Chapter 42: When the Storm Brings Family

Summary: The fever has broken, but peace is a fragile thing. With teasing, warnings, and declarations landing like grenades, the day spirals into chaos wrapped in affection. And when the most unexpected guest finally arrives, nothing catches fire—because it's already burning quietly beneath every laugh, every word, and every promise not to let go.

Chapter Forty-Two

The next morning dawned quiet, the base wrapped in a hush that was only ever found in the earliest hours—before the scrims began, before Rui started barking about schedules, and before Yue could open his mouth to stir chaos. But that silence shattered the second Yao appeared at the top of the stairs. She moved carefully, still in thick socks and one of Sicheng's oversized hoodies that all but swallowed her frame, her platinum hair brushed and loosely tied back, hazel eyes a touch bleary but more alert than they had been in days. She was on the mend. But still delicate. Still recovering. Still moving too damn much, in Sicheng's opinion. Which was why the second her foot touched the top stair, four pairs of eyes below clocked the movement—and one, in particular, narrowed.

Lu Sicheng stood at the foot of the stairs with his arms crossed and a look on his face like she was a porcelain doll trying to scale a cliff face with no harness. His gaze tracked every single one of her movements, from the cautious shift of her hand to the railing, to the slight wobble of her step, to the way she clutched the small blanket she'd brought down with her like a shield.

Across the living room, Lao Mao elbowed Lao K and nodded toward the scene. "He's doing it again."

Lao K didn't even look up from his coffee and breakfast sandwhich. "He hasn't stopped since she got sick."

"He's like a hawk. But worse. Like... a mother hawk that would maul a raccoon for breathing near her."

"I feel bad for anyone who actually tries to date her," Yue muttered from the couch, scrolling on his phone. "Wait. Right. He is the one dating her. Never mind. I feel bad for her."

"Shut up," Pang whispered. "She sneezed once yesterday and he made her sit down and drink ginger tea like it was holy water."

They all watched as Yao finally reached the bottom stair, visibly proud of herself for doing so without swaying. She gave them a small, sleepy wave—then moved with slow, deliberate steps toward her desk.

Sicheng hovered. Not obviously. Not technically. But anyone who had lived with him this long could see the way he followed behind her at just the right distance, eyes fixed on her back like if he blinked, she'd collapse again. His entire posture screamed support unit in permanent standby.

She reached her desk.

He didn't breathe.

She pulled the chair out.

His hand almost twitched forward.

And when she sat?

Only then did he allow himself to exhale.

With practiced ease, she placed Xiao Cong into his small, fleece-lined cat bed beside her monitor. The gray-striped kitten stretched once, blinked at her with lazy contentment, then immediately curled back up into a ball like he'd claimed the desk permanently. A second later, Da Bing vaulted onto the cat tree stationed beside the desk like the regal sentinel he was, curling on the top tier with his tail flicking once, his blue eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to get close.

The boys watched it all unfold like a wildlife documentary.

"She's got her cats posted like armed guards," Yue murmured. "No one's getting near her."

"Between the cats and him?" Pang muttered, jerking his thumb at Sicheng. "She doesn't need security. She is security."

Sicheng, arms crossed once again, now stationed beside her desk as if it was part of a fortified bunker, spoke without looking at any of them. "Say one more word, and I'll start docking snack privileges."

There was a long beat of silence.

Yue opened his mouth.

Lao K kicked his shin.

Yao, oblivious to the commentary, booted up her computer and reached for her tea, mumbling a soft thank you to Sicheng when he silently slid it closer to her hand. Her voice was rough, her posture still tired, but her smile—small, fleeting, and warm—was all he needed to see to stay exactly where he was.

Watching.

Guarding.

Hovering.

Just the way he preferred.

Yao squinted at her screen, tea still warm in her hands, one foot tucked beneath her on the chair as Da Bing snored lightly atop the cat tree and Xiao Cong swatted lazily at the hanging mouse toy on his fleece bed. She had just wanted to check something on Weibo, nothing serious—just a glance at a data thread someone had posted about the last match and perhaps a few tagged clips from their fan page.

But her scrolling came to an abrupt stop.

She blinked once.

Then again.

Her brows furrowed.

Lifting her head, she tilted her face toward the man standing just off to her right, his body language still wound tight in that protective coil that had been constant since she returned to her apartment. Her hazel eyes sharpened. "Cheng-ge."

Sicheng didn't look up from the report in his hand. "Hm?"

"Why is Hang Suk—" she began, her voice edged with confusion, "Lee Kun Hyeok's younger brother and the Jungler-slash-Captain for FNC—saying he's going to win against ZGDX this Saturday and dedicate the win to me?"

That got his attention.

Sicheng's head came up slowly.

The entire room went still.

