Chapter 52 - Hiding and watching

Chapter 52: Chapter 52 - Hiding and watching

The phone screen flickered in the dim car interior as Ying Rui settled back against the seat, one arm draped over the wheel, his thumb occasionally swiping between feeds. The living room camera showed two maids clearing the breakfast dishes. The hallway camera caught a gardener hauling a bag of fertilizer past the stairs. Nothing unusual. Nothing that demanded attention.

Then the front door camera showed Mo Yuxin walking back inside.

She had been standing in the foyer when he’d left, hugging him, playing the worried wife, but something in her posture had shifted the moment his car cleared the gates. Her back was straight now. Her chin was lifted. Her footsteps were brisk and sharp against the marble as she crossed the hall, and the two maids clearing the dining table visibly stiffened when they saw her coming.

Ying Rui turned up the volume.

"Where is he?"

Her voice carried even through the tinny phone speaker, clipped and impatient.

One of the maids answered quickly, bowing slightly. "Young Master is still in his room, Madam. He hasn’t come down for breakfast."

"Hasn’t come down?" Mo Yuxin’s eyes narrowed. "It’s nearly nine. Is he sick again, or is he just being difficult?"

"I—we don’t know, Madam. He hasn’t opened the door since—"

"Since when?"

The maid faltered. "Since yesterday evening, Madam."

Mo Yuxin’s jaw tightened. She said nothing more. She simply turned and walked toward the staircase, her heels clicking in a steady, ominous rhythm that echoed through the empty hallway. Ying Rui watched her ascend the stairs, watched her silhouette glide past the hallway camera, watched her stop in front of Mao Mao’s bedroom door.

She knocked once. Twice. Sharp, perfunctory.

No answer.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Ying Rui saw her hand close around the doorknob. She pushed it open, stepped inside, and then—from the slight recoil of her shoulders, the way her head snapped around the empty room—Ying Rui knew immediately what she was seeing.

An empty bed. Untouched blankets. A pillow missing.

The camera in the hallway caught the exact moment her expression changed. Her brows drew together. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. She stood in the doorway for three full seconds, staring at the vacancy as though it had personally offended her.

Then she turned and walked—no, marched—down the hall toward Jua’s room.

Ying Rui leaned forward slightly in his seat.

She didn’t knock this time. She grabbed the handle and shoved the door open.

The angle was perfect. The camera in the hallway caught everything through the open doorframe.

Jua’s room was dim, curtains still half-drawn, the faint grey light of early morning spilling across the bed. And there, tangled in the middle of it, were the two boys. Mao Mao was curled against Jua’s side, one small arm draped across the older boy’s waist, his face buried against Jua’s chest, still deeply asleep. Jua was on his back, one arm loosely around Mao Mao’s shoulders, his head tilted toward the pillow. His eyes opened the moment the door slammed against the wall.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then Mo Yuxin’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"So this is where you’ve been."

Mao Mao stirred, blinking groggily. Jua’s hand moved instinctively, pressing gently against the boy’s back as though to steady him.

"Mama."

"Don’t." Her voice was sharp enough to make even the camera feed feel tense. She stepped further into the room, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Mao Mao like she was looking at something she had scraped off the bottom of her shoe. "Don’t ’Mama’ me. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? How long the servants have been searching?"

Jua pushed himself up slowly on one elbow, careful not to jostle Mao Mao. His voice was still rough with sleep. "He came to my room last night. He said he had a nightmare. He fell asleep here."

"And you just left your room?" she demanded, still looking at Mao Mao.

"He was tired," Jua said.

"He’s always tired."

Ying Rui heard the contempt dripping from every syllable. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Mo Yuxin took another step forward, and her attention remained entirely on Mao Mao. Her eyes raked over him—his rumpled shirt, his messy hair, the way he was still half-lying down beside Jua—and something in her face curdled.

"You," she said, and the word was loaded with accusation. "You think you can just go wherever you want, don’t you? You think because he lets you follow him around like a little dog that you don’t have to listen to me?"

