The servant, realizing the wife was asleep, had no choice but to give up. After all, waking the wife would be even more terrifying.
After the servant left, Fu Cen turned on a desk lamp again.
He sat upright at the table, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen.
Resignation Letter…
Swish—crossed out.
Fu Cen pressed the pen tip against his chin, thinking for three minutes before rewriting “Resignation Letter.”
Initially, he wondered if writing a letter was too old-fashioned, since nowadays these CEOs usually communicate directly via email. After crossing it out, he realized he didn’t even have the other party’s email address.
Old-fashioned it is, then.
After neatly writing out the resignation letter in proper handwriting, Fu Cen folded it twice and slipped it under the gap beneath the door of the opposite room. Then, he returned to his own room to pack his suitcase.
His memory was a bit muddled, and he couldn’t quite remember which items originally belonged to the original owner. Moreover, most of the clothes in the wardrobe were far too avant-garde—ripped jeans, crop tops, and the like—things Fu Cen absolutely wouldn’t dare wear outside. So, he only packed two sets of clothes from the bottom of the drawer and some toiletries, leaving plenty of empty space in the suitcase.
He thought gloomily, I hope that after I leave, Shen Sigu can find a good stepdad.
Once he finished packing, Fu Cen lay back on the bed, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He planned to leave first thing in the morning, but before he could even close his eyes for two seconds, they snapped open again.
Tomorrow, with so many servants around, if I suddenly leave, will they ask me why? Will they watch me leave? Will they…
At this thought, the social anxiety began to make him restless.
At ten o’clock at night, the socially anxious Fu Cen dragged his suitcase and stealthily, like a thief, slipped out of the mansion. After walking for eight minutes, he finally found his way to the edge of the estate’s wall.
At the same time, Shen Sigu, who was too hungry to sleep, was also sneaking toward the wall like a thief. Clutching his growling, empty stomach, he cursed in his heart the stepdad who was probably already sound asleep, while feeling along the wall for a spot easy to climb over. Suddenly, he unexpectedly locked eyes with the socially anxious Fu Cen.
The two stared at each other in silence for a long time, until the socially fearless little one finally spoke up.
“Daddy, are you going out to play too?” The child’s smile wasn’t really a smile; inside, his sadness was flowing backward like a river.
Is it really this hard to sneak out for a good meal?!
The moment he encountered the child, Fu Cen had already pushed his suitcase into a corner of the flower bed. In a state of panic, he nodded without thinking, only realizing something was off after he and the child had both climbed over the wall.
It’s almost eleven o’clock…
He stopped in his tracks, hesitating whether to gently persuade Gugu to go back to sleep, but before he could, Gugu had already swiftly called a taxi using his children’s smartwatch. He tugged on Fu Cen’s hand, waiting eagerly by the roadside with anticipation all over his face.
Fu Cen couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Shen Sigu expertly gave the name of a commercial district. In the city known as the “Sleepless City,” every commercial district remained bustling with crowds until three in the morning.
Shen Sigu pretended to look around aimlessly but actually had a clear destination in mind, leading Fu Cen to the front of a French restaurant. He pressed his face against the glass display window, staring longingly inside, then turned to ask, “Daddy, the white rice inside…”
Before he could finish, Fu Cen covered the child’s mouth.
Shen Sigu: “?”
Not only was it because Fu Cen was short on money, but also because, in his view, the child had just finished a big bowl of noodles earlier. Eating more staple food would make him too full. So he said, “I’ll take you to eat something else.”
Ten minutes later, the tall, handsome man with the elegant bearing of a crane and the posture of a pine tree was holding the soft, adorable child, appearing on the third floor of the commercial district’s food street. The dazzling array of snacks in each shop left the child wide-eyed, not even realizing when his drool had started to flow.
It wasn’t until Fu Cen took out a tissue to wipe the little one’s mouth that he finally reacted, pointing with a flushed face at a shop’s spicy chicken skewers: “Can I eat that?”
Fu Cen glanced over and shook his head.
The light in the little one’s eyes instantly dimmed.
Carrying the child inside, Fu Cen said, “Little kids can’t eat such spicy food, but there are plenty of other tasty things.”
The future big villain was, after all, just a five-year-old toddler. He habitually lisped in his little voice, “Can I eat the ones that aren’t spicy?”
“Some of them, yes.”
Fu Cen wasn’t much of a talker, but the little one was like a curious baby, chattering away at every sight with “Can I eat that?” This drew giggles from passersby, their eyes lingering on the pair.
Although it was a high-end commercial district, this floor mainly featured snack foods. Most of the people browsing at this hour were students from nearby university towns or office workers who had just finished overtime and were out relaxing with friends. They naturally felt a tender affection for the little toddler and, likewise, couldn’t help but be drawn to the strikingly handsome young man.
Even though Fu Cen was wearing the most ordinary white shirt and jeans from the original owner’s wardrobe, with a bandage wrapped around his head, he still exuded an ethereal, fragile sense of detachment.
It was just that the social anxiety-induced aloofness was softened considerably by the child in his arms.
