Zhong Jin’s alcohol tolerance wasn’t particularly good.
But his drinking etiquette was impeccable—even when thoroughly drunk, he never made a scene, cried, or boasted. He remained quiet, his expression cool and detached, almost indistinguishable from his usual self. Even someone as familiar with him as Lian Qiusheng couldn’t tell whether he was truly drunk or not.
Zhong Jin rinsed the dishes under the tap, neatly stacked them in the dishwasher, then washed his hands thoroughly with soap before stepping out of the kitchen.
Qiu Sheng, watching from the doorway, noticed he hadn’t added the detergent pod or started the machine. That was how she knew he was drunk.
She walked over, slid in the pod, switched on the dishwasher, and left the kitchen.
Unfortunately, Wen Hechang didn’t share Zhong Jin’s composure. He was sprawled on the carpet, leaning against the sofa, tears streaming as he recounted the hardships of his past.
Setting aside the likely exaggerated struggles of his entrepreneurial journey, some of the revelations were pure gold for the gossip-loving trio in the room.
Wen Hechang’s eyes were red and puffy. “You know what? My whole family hates me. I’m my father’s illegitimate son. My mother only cared for my older sister and brother, and my father turned a blind eye to it all. But what did I ever do wrong? Why should a child bear the consequences of the sins of the older generation?”
He had never spoken about his origins before.
His family was in real estate, one of Jing City’s prominent wealthy clans. Everyone knew him as the youngest Wen heir, but no one had a clue about the messy truth behind it.
Qiu Sheng sat curled up in her favorite armchair, hugging a cushion, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So how did your dad and your birth mother meet?”
Wen Hechang was so drunk he barely knew his own name, yet he remembered this.
“My mother was actually my aunt,” he slurred.
Qiu Sheng and Zhong Jin exchanged glances, both stunned.
Wen Hechang’s aunt was a well-known socialite, born into a wealthy family that built its fortune in department stores. She had since married a Hong Kong tycoon, had two children, and was often featured in tabloids for her glamorous, elegant appearances.
No one could’ve guessed such a bombshell lurked beneath the polished surface.
The sheer scale of the revelation left Qiu Sheng and Zhong Jin momentarily speechless.
Qiu Sheng whispered, “If he remembers this tomorrow, do you think he’ll try to silence us?”
Zhong Jin sighed. “...He’s too drunk. He’ll black out.”
Then, inexplicably, Qiu Sheng’s excitement reignited. Her bright peach-blossom eyes sparkled as she leaned in, unable to suppress her gossipy delight.
“No wonder Wen Hechang is the best-looking of the three siblings. His aunt was always far prettier than his mother.”
Zhong Jin glanced toward the dog bed, where a pair of round, dark eyes stared unblinkingly at them.
Little Tong, caught, grinned and crawled out.
She toddled to the coffee table, stretched on tiptoe to grab the tissue box, then plopped down beside Wen Hechang.
“Here,” she said, offering him tissues.
Wen Hechang sniffled, pulling out a few sheets to wipe his tears.
Little Tong patted his head. “Don’t be sad. If Daddy’s mean, go find Mommy. Mommy will always love you.”
Wen Hechang sobbed harder. “My mother wants nothing to do with me. She avoids me to keep up appearances. She *hates* me. If murder weren’t illegal, she’d be the first to kill me.”
Little Tong waved her hands frantically. “No, no! Mommy loves you!”
Hearing this, Zhong Jin cut in sharply, “Back then—was your mother with your father willingly? Or was she forced?”
Even if coercion had been involved, the statute of limitations had long passed. But old professional instincts made him seek the truth.
Wen Hechang, exhausted, let his head fall back against the sofa. “She went willingly. Said she was young and foolish. Now she even maintains a cordial relationship with my father’s wife. Meanwhile, *I’m* the one who ruins everything.”
He gave a bitter laugh and closed his eyes.
Qiu Sheng was quiet for a moment. “...Damn. He really got the short end of the stick.”
Suddenly, Wen Hechang jolted awake, blurting, “I don’t wanna go home. I wanna stay here forever.”
He turned, grasping Little Tong’s hand. “Call me Daddy from now on, okay? We’ll live together always.”
Zhong Jin stood up abruptly from the couch, fuming. "Pity him? Not a damn chance. Let him sleep in the bathroom tonight, and once he sobers up tomorrow, kick him out—immediately."
Little Tong glanced calmly at her suddenly irate father, then lowered her head and patiently reasoned with Wen Hechang,
"You can't replace my dad. There's only one Zhong Jin in this world, and he's the daddy I love most."
The furiously bristling Chief Zhong softened instantly upon hearing this, his face breaking into a smile as warm as spring sunshine.
Wen Hechang continued his drunken antics for a while longer before finally passing out.
Qiu Sheng suggested, "Let him sleep on the sofa." There was no way they could toss a completely wasted man out at this hour.
At some point, Zhong Jin had settled onto the carpet, pulling Little Tong into his arms and resting his chin on her small shoulder. His voice was muffled but firm.
