Chapter 61 (Arc End)

An An indeed thought of the roast squab his father had taken him to eat a few days ago and couldn’t help but swallow again. He looked up and met his father’s amused gaze, then huffed and pulled his hand away from his father’s grasp.

“Daddy is bad. I don’t want to talk to Daddy anymore.”

This little ancestor had called him “bad” countless times since he was young, so Gu Chen didn’t take it to heart. He simply lengthened his strides to catch up with him, teasing as he walked:

“I just told the assistant to prepare a serving of roast squab for dinner.”

An An, now a little older and more concerned about his pride, couldn’t bring himself to apologize, but his pace noticeably slowed.

When Gu Chen deliberately stopped walking to tease him, An An even turned his head to check why his father hadn’t followed. When he saw that Gu Chen was secretly smiling, he huffed lightly and turned his head away.

A luxury car was parked not far away. When the driver saw them approaching, he took the initiative to open the car door, driving them back to the castle they were staying in within this small country.

Over the years, Gu Chen had amassed a fortune through Yu Honghui. Any city or country that An An liked, he had bought property in. Many of these assets were even registered in An An’s name.

Gu Chen had only one son. Marriage was not in his plans, so it was only natural that everything he owned would eventually belong to An An.

Some properties couldn’t be transferred under An An’s name because he was still a minor, but Gu Chen planned to hand them over once he came of age.

At first, Gu Chen didn’t hold such deep hatred for Yu Honghui. He had planned to use him for a while, make some money, and then let him go—after all, Gu Chen believed in showing mercy whenever possible. But later, he began to realize something was off.

The reason was An An.

He had only met Yu Honghui a few times, yet he showed an unusual level of hostility toward him.

An An rarely got angry over anything. For him to look at someone as if they were a mortal enemy… it could only mean that Yu Honghui had harmed him before.

Thinking back, everything seemed to have shifted the moment An An called him and asked him to “buy” him back.

If that phone call had never happened, if Yu Honghui had succeeded, Gu Chen’s fate might have been far worse than he could have ever imagined.

But Gu Chen never asked An An about it—not even Brother Li. He had a suspicion that An An was like Yu Honghui.

To put it more precisely, An An might have come back from the world where Yu Honghui had succeeded.

If that was the case, Gu Chen would rather forget about it entirely. The fewer people who knew, the better.

Beyond feeling relieved that he had avoided that fate, Gu Chen felt only heartache—heartache for his son, who had traveled across time and space, looking back just to pull his father up with him.

At first, Gu Chen had used his suspicions to force Yu Honghui into submission. If Yu Honghui had been mentally strong enough to realize that, without concrete evidence, the threat wasn’t as severe as it seemed, he might have rebelled.

But as time went on, the industries he helped Gu Chen invest in yielded profits that couldn’t be explained by mere business acumen. People even joked behind his back that Yu Honghui seemed to be able to predict the future.

Already feeling guilty, Yu Honghui had no choice but to keep a low profile. More than one person had begun to suspect him, so if Gu Chen ever let slip even a hint, those suspicions would become solid truths in everyone’s mind.

If he had gotten out earlier, before sinking too deep, he might have had a chance. But now, he was truly trapped.

—

Within the industry, people looking at Gu Chen’s success couldn’t help but be envious.

Some even dug deeper into the mysterious investor backing Gu Chen, only to find a completely unknown name in the business world—Yu Honghui.

Every investment he made, no matter how unremarkable, always turned into a gold mine.

And then they discovered something even more intriguing—Gu Chen only paid Yu Honghui a monthly salary of 8,000 yuan. Yet, with Yu Honghui’s guidance, Gu Chen was making billions.

Many people, seeing how poorly Yu Honghui was being treated, tried to lure him away with offers of 200,000 yuan a month. But every time, Yu Honghui turned them down—firmly and without hesitation.

After repeatedly failing to poach him, people began to think that while Yu Honghui was brilliant in investments, in other aspects, he was just an idiot.

Leaving behind a million-yuan salary just to earn 8,000 a month and make someone else billions?

Though they mocked him with their words, deep down, they were so envious they could bleed. They wished they were the ones who had encountered Yu Honghui instead.

