Chapter 41: Where Loyalty Stands

Summary: In a room thick with old names and veiled threats, choices are made without permission. But power isn't always held by the loudest voice—it's in who people protect, who they believe, and who they stand behind when it counts. Fevered or not, Yao doesn't need to fight alone. Not anymore.

Chapter Forty-One

Chen Kazemi rose from his desk with a slow, measured grace that belied the storm building behind his dark eyes. The polished surface of his office gleamed with the overhead light, the quiet hum of the room fading beneath the thunderous silence that followed his sister's call. His jaw was set, shoulders squared, and the hand at his side clenched into a tight fist, veins pressing against skin. There was no panic in his expression—just cold, pure, calculated fury.

The attack had happened months ago.

Months.

And no one had told him.

That a girl he'd silently looked after from the periphery for years, his sister's best friend, the quiet, stubborn, razor-bright but shy introverted Yao, had been targeted. Nearly broken. And not by strangers—but by blood. 

His breath was low, sharp through his nose, his voice muttered like an oath. "They thought they could touch her and walk away."

He barely heard the soft knock before the door opened.

His wife stepped in, poised as always in a tailored black blouse, her heels clicking softly against the marble as she entered. Her beauty was disarming to most—refined, graceful, a woman of high status, well-bred manners, and a smile that lulled fools into comfort. But she wasn't fooled by the silence or her husband's clenched hands. She was a predator long before she became his wife. "What happened?" she demanded, her voice sharp, controlled, and immediately laced with suspicion as her eyes flicked to his face.

Kazemi turned his head slowly, the tension around his jaw evident. "Yao." he said simply.

And that was all it took.

Her dark eyes sharpened instantly.

"What about her."

He didn't soften it. "She was nearly raped months ago. Her aunt and uncle arranged it. Her cousin helped. They wanted her broken, declared unfit, so they could seize control of a trust her mother left in Lu Wang Lan's care."

His wife stilled.

Absolutely.

Stilled.

Then her lips curled back—not in shock, not in horror, but in something far older. Darker. More dangerous. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a heartbeat before she lifted it again, slower this time, her eyes gaining the sharp gleam of a blade catching firelight. "So," she said, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk, "they tried to sell her soul for money."

Kazemi didn't speak. He didn't need to. Because the look in his wife's eyes had already changed. Gone was the image of a wealthy, poised matron of the Chen family. What rose in its place was something ancient and vengeful. The shadow of the woman she once was.

The enforcer.

The goddaughter of the most dangerous mafia head in the underground. The one with a body count only whispered about in old corridors, who once walked into cartel compounds with blood on her heels and left nothing behind but fear.

Her smile was slow.

Cold.

And terrifying.

"They're still breathing?" she asked.

"Lu's already started," Kazemi said. "We're moving in behind them. Silent pressure. Legacy destruction."

"Good," she murmured, turning toward the wall where her travel bag always waited, untouched for years. She reached for it without hesitation. "You'll fly first."

He arched a brow. "And you?"

Her voice was velvet and ash. "I'll follow once the Lu family finishes burning their future." Then, with a final glance toward her husband, she added with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Their lives?" Her voice dropped low, nearly affectionate. "Those belong to me now." And when she stepped out of that room?

So did the storm.

The door opened with a quiet ease, the subtle click of the handle barely drawing attention before the measured sound of heels tapped against the polished hospital floor.

Jinyang turned immediately, brows furrowing as she instinctively stepped protectively between the door and her best friend's bed, until her eyes caught up with what her instincts had not.

Chen Kaya. Elegant in all black, her long coat cinched at the waist, with her dark hair swept back into a sleek twist, Chen Kazemi's wife moved with the kind of composed danger that only those trained in violence could carry so effortlessly. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just silent inevitability.

Jinyang blinked, her confusion slipping through before she could stop it. "Kaya-jie?" she asked, startled. "How did you—?"

"I know," Kaya said smoothly, her voice soft but razor-sharp beneath the surface. "Kazemi called. He told me Yao was sick." She stepped toward the bed without hesitation, reaching into the crook of her arm to pull free a carefully wrapped bouquet, Yao's favorite flowers, soft blooms in pale lavender and crisp white, already clipped and arranged in a small crystal vase. She moved with practiced care, placing it gently on the bedside table. Then, without hesitation, she leaned down, brushed aside a stray lock of platinum hair from Yao's flushed forehead, and pressed a light, quiet kiss there.

The gesture was gentle.

Protective.

Possessive.

When she straightened, her gaze shifted—and locked immediately onto Lu Sicheng, who had risen instinctively when she entered. Her eyes flicked once to the necklace resting visibly against Yao's skin—the medallion sitting against the hollow of her throat, unmistakably Lu crest surrounded by rubies.

