[To raise someone like Bo Yiming, who is ruthless and unscrupulous, what kind of parents could he have?]

[Bo Yiming is inherently bad, his parents gave birth but didn’t raise him, it’s simply irresponsible to society!]

On the bed, a handsome young man with long hair had his eyes tightly closed, his eyeballs moving rapidly under thin eyelids, and there seemed to be tears at the corners of his eyes. 

He parted his dry lips and murmured to the voice in his mind, “No, Yiming… he’s not inherently bad…”

His voice, worn from illness, was rough and hoarse like a saw scraping wood.

Aunt Zhong walked into the room and hurriedly supported Wen Cishu’s arm, gently pushing him, “Second Young Master?”

Wen Cishu suddenly felt like he was falling, opened his eyes abruptly, still shaken, his chest heaving violently.

His long, silky black hair cascaded from his shoulders to the traditional Chinese couch, barely holding on.

His congenital heart disease made it impossible for him to handle intense emotions, leaving his face pale.

Aunt Zhong gently patted his chest through the thin blanket, her voice earnest, “Second Young Master, don’t worry, don’t panic.”

Wen Cishu’s breathing gradually steadied.

His long, narrow phoenix eyes, full of classic Eastern charm, still held the remnants of a nightmare.

He recognized Aunt Zhong’s face and tightly pressed his pale, bloodless lips together.

He couldn’t explain the terrifying dream he just had.

In the dream, his and Mr. Bo Tingyuan’s child, Bo Yiming, was a sinister, obsessive villain in a dramatic novel.

Their excessive spoiling led Bo Yiming to become willful and stubborn.

In his twenties, Bo Yiming treated the protagonist as a substitute for his true love, tormenting him repeatedly.

The story ended with Bo Yiming being defeated by the protagonist, ultimately losing everything.

As a family member, Wen Cishu died of a heart attack when Bo Yiming was twelve.

At this moment, his breathing was heavy, his heart pounding like a drum, sending blood to every part of his body.

His joints, deprived of blood, gradually recovered, and the haze pressing on his chest seemed to clear slightly.

His consciousness felt like glass washed clean by water, clear and bright.

Wen Cishu asked, “Aunt Zhong, how old is Yiming this year?”

“Nine years old.”

Aunt Zhong was startled, hadn’t they just celebrated the little young master’s birthday with great excitement?

Hearing this, Wen Cishu’s eyelids lowered slightly: Hopefully, there’s still time.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

“Aunt Zhong?”

A cautious voice accompanied the knocking.

A young aunt from the Bo Family peeked in.

Wen Cishu looked towards the bedroom door from afar.

The young aunt met Mr. Wen’s gaze and quickly lowered her head.

Since coming to the Bo Family, she had never set foot in this room, which seemed like forbidden territory.

Inside the bedroom, the lines of the traditional Chinese decor framed the long-haired beauty on the couch like a classical painting, making him appear both enchanting and mysterious.

There was a saying that hair was born from consuming a person’s essence and energy.

Mr. Wen’s body was so frail, yet he had thicker and blacker hair than most, which was rare.

Beside the couch, Aunt Zhong bent down, carefully pulling up the thin blanket.

“Second Young Master, lie down, I’ll go check.”

Wen Cishu looked at the somewhat unfamiliar face from afar, his voice weak as he inquired, “What happened, tell me.”

The Bo Family valued Wen Cishu’s health above all, so any troublesome matters were never brought to his attention.

The young aunt naturally didn’t dare to speak, only looking at Aunt Zhong with a troubled expression, seeking her decision.

Aunt Zhong had watched Wen Cishu grow up and cherished him like her own eyes.

“It must be some household matter, I’ll handle it, Second Young Master, you just rest.”

Wen Cishu’s breath was weak, but his attitude was unusually firm, “Aunt Zhong, I want to know.”

Aunt Zhong could only gesture.

