65: I’m the kind of lovesick fool who only loves Mr. Sheng
Sheng Shaoyou slept all the way until one in the afternoon.
The exhaustion was gone, though his body still felt faintly sore.
Every day Hua Yong lectured him relentlessly about how dangerous it was to get up too quickly for blood pressure stability during pregnancy.
For the sake of the little peanut in his belly — and to avoid giving Enigma an excuse to “punish” him — Sheng Shaoyou opened his eyes, lay there a while, and only then lazily climbed out of bed.
There was a business tea party at two o’clock, and Hua Yong had already prepared his outfit.
A crisply ironed suit hung neatly in the center of the walk-in closet.
Hua Yong’s taste was impeccable; he could always pick the outfit that made Sheng Shaoyou most satisfied — comfortable, stylish, and appropriate.
The young master dressed with ease, tying his own tie as usual.
Then the “little emperor,” who’d personally picked out and prepared everything, came up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, kissed the nape of his neck — which carried a faint wine-like scent — and murmured admiringly:
“Mr. Sheng is so handsome.”
Even without leaving the house, Sheng Shaoyou always had eyes on him. He asked casually:
“My dad came to see you this morning?”
“Mm,” Hua Yong admitted.
“I went to Hechi for a bit.”
After a moment’s thought, he added:
“We talked for a while. It went quite well.”
“Talked about what?”
“A multi-dimensional comparison of X Group and Beichao Holdings in terms of scale, influence, and development trajectory.”
“Speak human language.”
Hua Yong laughed softly:
“Your father is very different from you.”
“How so?”
The freshly-appointed “quasi-son-in-law” chose his words carefully:
“He’s very suited to being a businessman.”
“Driven purely by self-interest, huh?” Sheng Shaoyou sneered.
“He’s always been like that — calculating, pragmatic, his first love is his career, then money.”
“That’s very good.”
“Is it? Really?”
“Mm. I think it’s good,” Hua Yong said with quiet certainty, rubbing his cheek affectionately against Sheng Shaoyou’s shoulder like a clingy, spoiled cat.
“Because I already have both — career and money. So your father has no reason not to like me.”
Sheng Shaoyou chuckled despite himself, turning to pinch his cheek:
“Didn’t expect you to be so optimistic.”
“I’ve always been optimistic.”
Sheng Shaoyou’s strength left a pink mark on his snow-pale skin, but Hua Yong didn’t even flinch — he just smiled softly:
“When I first met Mr. Sheng at eight years old, I already decided where our wedding would be.”
Eight years old? Already planning a wedding?
Sheng Shaoyou snorted out a laugh:
“Weren’t you precocious.”
“If I didn’t plan early, how could I trick you?”
Hua Yong’s voice was tender and low, his fluttering lashes making his sharp black eyes look soft and full of affection.
He guided Sheng Shaoyou’s hand to press lightly against the gland at the back of his slender neck, beating steadily.
“My gland was born for you.”
“Idiot,” Sheng Shaoyou muttered.
“I am.”
Hua Yong admitted shamelessly, even proudly, clinging to him like sticky syrup:
“I’m the kind of lovesick fool who only loves Mr. Sheng.”
At that, Sheng Shaoyou’s smile faded a little. He pushed out of the embrace and asked:
“And the peanut?”
“That’s Mr. Sheng’s child.”
“Oh? Nothing to do with you?”
Hua Yong shook his head and explained seriously:
“I love Mr. Sheng. Because of that, there’s the peanut — so of course I love the peanut too.”
“Your love is worth something?”
Hua Yong nodded solemnly:
“Mm. Very valuable.”
Seeing Sheng Shaoyou’s displeasure, he quickly softened and explained:
“X Holdings is highly centralized. Its assets exceed a trillion. I control it absolutely. Before I came to Jianghu, I already wrote my will — everything I have will go to Mr. Sheng and the peanut. So, theoretically, my love is quite valuable.”
That only made Sheng Shaoyou more annoyed:
“You think I care about your money?”
He sneered:
“Though judging by how recklessly you treat yourself, our peanut might really become the youngest billionaire in P country. Oh, how happy that makes me.”
Hua Yong gave a soft “ah,” looking contrite.
