next door, the man in the study was staring at his computer’s black screen, listening to the heavy, self-deprecating little voice. A wave of anguish surged in his heart.
“Is it because the uncles and aunties know I don’t have a dad? …Since I don’t have a dad, nobody likes me…”
“Maybe just like Auntie said, everyone looks at me as if I’m a little monster…”
Li Yun pinched the bridge of his nose.
These whispers felt like sharp blades stabbing into him, each one drawing blood.
Finally, he couldn’t bear it any longer. The moment he heard the child’s voice trembling as if he were about to cry, he picked up his phone from the desk.
“Liu Zhen.”
“Reopen the ‘Pretty Girl’ livestream room, but block any members who have posted abusive comments, received warnings, agency accounts, and veteran customers with less than three years on the platform.”
As he spoke, a deep sense of helplessness and resignation washed over him.
Was this the eternal dilemma of parenting?
As a father, to make his child happy, did he have to allow him to take that step forward, even knowing full well the potential dangers ahead?
Platform data could be manipulated—viewer counts, follower numbers, even virtual gifts—all faked for the child to see, to make him happy, to let him believe his livestream was drawing many “uncles and aunties” who adored him.
But one lie inevitably demanded more lies to sustain it.
What would become of the child’s fragile self if one day he discovered that all the likes and recognition were nothing but an illusion?
And this child, already lacking in confidence, desperately needed validation from a broader world, from more people.
Li Yun pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a rare, weary sigh.
“Also, send me the phone number linked to the child’s livestream account.”
If livestreaming was what he wanted, so be it.
As long as he didn’t show his face or even if he did Li Yun could still protect him from harm.
The child had been using mobile data on the road yesterday; his phone credit must have run out by now.
Lost in thought, Li Yun frowned, rose from his seat, and opened the bedroom door. His gaze followed the woman humming some strange little tune—“meow meow meow”—down the stairs, his expression complicated.
He had misjudged her yesterday.
After watching from last night until this morning, he was now certain: the livestreaming had been the child’s own idea, and he had kept it hidden from her. She likely still had no idea.
He hesitated, wondering if he should go downstairs and tell her.
But—
In the kitchen, Ye Susu sensed someone’s eyes on her and immediately turned around.
There he was the same impossibly handsome but aloof roommate from last night. True, he smelled rather pleasant, but she was a cat, not someone to be summoned or dismissed at will!
“Hmph!”
She decisively turned her head away with disdain.
Li Yun: “?!”
After Ye Susu left the room, Ye Xun was just about to check his little phone when a sudden ringtone startled him!
An unknown number?
He fumbled in a panic, barely managing to hold onto the phone before it could slip from his hand.
He hadn’t planned to answer, but his small finger accidentally brushed the answer button.
“Hello?”
A slightly hoarse, low voice came through the speaker of the phone, which had been dropped a few times and wasn’t very sensitive anymore.
Ye Xun was so startled he puffed out his cheeks and nearly jumped.
When Ye Susu had given him the phone, she had warned him not to answer calls from strangers. So far, he had only used it occasionally to call Ye Susu and tell her when to pick him up.
He bit his lip, too afraid to make a sound.
But the low voice on the other end spoke again.
“Is this the little one who’s livestreaming?”
Ye Xun’s panicked, dark grape-like eyes widened in surprise.
“I am…”
The voice sounded like an uncle’s, and it felt vaguely familiar.
Clutching the phone, Ye Xun’s lips parted slightly. Trembling, he reached out a small finger, tapped the screen, and firmly pressed the red button to end the call.
The voice disappeared instantly.
The call was cut off.
Only then did Ye Xun let out a long, relieved sigh, his puffed cheeks deflating.
No talking to strangers.
Whew, that had scared him, this little one!
Wait, but how did that uncle know he was livestreaming?
Ye Xun was clever he immediately caught the key point and grew nervous again. With his little bottom sticking out, he buzzed around the room like a worried bee.
How did that uncle get his phone number?
As he thought about it, Ye Xun’s pink, tender face stiffened.
‘Privacy? Hah, don’t be silly. If you choose to go into livestreaming, isn’t that basically showing everyone exactly what you’re like?’
‘To make money, you have to pay a price. Otherwise, everyone would be livestreaming—where would there be a place for you?’
The words of Auntie Ye Wan echoed once more in Ye Xun’s little mind.