The young aunt glanced at the beautiful but sickly Mr. Wen and reluctantly explained, “It’s the little young master… he, he said he wants to participate in some talent show…”

“Cough, cough…”

Wen Cishu couldn’t help but cough before she finished, his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest.

The words “born but not raised” and “inherently bad” from the dream made his blood run cold.

The young aunt was so frightened she almost panicked, “Sir, don’t worry.”

Everyone in the Bo Family referred to Wen Cishu as “Sir.”

After several coughs, Wen Cishu’s face unexpectedly had a bit of color, his eyes moist as if filled with clear spring water. He lifted the blanket, “I’ll go take a look.”

Before Aunt Zhong could stop him, he gently held her arm, speaking softly in her hometown dialect.

“Aunt Zhong, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

Aunt Zhong said no more, carefully helping the Second Young Master up.

The young aunt, quick on her feet, fetched a thin blanket and gently draped it over Mr. Wen’s shoulders.

Wen Cishu adjusted it, “Thank you.”

The young aunt lowered her eyes, delighted to hear his gentle voice.

Aunt Zhong gathered his long black hair behind him, then supported him as they slowly walked out.

At this moment, chaotic noises echoed from the living room downstairs.

Wen Cishu, walking slowly, frowned as he listened, quickening his pace to the corridor above the living room.

In the lavishly classical living room, a Little Monkey was jumping up and down on the Chinese-style sofa.

He held a black remote as a microphone, rapping energetically, creating a continuous stream of noise.

And this lively “monkey concert” had three full rows of spectators: the housekeeper, aunts, drivers, and bodyguards.

The energetic, noisy Little Monkey was the future obsessive villain in the book, Bo Yiming.

Wen Cishu watched the little rascal’s triumphant expression, gripping the railing tightly.

His heart ached again.

The original author could easily designate someone as a villain with a wave of the hand;

As the villain’s parent, there were so many things to consider.

Wen Cishu slowly entered the old-fashioned antique elevator at the end of the corridor.

The elevator descended slowly.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the black wrought iron railings, casting shadows on Wen Cishu’s flawless face.

This commotion caught the attention of those on the first floor.

As the elevator doors opened, Wen Cishu, supported by Aunt Zhong, stepped out slowly, his pale face showing a slight frown.

Several people who rarely saw Mr. Wen were stunned, as if witnessing a scene from a movie where the protagonist makes an entrance.

The Bo Family’s housekeeper, Uncle Xu, was surprised, “Sir, why did you come down?”

Bo Yiming finally noticed his little dad coming downstairs.

He had just jumped onto the coffee table, smiling as he looked over, “Little Dad, my new rap, isn’t it super cool? ￥%……&（&……￥%……”

Bo Yiming inherited some mixed-race genes from his French father, along with Wen Cishu’s Eastern genes, giving him black hair and amber eyes from birth.

As a child, he was a super cute and adorable little baby.

Who knew he’d grow into such a handful?

Wen Cishu slightly tilted his head to look at the nine-year-old rascal, his brow furrowed, unconsciously showing a hint of worry.

Bo Yiming saw his little dad had to look up at him and dutifully jumped down, “Little Dad? I want to enter the entertainment industry, they say with my looks, I’ll be super famous!”

His little dad always granted his wishes, so he spoke as if it were a given, as if he’d be a star tomorrow.

“What?”

Wen Cishu, already unsettled by the day’s events, found his mind drifting uncontrollably. Hearing this, he hadn’t yet processed it.

“I want to join a talent show in the entertainment industry! My classmate said a company is recruiting trainees aged 9 to 15.”

The restless Little Monkey couldn’t sit still and jumped back onto the sofa.

Uncle Xu, frightened, moved to catch him, trembling like an ancient court eunuch.

“Little Ancestor! Don’t fall.”

The aunts thought, this rosewood coffee table was a wedding gift from the Bo Family’s old master.

Along with the entire set of precious Chinese-style furniture, it was worth its weight in gold.

Seeing his unruly behavior, Wen Cishu, for the first time, sternly stopped him, “Bo Yiming, get down.”