"No. There’s a little girl in this house. How can we let a strange man sleep in a shared space?"
Qiu Sheng countered, "Then have him sleep with you in the kids' room?"
"No. That’s going to be Little Tong’s room. How could we let a stranger sleep there?"
"What about the guest room? I’ll take the sofa."
"No. That’s *your* bed. How could we let some random guy sleep in it?"
Zhong Jin insisted on confining Wen Hechang to the bathtub in the bathroom. Qiu Sheng argued for ages, "If he’s in the tub, how are we supposed to use the bathroom?"
"Then shove him onto the balcony."
"What if he gets drunker in the middle of the night and tumbles off?"
"Fine. The hallway, then."
"No way. The neighbors might call the police."
Finally, Zhong Jin reluctantly agreed to let Wen Hechang sleep on the floor in Qiu Sheng’s studio.
He lay stiffly in the center of the small workspace, surrounded by shelves of scattered doll heads, dismembered limbs, and spare eyeballs.
The scene looked straight out of a horror film.
Worried he might wake up in the night and scare himself to death, Qiu Sheng left a small nightlight on—though once the door was shut, the dim amber glow only made the room even eerier.
The next morning, Wen Hechang seemed genuinely blackout-drunk, with no memory of the bombshell he’d dropped the night before.
Thankfully so, or Qiu Sheng might’ve feared for her life.
After breakfast, Zhong Jin ordered Wen Hechang to book the earliest flight back to Jing City.
Given his track record of "leaving" multiple times without actually going anywhere, Zhong Jin personally drove him to the airport and watched him pass through security before relaxing.
Qiu Sheng craned her neck, peering anxiously toward the checkpoint. "What if he sneaks back out after we leave?"
Zhong Jin nudged her toward the exit—their car couldn’t stay in the temporary parking zone much longer.
Only after carrying Little Tong out of the terminal did he say, "He won’t bother you again. Guys like him care too much about face. After last night’s humiliation, he’ll avoid you like the plague. No way he’ll come crawling back."
"So you kept him drinking just to make a fool of him? You’re devious, *Sir* Zhong."
"The method doesn’t matter. As long as the result’s what you wanted."
Zhong Jin unlocked the car, settled Little Tong into her booster seat, and buckled her in.
As he moved toward the driver’s side, Qiu Sheng stopped him. "I’ll drive. You drank plenty last night—rest a bit."
He tossed her the keys.
Starting the engine, Qiu Sheng glanced at Zhong Jin. His face was pale, the toll of a hangover obvious.
"About Wen Hechang… thank you," she said quietly, noting his exhaustion.
Zhong Jin leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Words are cheap. How about sewing me a shirt instead?"
Qiu Sheng scoffed. "...You’ve got nerve. Do you know how much work goes into a handmade shirt?"
"My arms are long. Store-bought ones never fit right."
She rolled her eyes, but he added, "Make it light gray. Someone once said I look ‘forbiddenly sexy’ in that color."
Qiu Sheng’s face burned.
*How* had she ever uttered something so shameless out loud?
Little Tong immediately shot her hand up. "Me too! I wanna be ‘forbidden’!"
(She had no idea what it meant—she just refused to miss out on anything her dad got.)
Qiu Sheng turned and smiled. "Sweetheart, Mommy will make you a blouse, a dress, and a little trench coat. A hundred times nicer than his."
Little Tong clapped her hands, beaming. "Thank you, Mommy! You’re my best best *best* friend!"
Back home, Qiu Sheng rummaged through the mountain of fabric in her studio but found no suitable light-gray material.
Grabbing her phone, she flopped onto the living room sofa and began browsing online for fabric.
When she spotted a piece of ramie fabric with black polka dots on a white background, she thought, *This would be perfect for making a dress for Little Tong.*
She had already envisioned the design—a simple round neckline, a slightly flared hem, and a large bow tied at the back using the same fabric. She could even pair it with a white lace bonnet, its ribbons fastened under Little Tong’s plump little chin.
*So adorable, so adorable.*
Qiu Sheng kicked her feet excitedly.
She added the polka-dot fabric to her cart and continued browsing for more materials.
Next, she came across a rugged olive-green linen blend. *If I made Little Tong a pair of wide-legged cargo pants with big side pockets, wouldn’t she be the ultimate sweet-yet-edgy little girl?*
Into the cart it went.
Zhong Jin drifted past her from behind and asked in a sulky tone, “Buying fabric again?”
“Mhm.”
“Did you get the fabric for my shirt yet?”
Qiu Sheng replied guiltily, “Still looking.”
Worried he’d start nagging, she hastily tossed a light gray poplin into the cart before resuming her search for more children’s fabrics.
After calculating the measurements and checking out, she realized she’d picked over a dozen fabrics for Little Tong. The lone gray poplin sat pitifully amid the riot of colorful prints.
But Lian Qiusheng felt no remorse—how could an ex-husband ever compare to her darling daughter? A mother’s love would always belong to her girl first.
