“Blow the winds of fortune my way, fulfill my ten thousand dreams.” Cheng Leyan slept like a log that night.

He slept in the villa’s master bedroom, on the same bed his vegetative husband, Rong Wangzhi, once used. It was incredibly comfy, with soft bedding, just the right temperature and humidity. Waking up, he felt enveloped in cotton, without a desire to get up.

The system was amazed: [It’s only 5 a.m! Why are you up so early, Host?]

Cheng Leyan: [Didn’t finish reading that novel yesterday, gotta finish it before work today. My body clock wakes me up for things like this.]

System: […You’re really dedicated to your work, Host.]

Cheng Leyan: [Absolutely. I’ve worked six sales jobs, all as top seller, memorized product info on my first day—System Dad, you think it’s easy being top seller?]

System: [Please stop calling me “Dad”; it’s stressing me out.]

Cheng Leyan chuckled, dawdled two more minutes, then got up to wash. He lounged on the sofa with the golden apple, continuing to read “Prison of Love.”

Finishing the last page, his mind buzzed.

The book’s logic? Couldn’t wrap his head around it!

Why does the antagonist like the main character just because “his smile was bright and genuine, full of life”?

Why didn’t the antagonist pursue him properly instead of assuming the main character wouldn’t love him and resorting to torment? Being a rich and handsome guy, he might’ve stood a chance!

The antagonist being a smoker? His hands always described as cool holding a cigarette, but yellow teeth are an issue! Seriously!?

What’s more, after finishing the novel, Cheng Leyan struggled to connect the book’s problematic villain with the sweet little cutie he met yesterday.

Will Zhuozhuo really turn into that?

That???

Are we talking about mutation here or what!?

For instance, here’s how the book described “Cheng Leyan’s” end:

[Rong Jishi entered the room, casually pointing with his cigarette-holding fingers, “Open it.”

His assistant stepped forward, lifted a tarp, revealing a foul-smelling dog cage below.

Inside, something unrecognizable slumped lifelessly. Pinching his nose, the assistant leaned down, “Young Master Rong, seems he bit his tongue to death.”

Rong Jishi “tsk’d,” kicked the cage, disgusted, “Nasty.” 

Then he left.]

Oh right, that “unrecognizable thing” refers to Cheng Leyan.

Didn’t even deserve a name!

Died horribly, phantom pain indeed, villain!

And the “assistant,” what luckless role—responsible for checking bodies!? What pay justifies this task!?

Good thing, the kid’s only three; everything’s still preventable.

Come on, Cheng Leyan, nip that villain in the bud!

Also, another crucial task: no dogs in the house, ever!

Absolutely!!!

About time, Cheng Leyan changed and went downstairs.

A sumptuous breakfast awaited, both Chinese and Western styles.

Zhuozhuo sat quietly on a high chair in plaid overalls.

First impulse for Cheng Leyan was to rush over, using his cheerful tone: “Baby, stepdad’s gonna promise, no doggies for us, okay?”

Zhuozhuo: ?????

Internally, however, he sighed in relief.

He’d been wondering which stepdad he’d meet today: the old one who’d hit and scold him, eyes filled with filth, or the sick one, potentially needing a big pill—thank goodness, it’s the latter.

The nanny beside him, Aunt Zhang, said, “Young Mistress, you’re here.”

Cheng Leyan said, “Aunt Zhang, just call me Xiao Cheng or Mr. Cheng, please. Skip the Young Mistress—it’s awkward. Everyone can switch it up.”

Aunt Zhang blinked: “Okay, then… Mr. Cheng, we’ll all call you Mr. Cheng. I was just about to make breakfast for Young Master Zhuozhuo.”

Got it, even among so much food, Zhuozhuo gets his own, typical wealthy quirk.

The next moment, Aunt Zhang brought over a blender, starting her performance.

She put in a bit of purple yam, and with a “whir,” turned it into mush.

Added leafy greens, “whir,” more mush.

More fruits, “whir,” more mush.

Different things, complicated steps, but consistently “whir” to mush.

Finally, combined everything, returned to the blender, “whirred” into mixed mush.

The resulting liquid wasn’t quite purple or brown, thick—Aunt Zhang poured it into a child’s bowl, added walnut oil, topped with a thick straw, proceeding, “Young Master Zhuozhuo, breakfast.”

Cheng Leyan: “Ugh…”

Not intentional, but the urge to retch was strong.

What is this trash! Made him want to puke overnight meals!