Passersby who loved surfing the internet couldn’t shake the feeling that this handsome guy looked strangely familiar.
Fu Cen stretched every penny, buying the little one glutinous rice balls in sweet fermented rice, thousand-layer pancakes, sugar-coated glutinous rice balls, three-colored mochi, and even a huge, colorful cotton candy that looked like he was nibbling on a cloud. Having grown up in a mansion and never seen such snacks before, the little one ended up with sugary stains all over his face.
When they reached a clay sculpture painting shop, Shen Sigu couldn’t take his eyes off the dolls inside. Sensing the little hand clutching his tightly, Fu Cen hesitated for a moment, calculated that the money on his card should still be enough, and followed the child’s gaze.
A large banner at the shop entrance caught the eye with its prominent “Grand Opening Promotion.” They were currently running an event: paint one clay doll and receive a free bikini bunny plush toy. The little one seemed to really like the free plushie.
So Fu Cen led him inside, and at that moment, the child visibly brightened with joy.
“Daddy, that one, that one, I want it,” Shen Sigu pointed at a Pooh clay sculpture, forgetting to lisp in his little voice. Only after getting the desired clay doll and paints in his hands did he remember whether he had asked for too much tonight.
Stealing a glance at his stepfather, whose expression seemed less than pleased, he began to feel uneasy inside.
After that, Shen Sigu’s movements became very stiff. With a trembling hand, he spilled paint all over the clay sculpture. Just as he was hanging his head in dismay and regret, the paintbrush held in his little hand was taken by another.
Such shops often attract large crowds of idle onlookers. Fu Cen had been on edge since entering the store, but seeing how much the little one enjoyed it, and thinking that he would be leaving after tonight, he wanted to leave a better impression on the child. So he forced himself to stay and didn’t run away.
It wasn’t until he saw the little one upset over ruining the clay figurine, and the moment Fu Cen picked up the brush, that all the surrounding noise and distractions faded from his awareness.
Fu Cen had grown up in an orphanage. The director had recognized his artistic talent from a young age and used her own savings to enroll him in art classes.
Fu Cen lived up to the director’s expectations, gaining admission to one of the country’s top art academies. During his university years, he earned the admiration of a patron and held several solo exhibitions.
In his senior year, Fu Cen had planned to pursue a master’s and doctoral degree, but the orphanage encountered a crisis that required a large sum of compensation to be paid to a foundation. When he rushed back, he saw the director, who seemed to have aged twenty years overnight.
From then on, Fu Cen began painting day and night, taking on commercial commissions nonstop. The media labeled him a “fallen genius” and an “artist consumed by worldly pursuits.” The value of his artwork plummeted, and the patrons who once admired him abandoned him.
In the end, the orphanage was saved.
But Fu Cen developed severe tenosynovitis, and his hands could no longer hold a brush for long periods.
After three years in a rehabilitation hospital, the world had forgotten him, and Fu Cen had nearly forgotten how to hold a brush. Yet some things are etched into one’s very bones. The moment he grasped the brush, a longing from the depths of his soul surged over him like a tidal wave.
Only now did Fu Cen realize:
These were healthy hands.
Though the original owner of this body was notorious and impoverished, Fu Cen felt immensely grateful at this moment. He had been given the chance to start life anew.
Unnoticed, the crowd of onlookers grew larger. The clay figurine that the little one had made a mess of was now being transformed under Fu Cen’s brush. Layer by layer of paint was applied, turning a twenty-yuan clay doll into an exquisite work of art worthy of display in a gallery.
As Fu Cen immersed himself in the process, many people took out their phones to take photos and record videos. The scene was simply too beautiful—a young man with striking features sat quietly at the table, focused intently on painting the clay figurine, as if this were the only thing in the world worth doing.
The surrounding crowd was bustling, yet this small corner remained serene because of one person.
With the final stroke of paint applied, Fu Cen looked at the bright smile on the doll in his hands. In that instant, the fear and helplessness he had felt since transmigrating into this world dissipated like smoke.
After handing the clay figurine to the shop owner to dry, Fu Cen snapped out of his solitary state and suddenly realized the little one was gone.
Seeing his anxious expression, the owner said, “That little one seemed to go buy ice cream earlier. You might find him over there.”
“Thank you.”
After Fu Cen hurried off, the onlookers dispersed, except for one female university student who lingered in the clay figurine shop, taking photos of the drying artwork.
Yes, artwork.
This student was a freshman art major at Jin City’s Changteng Academy. As a world-renowned art institution, students admitted to Changteng Academy naturally possessed exceptional talent.
While other passersby were merely watching the spectacle, she saw a masterful creative technique. It was hard to believe that someone so young could wield paint with such ease, mastering the nuances of color even more skillfully than the Muse herself.
After the clay doll was dried, Mu Qiubao begged the shop owner to place it under the light tube so she could take a few more photos, then eagerly posted them on the school forum.
After some thought, Mu Qiubao also uploaded the video of Fu Cen painting the doll, asking if he was a senior from their school.