Gu Chen, for his part, donated most of the money he made to charity. His daily expenses were more than covered, he owned properties all over the world, and he lived a very comfortable life.

Even Brother Li, who had initially disagreed with his approach, later realized how narrow-minded he had been.

Compared to outright revenge, this slow, drawn-out torment—like cutting flesh with a dull knife—was far more painful.

If Yu Honghui had been naturally incompetent, that would have been one thing. But he was someone who could have succeeded in any field with his skills. The sheer amount of money he had helped Gu Chen make over the years was proof of that.

To outsiders, it seemed like he was well-respected, with many people vying for a piece of his success. But in reality, he had very little to show for it himself.

It was like making a starving man guard a granary, only feeding him thin porridge to keep him barely alive.

By his forties, Yu Honghui looked like he was in his sixties, aged beyond his years.

Gu Chen had been willing to give him a fair share at first. But after having nightmares for several nights in a row, fearing that it was all just a test, Yu Honghui didn’t dare to accept it. Instead, he voluntarily suggested that all the money be donated.

And as the timeline of his previous life’s end drew closer, a growing sense of urgency took hold of him.

Once he died, he wouldn’t know anything anymore.

That fear drove him to keep learning desperately, ensuring that even without his knowledge of the future, he could still make money for Gu Chen.

He was too old to keep struggling.

At this point, the only real value left in him was… if someone dissected him and studied his brain.

Ever since he realized that he could have lived well even without replacing Gu Chen, every passing moment of his life was consumed by overwhelming regret.

A moment of poor judgment not only wasted such a great opportunity but also left Gu Chen with lifelong leverage over Yu Honghui. He worked diligently, staying late into the night every day, just for that meager salary of over six thousand.

It wasn’t just Yu Honghui who felt miserable—his wife and son also ached seeing him compromise and endure grievances. They urged him to resign early, assuring him that even if he stayed home doing nothing, they could still support him.

Yu Honghui wanted to leave, but he didn’t dare. When he was truly overwhelmed with exhaustion, the thought even crossed his mind that maybe it would be better if he just disappeared.

…

If Gu Chen had only remained in the entertainment industry, no matter how high his status was or how much directors valued him, he would never have lived as comfortably as he did now.

Even the top-ranked movie stars in the industry couldn’t compare. Gu Chen could casually visit a city and buy multiple properties there just because his son liked the place.

An An had no real concept of just how wealthy his family was. He only knew that whatever he wanted, his father would deliver it to him quickly.

Because of this, An An had very low material demands.

Brother Li had invested even more effort in An An than he had in Gu Chen back in the day. He had discovered Gu Chen after he graduated from university, encountering him on the street at a time when he had just managed to boost the popularity of one of his artists—only for that artist to turn around and leave him for a manager with better resources.

Feeling unwilling to accept defeat, Brother Li happened upon Gu Chen, whose striking appearance caught his attention. At the time, Gu Chen had just graduated and broken up with his girlfriend, and he was struggling to find a job.

Hearing Brother Li offer a monthly salary of eight thousand with meals and accommodation included, Gu Chen, like many fresh graduates facing a poor job market, was eager to pack his bags and follow him that very night.

Through a stroke of fate, he succeeded. Brother Li knew that aside from his own caution and meticulous planning, much of the success was due to Gu Chen’s own relentless drive.

Even as he aged, Gu Chen never lost his ambition. Now, Brother Li wanted to groom An An along a completely different path.

Every short video An An released garnered high viewership, with familiar fans frequently checking in.

He had gradually shed his childhood innocence, transforming from a chubby-faced three-year-old into a handsome adolescent. What was even rarer was that he hadn’t grown awkward-looking—”beautiful” was the most fitting word to describe him.

The biggest advantage of a “nurtured artist” was the long development period. Over time, many things could happen—not just for the artist, but also for their fans, who would grow alongside them.

The experiences tied to watching an artist mature deepened emotional connections and bonds.

Brother Li was waiting patiently, planning for An An to formally enter the entertainment industry after finishing high school—like nurturing a sapling for over a decade, eagerly anticipating the day it would bear fruit.

An An had been outstanding since childhood, learning many skills. Gu Chen projected many of his past regrets onto his son, hoping to make up for them.