Efforts galore, yet this!?

This???

Eating this—unheard of!!!

Sure enough, the little one didn’t pay it any mind.

Aunt Zhang tried a spoon, approach to the kid’s mouth, who clamped shut, not daring a crack.

Sighing, Aunt Zhang helplessly said, “Mr. Cheng, see, he won’t eat.”

Cheng Leyan: “Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh…”

He bluntly asked, “Aunt Zhang, how much do you make a month?”

Aunt Zhang: “Mr. Cheng, this…”

Cheng Leyan: “Spit it out.”

Looking around, Aunt Zhang whispered, “Twenty-eight thousand.”

Cheng Leyan gasped: Holy! That much! Nanny’s a good career!

He declared, “Here’s the deal: drink this, I’ll pay you twenty-eight thousand right now.”

Aunt Zhang’s lips twitched, forcing a smile, “Mr. Cheng, you’re joking—this breakfast’s custom by the nutritionist’s plan for him, very comprehensive nutrients. They said it’s fine to use a blender.”

Cheng Leyan: “Some things are hard to chew, sure, blend those, not just throw it all in and mush ‘whir,’ right? Could you eat it? Isn’t it gross? If you’re willing, have all three meals ‘whirred’ mush, see how often you can take.”

“Kids are small, but they’re not dumb!”

He was blunt.

Driven too by the book “Prison of Love,” aside from his “dog cage” fate, mentioning the villain’s evil nanny, who tormented him. Before adulthood, she died of cancer, denying direct revenge.

No details on the nanny’s identity, but suspicions about Aunt Zhang lingered.

Seeing Zhuozhuo so thin, Aunt Zhang making such revolting stuff, framing him as picky—it’s infuriating.

He laid it out, grabbed a pumpkin red bean bun from the table, split it, and ate one half, finding it tasty, laid the other half on Zhuozhuo’s plate: “Baby, it’s a pumpkin red bean bun, thought it’s nice, try?”

Hesitant, Zhuozhuo remained still.

Unfazed, Cheng Leyan took a purple yam roll bun, shared like before.

Still no response.

Aunt Zhang, sullen, “Mr. Cheng, see, he won’t eat. Blending at least ensures nutrition, takes a few bites. Old ways, we get Xiao Sun to help.”

Xiao Sun, another nanny. Two needed for feeding, she implied force-feeding mush.

Seeing the concoction, recalling original misdeeds, Cheng Leyan’s stomach churned—nausea growing.

Noticing his disgust, Zhuozhuo slightly trembled.

Will stepdad force him like before?

Stiffened, stomach roiling, he swallowed dryness.

But—nothing happened.

Cheng Leyan: “The past’s the past. With everyone here, I’ll be clear: Brainless as a donkey before, lots of mistakes. I’ve changed, no bringing up the past.

“You heard my vow to Mom yesterday. Taking care of Zhuozhuo here, none dragging me back, hear?”

The room hummed with mixed responses; Aunt Zhang’s face changed shades.

Watching closely, Cheng Leyan added, “Baby, consider the new stepdad, the past one—gone, now, a new me. Stepdad changed, won’t force unwanteds.”

“You dislike these, fine, eat if, when you like.”

Seamlessly, as if nothing, he tucked into breakfast himself.

His table manners impeccable, chewing softly, never noisy, yet ate quickly, with a cat’s satisfaction.

Watching him eat, appetite stirs naturally.

—Yes, he’d been a pro Mukbang host.

Zhuozhuo, gazing, stomach once tightly knotted, growled more.

The little one defiantly thought: Deliberate tease, definitely bad! But I’m unyielding, hungerless.

Next, Cheng Leyan placed a half Shaomai on Zhuozhuo’s plate, buttered toast, golden crisp bacon…

Good stuff, all split half for him.

As a nanny, experience taught: Kids mimic adult eating.

Finally finished, Cheng Leyan contentedly exhaled, observing Zhuozhuo, eyes softly curved: “All for Zhuozhuo—whenever Zhuozhuo’s ready, okay to eat or not.”

Then, “Aunt Zhang, lose the mush—ruins appetite, throw it.”

Aunt Zhang: “…Fine, Mr. Cheng.”

Watching her leave, Zhuozhuo eyed his stacked plate and Cheng Leyan’s radiant eyes—nostrils tingling, near tears.

Maybe, maybe scheming, placating for vulnerability, selling him off.

But…but…

Feels like his iron heart will melt.

