Fang Zichen's arm had been scratched by the dog. His grandparents took him to the emergency room. On the way, his grandfather kept praising him, happily saying that for such a young age, he was so formidable—a fine seedling for a soldier. He hadn't cried even when injured, a brave little man. His precious little grandson was the best, number one under heaven.
After the wound was bandaged, he still needed a vaccine shot. His grandparents tried to distract him with toys.
The doctor concealed the syringe. When the needle pierced his skin, Fang Zichen suddenly jumped up from the bed, lunged at the doctor's hand, and started biting.
His grandparents were terrified, thinking he had developed rabies. They tried to pry him off but couldn't, nor could they talk him down.
They hastily called Fang's father and Fang's mother. By the time the two arrived, Fang Zichen was still clinging to the person's arm like a monkey, all four limbs firmly attached. Only when Fang's mother held him did he let go, slid down from her arms, rushed to the doorway, spread his arms to block it, and said, "Dad, Mom, call for help quickly! There's a bad person here who sticks needles into children!"
...
Wei Lihua had been engaged in psychological counseling and therapy for over twenty years and had received countless patients.
On this day, she welcomed the most special patient of her career.
Her little nephew, aged three years and two months.
Fang Zichen was very happy to see Wei Lihua because she had once bought him a limited edition Transformers toy.
Wei Lihua spoke with him and found he didn't seem to have any problems.
But Fang's mother insisted he did.
Wei Lihua had her assistant take Fang Zichen out to play, then closed the door and asked, "Sister, what do you think is wrong with him?"
"I think he's been in low spirits recently, somewhat gloomy and unhappy."
Just moments ago, Fang Zichen had accepted the gift with a grin so wide his teeth showed, taking it remarkably fast. Wei Lihua hadn't seen any sign of depression in him.
"Really," Fang's mother was very anxious. "His appetite hasn't been good lately either. He only eats two chicken legs and one bowl of rice per meal. He's lost a lot of weight. His father and I are so worried we haven't slept for several nights."
Wei Lihua: "..."
A three-year-old child, downing two chicken legs and a bowl of rice per meal, and that's called having no appetite?
Fang's mother was certain Fang Zichen was depressed. Wei Lihua had no choice but to call Fang Zichen back in for a careful inquiry.
"I think I've been very annoyed lately," Fang Zichen said.
Hearing a three-year-old say he is annoyed was somewhat laughable.
To give him a beautiful childhood, Fang's mother hadn't sent him to kindergarten yet, nor made him do anything. He got whatever he wanted, had no worries about food or clothing, and was doted on by everyone in the family like a little emperor. Wei Lihua didn't know what he could be annoyed about; she even thought he might not understand the meaning of the word 'annoyed.'
But as she chatted with Fang Zichen, she gradually changed her mind. Fang Zichen had the innocence expected of a three-year-old, but also a logical thinking ability beyond his years.
He spoke coherently and could understand some slightly complex statements. The assistant, a foreign beauty, knocked and entered to bring him a glass of milk. Fang Zichen, sitting in Fang's mother's lap swinging his legs, thanked her and complimented her, saying she had good temperament and was very beautiful.
He had always had a sweet mouth; this was something everyone knew.
But Fang's mother and Wei Lihua were stunned.
He actually spoke English.
Although they had taken the child abroad before, they hadn't let Fang Zichen interact with outsiders. The family's nannies were all local Chinese women, and he hadn't even started school yet. So how did he know it?
When the two asked him, Fang Zichen said he learned it from his eldest brother and Secretary Luo. He heard them speak and then could do it himself; it wasn't hard.
The child was clever beyond imagination. Fang's mother was both excited and proud.
After two more hours of conversation and connecting it to the incident that night, Wei Lihua realized that what truly bothered Fang Zichen was the fact his biological mother had abandoned him in a trash bin, which had made him a subject of ridicule.
No one had imagined that Fang Zichen, at such a young age, could be so concerned about saving face.
Wei Lihua said there was nothing wrong with the child's mind; he just had a strong sense of pride. If they just stopped mentioning this matter in the future, he wouldn't be depressed.
Fang Zichen hated his biological mother's despicable behavior, so he vowed not to become a scoundrel himself. If he ever did, he would deserve to eat bullets.
As for those few society ladies who had gossiped about Fang Zichen that night, Fang's father directly severed cooperation with their families and imposed a business blockade against them. He was decisive in his actions but had never been so ruthless before. This move was practically pushing them into a dead end. When they begged at his door, he refused to see them. They then appealed to Old Master Fang. The old master only said one thing: 'It's too light. Bullying a member of the Fang family is equivalent to digging one's own grave.'
From then on, everyone knew that Fang Zichen's origins were a taboo subject—not to be spoken of, and certainly not to be provoked. He was truly deeply cherished.
...
Fang Zichen had originally considered sparing them some face out of respect for the village chief, not wanting to be so extreme. But later, He Huihui's statement, 'My mother didn't mean it,' thoroughly infuriated him.
That surge of violent anger shot straight to his head and found an outlet.
Having had a similar experience in his own childhood, He Huihui calling Guaizai a 'wild seed' to his face made Fang Zichen especially furious.
He didn't know if Guaizai understood somewhat, nor could he imagine what Guaizai must have felt when He Huihui called him a wild seed to his face. Was it like how he himself felt at three years old? Fang Zichen only remembered the look on Guaizai's face that night when he asked the question—that uneasy, cautious, bewildered, and wronged little expression.
Now, thinking back on it, he still felt that indescribable, crumbling sense of sourness and pain.
Why did she have to say such things to my son?
He's my son, Fang Zichen's son. I couldn't even bear to hit him. What gives that piece of trash, He Huihui, the right to speak to him like that? To insult him?
Wasn't she just begging for it? Wasn't she just asking to be scolded?
Having vented his anger for his fulang and son, he felt refreshed and invigorated. Swaggering back home, he found that Guaizai and Zhao Ger had already returned.
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