Kaya's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into something that didn't quite resemble a smile. "If you ever hurt her," she said, her tone like a knife dipped in honey, "you'll never see me coming." Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "You'll be dead," she added, "long before you even realize it's begun."

Sicheng didn't flinch. He didn't challenge. He simply met her gaze with the same steady fire she had grown to expect from someone who dared to stand at Yao's side.

Only then did her posture soften, just slightly. She turned her attention from him to the matriarch who stood silently behind him, Lu Wang Lan, her arms crossed, expression unreadable but not unwelcome.

Kaya's voice, when she spoke again, was lower—measured. "I suggest you both hurry with your plans," she said, her gaze sliding between mother and son. "Kazemi's already moving. Quietly, yes but with full force. What's left standing when he's done?" She turned, casting one last glance at the girl in the bed. "That belongs to me." Her gaze darkened, and something far older—something savage—slipped into her expression, just beneath the surface of civility. "The aunt, the uncle, the cousin," she said coldly. "When this is finished, no one will see them again." And then, with that same terrifying grace, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving only silence, purpose, and the chilling certainty that her words weren't a threat.

They were a promise.

As the door clicked shut behind Chen Kaya, her presence still lingering in the room like the sharp trace of a drawn blade, silence followed in her wake. For a long moment, no one moved—not Lan, not Jinyang, and not Sicheng, who remained standing beside the bed with one hand loosely curled around Yao's.

Then, after a beat, Sicheng exhaled a low breath and tilted his head slightly, his amber eyes following the now-closed door with something between mild awe and grim amusement. "Well now," he murmured, the corners of his mouth curving just slightly, "that's an interesting sister-in-law you've got."

Jinyang turned to him, still visibly caught between the cold dread Kaya had left behind and the fierce loyalty radiating from the woman's kiss to her best friend's forehead. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, eyes narrowing. "You know something."

Sicheng looked down at Yao briefly, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest before his gaze flicked back up, lazy but edged with something sharp. "You mean to tell me you don't know who she was before marrying your brother?"

The way Jinyang blinked—half affronted, half suspicious—was answer enough. "No," she said, dragging out the word slowly, "I don't. She's always been just... calm. Cold. Classy. Not someone I thought Kazemi would marry, but..."

"But," Sicheng echoed, cutting her off with a dry lift of one brow, "you didn't ask either. And now you're curious."

Jinyang crossed her arms, her voice clipped. "So tell me."

"No."

Her brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

Sicheng shrugged, utterly unfazed. "It's not my story to tell. That's your brother's call. Or hers."

Jinyang stared at him, frustrated, but she knew from that flat, final tone that pressing further wouldn't get her anything. Not right now. And not from him. But Sicheng was clearly enjoying this. "Amused much?" she snapped, folding her arms tighter.

His smirk deepened faintly, almost affectionately, as he turned his gaze back down to the pale girl asleep in the hospital bed, the silver chain of the necklace glinting against her skin. His fingers brushed a lock of platinum hair from her cheek with surprising gentleness before he spoke again, voice lower this time, musing. "My shy, introverted Xiǎo tùzǐ," he murmured, a note of exasperated wonder slipping in, "ZGDX's Little Boss Bunny… really has a way of collecting stamps."

"Stamps?" Jinyang echoed, confused.

Sicheng gave a soft, low chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Dangerous ones," he said. "Deadly ones. People the world either fears or avoids entirely, and somehow—somehow—they adore her. They protect her. Wrap around her like she's some rare, untouchable relic." He paused. Then added with quiet, dry certainty, "One of those stamps, I would never willingly cross. Ever. Unless it was to protect her from that stamp."

Jinyang tilted her head. "And that one is Kaya?"

Sicheng gave a slow nod. "Chen Kaya." Then, his gaze softened further, his eyes dropping again to Yao, to the faint crease in her brow that hadn't entirely disappeared. "But with the way she was just now?" he murmured, voice lowering with something that hovered between relief and gratitude. "I'll never have to protect her from that one."

No.

Chen Kaya might've once been a weapon of legend.

But now?

She belonged to the arsenal that guarded his Xiǎo tùzǐ.

Lan's sharp heels clicked softly against the floor as she shifted her weight, arms still folded with that imperious ease that never faltered no matter the battlefield—boardroom or bloodline. Her eyes, keen and unreadable, flicked from the closed door where Kaya had vanished, back to her son standing protectively beside the hospital bed.

Then she snorted. 

A single, dry, elegant sound of amusement.

Her lips curled slightly—just enough to be considered a smirk—as she arched a finely shaped brow and turned her gaze fully to her son. "Little Boss Bunny?" she repeated, her tone dripping with unhurried disdain and thinly veiled amusement. "Let me guess… that was Yue, wasn't it?"