Even in high school, An An remained a top student. When filling out his college applications, he chose the Film Academy—his father’s long-cherished dream, one he had never been able to pursue.

Perhaps due to his upbringing, combined with his own love for acting, An An had always had a clear vision of his future.

Once Gu Chen’s position in the industry stabilized, he stopped doing things he disliked—for example, he avoided interviews whenever possible, letting Brother Li handle refusals.

In the rare interviews he did accept, he directly addressed the question that fans were most curious about.

Would An An enter the entertainment industry?

He said he would respect An An’s own choice. Smiling at the camera, he added that he was in a position now where his son could choose any path he wanted.

And that was all thanks to Yu Honghui.

Gu Chen never forced An An to join the entertainment industry, but An An was passionate about acting. With excellent grades, he was admitted to the Film Academy, marking the true beginning of his journey in showbiz.

When Brother Li received Gu Chen’s call, he was so thrilled that he drank with his wife until midnight. That very night, he arranged for one of his trusted assistants to stay by Gu Chen’s side, packed up his things, and rushed to find An An.

He left in such a hurry that Gu Chen had no objections—after all, it was his own son.

An An had been shielded from the darker sides of life since childhood. Gu Chen had protected him well, but because of that, when An An decided to enter the entertainment industry, Gu Chen realized there might have been a flaw in his parenting.

But at this point, An An was already an adult, and it was too late to go back and teach him differently.

Gu Chen was more than happy to let Brother Li personally mentor An An. He knew just how meticulous and cautious Brother Li was.

With Gu Chen’s influence and Brother Li’s guidance, there was no need to worry about An An going astray.

An An was naturally talented, still young, and his face was full of youthful collagen. Even without makeup, he looked stunning in close-up shots during TV filming, his presence shining through.

Director Wang was about to retire, and upon hearing about An An’s career plans, he remembered a promise he had made over a decade ago. He personally invited An An to star in his final film, fulfilling an old regret.

Brother Li reviewed the script and found it excellent—a fantasy film with a growth arc, just as domestic CGI technology had made significant progress. The production had solid investment backing, and the script was outstanding.

An An’s role was a sword—an ancient blade that had existed since the dawn of creation. Over time, it absorbed spiritual energy and gained sentience.

This sword passed through the hands of three owners: a seemingly compassionate monk, a ruthless demon lord, and a kind-hearted celestial maiden.

Their intertwined stories formed a deeply engaging narrative. Whether taken individually or as a whole, each arc was compelling.

Even Gu Chen, who rarely accepted acting roles anymore, joined the cast. Originally, he intended only to make a cameo, but when Director Wang heard about it, he insisted on giving him a more substantial role—that of the monk in the script.

The monk wasn’t entirely virtuous. The demon lord wasn’t purely evil. Even the celestial maiden had her own selfish desires.

The script was written with remarkable skill, exposing their inner conflicts and making them fully fleshed-out characters with human flaws.

After reading the script, Gu Chen had already anticipated that it would become a huge hit after its release. However, he hadn’t expected Director Wang to entrust him with such an important role.

After all, some things couldn’t be denied—like age.

No matter what, his son had already grown up, and he himself was getting old.

Yet when Director Wang heard this, he didn’t take it seriously. Instead, he reassured Gu Chen, saying that the monk in the script was also a middle-aged man, and besides, Gu Chen didn’t look old at all.

This film was An An’s first work in the entertainment industry. Over the years, Director Wang had become one of the most influential directors in the industry. Such a grand debut was rare even in the entertainment circle.

With Gu Chen carrying the box office and An An attracting significant buzz, the movie performed exceptionally well upon release. Just like the first film the father and son had shot together, it started strong and continued to soar, even breaking the record that Gu Chen had previously set.

The only difference was that back then, Gu Chen was the protagonist, whereas this time, the lead role belonged to An An—a different kind of fulfillment.

Brother Li, just like he had done for Gu Chen in the beginning, personally filtered every single job offer, painstakingly reviving the feeling of striving for success. For him, the rarest thing now was regaining that sense of passion.

It felt like being young again, full of drive.

Every time he thought about how he might be personally creating a legend in the entertainment industry, Brother Li’s heart raced. Even when lying in bed, he would get up again to review scripts for An An.