“I was just being honest, hoping you’d be impressed… but I guess it backfired. Please don’t be angry.”
“What am I angry about?”
Sheng Shaoyou brushed away his clinging hands.
“Get off. Don’t wrinkle my suit.”
“Just one hug?” Hua Yong pleaded, not letting go.
“If it gets wrinkled, I’ll have it pressed again.”
“Are you that free? It’s already 1:40, the tea starts at two.”
Hua Yong grinned and wrapped himself around him anyway.
“Then let them wait. Right now I just want to hug Mr. Sheng.”
After dodging a few times with no success, Sheng Shaoyou gave up and let him cling.
Facing him, Hua Yong murmured softly:
“Don’t be mad… I really like you.”
In truth, he wasn’t exaggerating.
Sheng Shaoyou also felt that Hua Yong had been born for him — born to conquer him.
This audacious little lunatic somehow made him, someone who never believed in love, believe. Somehow calmed his temper entirely.
Even the biggest anger usually lasted only minutes before it was dissolved by Enigma’s gentle coaxing and fervent entanglement.
“Mr. Sheng, please don’t be mad anymore,” Hua Yong whispered in his ear.
“If you stay mad I might cry.”
Sheng Shaoyou snorted with laughter:
“Go on then. Let me see.”
“Ah~”
Hua Yong began to whine again, clinging to his neck, gazing into his eyes.
“Mr. Sheng really likes making me cry, huh?”
Their first reunion had been in the hospital.
Hua Yong’s tears had left a deep impression on him.
No one knew: the fearsome young emperor of P’s business world had spent years learning how to cry just for this.
Hua Yong had always been cold, incapable of tears. Strong and unyielding, a steel core wrapped in orchid petals.
After learning that Sheng Shaoyou liked soft, tearful Omegas, Hua Yong painstakingly learned to act tender, whine, and even cry.
Few would believe it: the master of X Holdings once even visited ophthalmologists several times because he couldn’t cry.
“Is there something wrong with my tear ducts?”
Hearing this, the country’s most renowned ophthalmologist sighed helplessly:
“Your eyes are perfectly healthy — nothing wrong.”
“But I can’t cry.”
“Strength is an admirable trait. Many would envy you.”
“But the one I like doesn’t.”
Sitting in the consultation room, the “overly strong” Hua Yong’s face remained expressionless.
“I need to be able to cry. Any suggestions?”
The ophthalmologist, facing the youngest ruler of an ancient, sprawling commercial empire, sat stiffly and suggested:
“Perhaps you could see a psychologist?”
Hua Yong arched a brow:
“You’re saying my mind isn’t healthy?”
“No! That’s not what I mean,” the doctor hurried to explain.
“Strength is good — but occasional vulnerability is human.”
He cautiously asked:
“Don’t you ever feel sadness, helplessness, fear, or pain?”
“At those times, the endocrine system reacts to emotion, triggering the tear glands to produce tears — that’s why we cry. Pain is insurmountable, so humans cry to cope.”
“There’s no pain that can’t be overcome,” Hua Yong said coldly.
The doctor fell silent, studying the young man before him — with a face too delicate to endure any hardship, lips faintly red, words harsh as steel.
“In the country of the one I like,” Hua Yong said flatly,
“there’s an old saying: ‘Nothing matters but life and death.’ To me, anything else — unless it defies objective laws — isn’t hard.”
The doctor didn’t agree but wisely said nothing.
The young ruler didn’t get angry at being contradicted. He even nodded lightly.
“Mm. I don’t deny it.”
Hua Yong’s gaze was steady, voice proud and resolute, like a god pronouncing a decree.
“Some rules can’t be broken — but most things can be solved. People who can’t overcome minor obstacles aren’t human — they’re trash. Pain? I have that.”
He lowered his lashes, and the corner of his lips quirked almost imperceptibly.
“When I think of him and can’t go to him — that’s pain.”
This young man, said to be ruthless enough to crush everyone in his path, suddenly revealed a rare softness.
For just a moment, he seemed surrounded by a halo, dazzling yet gentle.
Whoever he thought of just then left his eyes full of urgency and longing.
He didn’t cry — but looked so sorrowful he sighed faintly.
“If I can’t learn to cry… I might never be able to hold him.”