Chapter 44: The Bizarre Late-Night Incident at the Qiao Household!
Qiao Rui didn’t blame himself in the slightest for his younger brother’s current silence. After all, aside from this morning’s brief outburst, his brother had been so quiet lately that Qiao Rui had long since lost the hypersensitivity he used to have toward every subtle shift in his moods.
Right now, he was enthusiastically decorating this big family home they all shared!
Honestly, whenever he’d stayed here in the past, he’d always thought the place felt cold and empty. Especially after arguing with his younger brother and watching him storm out of the house, leaving him alone in the enormous mansion—that loneliness would come crashing down on him like a tidal wave, always reminding him of the years long ago when their father had first sent him to live with his maternal grandparents.
But because of pride, and because of his younger brother’s explosive temper, he’d always suppressed those feelings deep inside. There was nothing he could do about them except avoid looking at them altogether by staying away from home as much as possible. Now that their father had taken the lead in improving the atmosphere of the house, he could finally cast aside all those worries.
Amid the noise and bustle, Qiao Rui calmly strolled to the window with his hands behind his back and watered the orchid hanging there. Turning back to look at the room, countless emotions welled up inside him.
Now look at this house. How comfortable. How warm—
Warm enough that just standing inside it softened a person’s emotions without them realizing it. This was what a real “home” should feel like. No wonder his younger brother had such a terrible temper after living in that kind of environment for so many years.
It was because the adults in the family hadn’t cared enough.
The workers continued laying the cashmere carpets all the way from the second-floor staircase to the dining room. When they reached Qiao Nan’s spot, he sat motionless staring at the group indicating for him to move aside. The thick smell of wool flooding his nose nearly drowned him. From by the window, Qiao Rui noticed the scene and calmly told the foreman: “It’s fine. My younger brother isn’t feeling well. Leave that area for now—we’ll lay it ourselves later.”
Qiao Nan said nothing. He turned to glance at his older brother, who genuinely seemed prepared to personally install the carpet himself. His father stood near the staircase, slipping a hand between the railings and enthusiastically feeling the wool with his palm. Among everyone in the Qiao household, only Luo Meisheng stood in the dining room corner looking utterly dead inside.
Only Luo Meisheng...
After a moment of silence, Qiao Nan stood up awkwardly, emotions complicated, and pulled his dining chair backward for them.
By the time everything was finished, half an hour had passed. Once the workers left, the house quickly quieted down again. Seeing his younger brother’s low spirits, Qiao Rui became somewhat worried about his health. After changing clothes in his room, he returned to the dining room. His hand lifted slightly, but remembering how his brother had refused to let him get close this morning, he hesitated and withdrew it again. “You feeling okay?”
“This carpet really is thick, huh,” Qiao Yuanshan commented after inspecting his eldest son’s purchase. While wiping his hands and heading back toward the kitchen, he casually answered the question instead: “He’s fine. I checked him over when he got back—no fever. Hurry up and sit down to eat.”
Qiao Rui froze briefly, glanced at his father, then looked back toward his expressionless younger brother.
Meeting the distinctly displeased look in his older brother’s eyes, Qiao Nan frowned. “What?”
Qiao Rui merely snorted. He didn’t explain why he was upset, but his face lengthened dramatically, his entire body radiating a cold, stern aura.
What the hell’s his problem? Qiao Nan ignored him and sat down. As he did, he forgot about the new carpeting under the table and absentmindedly stepped onto it in his slippers.
Soft, fine fibers instantly wrapped around the exposed back of his foot.
The sensation was strange. Or rather... it could already be described as “comfortable.”
Earlier that morning, Qiao Nan had guessed carpets like this would feel soft underfoot. Their thick fluffiness was obvious at a glance. But before now, he’d been too distracted by how completely incompatible the rugs looked with the house’s overall aesthetic to focus on that passing thought. He’d been too busy figuring out what vocabulary best described how ugly they were.