Aunt Zhong and Uncle Xu, hearing this tone, couldn’t help but look at him in confusion.

Bo Yiming twisted and turned, showing off his newly learned dance moves, completely unafraid.

“Little Dad, first tell me if my dance looks good.”

Wen Cishu, thinking of his future involvement in “ruthless love” and “imprisonment romance,” wished he could stuff an entire criminal code into his brain.

He forced himself to suppress his palpitations, his voice low and steady, “Yiming, at your age, you should focus on studying.”

Bo Yiming’s eyes widened slowly, “Little Dad, you don’t support me?”

He stomped his foot, but the sturdy, expensive sofa didn’t budge;

His little dad’s handsome face remained unmoved.

He shouted even more urgently, “I don’t care, I want to join the talent show!”

Uncle Xu, hearing this commotion, gestured for the aunts, drivers, and bodyguards to leave.

Bo Yiming darted between the Chinese-style sofas, “I’m going to be a top idol! Little Dad, don’t stop me! No one can!”

Wen Cishu struggled to catch his breath, his heart aching again.

He looked around, finding nothing handy, and weakly directed, “Uncle Xu, bring a frying pan, and two bodyguards.”

His phoenix eyes glanced at the unruly, energetic Little Monkey, adding, “Make that four bodyguards.”

Bo Yiming stood on the sofa, looking down at his usually accommodating, gentle little dad, full of surprise, “Little Dad? You misunderstood, I’m going to a talent show, not a fight, no need for bodyguards.”

“Huh?”

Uncle Xu was shocked, looking at the breathless, shaky Mr. Wen, thinking he misheard.

“Go get it.” Wen Cishu’s voice was heavy, full of command.

“Okay, okay.”

Uncle Xu hurried to the distant kitchen, his mind in chaos.

—Why suddenly does Mr. Wen want to “hit” the little young master?

An aunt followed him, whispering, “Get a smaller one, I don’t think Mr. Wen would really hit the little young master.”

The Bo Family had no tradition of hitting children.

Moreover, Wen Cishu, due to his health, was especially indulgent with his only child, always pampering him, never scolding, let alone hitting.

The housekeeper naturally knew this.

But he was concerned about something else, sighing, “Mr. Wen doesn’t have the strength to hold a heavy pan.”

“That’s true.”

The aunt hurried ahead, entering the kitchen to fetch the smallest milk pan, handing it to him.

In the living room.

The Little Monkey realized his little dad was serious and took a leap up the stairs.

“Little Dad? You’re going to hit me? I’m your only little son! I’m so cute!”

Cute?

Wen Cishu almost laughed in anger.

Bo Yiming was born into a life of luxury, pampered by both the Wen and Bo families.

Not just confident, but downright narcissistic.

He weakly raised his hand, pointing at the Little Monkey, instructing the four bodyguards, “Please, hold him down.”

The bodyguards exchanged glances.

Wen Cishu narrowed his long eyes, “Can’t I command you?”

The lead bodyguard, glancing at the not-yet-ten-year-old little young master, hesitated, “Sir, this…”

Wen Cishu calmly said, “I’ll take responsibility if anything happens.”

With that, he couldn’t suppress it, turning his pale face away, lightly coughing.

The bodyguards had no choice but to brace themselves and go upstairs.

Bo Yiming let out a sharp scream, running to the second floor.

The little rascal was indeed agile, moving like a mad rabbit, and being raised with love, he was completely fearless.

But the four bodyguards were professionally trained, tall and strong, and soon caught the little rascal like hawks catching chicks.

They didn’t dare touch the little young master directly, fearing any harm.

One of them cleverly used a sofa blanket, wrapping the little young master’s flailing limbs before carrying him down.

The nine-year-old Bo Yiming twisted wildly, shouting to the heavens, “I’m the future heir of the Bo Family! I’m not a thief!”

The Little Monkey, pinned to the sofa, struggled in vain, crying out, “Help! Grandma Zhong, Grandpa Xu! Save me!”