Mao Mao blinked. "I—"

"Don’t interrupt me."

Mao Mao closed his mouth.

He was fully awake now, sitting up beside Jua, staring at his mother with wide eyes. His small hand found Jua’s sleeve and held on.

Mo Yuxin saw it.

Her expression twisted.

"Look at that," she said, gesturing sharply at Mao Mao’s grip. "Look at you clinging to him like he’s your real brother. Like I don’t exist. Like I haven’t been the one taking care of you all these years while he sits in his room doing nothing."

Jua’s brows furrowed. "That’s not—"

"Mao Mao, look at me when I’m speaking to you."

Jua’s jaw tightened.

Ying Rui saw it. The small flicker of frustration that crossed the boy’s face before he smoothed it over, before he lowered his eyes and swallowed down whatever he’d been about to say.

How many times, Ying Rui wondered, has he done that?

Mo Yuxin turned away, pacing once across the small room, then back. Her hands were moving now, restless and sharp. "Do you know what I’ve had to deal with this week? Do you know what it’s like? You come home from the hospital, and suddenly Rui is paying attention. Suddenly Rui is asking questions. Suddenly Rui wants to know what’s happening in his own house."

She laughed—a short, bitter sound.

"And where do you think those questions come from, hm? Who do you think has been feeding him information?"

Mao Mao’s head lifted slightly.

Mo Yuxin stopped pacing. She turned to face him fully, and her eyes were hard now, calculating.

"You told him something, didn’t you."

It wasn’t a question.

Mao Mao’s mouth opened.

"I didn’t—"

"You did. You said something to him. Something that made him look at me differently yesterday. Something that made him question me."

"I only—"

"What did you say?"

Mao Mao’s voice was quiet. "Nothing much. He asked me, and I—"

"You shouldn’t have said anything." Mo Yuxin stepped closer, and now she was looming over the bed, over both of them. "You’re just a child. You have no right to interfere. You have no right to open your mouth and give opinions about things you don’t understand."

Jua’s fingers curled against the blanket.

Mao Mao’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

"Madam," Jua said carefully, "he wasn’t trying to—"

"Mao Mao, answer me."

Mao Mao stayed silent.

Mo Yuxin stared down at him. Her chest was rising and falling faster now, her composure cracking at the edges. She looked at him like he was an intruder. Like he was a stain on her perfect household. Like everything wrong in her life could be traced back to the boy sitting on the bed in front of her.

And then she said it.

"You think you’re so special, don’t you?"

Mao Mao’s brows drew together.

"You think because Rui is paying attention to you, because Jua lets you cling to him, because you’re young and sick and soft-spoken—" She spat the words like they were curses. "—you think you deserve something. You think you deserve to do whatever you want."

Mao Mao’s lips parted.

Mo Yuxin’s voice rose.

"But you don’t. You’re nothing. Your father is only paying attention to you because he feels guilty. Because he needed something to distract himself with. And you—" She jabbed a finger toward him. "—you’ve been using that. Using Jua. Using this house. Using everything."

Mao Mao’s eyes widened slightly.

And then Mo Yuxin’s composure snapped entirely.

"You’re an ungrateful little bastard," she hissed. "You don’t deserve to live here!"

Ying Rui’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

The words hit the inside of the car like a physical blow. His jaw clenched. His teeth ground together. He was already reaching for the ignition, already turning the key, already pulling out of the parking spot before he fully realized what he was doing.

He can’t watch this.

The phone was still running the feed, still broadcasting Mo Yuxin’s fury into the quiet of his car, but he couldn’t sit still anymore. He couldn’t keep watching from a distance while his son’s home fell apart around him.

He pulled onto the road and accelerated.

The camera feed kept playing.

Mo Yuxin was pacing again, but this time her steps brought her closer to the bed. Closer to Mao Mao. Her hand rose, sharp and sudden, and Ying Rui saw the threat in her hand was unmistakable now.

Mo Yuxin’s arm rose, sharp and sudden, and her palm swung toward the bed in a hard, fast arc.

Not at Jua.

At Mao Mao.