At first, the post only sparked discussion within the campus forum. Some commented that the young man in the video looked familiar, while others joked that after this senior’s touch, the clay doll’s value might break four digits. However, once the post was reposted to Weibo, it exploded in popularity at lightning speed.
The video was shot from the side, with the light from the shop’s display cabinet perfectly illuminating Fu Cen. The halo outlined his smooth jawline and jade-like profile—a face so flawless it seemed as if the goddess of creation had poured her heart and soul into crafting it.
His long, slender fingers held a paintbrush, and as the final stroke was applied, a crystal-clear tear slid down his angelic face. He looked at the finished work in his hands, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips.
If that were all, it might not have been so captivating. But combined with the bandage on his forehead, the fragile, glass-like aura was amplified to the extreme.
The video spread across the internet with unstoppable speed.
Countless people left comments, exclaiming they couldn’t handle it.
[I need to know everything about this guy within three seconds!]
[Just wondering if he has a boyfriend or girlfriend, and if so, whether they’d mind one more.]
[Who else gets it? The moment I saw him, I felt my soul was saved.]
Reading these comments, Mu Qiubao regretted even more that she had been too focused on capturing the artistic process to ask for his contact information. She didn’t even know the senior’s name.
Of course, aside from those captivated by his divine appearance, a few also noticed the clay doll Fu Cen had painted. Those with taste had already started bidding five-digit figures to acquire it.
However, there were also dissenting voices: “To be honest, he looks kind of familiar.”
[Same, he feels really familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen him.]
[Does anyone else think he looks like that guy who announced his retirement from the industry a while back?]
Just as everyone was scouring the internet for any trace of Fu Cen, a childish voice suddenly echoed through the mall’s broadcast system: “Testing, testing, testing.”
The little voice enunciated clearly: “Has anyone seen my stepdad Fu Cen? The Fu with the person radical, the Cen with the mountain radical. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue sneakers. If you see him, please call XXXX.”
Shen Sigu’s children’s watch only had the parent-child function enabled, so it couldn’t receive calls from strangers. Instead, he provided the number of his father’s secretary.
The announcement reached every corner of the mall’s seven floors.
The eyes of everyone around immediately turned toward the target “wearing a white shirt and blue sneakers.” Some found it amusing—it was common for adults to use the broadcast to find lost children, but a child using it to find a parent was rare. Many cooperatively dialed the number repeated three times over the broadcast.
While searching for his child, Fu Cen, who had gotten lost, visibly flushed red, his social anxiety was enduring the greatest ordeal of his life.
So mortified that his soul seemed to have left his body, fleeing this beautiful planet.
Meanwhile, the tallest office building in the city center remained brightly lit, with the multinational meeting in the top-floor conference room nearing its end. The man seated in the leather swivel chair at the head of the table listened expressionlessly to the English report. An assistant stood before the projection screen, advancing slides in sync with the presentation. The atmosphere in the vast conference room was oppressively tense.
The executives and regional directors seated around the oval table dared not even breathe loudly. Since Shen Wufeng had swiftly secured his position as the head of the Shen Group with his decisive actions and formidable capabilities, no one dared show even a hint of dissatisfaction toward him.
The facts had also proven that this eldest son of the Shen family possessed exceptionally sharp judgment, and none of the decisions he had made had ever been wrong.
Just as everyone was wiping cold sweat from their brows, speculating whether President Shen was dissatisfied with this project, a sudden ringtone pierced the silence.
No one dared look up to locate the source.
The only person who would not have silenced their phone during an executive meeting was the man seated at the head of the table.
Shen Wufeng indifferently shifted his gaze to the caller ID on his phone screen—an unknown number. However, this was actually Secretary Cai’s work phone, which he was using for a remote call.
Secretary Cai stood up and said, “My apologies, I’ll hang up immediately.”
After hanging up, the call rang again shortly after.
Guessing that it might be something urgent, Secretary Cai looked inquiringly at the boss. However, Shen Wufeng wasn’t paying him any attention. When the call ended automatically and a third unknown number called, Shen Wufeng extended his slender, well-defined fingers and tapped the screen.
At the same time, the manager reporting from across the ocean fell silent.
The ringtone abruptly stopped, and a low, hoarse voice came from the head of the table: “What is it?”
The other end of the line was noisy, with a young woman’s voice laughing heartily as she asked, “Is this a family member of Fu Cen?”
Secretary Cai tensed up, knowing full well that this call was actually coming to his phone.
Most crucially, because the meeting was still in progress, the phone was still connected to the computer’s speaker, making the voice on the other end crystal clear.
Silence spread through the conference room as the man repeated coldly, “What is it?”
The woman on the other end, sensing the icy tone in Shen Wufeng’s voice, toned down her laughter and said, “Oh, it’s at Jingsheng Mall, third floor. Your family member has gotten lost. Please come and pick them up.”
Shen Wufeng: “?”
The executives: “…”
Author’s Note:
Shen Wufeng: The business district is handing out wives—buy one, get one free. Claim a wife and get a child thrown in.
Fu Cen: Currently building a rocket to escape Earth.