Sicheng didn't look away from Yao. He didn't even pretend to be insulted. His fingers were still gently wrapped around the girl's smaller ones, the rhythm of his thumb brushing against her knuckles slow and unwavering. But there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed him.

Lan's smirk deepened. "Oh, I knew it," she said, almost smug. "Your brother's fingerprints are always obvious. Ridiculous, dramatic, and weirdly accurate. Little Boss Bunny, honestly."

Sicheng exhaled through his nose. "She threatened to let Rui dock his pay when he called her that, during the last scrim review."

Lan gave a short laugh. "And yet you've adopted it."

"I have not adopted it," he muttered.

Lan's expression grew even more smug. "You just said it. Out loud. With that face you always make when you're being emotionally compromised and pretending you're not."

He finally turned his head enough to glance at her. "Mother."

"Don't Mother me," she shot back, lips curling. "You're just lucky your father isn't here to hear that one. He'd have had a field day with it."

"Can't be worse than what Yue calls Cheng." Jinyang muttered from across the bed.

Lan raised an eyebrow. "What does Yue call him?"

Jinyang deadpanned, "His royal iciness, the Chessboard Emperor of Doom and Brooding."

Lan blinked. Then, after a beat, she chuckled softly. "Oh, absolutely your father's son."

Sicheng let out a slow, pointed breath, his thumb still brushing gently across Yao's knuckles even as his amber gaze darkened with clear, unspoken irritation. "I'm going to kick my brother's ass," he muttered, low and flat, the words more promise than threat, like it was already scheduled into his calendar just beneath scrim blocks and analytics review.

Across the bed, Jinyang didn't miss a beat. A smirk curled over her lips, sharp and wicked. "Oh please," she drawled, arching a brow. "You call her Xiǎo tùzǐ like it's some grand romantic vow carved into your soul. Little Bunny this, Little Bunny that. You've got no room to talk about anyone else's nicknames, Captain Doom and Brooding."

Lan let out a sharp exhale that turned into a full-bodied snort, one hand rising immediately to press against her temple as if warding off an oncoming headache brought on not by the hospital lights but by the sheer spectacle of her own offspring. "Oh my god," she muttered, rubbing at her temple harder. "All it took—all it ever took—was one shy, easily flustered, introverted twenty-year-old girl who had the nerve to use him as her dissertation case study and that was it. That was the end of the icy legacy. Down it went." She dropped her hand long enough to glare sideways at her son. "You know he used to make professional investors cry in boardrooms, right?" she said to Jinyang, gesturing vaguely in Sicheng's direction like he was now some retired war dog wearing bunny slippers. 

"Now he brings her bubble tea and paces like a panicked husband every time she sneezes." snickered Jinyang with a grin on her lips.

"I can hear both of you," Sicheng said evenly, not even looking up from where he was adjusting the edge of Yao's blanket. "And I stand by all of it."

Jinyang raised both brows, impressed. "No shame?"

"Not when it comes to her," he said simply, brushing his fingers over Yao's hair like the most natural thing in the world.

Lan groaned softly and rubbed harder at her temples. "I raised assassins," she muttered to herself. "Now one's a chaos goblin and the other's cuddling a fevered Bunny in a hospital bed like he's in a Korean drama. What did I do to deserve this?"

Jinyang just snickered. "Apparently?" she said dryly. "You gave birth to a romantic with murder in his eyes."

And neither of them could argue.

"Pests." Sicheng muttered under his breath, his tone dry as bone, laced with sharp disapproval and the exasperation of a man severely outnumbered. He didn't lift his gaze, still fussing with the edge of Yao's blanket, his hand moving with a carefulness that made the accusation of softness absolutely undeniable.

Jinyang grinned like a cat in cream, arms folded over her chest, watching him with open amusement. "Admit it, you love us."

"I love silence," he said flatly. "And I haven't had any since you both walked in."

Before Jinyang could open her mouth to sass back, Lan interjected, her voice laced with amused mischief as she leaned a hip against the windowsill, arms crossed in that effortless, elegant way that always meant she was about to stir the pot.

"Well, speaking of pests," she drawled, casually examining her nails before flicking a glance toward her son, "did I mention how very smitten ZGDX's board members have been lately?"

Sicheng stilled.

Just a fraction.

Lan smirked as she delivered the next line like a blade across silk.

"Especially CEO Bao. They've been asking quite a lot about when Tong Yao will be attending another board meeting."

That did it.

Sicheng's fingers went rigid where they rested near Yao's hand, and he finally lifted his head, eyes cutting toward his mother with a sharpness that would have made lesser men flinch.