Aunt Zhong couldn’t bear it, bending down to speak.

Wen Cishu looked up, seeing Uncle Xu moving at a snail’s pace, and asked slowly, “Uncle Xu, what’s wrong with your legs? Suddenly can’t walk?”

“Thank you for your concern, sir. It’s just arthritis acting up, but I’m fine now.”

Uncle Xu awkwardly resumed a normal pace, stepping forward to hand over the small milk pan.

Aunt Zhong quickly draped a clean white cloth over the handle.

Wen Cishu held the handle, looking down at the small white porcelain pan.

He couldn’t help but laugh in anger again.

The bottom of the milk pan was only as big as his palm.

An adult’s fist wouldn’t even fit into the tiny pan.

“Grandpa Xu!”

Bo Yiming saw his savior, twisting all over.

But he was wrapped in a white blanket, like a cocoon wriggling madly.

“Call my big dad quickly, my little dad’s gone crazy!”

Uncle Xu was about to retreat when Mr. Wen’s leisurely gaze fell on him.

Those eyes, particularly dark and mysterious, naturally carried a noble coolness, usually tired from illness, rarely so focused and sharp.

Uncle Xu dared not move, only advising earnestly, “Little Young Master, what’s so good about a talent show? You should study well. Sir loves you so much, he won’t really hit you, just give in a little.”

He blinked, hinting for the little young master to say something nice.

Bo Yiming received the “suggestion” but chose not to listen.

“No! This is my dream!”

Wen Cishu gripped the small pan, reminding the bodyguards, “Hold him tight.”

The bodyguards, sweating, pressed the little young master’s legs and feet through the blanket.

Though Bo Yiming struggled, he didn’t kick his little dad.

One summer in his childhood, he accidentally slapped his little dad’s arm.

A red handprint immediately appeared on his little dad’s skin, with the marks of his small fingers clearly visible.

Though no adult blamed him, it left a deep impression on his young mind, making him instinctively careful never to hurt his little dad again.

Before swinging the small pan, Wen Cishu steadied his breath, ensuring his body was stable, then tapped Bo Yiming’s little bottom.

“Ow, ow, ow—”

Bo Yiming screamed before even being hit, his voice hoarse.

Though the small pan didn’t hurt, it was humiliating.

As the Bo Family’s little young master, how could he suffer such indignity, even from his little dad, so he twisted even more wildly.

The living room was in chaos.

No one could believe that Mr. Wen, usually so indulgent, would actually hit his precious little son today.

At this moment, someone quietly reported, “Sir, the Eldest Young Master is back.”

The Eldest Young Master was how the Bo Family referred to the head of the family, Bo Tingyuan.

A tall man with long legs strode into the living room, exuding a cold aura.

It was Bo Yiming’s big dad, Bo Tingyuan.

As a mixed-race individual, Bo Tingyuan’s features were more pronounced than his son Bo Yiming’s, with a strong, chiseled face and an exceptionally tall, upright figure.

Notably, he had a pair of dark green eyes.

A pair of frameless glasses sat on his high nose, the transparent lenses reflecting a deep, mysterious gaze, always giving an impression of cold sharpness, hard to see through.

At this moment, what Bo Tingyuan saw through his green eyes was the usually frail Mr. Wen Cishu swinging a small pan at their son’s little bottom.

Wen Cishu’s black hair flowed like a waterfall, sweat beading on his forehead, his hand trembling as he lifted the pan.

Bo Yiming looked up, seeing his extremely tall father backlit, as if seeing a heroic savior, shouting for help.

“Big Dad! Quick, my little dad’s gone crazy and is hitting me! He must have another son outside, wah wah wah… ah!”

Another hit.

Bo Tingyuan heard this, his thick brows furrowing in displeasure.

He quickly approached, supporting Wen Cishu, his tone surprisingly gentle, contrasting sharply with his aggressive appearance and cold demeanor, “Why so upset?”

Bo Yiming thought he was saved and quickly tried to get up.