Only now did he truly experience what “walking on clouds” felt like. The soft carpet cushioned him gently from below. Around the dining table, the other two figures busied themselves arranging bowls and chopsticks. His father, still wearing an apron, carried another unidentified dish from the kitchen. Everyone stood bathed beneath the dim glow of the dining room lights overhead.
Quietly, Qiao Nan slipped one slipper off and pressed his entire foot into the carpet. Suddenly, he remembered something.
Back in junior high, Xiao Pang had gotten his first girlfriend from the same school, and the two of them had been ridiculously lovey-dovey. How lovey-dovey? The girl sat in the basketball gym audience every single day. The entire gym was full of handsome delinquent-type boys overflowing with youthful energy, yet she somehow ignored every single one of them and only stared at the whitest, roundest, most unremarkable guy in the group.
One winter vacation shortly after Valentine’s Day, they’d all gathered to play basketball together. The moment Xiao Pang arrived, the whole court erupted into laughter. Because he was wearing a fluffy Winnie-the-Pooh-style coat.
The coat was oversized and long enough to cover his butt. There was a round little tail attached to the back, and the hood even had semicircular bear ears sewn onto it. The fur was thick, fluffy, carefully made, and unbelievably cute. Exactly the kind of adorable style every boy that age secretly found irresistible. Provided it was worn by girls.
Middle-school boys deep in their chuunibyou phase would rather die than wear something like that themselves.
Naturally, Xiao Pang became the target of endless teasing. Scratching his head amidst the laughter, he explained that the coat was a Valentine’s gift from his girlfriend.
Jiang Hai had laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, telling him to hurry up and change into something normal.
But Xiao Pang refused, saying his girlfriend would be coming later, and she’d definitely be upset if she saw him not wearing it.
That day they’d apparently arranged a match with another school nearby—anyway, it was a bunch of similarly aged young guys obsessed with acting cool. Seeing how stubborn he was, Jiang Hai had been astonished. “You’re seriously not embarrassed dressing that girly in front of the other team?”
Xiao Pang had replied with complete seriousness: “How is it embarrassing? Every strand of fur on this jacket is filled with feelings, okay? Fluffy things bring happiness. And I don’t think it’s girly at all. You single dogs just don’t understand.”
The campus heartthrobs instantly exploded in outrage at being called “single dogs.” Including Qiao Nan, the whole group rushed him at once and pinned him to the ground for a brutal beating.
Back then, nobody paid attention to the first part of what he’d said.
But now—Qiao Nan, who had sprinted down the path of being a delinquent king without ever once looking back, someone so cool he wouldn’t even pet long-haired dogs he passed on the street— suddenly understood Xiao Pang’s compromise.
This girly, fluffy texture. The inexplicable warmth created when it touched bare skin. It really did seem—somehow—to bring a strange kind of happiness.
How weird. When he’d been in Mu Xiangxiang’s body earlier and slept in the brushed cotton bedding Father Mu and Mother Mu had newly bought, he hadn’t felt anything special at all.
Lowering his head, he adjusted the dishes in front of him. The food on the table was abundant, fragrant, and appetizing—all of it transferred from takeaway containers into plates by Luo Meisheng. Only the two clay pots in the center were his father’s own cooking.
Qiao Yuanshan finally finished bustling around and, smiling cheerfully, prepared to sit down. Watching him move, Qiao Nan realized he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d sat together with his father and older brother in such a harmonious atmosphere. Aside from the time he’d visited disguised as Mu Xiangxiang, opportunities for the whole family to gather for a meal over the past few years had been incredibly rare. And even on those rare occasions—usually holidays or birthdays—the atmosphere had always been fixed and rigid. Everyone would sit silently, eat quietly, then leave separately in perfect mutual understanding afterward.
Honestly, if you asked Qiao Nan, not talking had probably been the smartest choice. After all, in the past, it was common for Qiao family meals to end halfway through with someone slamming down chopsticks and storming off after an argument.