Jinyang let out a choked laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she saw the expression on his face—a twitch in his temple, the narrowed amber stare, the unmistakable weight of territorial fury simmering just beneath that usually icy surface. "Oh no," she said, grinning ear to ear. "You did not just hit his possessive switch."

Lan's smirk deepened, clearly pleased. "It's adorable, isn't it? The stingy-ass oldest suddenly twitching at the mention of another man breathing in the direction of his precious Xiǎo tùzǐ."

"Mother," Sicheng growled lowly, voice already dipped in that lethal tone he usually reserved for corporate sabotage and unapproved marketing campaigns.

"What?" she said innocently. "I'm just relaying interest from the board. She's young, brilliant, strikingly articulate, and she had half the room scrambling to impress her without even realizing they were doing it. She didn't even try."

"She was there for one board meeting to see how a business can be run as she asked for my help." he muttered through gritted teeth. "Not to be paraded in front of investors."

Lan's eyes sparkled. "Didn't matter. She held the room without lifting her voice. One of them even called her a 'silver-spined siren of insight.'"

Jinyang wheezed.

Sicheng turned his head slowly, like a turret rotating in preparation for annihilation. "She's mine."

"Possessive much?" Jinyang teased.

"I'm not possessive," he snapped, though the sharpness in his eyes suggested otherwise.

Lan hummed, the picture of delight. "No, of course not. You're just the type who glares at anyone who looks too long at her wrist. Totally reasonable behavior."

Jinyang blinked, still grinning. "So what I'm hearing is, you're planning to have Bao replaced?"

"If he says one word to her that sounds like a compliment," Sicheng said, voice low and lethal, "he's getting reassigned to ZGDX's pet merchandise department."

"Ah yes," Lan said airily, "from CEO to 'Lead Executive of Da Bing's Collar Line.' Fitting."

Jinyang collapsed into the visitor chair in laughter.

And at the center of the chaos, nestled in the hospital bed and blissfully unaware, Yao slept on—completely unconscious to the fact that her fiercely possessive, CEO-dismantling boyfriend was already mentally preparing to take out half the board in the name of keeping the silver-spined siren of insight all to himself.

Lan's smug smirk didn't waver—at first. 

But the moment her son shifted, turning fully toward her with that slow, deliberate grace she'd taught him to wield like a weapon, her eyes narrowed just slightly. The twitch in his jaw, the flick of one brow, the deliberate tilt of his head—those were warning signs, and she knew them better than anyone.

"If you keep it up," Sicheng said coldly, his voice low and flat, the kind of tone that came right before he torched a boardroom into submission, "I'm going to tell that clingy, henpecked, love-sick husband of yours that a doctor here hit on you while you were waiting in the corridor."

Lan froze.

One elegant brow twitched. "That's a damn lie," she hissed, eyes flashing.

"I know," Sicheng replied smoothly. "But he won't."

"Oh my god." Jinyang gasped, eyes going wide with absolute delight. 

"Do you want him flying back early from his golf retreat?" Sicheng went on, voice still cool, still calm. "Do you want him showing up in his ugly linen suit, glaring at every man in a lab coat and asking if they've been looking at his wife?"

Lan opened her mouth, then shut it again as the full implications hit. The twitch in her temple returned. "I—he—he gets mopey," she snapped, now visibly on edge. "Sulky. And clinging. For days."

Sicheng didn't even blink. "He'll glue himself to your side like a barnacle. Sleep across the foot of your bed like a hound. Follow you into every meeting and whisper dramatic lines from wuxia novels."

"Okay, enough," Lan barked, now pointing a manicured finger in warning. "Don't you dare weaponize my husband's dramatics against me. I made you, remember."

Jinyang was full-on laughing now, clutching her side as she nearly doubled over in the visitor's chair. "Oh this is so much better than I hoped for."

"I will call him," Sicheng said, reaching for his phone with unholy calm. "I will tell him that a tall, muscular young doctor said something about how 'elegant you looked for a woman with a grown son.' He'll be back by midnight."

"You're bluffing." Lan's eyes narrowed, mouth drawn into a tight line of betrayal.

"Am I?"

The phone was in his hand.

Lan hissed. "You evil child."

Jinyang wheezed. "You're so screwed if he actually hears that."

Sicheng tilted his head again, his voice now low and laced with victory. "Then stop teasing me about my Xiǎo tùzǐ."

Lan glared. "You are such a petty, petty little snake."

"Comes from my mother," he said simply.

Lan exhaled sharply through her nose, turned, and muttered, "I should've raised a lawyer. Instead I raised a tyrant in sweatpants." And yet, as she crossed her arms with regal irritation and sat herself back down in the corner of the hospital room, she said nothing more. Because she knew damn well. If Lu Sicheng called her husband? That man would never leave her side again. And frankly, she wasn't in the mood to be stalked through hospital corridors by a 6'3" corporate CEO quoting tragic poetry and blocking every male nurse in sight.

