Chapter 91 – The Abandoned Panda Cub..

Before ending the livestream, Xie Hui held the cub’s furry paw and waved it at the camera as a form of farewell.

He gripped the cub’s wrist in a way that allowed viewers to clearly see the soft pink paw pad as he waved.

The cub seemed a bit confused by Xie Hui’s actions and let out a soft “ying” sound, trying to pry his paw free with the other one.

“You did great today. Let’s shake on it.”

Xie Hui shook his little paw seriously, and with the cub still looking puzzled, that marked the end of a successful collaboration for the day.

Xie Hui had originally thought the matter would end there—but unexpectedly, there was more to come. After watching the livestream, the king of this country had someone reach out to ask if they could use part of the footage to create a promotional video.

Xie Hui agreed without hesitation. He didn’t ask for any licensing fee and even contributed funds to support the king’s promotion campaign.

As his company gradually got on the right track, the assistant had more and more to take care of. Seeing his competence, Xie Hui no longer kept him in the role of a mere assistant. Instead, he promoted him to vice president and hired two new assistants.

The new assistants also documented Xie Jia’s daily life. Occasionally, when Xie Hui wasn’t too busy with work, he’d start another livestream to let the audience see what it was like for a non-human cub in its early years to interact normally with its parent.

The cub was growing rapidly. At first, Xie Hui could cradle him in one hand. Then, the cub could sprawl across his shoulders. Now, holding him for too long was becoming a bit of a challenge.

When work ended, Xie Hui shut down his computer and saw the cub crawling over to him. He reached out and scooped him up.

“Hey, did you sneak off to the assistant again for snacks?”

The cub, nestled in his dad’s arms, looked completely innocent. He shook his fuzzy head and rubbed it against Xie Hui, trying to use cuteness as a distraction.

But Xie Hui noticed the color smeared around the white fur on the cub’s mouth. He asked seriously, “Hmm? Really didn’t eat anything?”

“Ying.”

Xie Hui carried him to the bathroom and had him look at himself in the mirror. The moment the cub saw his reflection, he instinctively covered his face with his paw. Then, he turned and looked at his dad again with big, innocent eyes.

“Let’s go home now. There’s still some sun left—we don’t want your fur getting patchy.”

Xie Hui took great care of his child. The cub’s fur was always thick and soft—irresistibly pettable.

As soon as they got home, he carried the cub into the bathroom. After giving him a bath, they went to sun his fur together. In the kitchen, the nanny had already started preparing dinner. The sunset’s golden-orange glow blanketed the sky, casting a gilded light on the cub’s fur.

Though the cub had grown, his habit of wagging his short tail hadn’t changed. Once his fur was dry, Xie Hui grabbed a comb to groom it neatly.

He happened to spot a gift from a friend—sent for the cub’s birthday some time ago—a cartoon tiger onesie.

The cub had never liked wearing clothes. The hospital said it was due to animal instincts; clothes and shoes made him uncomfortable. So Xie Hui never forced him.

But today, with dinner not ready and nothing urgent to do, Xie Hui managed to strike a cheerful deal: three bamboo shoots after dinner in exchange for trying on the onesie.

After his bath, the panda cub’s fur was especially fluffy. Xie Hui helped him into the tiger onesie and pulled the hood over his head, then snapped a photo.

Right after that, he took the outfit off. After all, the cub already had such thick fur and disliked clothes—Xie Hui didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

As soon as the outfit came off, the cub shook his head, took a tiny running start, and pounced into his dad’s arms with a pitiful whimper.

“My baby’s feeling wronged?”

“Ying.”

“Then tonight while watching cartoons… maybe five bamboo shoots will help ease that wounded little heart?”

“Aow, yi-ya!”

Seeing his instant excitement, Xie Hui playfully pinched his ear. This cub hadn’t picked up many useful skills—but when it came to playing the pitiful act, he was an absolute master.