Qiao Nan remembered always eating very little whenever he was with them, because the moment he sat down, he’d start thinking about excuses to leave. In such icy atmospheres, even the finest delicacies tasted bland. Yet strangely enough, tonight, looking at this simple spread of takeout-style home cooking, he actually felt a little hungry.
Before sitting down, Qiao Yuanshan smiled at Qiao Rui and said: “Work was busy today. I spent the whole morning organizing files, so Dad really didn’t have time to cook much. I asked your Auntie Luo to order takeaway from that X Restaurant nearby. Don’t be picky about the taste—just eat a little to fill your stomach.”
Qiao Nan noticed that the dark expression his older brother had inexplicably worn earlier suddenly softened. Though his face remained calm, his tone became much lighter. “It’s okay. The company’s been busy lately too. You should take care of yourself and stop squeezing in time to make dinner every day. Tomorrow I’ll contact X Restaurant and arrange scheduled deliveries.”
Luo Meisheng hurriedly chimed in: “Right, right!”
Qiao Yuanshan frowned immediately. “How could that work? I remember you once said you didn’t like X Restaurant’s food...”
Qiao Nan blinked in surprise. Wait. So his father had really been cooking for the family himself lately?
Impressive. The last time he’d visited in Mu Xiangxiang’s identity, the bowl of porridge he’d tasted had been... difficult to describe. But in fairness, that had probably been the first time he’d ever eaten food cooked by his father, so poor performance was understandable. Who would’ve thought that in such a short time, the man’s cooking skills would improve so dramatically that he could now handle the family’s entire dinner?
He couldn’t help thinking of another father with extraordinary cooking skills. In the Mu family, it was also the father who handled dinner every night. Food made by family simply tasted different—within Uncle Mu’s simple ingredients, Qiao Nan could always taste a deep sense of care.
And now, the Qiao family resembled the Mu family so much. Once upon a time, he had envied Mu Xiangxiang for having a father who could cook and was willing to take care of his family…
Now, even his older brother’s attitude had softened because of a single sentence from their father. A warmth slowly welled up in Qiao Nan’s heart. They had only been apart for a short while, yet his always-busy father had begun squeezing time out of his schedule to learn cooking, and his perfectionist older brother—who normally couldn’t tolerate the slightest inconvenience—was actually willing to suggest ordering from a restaurant he disliked, all so their father could rest more…
Just as he was sighing emotionally, his father burst into hearty laughter, loudly interrupting his brother’s attempt to argue further. “Alright, alright, stop trying to persuade me. Dad’s in great health. I’ll only wrong you with X Restaurant’s food for a few days. But since Nannan’s not feeling well today, even though I didn’t have much time, I still stewed him a soup—”
As he spoke, Father leaned over and reached for the lid of the clay pot in the center of the round table. Hearing the words “Nannan’s not feeling well,” Qiao Nan felt unexpectedly moved. In that instant, all the envy he had once felt toward Mu Xiangxiang’s family vanished completely.
Soup his father had specially made for him… Before they switched back, Uncle Mu had also said he wanted to stew him some soup lately because of the damp weather. Earlier that afternoon, while wandering outside the house, Qiao Nan had recalled the thick, fragrant turtle-and-young-rooster soup Uncle Mu had cooked to celebrate moving into the new home, and he’d even regretted missing it.
Who knew heaven would treat him so generously—compensation had arrived this quickly.
Qiao Nan’s gaze followed his father’s movements. But from the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed that the softened expression on his older brother’s face had completely vanished.
Before the emotion in his chest could fade, he froze slightly and turned, only to see that even Luo Meisheng’s face had gone pale. While he was still confused, an indescribable smell burst out the moment the clay pot lid was lifted, instantly overwhelming the aroma of all the dishes on the table.