Lan had just sat down, muttering under her breath about tyrants in sweatpants and the grave mistakes of motherhood, when her son—unbothered, composed, and infuriatingly smug—tilted his head slightly, his voice silk-laced with menace as he delivered the next blow without so much as glancing up from where his fingers idly smoothed the blanket over Yao's shoulder.

"You forget something, Mother," he said coolly, like he was commenting on the weather. "I am a lawyer."

Lan's eyes snapped back to him, already narrowing.

Sicheng's lips curved, just slightly. Not quite a smile. Not quite a warning. "That makes me a licensed tyrant," he continued, "with full academic credentials in dismantling opponents—in or out of court. And a particularly well-documented track record in closing hostile negotiations."

Jinyang choked on another laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth as she turned her back, shoulders shaking.

Lan lifted a single brow, her chin tilting in defiance. "And what exactly are you trying to imply now, oh dangerous little shark of mine?"

Sicheng finally looked up.

Straight at her.

And smiled.

"Just reminding you," he said with quiet satisfaction, "that Father would love to hear about the hospital's staff complimenting his wife's fanbase. Especially the younger ones. Didn't you say someone asked if you were an actress last week?"

Lan went perfectly still.

"Or was it influencer?" he mused aloud, his expression so dangerously composed it could only mean one thing—total war. "With those legs, wasn't that the compliment?"

Lan shot to her feet so fast her chair squeaked. "You absolute menace," she hissed. "You've always had your father wrapped around your finger and now you're using him as a human shield?"

"I prefer the term 'emotional WMD,'" Sicheng replied smoothly. "But yes."

Jinyang let out a wheeze, nearly doubling over in the chair beside Yao's bed.

Lan pointed a finger at her son, seething. "If you so much as text him—if you even breathe in the direction of his WeChat—he'll be on a plane within the hour. And you will be the one cuddling him when he sulks about fanboys flirting with his wife."

Sicheng nodded solemnly. "Then we understand each other."

Lan stared. Then groaned, pressing her hands to her temples. "I should've raised you to be a dentist."

"And deny the world this level of chaos?" Jinyang grinned. "Perish the thought."

Lan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I was promised a child, not a psychological warfare specialist, before sitting back down and waving her son off. "Fine. Keep your Little Boss Bunny," she grumbled. "But if I find your father sobbing in his robe because you started fan rumors again—you're dealing with him."

Sicheng just smirked.

He already won.

And his Xiǎo tùzǐ was still peacefully asleep.

Perfect.

The door creaked open with a quiet click, and in walked the attending physician, a tall man in his mid-thirties with the kind of clean-shaven, polished look that screamed prestige hospital poster boy. His coat was crisp, his clipboard tucked neatly beneath one arm, and his expression calm and professional—until his eyes caught sight of Lan.

Just a flicker.

But enough.

His gaze lingered, flicking over her elegant black ensemble, the composed lines of her posture, the unmistakable regality that wrapped around her like a designer shawl. A barely-there upward curl tugged at one corner of his mouth, appreciation glinting subtly behind his otherwise neutral mask before he politely cleared his throat and turned his attention to the patient. "Good afternoon," he said smoothly, voice even and warm as he moved to the side of Yao's bed, reaching for her chart and starting his routine checks. "Just a quick look at her vitals."

Lan, perfectly composed, didn't acknowledge the glance. She merely tilted her chin a fraction, her expression untouched.

But her son?

Oh, Sicheng noticed.

Still seated beside Yao's bed, his hand resting loosely in hers, he didn't say a word at first. Just lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate, toward his mother—an amused glint flashing in his sharp amber eyes as one brow arched ever so slightly.

No words were needed.

Not yet.

Lan felt the weight of it before she saw it—her son's smirk curling like smoke at the corner of her vision, that damn eyebrow raised in smug triumph. She turned her head slowly, her expression warning, her tone already edged in irritation. "Don't."

"I didn't say anything," Sicheng said, all innocence, though the curl of satisfaction in his voice said otherwise. "Just admiring how popular you are today, Mother."

Lan's jaw ticked. "I will throw this man out the window."

"I haven't done anything." the doctor muttered under his breath as he gently adjusted the IV line and scribbled something down.

"Exactly," Lan snapped.

Jinyang was once again trying not to laugh, her shoulders visibly shaking as she buried her face in her phone.

Sicheng just leaned back in his chair slightly, still holding Yao's hand, his voice low and smug. "Shall I text Father the update? I'm sure he'd love to hear how radiant you looked while—what was it again? Ah. Commanding the attention of medical professionals half your age."