Yao, already flustered, held up her phone, waving the open Weibo post like it burned. "He tagged me. He wrote, 'Can't wait to take down ZGDX this weekend and dedicate the win to someone who deserves the spotlight. This one's for you, little Data Analysis.' " Her voice cracked slightly. "What does that even mean?! I've never even met him!"

Across the room, Lao K stopped mid-stretch.

Lao Mao dropped his dumbbell.

Yue blinked slowly from the beanbag, mouth already twitching with anticipation. "Oh no…"

Sicheng was silent. He didn't yell. He didn't even swear. He simply set the report down with slow, deliberate precision and reached into his pocket, withdrawing his phone like a man preparing to draw a sword.

Da Bing growled lowly.

Xiao Cong hissed.

"Wait," Pang said, backing up like someone witnessing the beginnings of a volcanic eruption. "Wait, wait, wait, Cheng—don't kill anyone."

Yao looked between them in pure bafflement. "I'm not even playing this match! I'm not a player, I'm just the Data Analysis! Why is some random Jungler dedicating anything to me?"

"You're not random to him." Sicheng muttered, thumbs already flying.

Yue leaned toward Pang and whispered, "Welp. There goes FNC's lineup. Moment of silence for Hang Suk."

Then, before anyone could stop him, Sicheng hit send.

To: Hierophant From: Chessman

Control your little brother. Or I will. If he so much as steps within five feet of my Xiǎo tùzǐ, you'll be brotherless before the match even starts. I'm not joking. Fix it.

He hit send.

Then set the phone down with care, turned back toward Yao, and reached out to tuck a strand of her platinum hair behind her ear with a gentleness that barely concealed the dark storm now simmering behind his eyes. 

Yao blinked up at him. "You're not… mad at me, right?"

His gaze softened just slightly, thumb brushing the side of her neck. "Of course not," he murmured. "But someone clearly mistook silence for permission."

Da Bing growled again, eyes narrowed in feline judgment.

"Is this normal?" Yao asked, looking around as if someone might offer her reason.

"Yup," Yue muttered, already typing something into his notes app. "Gonna call this one: 'Death by Brother Complex.'" Yue looked across the room at Pang and muttered, "Well. Hang Suk's funeral arrangements will be tasteful, I'm sure."

And somewhere in China, Lee Kun Hyeok opened his phone, read the message from his best friend, and let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of his life. " Why is my brother such a pain in the ass… "

It was late Friday afternoon, and the base was unusually quiet—mostly because Sicheng had banished the others to the training room after Yue nearly spilled hot ramen across his keyboard. Now, alone in the main lounge, headset around his neck and mouse clicking with controlled precision, he was deep into a ranked match, golden eyes locked onto the screen as his fingers danced fluidly across the keys.

Da Bing was curled near the window, sunbathing. Xiao Cong was somewhere under the couch attacking an old sock like it had personally offended him. Yao, still under strict rest orders, was upstairs napping, and all was, for once, calm. 

Until his phone vibrated beside his keyboard. He glanced at it once, saw Mother, and smirked. Without hesitation, he pressed speaker and kept playing. "Ma."

There was silence on the line for exactly half a second.

Then—

"You absolute little bastard," came Lan's voice, sharp and vibrating with fury. "Do you know what you've done?"

Sicheng leaned back slightly in his chair, still effortlessly controlling his champion with one hand as he spoke. "No, but judging by your tone, it's something excellent."

"He's home."

"Who?"

"Your father."

"Ah." Sicheng smirked again, lazily dragging his cursor across the map.

"You told him someone flirted with me in a board meeting, Lu Sicheng!"

"I never said that exactly. I just mentioned you were popular." His voice was calm, measured, the tone he reserved for both courtroom and PR warfare…as he was covering his ass form his mother. "He drew his own conclusions."

"He flew in last night," Lan growled. "He skipped the board meeting in Tokyo. He's been moody and dramatic and clingy since the moment he walked in the door. Do you know what he said to our chef this morning?"

"What?" Sicheng tilted his head, mildly curious. 

"He said he couldn't even eat breakfast until he knew I hadn't smiled at anyone else. Then he followed me to the garden like I was a flight risk!"

From the training room, Yue's muffled voice called out, "Is that Ma? Is she mad?"

"I'm not mad, I'm being haunted by a lovesick overgrown teenager in a CEO's body!" Lan snapped. "He's been quoting Tang dynasty poetry at me for the past three hours!"

Sicheng's lips twitched. "I warned you," he said smoothly. "You tease me about my Bunny? I remind Baba he still thinks you're the goddess who ruined his life—in the best way."

Lan's voice dropped into something flat and dangerous. "You will pay for this."

"Oh, I am," he said, flicking his mouse to secure a kill. "Every minute of this has been worth it."

There was a pause on the other end. Then a long, slow inhale. "I raised a serpent," she muttered darkly. "A beautiful, emotionally repressed serpent with control issues and too many resources."

"You raised a lawyer," he corrected, finishing off the enemy's jungle camp. "The rest came naturally."