Qiao Nan narrowed his eyes at the suspicious color revealed inside the pot under the lights. “……”
Qiao Rui: “……”
Luo Meisheng: “……”
Qiao Yuanshan briskly picked up a ladle. “Come, come—watercress, milk vine, houttuynia old hen soup. Clears heat, removes dampness, boosts immunity. Everyone have a bowl.”
Qiao Nan: “……”
He watched helplessly as his father took the empty bowl in front of him, then with a clunk, ladled out a gigantic chicken drumstick into it.
The chicken had been cooked into some bizarre shade—brown? gray? Anyway, definitely not a normal color. The medicinal smell of houttuynia mixed with milk vine drilled aggressively into his nose, while the watercress had been stewed into a withered yellow, hanging limply from the chicken bones.
Qiao Nan opened his mouth, staring blankly at the bowl in his father’s hand. The surprise and warmth still floating in his heart hadn’t faded yet when another emotion rapidly forced its way in, intertwining with the first in a truly indescribable way.
A shiver ran through him. A sense of mortal danger slowly crawled up his spine. Inwardly, he slapped himself. What the hell were you thinking? Heaven treating you well?
Where’s the “rapid improvement” you imagined?
How is this any different from that pot of porridge from ages ago? Tell me! How is it different?!
Qiao Nan was not someone who liked suffering in silence. The fact that he’d been willing to drink that porridge before had already been giving face. So this time, he hesitated and didn’t reach out. “I… uh… maybe I should just…”
The bowl was hot, and Qiao Yuanshan couldn’t hold it for long. He hissed from the heat, and Qiao Nan instinctively reached out to take it.
He felt anxious, unsure how to refuse this “kindness.” In the past, throwing down the bowl and walking away would have cost him nothing, but now he simply couldn’t do it.
Maybe he should just tell his father directly that the chicken looked disgusting and he didn’t want to eat it.
Just as Qiao Nan was about to speak, his eyes suddenly caught a flash of red. Immediately forgetting about the chicken, he stared at his father’s hand. “Dad, what happened to your hand?”
Qiao Yuanshan let out an “Eh?” and lifted his hand to glance at it before laughing casually. “Oh, this? Nothing serious. I cut myself while trimming the lymph nodes just now. The TV host said chicken lymph nodes are bad for your health and absolutely have to be removed. Ah! Getting old really does make you clumsy. They made it look so easy on TV, but when I tried it myself, nothing went smoothly. I spent nearly half an hour crouching there picking through a bunch of houttuynia. My head was spinning. Brat, tell me, isn’t making soup troublesome? Hurry up and drink while it’s hot.”
Then he casually grabbed a tissue and wiped away the blood still seeping from the cut on the tiger’s mouth of his hand. “Seriously, it had just stopped bleeding too…”
Qiao Nan stared blankly as his father tossed the bloodied tissue into the trash can. The words at the tip of his tongue suddenly wouldn’t come out.
Qiao Yuanshan was startled when his younger son abruptly put down the bowl and stood up from the table. “Where are you going?”
Qiao Nan ignored him. He crouched by the coffee table in the living room and opened a familiar drawer—the place where he usually kept medicine. Whenever he got injured in fights, he handled it himself at home.
Then Qiao Yuanshan watched as his son expressionlessly rummaged through the drawer, gathered up a pile of supplies, and returned to the dining table, dumping them down with a crash. “Hand,” Qiao Nan said coldly, frowning.
“…” Qiao Yuanshan awkwardly rubbed his palm against his clothes. “N-no need, right…”
His younger son’s expression suddenly turned furious. He raised his voice, glaring down viciously. “Quit talking nonsense! Hurry up!”
Qiao Yuanshan froze. It had been a very, very long time since he’d heard his son speak to him like this.
Recently, his younger son had been so quiet that he’d almost forgotten what he looked like when he exploded in anger during arguments. His son’s fierce, impatient, gunpowder-filled expression used to be the thing Qiao Yuanshan feared most—because once it appeared, it usually meant a war was about to break out.