Endlessly, the child told himself: I’m Iron Man, not sad, crying, nor melting.

He didn’t refuse food to misbehave—eating induced unexplained sleep, long and heavy, waking to headaches.

Afraid someday he’d sleep beyond return.

This time…

Finally, he grabbed the pumpkin bun Cheng Leyan initially offered, followed by the yam bun, then more.

Once stuffed, hunger receded, stomach settling.

Cheng Leyan sighed in relief. Eating anything was progress.

Zhuozhuo didn’t exhibit psychological issues, quietly eating, without discontent—why avoid food?

A doctor visit needed. Afternoon for that.

Morning, though…another task looms.

Cheng Leyan said, “Aunt Zhang, preparing Zhuozhuo’s things for a trip out, please.”

As Aunt Zhang busied, he told Butler Li, “Butler Li, Aunt Zhang’s bad at childcare, no clue what she’s doing. Keep an eye, more home surveillance, especially Zhuozhuo’s room—all covered.”

For Xiang Jinglin’s issue, a lucky recorder misplacement? Cheng Leyan pretended not to notice.

Distrustful of Aunt Zhang, not so with Butler Li—an integral figure in “Prison of Love.”

Written as the one caring for the villain in childhood, continued managing in adulthood, famously remarking “First time with anyone” to the uke protagonist.

Confirmed genuine, Butler Li immediately nodded.

Unsure why the Young Mistress shifted so, yet—

He sensed the current Young Mistress wasn’t malicious.

Half-hour later, with Zhuozhuo dressed for an outing, they headed to the garage.

Clearly, Rong Wangzhi cherished his son—many cars had child seats.

Cheng Leyan chose a Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Opening the door, an internal shriek erupted.

419 recalled, concerned: Could his accident shadow driving?

System carefully asked: [Host, if driving bothers you, let a driver take over!]

Cheng Leyan: [AHHHHHHH! This car’s over ten million! AHHHHHH!]

Continued shrieking.

System: …

Worry was pointless.

First time driving such luxury, exploring, half satiated.

Zhuozhuo though, was tense.

His debut trip with stepdad, a jumble of hopes and fears—could Brother Gu Qin be right, selling him off?

Where would they send him?

Would anyone find him, find Dad, Grandma?

But…stepdad promised change, he’s new.

Can he trust stepdad?

Nervous, Cheng Leyan’s words shone through: “Baby, let’s visit your dad.” He started the car.

Zhuozhuo’s eyes glowed: Dad! Is he really seeing Dad?

Yes, Cheng Leyan planned to check on his budget husband.

He lacked memories, but 419 had info on previous abuse endured by the vegetative husband, a vent for dissatisfaction.

Unfathomable how 1-million monthly could provoke discontent, eager to assess the husband’s state.

Rong Wangzhi resided in a high-end sanatorium. Arriving, they were ushered to the top suite by familiar staff.

Excellent environment, spacious suite, greenery outside, purified air—temperature and humidity ideal, equipment abundant, security stellar.

Glancing around, Cheng Leyan approved.

The vegetative husband lay in bed now.

“My patron, look,” said Cheng Leyan peeking.

Internally exclaiming: Wow, so handsome, should be an idol!

Calling out, “Baby, look, your dad! Ah, also my Patron Dad! Your dad, my dad, mutual dads—Haha, hilarious!”

Zhuozhuo: …Stepdad’s condition worsened.

But laying eyes on Rong Wangzhi, his vision blurred with tears.

Not brought here by Grandma, nearly a year since last seeing Dad.

Dad looked thinner.

Will Dad wake?

Play blocks, read stories?

Buy another Iron Man?

Dad…I miss you.

Memories swirled, and tears welled.

Then, he saw stepdad lean near Dad’s ear, loudly proclaiming:

“Yo-ho! With a rumble, I grandly arrive! My love, your health, entrusted to me!

“Today’s headlines: First, Qingdao man reeled in from diving, mistaken for big fish, promptly releases, changes spot, re-caught. Hahaha, hahahaha!

“Next, Ningxia burglar trespasses, spends 3 hours, fries 15 eggs, drinks homeowner’s wine, shreds child’s homework. Hahaha, hahahahahaha!”

—broadcasting ten silly news stories.

Zhuozhuo, flabbergasted.

Eyes no longer hurt, nose no longer stung, tears vanished—merely blinking in amazement.

Stepdad, what’s he doing?

Performing marital harmony?

Is this how it’s done?

Does it even work???