Another pause.

"...He's asking when he can meet Yao."

Sicheng stilled for just a breath. "What did you say?"

"I told him after the match," Lan said simply. "So you have until then to warn her. Or to move her into a different country. Your choice."

And with that, the line went dead.

Sicheng stared at his phone for a beat, lips twitching, then calmly reached for his water bottle, took a long sip, and muttered, "Well. That escalated beautifully."

The moment the call disconnected and silence reclaimed the room, it was broken—unsurprisingly—by the sharp sound of a sliding door and the unmistakable thud of socked feet crossing the polished wood floor in a determined march.

Yue, hoodie askew and expression twisted in a perfect blend of horror and awe, stalked in from the training room, a protein bar still clutched in one hand as he pointed dramatically at his older brother. "You didn't," he said, eyes wide with disbelief. "Tell me you didn't just unleash Baba on Ma."

Sicheng didn't even glance up from his monitor as he executed a flawless disengage from a collapsing team fight, his voice smooth as silk. "Define 'unleash.'"

"Unleash," Yue repeated, gesturing wildly with the half-open protein bar. "As in, told our emotionally catastrophic, Tang-poetry-reciting, stalks-Ma-through-her-own-house-because-someone-smiled-at-her husband, that someone flirted with her in a board meeting?"

"He's been gone for three weeks. It was time for him to come home." Sicheng replied calmly, flicking across the screen as he locked in a late-game Baron. 

"Yeah, and now Ma's going to fake a business trip to Greenland just to get five minutes of breathing room!"

Sicheng finally looked up, one brow arching with cold amusement. "She called me, Yue. She started it. She tattled on me to Yao while she was delirious with fever. She's lucky I didn't tell Baba that one of the nurses brought her tea with a wink."

Yue stared at him. "You are demonic."

"I'm methodical," Sicheng corrected, dry and unrepentant. "And she's the one who spent three hours calling me soft and teasing me about my 'hovering.' This is balance."

Yue ran a hand down his face. "Okay. So just to recap: you've now got Yao flustered over a Jungler she's never met, Ma hiding in her own house from Baba, and Baba, a fully-grown apex predator in Gucci, coming back with a vengeance and a handwritten sonnet."

Sicheng clicked one final time and closed his match window, leaning back in his chair with absolute serenity. "And your point?"

Yue slowly lowered himself onto the arm of the couch, blinking. "You are terrifying."

Sicheng smiled faintly. "Thank you."

Yue held up the protein bar, looked at it, then back at him. "I'm gonna need something stronger than this to survive this weekend."

From the couch where she sat wrapped in her favorite soft blanket with Da Bing stretched across her legs and Xiao Cong sleeping soundly in his fleece bed at her feet, Yao blinked up at the brothers with a puzzled frown. She had only half been listening, still sipping at her second cup of ginger tea, her hazel eyes scanning a screen full of data she'd been quietly reviewing for Coach Kwon. But the moment Yue started muttering about Tang poetry, sonnets, and needing something stronger than a protein bar, her focus had narrowed sharply.

Then she caught it—their father.

And her stomach gave the tiniest flip.

Yao set her cup down with delicate care and tilted her head, voice soft and tinged with that unique brand of wary logic only she could pull off. "…How bad can he be?" she asked slowly, her gaze flicking between the brothers. "I mean… he loves Aunt Lan. Right? That doesn't sound bad. That sounds…" she paused, her brows knitting, "…devoted."

Sicheng didn't speak.

Not right away.

Instead, he gave Yue a look. A single, silent look that all but said go ahead—explain.

Yue let out a long-suffering breath, flopped fully onto the couch beside her, and looked at her with the gravity of a man who had seen war. "It's not that he's bad," Yue began, his voice low like he was relaying classified intelligence. "It's that he's… intense."

Yao frowned deeper. "Like Sicheng?"

"Worse," Yue said immediately.

Sicheng didn't even argue.

Yue leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, his tone serious. "Our dad is the reason the phrase 'death by devotion' probably exists. He's a tactical genius, built empires, has destroyed men in courtrooms with nothing but a question and a pen—and the second Ma walks into the room? He turns into this sulky, dramatic, hovering wreck who'll write handwritten poems and quote ancient romance texts if she doesn't look at him for two hours."

Yao blinked. "That's…"

"He follows her room to room. Once?" Yue pointed at Sicheng. "He legit sat in Ma's yoga class because someone tried to adjust her form and he didn't like it."

"She's his entire world," Sicheng finally added, tone perfectly even, as if discussing a weather forecast. "Always has been."

Yao swallowed. "Oh…"

"So when my darling idiot brother," Yue said, waving a hand at the unbothered man across the room, "told Baba that someone might have flirted with Ma at a board meeting? He flew home early. Skipped a board meeting. Probably came back quoting Confucius."

Yao's mouth parted in soft horror. "He's here? In Shenzhen?"