He sat there in a daze without moving. Qiao Nan clicked his tongue impatiently and simply grabbed his father’s arm himself, exposing the deep cut across his palm—over two centimeters long, flesh split open.
Qiao Nan became even more irritated. What the hell is wrong with this old man?! If you’re this clumsy, why are you trying to learn cooking?! Do you even have the talent for it… damn annoying! You got hurt and still hid it without saying a word!
He poured hydrogen peroxide directly onto the wound. The bubbling foam instantly made Qiao Nan’s eyes ache just from looking at it. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed his father’s fingers and pressed a cotton ball soaked in iodine onto the cut. Maybe he used too much force, because the silent old man sucked in a sharp breath.
“Bear with it!” Qiao Nan snapped irritably, blowing lightly on the wound as his movements softened a little. “Who told you to mess with all this random crap? Is the family lacking chicken to eat or something? If we want chicken, can’t I just order takeout? Why the hell did you have to cook it yourself?”
Qiao Yuanshan looked at his son’s long-lost expression—the one that practically screamed he wanted to punch someone—and suddenly felt his throat tighten with emotion. Even when he’d eaten the noodles his son made with his own hands before, he hadn’t felt this moved.
After a moment of silence, he couldn’t help laughing softly. “I just thought you weren’t feeling well. Food made at home is definitely cleaner than outside food.”
Qiao Nan gritted his teeth and looked away, though most of the anger in him had already dissipated. “…Tch.”
After disinfecting the wound, he carefully stuck a large bandage over it. Then he released his father’s rough hand and began tidying up the scattered medical supplies on the table. “Call Xiao Lou. After dinner, have him take you to get an anti-inflammatory shot.”
Qiao Yuanshan touched the oversized bandage in his palm with his other hand. His gaze stayed fixed on it, unable to move away. “No need to make such a fuss, right? It’s just a knife cut—”
“Cut the crap!” Qiao Nan slammed the iodine bottle onto the table. “Are you going or not? If you won’t call him, give me the phone and I’ll do it!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll call—” Qiao Yuanshan truly had no way to deal with him. He always said Qiao Nan had a bad temper, but in truth, he knew perfectly well that he himself wasn’t much better. Being flattered constantly in business had made him bad at backing down in daily life too. Father and son had fought countless times before, and many of those arguments started from Qiao Nan’s attitude and tone.
But today, hearing his son’s usual fierce voice, he somehow couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. He couldn’t muster up even the slightest anger. As he took out his phone to call his assistant, he grumbled half-heartedly: “—Little ancestor, if I let you make the call, you’d scare the poor guy to death.”
Qiao Nan shot him a cold glance over his shoulder.
Only to meet Qiao Yuanshan’s cloudy eyes, filled with unmistakable laughter—and perhaps even a shimmer of tears.
He clicked his tongue irritably and looked away. After putting the medicine away, he returned directly to the table. Sitting down again, he stared at the strangely colored chicken soup in front of him, gritted his teeth, and picked up his chopsticks.
One bite in, an indescribable taste spread across his tongue.
Qiao Nan inwardly slapped himself again. What happened to the turtle-and-young-rooster soup?
What happened to not envying Mu Xiangxiang anymore?
You disappeared way too early! Disappeared my ass—get that envy back here!
And with that violent inner turmoil, he gnawed through the entire massive drumstick bite by bite. After Uncle Qiao finished his phone call and saw the way he was eating, he immediately grinned and hurriedly reached for his eldest son’s empty bowl. “Look at your little brother. I remember he’s loved drumsticks since he was little. So many years later, and he still hasn’t changed at all.”
Qiao Rui stiffly accepted the bowl placed in front of him, only to hear their father continue: “And you—you’ve always liked chicken wings the most. I remember ever since you were weaned, you were picky as hell. You wouldn’t even touch the other parts. As long as there was chicken at home, all the wings had to be yours. If you didn’t get them, you’d throw a tantrum.”