The bodyguards naturally wanted to let go.

Bo Tingyuan coldly said, “Hold the young master.”

Four words, like a huge block of ice crashing into a lake, made the bodyguards instinctively continue holding him down.

“Ow—”

Bo Yiming let out a pitiful wail.

Bo Tingyuan helped Wen Cishu sit on the sofa, taking a glass of warm water and bringing it to his dry but soft lips, “Drink some water.”

Wen Cishu, his emotions too intense, saw only darkness, unable to see Bo Tingyuan’s face, only feeling a strong, cold aura enveloping him.

He didn’t refuse, sipping the water from Bo Tingyuan’s clean, long fingers.

Bo Tingyuan’s eyes, behind his glasses, watched his small, delicate sips.

His lips, gradually moistened by the water, took on a soft, pink hue.

After drinking, Wen Cishu turned his face away, a few strands of black hair falling from his ear.

Bo Tingyuan handed the glass to an aunt, lifting the black hair from his temple and tucking it behind his ear, placing a round cushion behind his waist.

After these gentle actions, he turned to his son, looking down as he removed his suit, revealing a black shirt.

Bo Yiming looked up, puzzled, at his towering father.

He still boldly asked, “Big Dad, what are you doing? Let them let me go!”

Wen Cishu also looked up slightly, frowning at the man’s tall back.

Then, Bo Tingyuan tossed aside his suit, bending down towards his son.

To others, the tall man seemed like a fierce beast leaning towards a small, weak creature.

“Yiming, what did you just say?”

A single sentence made everyone except Wen Cishu and Bo Yiming feel a strong sense of danger, all eyes on the father and son.

“Huh?”

Bo Yiming, pampered from a young age, was lively but simple-minded.

He showed his naturally cold-faced father an innocent and naive expression, completely unaware of the subtle danger in his words.

Uncle Xu’s eyelid twitched violently, recalling the little young master’s unfiltered words.

[My little dad must have another son outside.]

He was about to look at the Eldest Young Master’s reaction when he saw him remove the white cloth from the pan handle, gripping it tightly, raising it high—

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”

The sharp sound pierced Wen Cishu’s already ringing ears, making him frown, leaning back on the sofa.

“Second Young Master?!” Aunt Zhong hurriedly supported him.

“No, I’m fine…” Wen Cishu steadied himself, his pale face not looking well.

Bo Tingyuan tossed aside the small pan, immediately instructing Uncle Xu, “Call the doctor.”

With that, he turned and bent down, lifting Wen Cishu in his arms.

Wen Cishu was cradled against him, his face unconsciously leaning towards his.

Bo Tingyuan, standing at 1.9 meters, had long, strong arms, while Wen Cishu, though tall and slender, was as delicate as bamboo.

He easily supported Wen Cishu’s side with one arm, while the other large hand rested on his shoulder.

Wen Cishu’s black hair cascaded down, like silk draped over Bo Tingyuan’s strong arm, blending with his black shirt.

Bo Tingyuan carried him, stepping onto the stairs.

He walked so steadily that Wen Cishu felt no movement, his heart, which had been pounding, miraculously calming down.

Everyone in the living room lowered their eyes.

Every time the Eldest Young Master and Mr. Wen appeared together, it was in such an intimate manner.

They should have been used to it, but the scene was so visually striking that everyone instinctively “looked at their nose, nose at their heart.”

On the sofa, Bo Yiming cried with snot and tears, his brows furrowed in a mess.

Born with a silver spoon, who would dare touch him?

Today, he suffered the greatest injustice of his life—his bottom was “blossoming.”

Uncle Xu and the aunts rushed over, unwrapping the blanket, comforting him.

“Little Young Master, don’t cry, the Eldest Young Master called the doctor, it will be okay.”

Standing at the stairway corner, Bo Tingyuan coldly said, “I called the doctor for Mr. Wen.”

Even steady Uncle Xu unconsciously let out an “Ah?”

Immediately after, Bo Yiming, gasping for breath, wailed, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—”