Lan inhaled through her nose like a woman on the brink of homicide.

And Yao, still half-asleep, turned slightly under the blankets and mumbled groggily, "...stop flirting, everyone's loud…"

And that?

Was the final blow.

There was a beat of silence after Yao's soft, mumbled protest—stop flirting, everyone's loud—and then, as if her voice had tugged the last thread of sleep from her body, her lashes fluttered again. Her hazel eyes, slightly glassy from the lingering effects of medication and exhaustion, opened more fully this time, blinking blearily against the light.

Lan, Sicheng, and Jinyang all turned to her at once.

The moment Yao's gaze found the doctor still standing just beside the bed, clipboard in hand and a faint, polite smile playing at the edge of his lips, her expression changed. Her brow furrowed. Her head tilted slightly as her eyes flicked from the man's face… to Lan… then back again.

The confusion deepened.

Her cheeks flushed a faint pink as she tried to sit up, only to be gently pressed back by Sicheng's hand against her shoulder. Undeterred, she pointed one finger with exaggerated seriousness in the doctor's direction, her tone gravelly and scratchy from the fever but utterly sincere. "Why…" she croaked, pausing to clear her throat. "Why are you… flirting… with a married woman?"

Lan blinked.

The doctor froze mid-step.

Jinyang choked on air.

"I—what?" the doctor stammered, stunned.

Yao narrowed her eyes—or tried to. They came out more like a confused, squinting glare. "Don't think I didn't see you smiling at her," she rasped, eyes glassy, her voice still hoarse. "She's married. And that makes her off-limits. Aunt Lan doesn't need random hallway men looking at her like that."

Lan's lips parted. She looked absolutely blindsided.

Sicheng, however, was nearly shaking with suppressed laughter as he buried his face in the crook of his arm.

"I wasn't—" the doctor tried to explain, but Yao cut him off by waving that same finger, eyes serious despite her flushed face and medication haze.

"Nope. Nope. You don't get to smile at people's wives. I'll tell Yue to prank you. And he's creative." She nodded slowly, then slurred, "Once he filled a bathtub with shrimp. Real shrimp. Live ones."

Jinyang doubled over.

The doctor looked horrified.

"And," Yao added, now lifting her chin slightly and trying for her best stern, team captain tone, "if that doesn't work?" She slowly turned her glassy gaze toward Sicheng, blinking like a sleepy kitten before her voice dropped into a gravelly threat. "I'll ask Cheng-ge to handle you." She jabbed her finger once more in the man's direction for emphasis.

Sicheng, looking entirely too pleased with himself, leaned in toward her with a small smile as he whispered near her ear, "I would have done it anyway, beautiful."

Yao, still trying to look intimidating, gave a tiny, proud nod before her eyes slipped shut again and she muttered, "Good… s'not allowed to flirt with Aunt Lan…"

The room fell into stunned silence as the doctor slowly backed away toward the door like a man who had just narrowly escaped a courtroom sentence.

Lan, after a long pause, turned toward her son. Her eye twitched. "Do not say a word," she warned.

Sicheng raised both hands innocently.

But Jinyang, unable to hold back, grinned from ear to ear and declared, "I think we've just witnessed the rise of a new branch of the Bunny Protection Squad."

Lan sighed deeply and muttered, "She's drugged, sleep-deprived, and barely conscious—and still more terrifyingly loyal than half the board."

From her pillow, Yao whispered in a croaky voice, "I heard that…"

And all Lan could do was drop her face into her hands and mutter, "I'm adopting her, aren't I?"

A groggy murmur floated from the hospital bed, soft and scratchy and unmistakably indignant beneath the haze of fever and medication. "You can't adopt me…" Yao mumbled, her voice muffled against the pillow as she tried to shift beneath the blanket, her cheeks still pink from exhaustion and sleep, "...because I'm Cheng-ge's Intended..."

The room froze.

Sicheng stilled completely, amber eyes snapping down to her flushed face, his fingers pausing where they rested on her wrist.

Jinyang's jaw dropped as she blinked slowly, mouth opening in silent, stunned amusement.

Lan's head jerked up with a look that could only be described as horrified confusion, like a noblewoman being accused of scandal in a period drama.

Yao, utterly unaware of the chaos she had just dropped like a live grenade into the room, let out a tiny, breathy sigh and continued hoarsely, her tone mournful, like she was explaining quantum physics to a child. "If you adopt me… then it's like you're my mom… and then Cheng-ge would be my brother…" she paused, brows furrowing in genuine distress, "...and then we'd have to break up..."

Another pause.

Her lip trembled slightly.

"And that would make me sad."