An An had acted in several movies and TV dramas during college but rarely participated in variety shows. After graduating, he devoted himself entirely to his career, broadening his range of roles.

However, his scripts rarely included intimate scenes. Aside from An An’s own preference, the main reason was that Gu Chen didn’t approve.

Every artist in the entertainment industry followed a different path. Brother Li understood well that fans who had watched An An grow up weren’t keen on seeing him act in romantic films. It always felt like a child at home had started dating before growing up.

He had only starred in a few romance films, and in many fans’ hearts, the best one was actually a web drama. Normally, given his status, he wouldn’t have considered a web drama, but the script was simply too good to pass up.

The story revolved around a young master returning from overseas in the Republican era, with the narrative unfolding from his perspective. There were many romantic scenes, but they were all extremely reserved.

In the end, there weren’t any intimate scenes, yet the unspoken, restrained love left most viewers with a lingering sense of sorrow.

Just as Brother Li had originally envisioned, he had indeed created a legend—turning both father and son into stars, becoming a legendary talent manager himself.

When An An first debuted, everyone saw him as Gu Chen’s son. But as he gradually made a name for himself, the roles reversed, and most people now knew Gu Chen as the father of rising star Gu An.

An An’s incredible public appeal was rare in the industry. Even at twenty-five, many fans still saw him as a child.

Of course, a big reason for this was that many of his fans were already older—having started following him when he was just three years old. By now, they were in their forties, so calling him their “child” wasn’t entirely wrong.

At sixty, Gu Chen announced his retirement from the entertainment industry. In his final interview before stepping away, he brought up one particular topic again.

Facing the camera, he didn’t hide his emotions and openly stated that the proudest achievement of his life was raising a son.

A month later, during a new movie interview, An An also said that the happiest thing in his life was being his father’s son.

…

After reaching adulthood, An An did become curious about his mother. Gu Chen never intended to hide the truth from him, so he told him exactly what Su Ling had instructed—she had said that knowing about her existence would only bring him pain.

What Gu Chen had worried about was that when An An was young, he might feel abandoned by his mother and suffer because of it.

But as An An grew up, Gu Chen no longer intended to follow Su Ling’s wishes completely.

At the end of the day, he didn’t hold much resentment toward Su Ling. Even though she had almost ruined his career back then, after so many years, he no longer cared.

She had been forced into a desperate situation, and when faced with the choice between life and death, any rational person would choose survival. Sacrificing An An meant both she and Gu Chen could continue living.

Gu Chen had even worried that An An wouldn’t understand, so he carefully explained that it wasn’t Su Ling’s own decision—it was just the only way to ensure their survival. He knew that phrasing it this way would prevent An An from dwelling on his mother.

An An locked himself in his room that night, thinking it over. Ultimately, he didn’t try to find Su Ling.

For one, she had never contacted them all these years. All they knew was that she had gone abroad. Without her reaching out, it would be nearly impossible to find someone in such a vast world.

Secondly, although An An understood that her words didn’t reflect her true feelings, he also recognized that she didn’t want to reconnect.

An An didn’t seek her out, but he did secretly arrange for someone to look for her. He wanted to be able to support her in her old age, and Gu Chen respected his decision.

Unfortunately, when Su Ling turned sixty, An An received a letter from her.

In it, she wrote that she was doing well—her career was successful, and she didn’t need his support.

She expressed deep guilt over the past and admitted she didn’t know how to face him, so she preferred not to meet. Now that she knew he was living well, she could finally be at peace.

Afraid that she was just putting on a brave front, An An had the investigator confirm her situation. It turned out that she really had built a successful life overseas.

Back then, Gu Chen had sent Su Ling abroad, but he hadn’t abandoned her. Once she settled down, he contacted someone he trusted to help arrange a job for her.

Su Ling had always been resilient. She worked her way up step by step in that company, eventually becoming the president of a branch office and even securing company shares.

She really liked Gu Chen’s arrangement for An An. The videos recorded from childhood to adulthood not only satisfied the fans’ desire to witness his growth but also allowed Su Ling, across the ocean, to participate in An An’s life in this way.

Gu Chen took excellent care of An An, and he grew up in a happy environment to become an outstanding man.