Qiao Rui glanced briefly at his father’s expression. His gaze then drifted to the hand his younger brother had covered with a bandage. He wanted to say: You actually don’t understand me at all. After all these years, I stopped loving chicken a long time ago, and I stopped throwing tantrums too.
But looking at the pair of chicken wings lying quietly in his bowl, he ultimately said nothing.
Qiao Yuanshan turned to Luo Meisheng. “Want me to get you a bowl too?”
Luo Meisheng: “…Why, thank you.”
Watching his family eat so enthusiastically filled Qiao Yuanshan with satisfaction. He served himself a bowl too and sipped slowly. Unfortunately, because his sense of taste had never been very sharp since childhood, he couldn’t really taste much. A little regretfully, he asked, “So? How is it?”
Qiao Nan: “……”
Qiao Rui: “……”
Luo Meisheng: “……”
Inside, Luo Meisheng was screaming in terror. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Qiao Nan fell silent for a moment. Honestly, once you got used to the chicken, it wasn’t that awful. At least the soup tasted slightly better than traditional medicine.
But he really couldn’t bear to honestly evaluate it. Thinking of his father’s injured hand, and not wanting the atmosphere to go cold, he simply pushed his bowl forward again. “Another bowl.”
Qiao Yuanshan beamed with joy as he ladled more soup for his younger son, then looked toward the elder brother. Qiao Rui withdrew his gaze from his brother and glanced sideways at their father. He ate slowly and elegantly, every movement refined. “Mm.”
Luo Meisheng stared at the two brothers in disbelief. Are you serious? Seriously?! So the problem is actually my taste buds?!
But in the end, Qiao Yuanshan’s hopeful gaze still landed on her.
Luo Meisheng’s lips trembled. After a long pause, she shakily replied: “…I-it’s… alright.”
****
After that bowl of chicken soup, no one at the table really had any appetite left for the other dishes. So in the end, Qiao Yuanshan happily—though slightly regretfully—cleaned up the leftovers that had barely been touched. “Looks like my cooking’s improved fast. Way better than X Restaurant.”
Luo Meisheng silently thought: Boss, you are really overthinking this.
Qiao Nan ignored him. Only after his father left with Assistant Xiao Lou to get an anti-inflammatory shot did he head back to his room to wash up.
After washing, he found he couldn’t sleep, so he got up again and pulled out the photograph hidden in his bedside drawer. Standing by the window, he examined the faces in the old photo beneath the scattered starlight. Inevitably, he remembered what Mu Xiangxiang had said— “Everything in the house was carried back personally by your dad, your brother, and your stepmother.”
Personally carried back…
He opened his bedroom door and walked to the staircase. What greeted him was the fluffy wool carpet stretching all the way downward.
Qiao Nan wasn’t wearing shoes. Barefoot, he stepped onto it. The soft, fluffy wool wrapped around his feet, both snug and loose at the same time.
The color really was ugly. It clashed horribly with the black-and-gold stair railing and dark red flooring.
But it was also genuinely warm. Standing on it, he couldn’t feel even a trace of the cold hardness of the floor beneath.
In the end, Qiao Nan simply sat down on the stairs. Using the faint light coming through the living room windows, he studied the photo wall nearby.
The famous paintings that used to hang there had vanished somewhere. In their place were frames of all sizes. The entire house’s aesthetic had plummeted instantly from classy luxury to nouveau riche countryside style.
Honestly, that did suit his dad pretty well.
Ahead of him, his mother’s photo still wore its gentle smile beneath the night shadows. On the small altar table below, three thin incense sticks had nearly burned to their ends.
Luo Meisheng had lit them before going to bed earlier. She’d done it naturally, pulling the incense from a hidden compartment beside the altar with practiced familiarity.
Qiao Nan’s gaze shifted away from his mother’s photograph and slowly swept once more across the house. The flowers in the distance. The vase nearby. The cushions on the sofa. The carpet beneath his feet…Every single thing had been personally added by the people living under this roof.
