The Xu Family

This city, ablaze with lights, should have been quiet at this hour, yet the streets teemed with crowds, losing themselves in indulgence and excess. He could not recall when it began, but standing aloft, looking down at the masses beneath the towering buildings, had become a habit—he seemed almost like a deity, detached and omniscient.

Ziqing, should I go and find you?

Xu Yichen took a slow sip of red wine, as if savoring the finest lover. He lifted the crystal glass, his dark eyes admiring the liquid within. Beneath the lights, the pure, deep crimson appeared to be the most beautiful color in the world—yet it stabbed at his eyes with a cruel sharpness.

The entire night, just as always, he stood alone before the window, watching until dawn.

The next morning, Xu Yichen casually pulled on a shirt and a pair of jeans, his hands in his pockets as he descended the stairs. His father, Xu Weimin, sat at the dining table, a broadsheet of current affairs opened in his hands. His mother, Zhao Ya, sat beside him, and when she saw Yichen coming down, she smiled, “Chenchen, come have breakfast.”

“Mom,” upon seeing her, a trace of warmth flickered in Xu Yichen’s heart, and he smiled. He then nodded politely to his father at the head of the table; Xu Weimin had never wanted a son who was merely affectionate or only knew how to brawl and cause trouble.

In his past life, Xu Yichen’s reputation as a lover had always displeased Xu Weimin, who especially disliked Liu Ziqing, having intervened against her on many occasions. If not for Yichen’s clandestine efforts and machinations, Liu Ziqing might have vanished from this world long ago.

“Everyone’s here. Let’s eat,” Xu Weimin set aside his newspaper, picked up his knife and fork, and began to cut into his fried egg.

Looking at Xu Weimin’s indifferent profile, Yichen resolved that, in this life, he would never let his father see how much Liu Ziqing meant to him, nor ever give him the chance to act against her.

Yichen nodded, pulled out his chair, and sat down to eat.

His family was unlike others—his mother had studied abroad, and his father was a diplomat obsessed with power, so Western etiquette had always been observed at their table. Perhaps out of childhood habit, Xu Yichen was used to eating half-cooked eggs and steaks still streaked with blood.

He placed his napkin on his lap, and surveyed the French toast, two fried eggs, a bowl of creamy corn soup, a glass of milk, and the delicate porcelain dish of yellow butter. With an unreadable face, he lifted the milk and took a sip, then gracefully picked up his knife and fork, cutting into the eggs with practiced elegance. He ate until he was roughly eighty percent full, then picked up his handkerchief and gently dabbed at the corner of his mouth.

“Had enough?” Zhao Ya asked softly. “You’ve just gotten out of the hospital. You’re still recovering—you should eat a bit more.”

“Mom, I’ve had enough. Besides, it’s getting late. I need to get to school,” Xu Yichen stood, and took the schoolbag offered by the butler.

“Wait a moment, I need a word with you,” Xu Weimin said, wiping his mouth as he looked up at his son, who seemed far more mature than before. Ever since his injury, the boy had grown overnight—no longer brawling in the streets or frequenting disreputable places. Even his once-expressive eyes had become unreadable, making it difficult even for his father to fathom his thoughts.

Looking at his son, who stood so casually—one hand holding his bag, the other in his pocket—he seemed indifferent, yet an innate, restrained aura radiated from him, an equal to his own, difficult even for Xu Weimin to suppress.

Xu Weimin had wondered if this was still the same son who once wore every emotion on his sleeve. But all the little habits remained: he liked to stare into people’s eyes when speaking, to gain the upper hand and intimidate; he frowned at celery; he liked eggs and milk. Everything pointed to him being that same Xu Yichen.

Now, seeing his son grown into a young man, Xu Weimin was both alarmed and satisfied. If only he’d known that a single incident would provoke such rapid growth, he might have orchestrated it himself.

After turning this over in his mind, Xu Weimin’s expression remained stern. “Although we’ve already apologized to the Li family for last time, you made a mistake, and you must accept the consequences.”

Zhao Ya interjected, “Weimin, it wasn’t entirely Chenchen’s fault, and he’s already realized his mistake. He’s been very well-behaved these past few days, don’t you think—”

She was cut off by Xu Yichen’s calm voice, “Mom, a mistake is a mistake. There’s no excuse. I accept the punishment.”

“Chenchen…”

A trace of satisfaction flickered in Xu Weimin’s eyes. “Truly the heir of the Xu family. There’s half a term left—no need to rush. Next semester, you’ll go to H City. Isn’t your aunt there?”

Zhao Ya protested, “But isn’t his aunt in a small county town? Isn’t it a bit too remote? Chenchen is starting high school next term—what about his education?”

“What do you know? Education for families like ours is only a finishing touch—it doesn’t matter if it’s lacking. He can always get some credentials abroad,” Xu Weimin snapped. “Minor mistakes now are nothing, but if he doesn’t get some toughening up and later causes real trouble, or lets himself be manipulated into harming the country, it won’t just be his problem—it’ll be the whole family’s.”

“I’m the eldest son, and he’s my boy. Do you know how many people are waiting to laugh at us or exploit our weaknesses? I let him go to those places just so he’d see more of the world, so he wouldn’t turn into a fool at the sight of a woman. But look at what he’s done—publicly quarreling with someone, all for the sake of a prostitute.”

Xu Weimin lit a cigar. “Hmph. Too much motherly kindness spoils a child. Don’t defend him anymore. Luckily, nothing happened to the Li family’s son—otherwise, how would he bear the responsibility?”

The Li family’s pillar, their patriarch, was at the height of his power. Even the Xu family had to tread carefully around them.

Had this been the old Xu Yichen, he would have shrugged off his father’s scolding with indifference, while inwardly feeling guilty and making excuses. But now, he stood there, calm and composed, his thoughts unreadable to both parents.

“I know you mean well, Father,” said Xu Yichen. “I’ll go to H City next semester. It’s getting late—I’m off to school.”

With that, he slung his bag over one shoulder, exuding an air of effortless nonchalance.

Zhao Ya, who had expected an argument, was left speechless. “When did Chenchen become so mature? I spend every day with him and never noticed.”

Once his son had left, Xu Weimin dropped his stern posture, sighing, “He needed a lesson. The old man’s still around, so the Li family didn’t press the issue. But if something happens to the old man in the future… ah, if he doesn’t grow up quickly, what will become of him then?”