Biting his lip, he nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him.
Yes, if he wanted to earn money from the uncles and aunties, he had to offer something in return.
After all, uncles and aunties worked hard for their money too. He couldn’t just take it without giving back.
But… Ye Xun puffed out his cheeks.
He could accept anything else but he had to listen to Ye Susu and his teacher. He couldn’t just talk to strangers.
Livestreaming was fine.
Phone calls were not.
With that resolved, the little boy glanced at his phone with determination, his small face serious as he promptly hung up on the second incoming call.
Meanwhile, having just been “hmphed” at by Ye Susu, Li Yun returned to his room. He stared down at his phone, the dialed number now disconnected, his expression complex and somewhat incredulous.
The child had hung up on him?
He had only wanted to top up the boy’s phone credit and explain it was part of a livestream platform promotion.
He raised an eyebrow and dialed again.
This time, Little Ye Xun was even quicker—he cut the call off in a second.
Though separated only by a wall, an unmistakable aura of “the other party does not wish to speak with you and has added you to their blacklist” seemed to seep through.
Li Yun pinched the bridge of his nose, tossed his phone aside, and picked up the book How to Get Along with Your Child instead.
Ten minutes later, cheerful chatter drifted up from downstairs.
“Little one, look at this tiny mouse bun! Hehe, this round little belly is all for you, okay?”
“Come on, eat the little tail too. You’ve got to be in a great mood today!”
Irritated, Li Yun set the book aside, picked up his phone, and dialed with detached resolve.
“Doctor Dong, how can I get a child to… bond with their father?”
…
Meanwhile, in the general manager’s office of Wang Le Entertainment, Li Yinchen sat on a single leather sofa, legs crossed, and extended a hand toward his companion.
“Old Gu, lend me your phone.”
“Huh? You can’t access the room either? Dammit, someone changed the room settings?”
“Could it be Second Uncle? …What’s gotten into him!”
Deputy Manager Gu Shen looked utterly bewildered.
“The room name changed? That’s impossible! I definitely followed the little guy.”
Li Yinchen scratched his head in frustration, unable to make sense of it.
“Couldn’t watch all night, still can’t watch this morning… Who knows how the kid is doing? Second Uncle, seriously—how can he be so ruthless to such an adorable child? Just banning him like that, no hesitation. What kind of twisted personality is that?”
Gu Shen’s face was now a canvas of question marks.
Ye Wan, who had followed Gu Shen in to report on work, remained silent in the corner, discreetly observing the company’s top executive—a man she rarely had the chance to see up close. Rumored to be the fourth young master of the Li family, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, a returned overseas student with dual master’s degrees.
A single glance made Ye Wan blush slightly.
The man truly was strikingly handsome. Even without looking directly at her, his peach-blossom eyes held a startling, captivating allure, and the tear mole at the corner added a touch of enchantment.
Coupled with his wealthy background, even Ye Wan, who was used to seeing pretty young stars, had to admit this man could indeed drive women wild.
No wonder Ye Susu had become completely obsessed after accidentally catching a glimpse of him at the company, taking him as her ultimate goal and willingly streaming for over ten hours every single day without rest.
“Old Gu, call a meeting with all the talent agents. I’ve found a potential star. All agents need to monitor every platform, the moment he appears…”
Li Yinchen tossed the phone back.
Gu Shen’s eyes lit up immediately.
“President Li, is it a female streamer called ‘Little Bamboo’? We’ve already tracked her down. Her real name is Su Luzhu, a young girl still in university.”
Finally reaching this point, Ye Wan couldn’t help but straighten her posture with pride, smiling as she handed over the prepared file on Su Luzhu.
But Li Yinchen only glanced at it before turning away, visibly uninterested.
“Another female streamer? Can’t we find anything more original? Such shallow taste, what a disappointment!”
Ye Wan’s smile froze.
“Listen, what you need to be looking for right now is a single mother and her son.”
Ye Wan looked up, stunned.
**
Fourth Young Master Li: What? So, Little Cub’s room is blocking me, is it? Is it, is it, is it?
Second Uncle Li: Yes. (Expressionless JPG)
Fourth Young Master Li: ??? Only blocking me, EXCUSE ME?!
Second Uncle Li: And your entire company staff. (Indifferent face JPG)
Fourth Young Master Li spits blood and dies.