Su’s grandmother recovered well from her surgery. Additionally, out of gratitude for her taking care of An An until he was three when Su Ling was too busy with work, Gu Chen had Brother Li contact renowned doctors abroad. The elderly woman lived to the age of ninety-six before passing away.

Su Ling never remarried abroad. She enjoyed her single life—free and unrestrained.

In her old age, with enough financial resources, she lived in a beautiful retirement home, well cared for by her servants.

Even in her later years, Su Ling still felt deeply guilty about that past event and never wished to disrupt An An’s life again.

Before her passing, while she was still conscious, Su Ling drafted a will in the presence of a lawyer. She stipulated that all her assets would be donated to charity under the name of her son, Su An, after her death.

…

With the mission completed, System 250 checked the final assessment. Not only had Gu Chen found redemption within the storyline, but Su Ling had as well.

Gu Chen’s most cherished career remained intact, and his son grew exactly as he had hoped.

After some careful thought, 250 realized that Su Ling had likely been deeply affected by the trauma of her mother’s departure. However, in the world An An had visited, his grandmother had passed away naturally after a long life, and Su Ling had built a highly successful career.

A single phone call from An An had altered the destinies of four people.

There were still many imperfections, but this was the best outcome within their reach.

System 250 allocated most of the rewards toward restoring An An’s lost fortune, keeping a small portion set aside for emergencies.

After every mission, An An’s memories and emotions were completely wiped, leaving him in a dark, hazy space, living in a perpetual daze. The little one had no idea how to use these rewards.

The system, however, was patient. It was willing to wait for him to grow up.

An An was still inside the sphere—a special construct designed by the Lord God for younger entities, ensuring their complete sense of security.

After an indeterminate length of time, the delicate little being inside the sphere opened his eyes. System 250 immediately rushed over, but before it could introduce itself, it sensed an anomaly in one of the mission worlds.

“Hello, I am your system. Please complete your assigned tasks. In each mission world, you will have a father or mother who loves you very much.”

The last sentence made An An’s eyes light up. His lips moved as if to agree, but before he could speak, he was sent into the next world.

…

“Madam, push! You must push!”

A middle-aged servant clutched the lady’s hand, her panic increasing as she watched her pale face and sweat-drenched black hair. At that exact moment, the midwife’s expression changed drastically, and her bloodstained hands trembled as if they had lost all strength.

In the outer courtyard, a royal physician hurried over from the palace. After checking the lady’s pulse, he frowned and shook his head before taking his medicine chest and walking out.

“The madam’s body has always been weak and unsuitable for childbearing. Given the current situation… I fear it will be difficult to save both mother and child.”

A man standing outside froze upon hearing these words. When he came back to his senses, he asked:

“Doctor, what do you mean?”

“You must choose—save the mother or the child. My lord, you must decide quickly. If this drags on too long, both may…”

The physician dared not finish his sentence, but the man understood. His mind went blank.

Just then, a hoarse voice came from inside the room.

“The child… my child…”

“Madam, you can always have another child,” the man said firmly, as if steeling himself for the decision. He turned away, unable to bear witnessing the scene inside, and walked toward the door.

The woman shook her head, her tear-filled eyes pleading with the elderly servant who had raised her. She gripped the old woman’s sleeve tightly, tears streaming down her face.

“The child… I cannot bear to lose this child.”

“My lady, your body… it has never been suited for pregnancy.”

The elderly servant held her hand, speaking softly to comfort her, though she also disagreed with the lord’s decision.

The only reason the lady’s father had agreed to this marriage with the Tang family was because the lord had promised him that, even if he were to remain childless in this life, he would be willing to adopt an heir instead.

The longer they delayed, the greater the risk. Gritting her teeth, the old servant said:

“My lady, you must not endanger yourself. The old madam just recovered from an illness. If she learns that she must bury her own child, I fear she won’t survive the blow.”

At this moment, Liu Nüluo could no longer hear what those around her were saying. Waves of pain wracked her body, allowing her only enough strength to whisper the word “child” over and over again.

Just then, the man who had left moments ago suddenly stormed back in.

Tang Yun strode to Liu Nüluo’s bedside and declared loudly:

“Madam, we will not keep this child.”