Sicheng nodded once. "He wants to meet you."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Yao slowly, carefully picked up her cup of tea again and held it close to her face like a shield. "…And I can't back out of this meeting because…?"

"Because he already considers you family," Lan's voice floated from the hallway as she entered the lounge, her heels soft against the floor. "And if you try to run, he'll find you. He once located me in Tibet after I left him for three days."

Yao turned even paler. "Oh."

Lan gave her a soft, amused look, then crossed the room and brushed a hand gently through her platinum hair. "Don't worry, Yao-Yao. He'll adore you."

Yue made a strangled sound.

Lan smirked. "Which is, of course, the real problem."

And Lu Sicheng?

He just leaned against the wall and smiled darkly to himself, arms crossed. Because in less than twenty-four hours, the man who loved his wife like the sun had only ever risen for her. Would finally meet the quiet, brilliant, danger-magnet of a girl, who had stolen his son's cold, lethal heart.

Yue blinked, head jerking toward his mother as if he were suddenly realizing she was in the room, "The hell—" he started, brow furrowing as he scrambled halfway to his feet. "How did you get here so fast?"

Lan's eyes snapped to her youngest like a hawk spotting a twitch in the underbrush. "Language." she bit out, sharp as the stiletto heels on her feet.

Yue flinched, raising both hands as if fending off an invisible slap. "Sorry, sorry. But seriously, weren't you just—like—in the city center this morning? Or possibly—I don't know—being emotionally waterboarded by Dad's poetry again?"

Lan's eyes narrowed with regal precision. She didn't even blink as she adjusted her blazer with one hand and crossed the lounge like she owned the base. "I was already on my way here," she said coolly. "After I escaped from your father."

"Escaped?" Yue echoed, looking mildly horrified.

"Yes," Lan said simply, her tone deadly dry. "I distracted him with a new investment prospect and a five-minute head start. By the time he finishes vetting it, I'll be halfway through a bottle of wine in your Captain's kitchen."

Yao, still curled under her blanket with wide hazel eyes, looked from Lan to Yue and back again. "You… really ditched him?"

"Yao-Yao, your future father-in-law is many things. Brilliant. Strategic. Rich. Devoted beyond reason." Lan exhaled as she sank elegantly into the chair opposite her.

A long pause.

Then, flatly—

"But also a clingy, overgrown man-child who thinks lying across my lap and quoting Song lyrics at me for hours on end counts as marital bonding."

Sicheng, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and the faintest glint of a smirk curling at his lips, offered no sympathy.

Yue, on the other hand, flopped back into the couch with the dazed look of someone experiencing war flashbacks. "So what I'm hearing is… you got here by outrunning love poetry."

Lan gave him a regal nod. "Correct. And I would do it again."

"You're incredible." Yao stared at her in awe, lips parting slightly. 

Lan gave her a rare, real smile, one hand lifting to smooth her hair again with gentle fingers. "I've had a lot of practice, sweetheart."

From the other side of the room, Sicheng finally spoke, his voice low and amused. "You know he's going to track your location the second he realizes the wine cabinet is untouched."

Lan didn't even flinch. "That gives me twenty minutes," she replied smoothly, "and I plan to spend every single one of them convincing Yao not to run when he shows up."

Yao swallowed hard.

Da Bing growled again.

Xiao Cong meowed.

And Yue, pale as a sheet, muttered under his breath, "I'm so glad I'm the younger sibling. No matchmaking pressure. No inheritance expectations. I'll just quietly marry a librarian and move to the mountains."

Lan didn't even look at him. "You'll marry whoever your brother tells you to if you want to keep that credit card."

Yue groaned. "You people are monsters."

And Lan, smiling faintly, leaned back in her chair and lifted her tea with perfect grace. "We're Lu family, darling. It's practically the same thing."

Yao, still nestled under her blanket and halfway through her mug of tea, blinked slowly at the exchange unraveling before her eyes—the sharpness of Lan's voice, the mortified squawking of Yue, and Sicheng's silent, smug approval of all chaos not directly caused by him.

Then, without thinking—perhaps because her filter hadn't fully rebooted after her fever, or maybe because she'd grown far too comfortable around these lunatics—Yao tilted her head and blurted out, with all the sincerity and soft confusion of someone genuinely trying to clarify a timeline, "But… I thought Yue was dating Lee Kun Hyeok."

The room went silent.

Completely.

Utterly.

Da Bing opened one blue eye, clearly offended by the sudden drop in noise.

Yue froze mid-sip of his protein shake, eyes wide as they snapped to her, the straw still between his lips.

Sicheng turned slowly, amber eyes narrowing with sharp interest.

Lan—who had just taken a graceful sip of her tea—paused, her hand still elegantly lifted, and arched a single, glacial eyebrow.