“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be learning with Daddy. If you’re naughty, Daddy will cook all your bamboo shoots with meat.”

There were very few cubs being raised by their parents, so schools had moved into the orphanage. Those with parents were now taught directly by them.

Research had shown that cubs in early childhood stages were just like human children. To prevent psychological issues among orphanage-raised cubs from seeing those raised at home, the orphanage’s school was kept closed to outsiders.

Parents who taught their own cubs received generous subsidies from the king. This created a delicate but stable balance.

Recently, when reviewing some data, Xie Hui found that about 20% of non-human cubs in early childhood were now being raised by their parents.

The king used Xie Hui’s livestream as material, then ordered more footage to be taken of orphanage cubs in their daily lives. The edited videos were uploaded to video platforms.

Ten cubs shared a single dorm room. The sunning space was tiny. Whenever there was an extra slice of cake—usually leftovers adults were tired of—the cubs would happily thank the caregivers.

Whether parents who had once abandoned their children regretted it couldn’t be known. But some who were planning to have kids started to realize they didn’t want their child’s future to end up like that.

To be fair, the orphanage environment wasn’t bad—the king had done his best within his means.

But it paled in comparison to Xie Hui’s level of care. Against such a backdrop, the orphanage’s shortcomings became glaringly apparent.

The king had long wanted to improve this situation. While raising children wasn’t inherently costly, there was a catch: children who grew up in the orphanage often devoted themselves entirely to their careers and national service.

The king had once asked those cubs why. Their answer: they didn’t believe they’d make good parents, and didn’t want to pass on their own tragedy to the next generation.

In contrast, those raised by their parents tended to dream of a loving partner and a happy child.

With 20% of parents now willing to raise non-human cubs in their early years, it was still a minority—but it was progress.

Xie Hui didn’t get to dwell on it long. The cub, hearing that bamboo shoots might be stir-fried with meat, began rolling around in his arms with a sad, wobbly look.

“If you misbehave, not only will your bamboo shoots be stir-fried, but you’ll have to eat them too.”

He ruffled the cub’s short tail. The cub huffed, flicked his tail to the other side, and tried to crawl away in a huff.

“Hmm? Not eating dinner now?”

The cub, who had crawled a few steps away, pawed at one of his hats, then crawled back again.

Xie Hui never treated him as just a panda. He respected the cub’s dignity and didn’t point out the obvious clumsiness of that hat-covering act. He gently took the hat and placed it on the cub’s head, then carried him outside.

The nanny had been hired some time ago. She was a skilled cook and had experience caring for young cubs. Dinner was already being prepared—perfectly suited to the cub’s tastes.

After dinner, as usual, Xie Hui took the little one for a walk in the backyard. Just then, his phone rang. He turned around and spoke for less than two minutes, and when he looked back, he saw the little one circling around the bamboo, seemingly thinking about where to start climbing.

“Xie Jia.”

He gently called the little one’s name, and the little one drooped his head and ran over.

“Want to go back and watch cartoons?”

“Yah~”

Back when he was just a tiny glutinous rice ball, it was still manageable for Xie Hui to catch him. But now, even just holding him for a while felt heavy, let alone catching him if he fell from that height.

They came back a bit earlier than usual from the walk, and the cartoon the little one liked hadn’t started yet.

So Xie Hui took out the bamboo shoots he’d promised earlier, turned on the news channel first, and had the little one peel the bamboo shoot skins while he watched the news for a while.

As the little one had grown, his obsessive habits hadn’t changed. He absolutely wouldn’t start chewing unless he’d peeled every bit of the shoot’s skin clean.

Coincidentally, the news was covering the return of a famous imperial general visiting the palace to meet the king.

This general was once the very same abandoned cub who had triggered a peak in abandonment rates—mistreated by his biological parents and ended up biting them in retaliation.

The king never held that incident against the cub. Instead, upon learning what had happened, he punished the cub’s parents and personally took the cub into the palace to raise.