His voice was firm and loud, and this time, Liu Nüluo heard him clearly. She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears, but before she could respond, the pain in her abdomen abruptly eased.

At that moment, a warm, unseen jade-colored light enveloped her belly.

The midwives, who had braced themselves for harsh punishment, found themselves stunned by the miraculous occurrence. But their years of experience quickly kicked in, and they resumed their work.

Before long, the baby was safely delivered.

As the child’s cries filled the room, Liu Nüluo finally let out a breath of relief. A maid brought over a bowl of ginseng soup, which Liu Nüluo slowly sipped.

The midwife, working with practiced efficiency, wrapped the newborn securely and knelt before Liu Nüluo, presenting the baby to her.

“Congratulations, madam—it’s a young master.”

But Liu Nüluo was too exhausted. She had no strength left to even look at the child. Without a word, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

After 250 sent the cub to the new world, it found the situation in front of it somewhat dire. The previous world had at least left the cub as a three-year-old child, but in this one, he had just been born.

If the cub hadn’t arrived quickly, the mission target might not have even survived.

A newborn wouldn’t remember anything, and even though 250 could communicate with its host now, it didn’t dare to speak. It could only wait until he grew older.

In the original plot, Liu Nüluo died in childbirth due to complications. The child was born but was naturally frail.

Moreover, because his birth had led to his mother’s death, his biological father and foster brother never liked him. His maternal grandfather’s side felt some pity for him, but since they weren’t close, their care was limited and beyond their reach.

The system was feeling anxious inside the space. Due to the fact that its host was often very young while performing missions, 250 had far more permissions than a standard system.

Inside the space, it had only managed to say one sentence to the cub before his memories were wiped. By now, An’an should have completely forgotten it.

After much deliberation, 250 transmitted part of Tang Qi’s past-life memories into the cub’s brain. He was still too young to understand much, so the memory transfer had to be limited; otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to retain anything.

Even with just this small amount, 250 cautiously transmitted it over, and all that remained in An’an’s mind was a very vague memory.

Liu Nüluo was weak after childbirth. Her old nurse stayed by her side along with two dowry maids. One of the maids was holding the young master, following the lord’s orders not to let anyone approach.

Even Tang Yun, the father, was kept outside the birthing room.

Ever since the lady became pregnant, the old nurse no longer viewed Tang Yun as favorably as before.

He had known from the start that his wife’s body was frail and unsuitable for pregnancy. He had even promised the lord that it wouldn’t matter if they never had children.

Liu Nüluo’s status was exceptionally noble. Her father was a Duke, her legitimate elder sister was now the Empress, and her elder brother held a high-ranking position in court. As the wife’s family of the Emperor, they were incredibly prestigious.

However, when her mother was pregnant with her, she accidentally consumed a bowl of soup meant for her eldest daughter while visiting her. At the time, the Crown Princess was also pregnant, and after drinking the soup, she suddenly experienced severe abdominal pain.

If it weren’t for the Imperial Physician and the old madam’s extended bed rest afterward, Liu Nüluo might not have survived.

Later, when the Crown Prince ascended the throne, the Crown Princess became the Empress. The child she had been pregnant with at the time was their eldest legitimate son, who was immediately titled Crown Prince when his father became Emperor.

Not only did the old madam cherish Liu Nüluo deeply because of that incident, but even the Empress felt guilty toward this younger sister. The Crown Prince himself had been taught from a young age to treat his aunt well.

Liu Nüluo had been frail and sickly since childhood, but fortunately, she was raised in the Duke’s residence with the best medicines and care. The Duke had originally planned to keep her by his side for life.

No one expected that after coming of age, she would visit a temple outside the city and accidentally encounter Tang Yun—who was merely a scholar at the time. The classic “hero saving the beauty” left an impression on Liu Nüluo, who rarely went outside.

The Duke initially looked down on a poor scholar like Tang Yun and had no intention of letting his carefully raised daughter marry into such a family. But in the end, he relented after Tang Yun knelt before him and vowed to cherish her forever.

After their marriage, it was always Tang Yun who took contraception decoctions. When the Duke learned of this, his opinion of his son-in-law improved, and he even instructed his eldest son to provide him with more support at court.

Three years later, Tang Yun voluntarily adopted an orphan he had taken in, intending for the child to care for them in their old age.

