Fang Zichen suddenly remembered what state he'd been in when Guaizai was taken by Sun Shangcheng.
Every second had felt like a lifetime. He had nearly gone mad. That despair, that terror, that panic—it was seared into his bones, something he'd remember for the rest of his life.
Maybe it was because he was a parent now that he could understand what a child truly meant.
A child was more important than life itself—something worth risking everything for.
He remembered rushing into the room and seeing Guaizai lying in a puddle of urine, barely clothed, covered in wounds—at that moment, it felt like the sky had caved in. That was when he experienced a pain like having his heart and lungs ripped out.
Just how much did Meng Ruqing love that child? So much that when the child disappeared, it became the last straw that broke the camel's back — driving him to a complete mental breakdown?
Fang Zichen never let worries linger overnight. Even if the sky fell, he could calmly sit down and eat two bowls of rice first. So why couldn't he forget that feeling?
Because he couldn't let it go. The guilt, the self-blame, the hatred for himself for failing to protect his son — those emotions had nearly driven him to collapse. That lingering guilt and remorse had once tormented him to the point of barely hanging on. If Guaizai hadn't pulled through back then, he truly didn't know what he might have done.
He didn't even know if he would have suffered for the rest of his life because of it.
Was Meng Ruqing the same? Was he still trapped in that guilt and self-blame all this time?
Even he himself had barely been able to bear it...
Perhaps because they had been through similar experiences, Fang Zichen seemed to suddenly understand what Meng Ruqing was feeling.
He must have had such a hard time all these years!
Fang Zichen's heart ached unbearably, as if a blade had run him straight through—his whole body throbbing with pain. When Meng Ruqing broke free and tried to run outside, Fang Zichen threw his padded coat over him. Meng Ruqing kept struggling—his strength was tremendous, and Fang Zichen couldn't get a firm grip, so he could only pull him into an embrace.
He pressed Meng Ruqing's head against his chest, stroking his back over and over, and called out to him: "Dad."
The voice was very soft, barely a whisper.
Meng Ruqing kept pounding on his chest, but the next moment he suddenly jerked his head up.
That single word—which he had waited twenty years to hear—seemed to strike a nerve in his brain.
It felt like something had slammed into his heart. He stared at Fang Zichen in disbelief — confusion at first, then his eyes filled with pain and grievance.
After a long moment, as if clutching at a lifeline, desperate to confirm something, he grabbed hold of Fang Zichen. His whole body trembled uncontrollably. He gazed at Fang Zichen's face, eyes welling up, tears falling without warning. A joy he had never known left him unable to form a complete sentence.
"You... you called me... what?"
Fang Zichen hadn't expected such a strong reaction from Meng Ruqing. Meng Ruqing was gripping him so hard it felt as if he had mastered the Nine Yin White Bone Claw, because his arms felt like they were being pierced through. The pain made Fang Zichen want to howl.
[Nine Yin White Bone Claw (九陰白骨爪): a fictional martial arts technique from Jin Yong's The Legend of the Condor Heroes — a cruel, lethal claw style that targets the skull.]
But howling right now would probably be a bit undignified.
"I called you dad!"
Seeing that he still didn't seem fully lucid, Fang Zichen wanted to pull away and go call his son—his son was small, with a soft, sweet voice that was admittedly more endearing—but Meng Ruqing held on tight.
"Could you... call me that one more time?" Meng Ruqing pleaded, his voice choked and helpless, as if afraid this was all a dream — that when he woke up, Fang Zichen would once again keep his distance.
That word didn't seem as hard to say as he had imagined. Fang Zichen called him again: "Dad."
Meng Ruqing was so overcome that he threw his arms around him, holding him so tight it felt as though his ribs might crack.
Fang Zichen could barely breathe. He lowered his eyes sadly, his gaze falling on Meng Ruqing's hair.
Was this man even forty yet?
He still looked so young, yet his hair was already half white.
Twenty years of torment, from black hair to silver—perhaps each strand carried endless pain.