Yao, now realizing she had clearly detonated a conversational grenade, blinked once and pressed her mug tighter to her chest as if she could vanish behind it. "I mean…" she continued cautiously, "...last week, after practice? I saw them in the garden area between both of our bases. They were kissing. Like, full-on mouth kissing."

Yue inhaled his protein shake.

Coughed.

Choked.

Thrashed.

Lan didn't even flinch as she calmly handed him a napkin and said, "Well. That explains why he has refused every match I have tried to make for him."

"No, no, no—" Yue wheezed, coughing so hard he nearly slid off the couch. "That's not—we weren't—he just—!"

Yao frowned. "He had his hand on your waist."

"He always does that!" Yue cried, flailing. "He's Korean! It's a thing!"

"He kissed your mouth, Yue." she replied flatly.

Sicheng cleared his throat, his voice a deep, slow rumble as he leaned in like a predator circling blood in the water. "Is this why he keeps texting you to remind you to drink water and calling you hyung with sparkles in his eyes?"

Yue looked like he was about to combust. "He—he calls everyone hyung!"

Lan sipped her tea again and, without breaking eye contact, said calmly, "He calls me Mother-in-law in every Christmas card."

"THAT'S A JOKE!" Yue exploded, throwing a cushion toward them.

Jinyang, who had just walked in with a smoothie, paused in the doorway and took in the chaos before casually sipping through her straw and nodding. "Took you long enough to find out."

Yue turned to her with betrayal scrawled across every feature. "You knew?!"

Jinyang shrugged. "He asked me for skincare tips and how to impress you with handmade rice cakes. What did you think was happening?"

Yue slumped into the couch like he'd been defeated in open combat.

Yao blinked, cheeks slightly pink. "So… you are dating him?"

Yue covered his face with both hands and groaned.

Sicheng, victorious as always, smirked as he stood and walked past, patting Yue's shoulder with a brutal lack of pity. "Better brush up on your Korean wedding customs, little brother," he murmured. "Sounds like you've already been claimed."

Lan, sipping her tea, smiled faintly and added, "He's cute. I approve."

Yue let out a soft, pained "Why are all of you like this…" as Xiao Cong curled up beside him and Da Bing stared with the judgment of a thousand ancestors.

Jinyang, still calmly sipping her smoothie as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb and watched it explode across the lounge, turned her attention back to the bundled form of her best friend nestled on the couch. Her expression softened instantly, the gleam of amusement in her eyes dimming into quiet concern. "Alright, enough with Yue's love life," she said, brushing her long braid over her shoulder and moving to perch lightly on the armrest beside Yao. "How are you feeling, bao-bei?"

Yao, still curled beneath the oversized hoodie and blanket combo, blinked up at her with tired but steady hazel eyes. Her voice, though still a touch rough, held more strength now. "Better. Tired. Still get dizzy if I move too fast." She paused to sip her tea again before adding with a faint grimace, "Sicheng won't let me walk to the kitchen unsupervised."

Sicheng, standing nearby with his arms crossed, didn't even deny it. He just hummed low in agreement, as if escorting her five feet across the room was part of standard security protocol.

Jinyang smiled fondly, then reached out to squeeze Yao's blanket-covered knee. "Good. Rest. Drink your tea. Let your overgrown dragon play nursemaid." Her voice dropped slightly as she added, "You scared me, you know."

Yao gave a tiny, guilty smile.

Then Jinyang leaned in, her voice shifting into something more mischievous, her eyes gleaming again. "Oh—and by the way—Hang Suk? Has been dealt with."

Yao blinked. "Dealt with…?"

Jinyang grinned. "Let's just say Kun Hyeok and I had a little talk with FNC's miniature Captain Casanova. A very clear, very pointed talk. I told him if he so much as breathes in your direction again, we're letting Sicheng off the leash."

Sicheng looked entirely too pleased.

Yue groaned. "Why is violence always the answer in this house?"

"Because it works." Lan replied serenely without missing a beat.

Jinyang rolled her eyes. "Hang Suk's got that delusional golden retriever energy. He swears he saw you once at an event and decided you were his 'inspiration.'" She paused, wrinkling her nose. "He even posted some nonsense about dedicating a win to you."

Yao's cheeks flushed instantly, her hands tightening around her mug. "I saw that… I thought maybe I was hallucinating again."

"Nope," Jinyang said, voice dry. "Unfortunately, that was real."

Sicheng's eyes darkened. "He try anything else?"

"Not after I reminded him that Kun Hyeok could blacklist him from half the pro teams in Asia," she replied sweetly. "And if that didn't work, you'd probably introduce him to Da Bing. Or your steel toed boots."

Sicheng grunted, clearly satisfied.

Jinyang winked at Yao. "You've got an entire war council now. Use us."

Yao, flustered but deeply touched, leaned into her best friend's side and whispered with faint amusement, "Do I get a sword?"

Sicheng answered from behind them, voice low and certain. "You don't need one. You've got me."

The knock at the door was unexpected.