He sighed softly, almost soundlessly, then stood and returned to his room. A moment later, he reappeared carrying a small picture frame. Walking downstairs, he found an empty spot on the wall, peeled off the adhesive backing, and gently stuck the frame into place.
Inside the simple frame, protected beneath glass, was a faded old photograph. In the sunlight of the photo, a family of four stood facing the camera, smiling together.
Ever since his mother passed away, the photograph had stayed with him for nearly ten years. If Mu Xiangxiang hadn’t snooped around, then no one else had seen it all this time.
And now… he supposed it could count as something he had personally added to this newly transformed home.
Qiao Nan stared at the photo for a while before finally looking away. He opened the hidden compartment beneath his mother’s altar, took out three incense sticks, lit them just as Luo Meisheng had done, inserted them into the burner, and pressed his palms together in a quiet bow.
As he turned to return to his room, his eyes caught a dark figure standing on the stairs. He nearly jumped in shock. Focusing properly, he realized it was actually his older brother.
Still in pajamas, Qiao Rui stood there staring at the newly hung photograph, his expression unreadable. After a long silence, he finally turned and said—
“Your frame doesn’t look good.”
Qiao Nan’s eyes drifted over the flashy European-style alloy frames already hanging on the wall. “……”
He pursed his lips, unwilling to speak to this guy at all, and moved to walk past him toward his room. Before he could take a step, a hand blocked his shoulder.
Qiao Rui frowned slightly. Something about his younger brother today felt strange. “You alright?”
“Very.”
Qiao Rui still looked unconvinced. After a moment, he reached toward his brother’s forehead. “Let me check.”
What the hell was wrong with everyone today? Why did his brother keep touching him after he came home?! Qiao Nan had already been emotionally exhausted enough by his father checking his forehead earlier. There was no way he’d submit again. He immediately dodged sideways and said warily: “I’m fine. Really fine. No fever, not sick.”
Qiao Rui’s hand missed its target. His lips immediately pressed into a line, and he stared sharply at him.
Qiao Nan got goosebumps from the stare. “…What?”
But his brother said nothing. He simply turned and walked away.
…Weirdo.
Qiao Nan couldn’t make sense of it. He could only curse silently in his heart. But honestly, he’d never understood his older brother’s thought process anyway. In the end, he could only helplessly rake a hand through his hair and head back to his room.
His bed… It really had been a long time.
When Qiao Nan climbed into his huge bed, he actually felt a little emotional. Though conditions at the Mu family home had improved, it was still different from the Qiao household. Living at Mu Xiangxiang’s house these past days had genuinely been pleasant, but he had encountered plenty of things he couldn’t quite get used to.
For example— This spacious, soft bed with a mattress worth over two hundred thousand yuan.
He wondered how Mu Xiangxiang was doing. Back in his home… could she get used to it?
This morning really had been…Tch.
Thinking about the way he’d fled in embarrassment made him irritated again. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and slowly drifted to sleep.
Then, in the middle of the night— A sharp pain on his scalp jolted him awake.
His entire body jerked violently. He shot upright in bed, still half-dazed, his confused eyes darting anxiously around the room.
What happened? What happened? What happened?!
He clutched his forehead. But the surroundings were as quiet as ever. The room lay sealed shut beneath the moonlight, which illuminated only him.
School tyrant Qiao Nan, on his very first day back in his own home…
Had once again encountered the mysterious late-night phenomenon that had plagued him for years.
-----------------
Author’s Note:
Qiao Nan [holding his forehead]: “Motherf—… what kind of idiot…”
Older Brother Qiao [serious][unfathomable]: “Not me. Wasn’t me. Don’t make things up.”
Luo Meisheng [holding her bowl in confusion]: “Maybe the problem really is me…”
Qiao Yuanshan [teary-eyed]: “Ah, how nostalgic! My son’s yelling at me again!”
Xiangxiang [dazed]: “Street racing street racing street racing…”
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