The cub had grown up into a very capable person and had become the youngest general in the empire.

When the news ended, the cartoon finally started. The little one slowed his chewing noticeably and, becoming too engrossed in watching, accidentally bit his own hand and let out a yelp.

Using his unbitten paw to hold the hurt one, he didn’t touch the bamboo shoot again for a while, eyes teary from the pain but still glued to the cartoon.

…

The next day, Xie Hui took the little one to the company. He carried a little backpack with him, which held books for early childhood education provided by the empire.

Now that the company was running smoothly, the artists who had exposed issues with the client company in the original storyline had all been signed, and their careers in the entertainment industry were thriving.

Xie Hui only handled important matters, delegating the rest to subordinates, freeing up more time to spend with his little one.

Though a professional teacher could handle the little one’s education, Xie Hui preferred to teach him personally.

After arriving at the office and reading through two documents, Xie Hui tidied his desk and placed the enlightenment books in the center, right in front of the little one.

Holding the little one in his arms, Xie Hui grasped his chubby paw and pointed to a character on the Three Character Classic to start teaching him to read.

“Ren.” (人)

“Ying.”

“Zhi.” (之)

“Ying.”

“Chu.” (初)

“Ying.”

At first, Xie Hui didn’t notice anything strange. But after teaching the three characters, he realized something felt off and instinctively strung the characters together.

“Ren zhi chu.”

“Ying ying ying.”

Xie Hui’s temple twitched at the sound. Looking down into the little one’s innocent and confused eyes, he felt it was his own fault for not thinking this through.

They didn’t even speak the same language—how could he expect accurate pronunciation? Listening closely, it was clear the little one was mimicking the three separate characters.

Xie Hui decided to lower his expectations. If a panda cub could read with human-level accuracy, that would be the real concern.

“Ren zhi chu, xing ben shan.”

Xie Hui guided his paw over each character as he read, moving it along as he went.

“Ying ying ying, ying ying ying.”

The little one earnestly repeated, completely unaware that his dad was teetering on the edge of losing it.

“Which character is ren?”

Xie Hui let go of his paw and started quizzing him.

The little one hesitated a bit before pressing his paw on “ren.”

“And chu?”

“Ying.”

Seeing that he got every answer right, Xie Hui finally relaxed. Language barriers didn’t matter—as long as he could recognize the characters.

He spent the whole morning teaching the little one in the office. By noon, when the assistant brought lunch, the little one was still “ying ying ying”-ing from the couch.

Xie Hui couldn’t understand the exact words, but from the tone, it was clearly the same material they’d gone over earlier.

Both of Xie Hui’s new assistants were married and very thorough. They quickly brought in lunch tailored to their preferences.

His company was the first in the empire to provide special support for families raising non-human young. Families with young cubs could bring them to the office to care for them.

In public interviews, Xie Hui had said he just wanted to help kids like his own.

During lunch, the little one took a bite and let out a few “yings” in between. Xie Hui smiled helplessly—this behavior really was just like a human toddler.

In the afternoon, Xie Hui took out a glove pen he had prepared earlier and fitted it onto the little one’s right paw. Holding the paw, he began teaching him how to write.

At first, the little one’s paw kept shaking, and the characters looked like scribbles. Xie Hui patiently replaced sheet after sheet, teaching him one step at a time.

By the end of the workday, the little one’s writing had finally reached the level where it could at least be recognized as actual characters.

Looking at the shaky, crooked writing, Xie Hui rubbed his son’s head and praised him against his better judgment:

“Not bad. Good job, Jia Jia.”

“Yah~”

Everything had gone well from leaving the company, returning to the villa, bathing, to drying off the panda buns.

The little one, praised for being awesome, swayed his hips and flicked his tail proudly as he walked, every hair on his body radiating smugness.

That was… until dinnertime.

While happily digging into his own bowl, he happened to glance at his dad’s table—and spotted a dish sitting right there…

Stir-fried bamboo shoots with meat.