Over seven thousand days and nights—how had he endured it all?
Fang Zichen didn't dare imagine.
The person in his arms was so thin that his bones jutted out. Fang Zichen's eyes grew moist.
Back then, Guaizai had been able to snap him out of it. To Meng Ruqing, Fang Zichen was just as important as Guaizai.
He was clutching Fang Zichen now, and the fog was thick and heavy. Fang Zichen was shivering from the cold. Seeing Meng Ruqing barefoot, his lips blue from the chill, Fang Zichen scooped him up and carried him back inside.
Even after covering him with a blanket, Meng Ruqing still held onto his hand, refusing to let go, staring at him the whole time.
Fang Zichen didn't want to see that look of disappointment on his face again. After thinking for a moment, he sat down on the edge of the bed and said softly, "I'm not leaving."
"Could you call me dad one more time?" Meng Ruqing felt his eyes stinging.
Fang Zichen: "..."
At this point, he'd call him anything—even 'ancestor.'
He called him again.
Meng Ruqing immediately brightened up, like a child who had received a beloved toy.
Content and overjoyed.
Watching this, Qin Hengxuan's eyes suddenly stung.
Meng Ruqing seemed to suddenly remember something and tried to get out of bed again. Qin Hengxuan came over and pressed him down: "What is it?"
"The box." Meng Ruqing pointed at the luggage they had brought.
Qin Hengxuan understood. He got up and brought over the bundle.
Meng Ruqing took it and pulled out a small box, then held it out to Fang Zichen with both hands, as if trying to please him.
The box was exquisitely made. Fang Zichen asked, somewhat suspiciously, "What is this?"
Meng Ruqing said nervously, "For you."
Fang Zichen took it and opened it, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head again.
Oh my god!
His heart was pounding.
He'd had way too many scares tonight.
Good thing he didn't have any heart problems and could handle pressure well—otherwise, Meng Ruqing would've just finished going crazy before it was his turn.
"All for me?" What kind of surprise is this?
He checked the soles of his shoes—nope, he hadn't stepped in dog poop!
[It's a Chinese joke: "stepping in dog poop luck" means getting unexpectedly lucky.]
Meng Ruqing nodded: "Mm!"
Fang Zichen immediately broke into a grin.
Damn, if he'd known calling him "Dad" would get him silver notes, he would've done it the day the man arrived—what was there to be shy about!
Meng Ruqing looked at him: "Do you like them?" His voice was nervous as he pulled out several more garments.
The stitching was fine and dense, the fabric all high quality.
"Zichen, I made these clothes for you—do you like them? I know you might resent me, might not want to accept me, but... I made you lots and lots of clothes, but... I didn't know who to give them to."
Like a flash flood bursting through a dam, all those suppressed emotions finally came pouring out, every word tugging at his heart.
"All these years I've thought about you every day, every day... every day regretting not being able to protect you. Can you forgive Daddy? Please don't resent me, okay? If you resent me, I don't know what to do..."
Faced with this torrent of emotion pouring out, Fang Zichen had barely felt happy for a moment before his heart ached terribly again.
Uncle Tang often made clothes for Guaizai, Gungun, and Dandan—he was very skilled at it. Back then Zhao Ger had asked about it, and Uncle Tang said he'd often watched Meng Ruqing do it, so of course he knew how.
Liking can stop.
Love, however, is endless—even across mountains and seas.
In this moment, Fang Zichen truly felt the other's love.
He touched the clothes, overcome by a wave of bitterness, and finally said quietly: "I don't resent you."
Meng Ruqing looked at him, eyes full of hope and joy: "Really?"
Fang Zichen nodded: "Mm!"
If he resented him, the day Meng Ruqing arrived, he would've grabbed a broom and swept them out—would he have even let them through the door?
Meng Ruqing hadn't abandoned him on purpose back then—that alone was enough.
As for these parents who'd appeared out of nowhere, at first he hadn't known how to face them, but after a week together, Fang Zichen had more or less adjusted.
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