It wasn’t until five years into their marriage that Liu Nüluo unexpectedly became pregnant. Persuaded by Tang Yun, she insisted on giving birth, which led to this tragic outcome.

Liu Nüluo slept for a whole day and night before she finally opened her eyes. As soon as she did, the old nurse, who had been watching over her, immediately noticed. She lowered her voice and called for a maid to bring the hot food from the kitchen.

“Miss, you’ve slept for so long—you must be hungry.”

Liu Nüluo still felt weak and had little energy. She softly hummed in response and started looking around. The old nurse understood her intent and, worried she might overexert herself, quickly reassured her:

“The young master is with the wet nurse in the next room. He’s already been fed and is now asleep. If you wish to see him, perhaps it would be better to wait until tomorrow?”

“Mm.”

After being fed some food by the maid, Liu Nüluo felt a bit stronger.

Having slept for so long, she was no longer drowsy, even though it was still dark outside.

A maid brought in a brighter lamp, and at that moment, Liu Nüluo suddenly thought of something and softly asked:

“Has my mother come to visit?”

Ever since news of her pregnancy spread, her parents had been furious with her, and even her elder sister had stopped asking about her well-being. Now that she had given birth, she wondered if they would come to see her.

Noticing how uneasy her lady looked, the old nurse sighed helplessly.

“…The master has instructed that the news not be sent over for now.”

Hearing this, Liu Nüluo frowned and asked,

“Why?”

“Miss, you’ve never liked to trouble yourself with household matters, but a while ago, the master replaced many of the household staff with people from his own family. He also forbade us from spreading the news. Even if we wanted to send word, we wouldn’t be able to.”

Initially, the Duke’s residence had arranged all the staff for the young lady, but now many had been replaced. Seeing that the couple had been on good terms, the old nurse had refrained from telling Liu Nüluo about it to avoid making her worry.

But today, something happened that she could no longer stay silent about.

“Is there something else, Nurse?”

This old nurse had been Liu Nüluo’s wet nurse and had watched her grow up. Liu Nüluo knew her personality—if it were only about that, she wouldn’t have mentioned it so soon after her labor.

“…Miss, the master is far too neglectful of the young master. The two wet nurses he prepared… they’re both over thirty years old!”

Nowadays, in this society, women in their thirties are already grandmothers, yet in wealthy households like theirs, wet nurses are typically chosen from young, healthy women around twenty years old who have recently given birth.

At this moment, Liu Nüluo furrowed her brows. She truly didn’t understand these matters, but even someone as unfamiliar with household affairs as she was could see that this was a blatant act of neglect.

“Bring the child over, let me take a look.”

“Yes.”

Soon, the young master was carried over. Perhaps because he had just been born, he was still awake in the middle of the night. His eyes were already open, and his delicate features resembled Liu Nüluo’s more than anyone else’s.

Liu Nüluo hadn’t thought much about it before, but now that she was looking at her own son, a warm feeling of connection through blood surged in her heart.

“He’s so well-behaved.”

The old nurse, seeing the young master’s adorable face, could no longer maintain her stern expression and smiled as she said:

“Indeed, he barely cried after birth. Just like you when you were little. If the master and madam saw him, they would be overjoyed.”

Hearing this, the smile on Liu Nüluo’s face faded slightly. She had gone against her parents’ wishes—would they be willing to forgive her this time?

The old nurse also realized her words were inappropriate. She handed the child to a maid standing behind her, adjusted Liu Nüluo’s blanket, and softly said:

“Miss, I will ask again tomorrow. If the master and madam find out, they will surely come to see you.”

At this moment, Liu Nüluo was indeed starting to feel drowsy. She gave a slight nod and lay down.

The next morning, Tang Yun came early to see Liu Nüluo. She hadn’t slept much, so when she heard footsteps, she immediately opened her eyes. Seeing that it was Tang Yun, she smiled and said:

“Nanny, bring the young master over for my husband to see. He’s such a good child.”

“Alright.”

The young master was carried over. Tang Yun reached out to take him and show him to his wife, but the moment his hands touched the baby, the little one, who had been sleeping soundly, pursed his lips—and then burst into tears.

“Wah, ah…”

——Arc End——