So much so, that the entire room stilled—chopsticks mid-air, tea mugs halfway raised, and Sicheng's hand pausing over the takeout bag he was about to open. Everyone exchanged a look, silently confirming that no one, absolutely no one, had mentioned expecting visitors.

Yue blinked. "Did someone forget to tell Rui we ordered food again?"

Sicheng moved first, his expression unreadable as he crossed the space and pulled the door open.

And then froze.

Standing just beyond the threshold, framed neatly by the cool light spilling from the hallway, was Lu Sheng. Broad-shouldered, commanding even in his casual dark slacks and perfectly pressed dress shirt, his presence filled the doorway with the weight of unshakable authority and generations of Lu family legacy. His eyes—dark, intelligent, and sharp with perceptive focus—immediately narrowed the second they landed on his eldest son.

"You told me over the phone during our conversation…." Lu Sheng said simply, voice smooth but lined with something cold and clipped. "someone was flirting with your mother."

Sicheng stiffened. "I meant it as a joke."

"A joke that cost me a board meeting and an international call. Where is your mother?"

Lan stood from her chair with a sigh, brushing her sleeves down as if she'd been expecting this moment even though no one had known he would come. "She's here," she said, stepping calmly into view. "And if you must know, I am not being harassed by wandering doctors or besotted board members."

Lu Sheng's expression didn't soften. His eyes flicked to her. "You left the house without telling me."

"You were suffocating me with a three-volume anthology of love poetry and wouldn't let me finish my breakfast."

"I was expressing devotion."

"You were quoting Song dynasty funeral verses while trying to braid my hair."

Lu Sheng frowned, clearly unrepentant. "It was symbolism."

Lan exhaled slowly, then with a flick of her wrist and the ease of someone redirecting a hurricane, gestured just behind her son's broad shoulder. "If you're quite finished, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Yao, halfway behind Sicheng with one hand gripping the hem of his hoodie, went completely still. Her hazel eyes widened as she blinked up at the man now staring directly at her. She swallowed hard.

Lan's voice softened, warm but carefully measured. "This is Tong Yao."

There was a pause. A heartbeat of complete stillness.

Then slowly, with cheeks flushed and her voice barely audible, Yao peeked out from behind Sicheng's side and stammered, "H-Hello… it's nice to meet you, sir…"

Lu Sheng's gaze shifted. An unreadable expression flickered across his face. Then something broke—some rigid wall of formality fractured the moment he took in her hesitant posture, the flush on her cheeks, the nervous way she clung to his son like the warmth of his presence was her shield. His entire face softened. "You're Tong Yao," he repeated gently, stepping forward.

Yao squeaked, cheeks flushed scarlet, eyes wide as a large pair of arms wrapped gently—so gently—around her shoulders and drew her into a hug that was somehow both secure and reverent.

"Look at you," Lu Sheng cooed, his voice low and warm with wonder. "You're just like Lan described. An adorable, skittish little bunny."

Yao froze.

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Sicheng scowled at his father with narrowed eyes.

Lan facepalmed.

Jinyang wheezed behind her smoothie.

Yue coughed into his sleeve to hide the full-body laughter threatening to escape.

Yao, red from forehead to collarbone, finally managed a strangled squeak. "T-Thank you…?"

Lu Sheng pulled back just enough to cup her face lightly, as if she were spun from silk. "You are perfect," he said simply. "And if my son does not treat you as such every day of his life, I will disown him and adopt you myself."

Yao blinked. Then promptly hid behind Sicheng again, like a squirrel ducking into its burrow.

Sicheng, barely holding in a groan, rubbed at his face.

"I told you," Yue stage-whispered. "Tang Dynasty level drama."

And somewhere from under the blanket she had dragged over her face, Yao mumbled, "…This is worse than being sick…"

Lu Sheng had already been seated for nearly twenty minutes, his presence somehow managing to shift the entire atmosphere of the room without effort, as though his very existence came with gravity. 

Lan sat beside him with the same practiced elegance she always carried, a faint smirk on her lips as she smoothly directed the conversation around the dinner table while the rest of the team slowly relaxed—if cautiously—into the surreal realization that this was the man who had raised Lu Sicheng.

 It was only when the dishes had begun to settle between them and most of the nervous energy had faded into something closer to warm amusement that Lu Sheng, now sipping from a delicate cup of jasmine tea, turned his gaze toward the young woman still tucked subtly at Sicheng's side. Yao, as ever, looked like she was trying to fold herself into her hoodie, her platinum hair acting as a partial veil as she focused on tearing apart a steamed bun with far more precision than necessary.

"So, Tong Yao," Lu Sheng began with calm, practiced ease, his voice carrying the sort of warmth that was deceptive in how easily it could slide into something colder. "Lan tells me you're defending your dissertation soon—Data Analytics with a specialization in E-Sports Strategy, wasn't it?"