The words, so sincere and unfiltered in her drugged haze, hung in the air like a guillotine made of marshmallows.

Sicheng choked on his own breath, half-laughing, half-melting into stunned silence as he stared down at her.

Lan just stood there blinking, her mouth working silently as she struggled to process what, exactly, she was supposed to do with that information.

"Okay, I take it back. She's not a Bunny. She's a walking fever-dream logic bomb." Jinyang wheezed and leaned against the visitor chair for support. 

Yao sniffled softly, eyes still closed, her hand curling into Sicheng's as she muttered one last line with a deep sigh of seriousness. "...no incest... only love…"

Sicheng, utterly unable to help himself, leaned forward and kissed her temple with infinite tenderness, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Don't worry, beautiful, I won't let anyone adopt you." he whispered, voice rich with suppressed amusement and affection. 

Lan groaned, finally collapsing into the chair at the far corner of the room and muttering into her hands, "This is why I don't do hospitals… or emotions… or fevers."

"And definitely not future daughters-in-law with ironclad moral codes about family trees," Jinyang added, still giggling.

From her pillow, Yao murmured with finality, "Bloodlines matter…"

And just like that, Lan knew her fate was sealed. She wouldn't be adopting the girl. But she was absolutely stuck with her and she would not have it any other way. She adored the girl more than anything in this world.

Lan sat very still for a moment, the chaos ebbing around her in soft ripples as Yao's sleepy logic lingered in the air like perfume—sweet, bewildering, and completely irresistible. Then, slowly, that sharp gleam returned to her dark eyes, and her lips curled into a smile far too composed to be innocent. Her son thought he'd won. How charming. She leaned forward just slightly in her chair, voice soft and deceptively sweet. "Yao-Yao, darling…"

A faint, sleepy hum came from the bed.

"Hmm?"

Lan's voice dipped into something laced with mischief and maternal calculation. "Cheng was being very rude to me earlier. Disobedient. Completely unreasonable. He said the most terrible things to his own mother."

There was a pause.

A rustle of blankets.

Then Yao shifted groggily, eyes still closed but her expression immediately crumpling into soft disapproval as she reached out and gave a vague, clumsy swat in Sicheng's direction—her palm patting at his shoulder until she found him and gave it a firm little tap, as if he were a misbehaving dog. "Cheng-ge..." she rasped, her voice low and hoarse but filled with a righteous pout. "Be nice to Aunt Lan…"

Sicheng stared at her in disbelief. "Yao-er." he began, voice flat, but she waved her fingers again like a queen dismissing his protest.

"She's pretty… and she loves me…" she mumbled, her lip wobbling slightly as her other hand tugged at the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself. "You gotta be nice…"

Jinyang completely lost it, slapping a hand over her mouth as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. "Oh my god, you've trained her."

"I didn't train her. I deserve her." Lan was beaming, the picture of satisfaction as she adjusted her sleeve.

"Are you seriously tattling on me to my fever-drunk Intended?" Sicheng sighed slowly, glaring up at the ceiling like the universe had betrayed him.

"She's emotionally honest in this state," Lan replied, utterly unrepentant. "It's like having a tiny, adorable lie detector with bunny cheeks and judicial authority."

"Cheng-ge, apologize to Aunt Lan…" Yao muttered again from beneath her blanket, one eye barely open now.

He looked down at her, at her flushed face and determined pout, at the fragile edge of sleep pulling her under again even as her tiny hand remained stubbornly curled around his. Then, sighing, he leaned toward her ear. "I'm going to remember this." he murmured.

Yao only gave a tired little sniff and replied, "'Kay... but say sorry first…"

Lan sat back in triumph. "Checkmate." she whispered.

Two days had passed since Yao had been discharged, her fever under control and her voice slowly returning to its usual sharp but soft cadence. She was curled up on her couch in a thick hoodie three sizes too big, her bare feet tucked under her as Da Bing guarded her lap and Xiao Cong wrestled with the drawstrings. Her cheeks still held the faint glow of lingering exhaustion, but her eyes were bright again, clear and curious, even if she didn't quite remember much about her stay in the hospital beyond vague dreams of scolding Sicheng and defending Aunt Lan from unseen threats.

Which, frankly, made the past two days delightfully perfect.

Lu Sicheng leaned against the wall near the window, his phone pressed to his ear as he watched his Xiǎo tùzǐ mumble under her breath about how annoying drawstrings were while Da Bing swatted Xiao Cong like the exhausted enforcer he was. And as he listened to the familiar voice of his father on the other end of the line, a slow, dangerous smirk curled across his face. "...So," his voice drawled, casual but pointed, "I was wondering if you wanted to come home early."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a mild grunt and a rustle of papers. "Why? Did something happen?"