Yao blinked. Once. Then twice. The entire table froze mid-motion. Even Da Bing, from his spot curled against her hip on the bench, lifted his head.

Yue nearly dropped his spoon. Sicheng's brow twitched. Pang, halfway through stuffing a dumpling into his mouth, missed.

Lan's eyes narrowed—subtle, but sharp. "Lu Sheng…"

But the man didn't stop. 

"I read that paper of yours last week," he added with the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather, still facing Yao. "The one you submitted to the International Gaming Metrics Symposium in Shanghai. Short but sharp. Your methodology on predictive pathing and role-dependent decision clustering was very well-argued, though I personally think your conclusion could've used a few more pages to breathe."

Yao made a soft choking sound.

Silence followed.

Not the awkward kind.

Not even the stunned kind.

It was the kind of silence that came from impact, from the sudden realization that something massive had just been revealed and absolutely none of them had known it.

"…Wait," Yue finally croaked, eyes wide as saucers as he leaned forward. "What paper?!"

Lao Mao looked like someone had short-circuited his brain. "Hold up—published? You got something published?!"

Sicheng turned, very slowly, his amber eyes burning a hole through the top of Yao's head as she ducked behind her hair like she could pretend his father hadn't just detonated a truth bomb in the middle of dinner. His voice was soft, deadly calm. "You submitted a paper to an international symposium," he said flatly, "and you didn't think to mention it?"

"I—" Yao's voice came out strangled, caught somewhere between flustered and mortified. "I didn't think it was important! It wasn't a full publication—just a short conference paper, a side project based on one of my unused chapters from the dissertation draft. I wasn't even sure it'd be accepted!"

"You wrote and submitted a paper," Lao K repeated, staring, "on OPL player behavior clustering—and just… casually forgot to mention it?"

"It was only ten pages," Yao muttered weakly.

"Only ten pages," Yue echoed in mock horror. "We've known people who cried over four!"

"Why am I finding out about this from my father?" Sicheng muttered, shooting a dark look at the older man who was very much enjoying the chaos he'd just caused.

Lu Sheng, still calm as ever, hummed into his tea. "If she's going to be part of this family, she might as well get used to being recognized for her intelligence. You always were the brawn."

"You—" Sicheng's voice died in his throat as Lan cleared her throat, reaching out and placing a deceptively gentle hand over her husband's.

"Dear," she said sweetly, her eyes glinting with warning. "Maybe next time, let her tell them herself."

Lu Sheng only arched a brow. "You didn't say it was a secret."

"It wasn't a secret," Yao whimpered behind her hands, now practically horizontal in her seat out of sheer embarrassment. "It just… wasn't something I wanted to make a big deal about…"

Pang groaned dramatically. "And this is why we never win the 'whose team has the smartest member' argument at sponsor dinners. You're out here casually publishing damn symposium papers, and we're over here trying to remember if we washed our jerseys last week!"

And as the table dissolved into laughter and teasing, as the tension evaporated into warm pride and chaos, Sicheng—quietly, calmly—reached over, brushed his fingers against Yao's, and leaned in just far enough for only her to hear. "…I'm proud of you, Wǔ xiān."

And for all her embarrassment, all her denial, all her flustered resistance—those words undid her entirely. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Because her fingers curled back around his. Tightly.

Lu Sheng only nodded again and muttered, more to himself than anyone, "Finally. One of my children made a sound choice."

"I'm still single," Yue chirped unhelpfully.

"You kiss Kun Hyeok in the gardens between the bases," Lan deadpanned.

"I said that was a misunderstanding!"

But no one heard him.

Because Yao, still tucked under Sicheng's arm, was now looking at Lu Sheng like she was trying to understand how she had just been so thoroughly welcomed into a dynasty with the power of quiet intellect and one dissertation.

And Lu Sheng?

He leaned back in his chair, smiled to himself, and said mildly, "Don't worry, Tong Yao. I only have one rule: take care of him. And if he ever makes you cry, tell me. I will set our demonic little brat straight."

Sicheng's eyes snapped open. "What."

"After all," Lu Sheng said casually, "you're clearly the only person in this house with the emotional intelligence to run it."

The laughter was still fading when Lan stood with practiced grace, smoothing down the front of her cream-colored blouse, every movement precise and elegant as always. Lu Sheng followed, adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal-grey dress shirt as he rose from his seat beside her, fully expecting the moment to shift into its usual composed farewell. 

He was wrong.

"Oh," Lan said lightly, her voice deceptively pleasant as she retrieved her coat from the back of her chair and slipped it on, one fluid motion after another. "And before I forget—since you seem to enjoy causing mayhem over tea and dinner conversations…" She paused just long enough to turn her head toward her husband, dark eyes sharp and lined with ice. "You can sleep in the pool house for the next three nights."

The room went still.

Yue, who had just gotten off the floor after his earlier dramatics, stopped mid-rise and blinked.