Sicheng turned his gaze toward the girl on the couch, the way her platinum hair spilled across the oversized hoodie's collar, how her hazel eyes briefly lifted to him with that familiar sleepy trust before shifting back to the kitten curled beside her. "Yao is recovering here at the base," he said smoothly. "She's… important."

There was a beat of silence.

"Yao?" his father repeated.

"She's my Intended," Sicheng continued, voice steady and weighted with all the significance that came with the word in their family. "She's also the daughter of her."

More silence.

And then—

"Her," his father echoed, now sharper. "Lan's best friend?"

Sicheng allowed himself a breathless laugh. "The very one."

"And you didn't tell me sooner?"

"You've been in Kyoto Japan golfing and lecturing junior partners on how to tie a proper tie," he replied coolly. "Excuse me for not dragging you out of retirement immediately."

There was a pause.

Then a low chuckle.

"I'll be on the next flight."

Sicheng smiled. Just as planned. And then, like a man planting a beautiful, inevitable landmine, he dropped the final sentence in a perfectly timed murmur. "Oh. And, Baba?"

"Yes?"

"I saw one of the board members trying to flirt with Ma the other day."

Click.

Sicheng pulled the phone away and stared at it, satisfied as the call disconnected without another word.

From the couch, Yao looked up slowly, blinking. "Did you… just tattle?"

Sicheng crossed the room and sat beside her, pulling her gently into his side and pressing a kiss to her temple. "No, beautiful," he said with smug finality. "I just re-balanced the scales."

Across the room, Da Bing raised his head, gave an approving blink, and returned to sleep, as if the old guardian knew—

The war between mother and son?

Had only just begun.

Yao shifted again, carefully maneuvering beneath Da Bing's luxurious sprawl without disturbing the massive cat, her hazel eyes blinking slowly as she turned her head toward Sicheng. Her platinum hair, still a little tousled from sleep, fell over her shoulder as she fixed him with a look that hovered somewhere between suspicion and quiet dread. "Cheng-ge…"

He hummed in acknowledgment, still lazily scrolling through something on his phone with one arm looped loosely around her waist, his thumb tracing absentminded circles through the thick cotton of her hoodie.

"Did I…" she began hesitantly, "do anything embarrassing while I was sick?" At that, his hand stilled just for a breath, his thumb pausing mid-circle. She squinted. "That pause. I felt that pause."

Sicheng glanced at her with maddening calm, the faintest curl of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "You were feverish, sleep-deprived, and on medication. You said a lot of things."

She groaned softly, dragging her blanket over her face in resignation. "Oh no. That's worse than just admitting it. Did I hallucinate? Did I make you promise me takoyaki rights or something ridiculous?"

He chuckled under his breath, lowering the phone and shifting to face her more fully. "You didn't hallucinate," he said with an exaggerated calmness that immediately made her narrow her eyes, "and no, you didn't ask for takoyaki rights. Though I'd probably say yes if you did."

Yao peeked out from beneath the blanket, suspicious. "Then what did I say?"

Sicheng tilted his head slightly. "You were just very… vocal. About your priorities."

"…What does that mean?" she demanded, now pushing the blanket down entirely and sitting up straighter, ignoring Da Bing's grumble.

He offered a shrug, reaching out to smooth her hair down with the kind of affection that made her heart twist. "Nothing you need to be embarrassed about."

That was not reassuring.

"Cheng," she said sternly.

Still, he didn't give it away. Not the whole thing. He simply smirked, leaned back, and delivered the most neutral version of the truth. "You told my mother she wasn't allowed to adopt you," he said, tone casual as if discussing the weather.

Yao blinked. "Wait—what?"

"You said—and I quote—'Aunt Lan can't adopt me because I'm Cheng-ge's Intended, and if she adopts me, we can't get married, and that would make me sad.'"

Yao stared at him. Her face flushed immediately. "I... what?"

Sicheng just smiled faintly, clearly enjoying himself now. "You were very firm about it. You even muttered something about how that would be 'incest ."

Yao buried her face into his arm with a groan of pure mortification. "Oh my god." she whispered.

"She looked so offended," he added cheerfully. "It was beautiful."

"I want to die."

"No, you don't," he said, brushing her hair back again with too much tenderness for her to even pretend to be angry. "You want soup and cuddles."

She mumbled something unintelligible against his hoodie.

Sicheng leaned in close, lips brushing against the crown of her head. "You were perfect," he said softly. "And I'm not going to forget it. Not ever." And he wouldn't. Because even drugged, half-delirious, and drifting in and out of fever dreams, she'd chosen him—clearly, fiercely, with the kind of innocent certainty that made his heart clench and his possessiveness flare. She didn't remember. But he'd carry that moment for both of them.