Sicheng's brows shot up.

Even Da Bing looked vaguely intrigued, flicking his tail once in judgment.

Lu Sheng tilted his head ever so slightly, confusion creasing his otherwise unreadable expression. "Darling, surely you're not still upset—"

"You humiliated your son," she cut in smoothly, "you ambushed our future daughter-in-law—who is still recovering from illness, I might add—and you broadcasted a private academic accomplishment without first checking to see if she'd even told the people closest to her."

"I complimented her—"

"You blindsided her," Lan replied crisply. "And let's not forget you started the evening by accusing me of being flirted with and tracked me across the city because of your possessive jealous streak."

"That was concern—"

"That," she said, pulling on her gloves one finger at a time, "was theatrics, and you know it."

Lu Sheng opened his mouth, closed it, and then sighed. "The pool house, Lan? Really?"

Lan gave a single, satisfied nod as she smoothed her hair behind her ear and reached for her purse. "You like the koi fish. They'll be good company."

"They're cold-blooded."

"So are you, apparently."

Jinyang, sitting off to the side with a bowl of rice and thoroughly enjoying the show, muttered behind her chopsticks, "This is better than every drama I've seen this year."

Sicheng cleared his throat and didn't even attempt to hide his smirk as he leaned back on the couch beside Yao, who was blinking wide-eyed at the exchange as though witnessing a duel between nobility in an ancient imperial court.

"Lan," Lu Sheng tried once more, this time more softly, leaning just a little closer, "I took a didi here.."

Lan lifted a brow without looking at him. "And now you ride in one by yourself back to the pool house. I'll call Mako and have him send a car." She turned to Yao then, her entire demeanor shifting in a breath to something warm and affectionate. "Feel better soon, Yao-Yao. And next time, tell us about your brilliance before he gets the chance to weaponize it."

Yao, still red-faced but trying not to smile, nodded quickly. "Yes, Aunt Lan."

Lan bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before looking pointedly at her son. "Take care of her."

"I always do," Sicheng replied without hesitation.

Lu Sheng, watching this entire exchange with the expression of a man deeply familiar with the consequences of marrying a woman who never missed her mark, muttered under his breath, "You married into a matriarchy, son. Good luck."

Sicheng didn't look away from Yao. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Yue, not missing a beat, saluted from the kitchen doorway. "Enjoy the koi, Dad."

Lan swept out first, the echo of her boots clicking against the floor, elegant and final.

Lu Sheng followed, coat in hand, his sigh audible as he trailed behind her like a king very aware he was no longer in charge of his castle.

And behind them?

Laughter bloomed again.

Because in this family, chaos wasn't an accident.

It was a legacy.

As the front door shut behind Lan and Lu Sheng, the laughter faded into a mix of contented chuckles and lingering amusement, the kind that hung comfortably in the air like the last notes of a well-played melody. Yao, still curled against Sicheng's side on the couch with Da Bing pressed loyally to her hip like the ever-present guard he was, tilted her head slightly with a soft furrow forming between her brows.

Her hazel eyes drifted across the room, scanning over the familiar chaos: Yue throwing himself dramatically across a chair as he recounted for the fourth time how their mother banished their father like an unwanted stray; Pang in the kitchen trying to figure out if Lan had taken the last egg tart; and Lao Mao mumbling something about karma finally biting their captain's ass. But there was one little presence noticeably absent from the noise.

Yao leaned a bit and whispered to herself, just above a murmur, "Where is…" Her voice trailed off as her gaze lifted upward, toward the edge of her desk positioned neatly near the base of the stairs. And there, curled into a soft crescent of striped fluff, was the little menace himself—Xiao Cong, snuggled into the plush fabric of his bed beside her monitor like he hadn't a care in the world.

The soft, ever-steady glow of the screen lit the faint grey stripes of his tiny, still-growing body, one little paw draped over the edge, his tail flicking once in his sleep.

Yao blinked. And then huffed out a breath that was half a sigh, half affectionate grumble. "There you are," she muttered softly, shaking her head.

"What's wrong?" Sicheng glanced down at her from where he sat, his arm still draped around her. 

Yao pointed silently, her expression caught somewhere between fond and exasperated. "He didn't move the entire time. Not when Da Bing hissed, not when the door slammed, not even when your mom said your dad had to sleep in the pool house."

Sicheng followed her gesture and snorted quietly. "Takes after you."

She narrowed her eyes up at him. "Excuse me?"

"Small. Quiet. Can sleep through anything. Selectively violent when provoked."

Yao elbowed him in the ribs, but not too hard. "He's lucky he's cute," she murmured, still watching Xiao Cong, who let out a tiny snore and curled deeper into the folds of his blanket.

Sicheng, glancing back toward the kitten, hummed in quiet agreement. "That one's going to rule this base in six months."

Yao smiled, her fingers brushing lightly through Da Bing's thick white fur. "He already thinks he does."