CHAPTER 83 — Rui, the Little Protector
Morning sunlight filtered into the Mu estate's playroom, casting soft golden stripes across the colorful mats scattered across the floor. The air was bright with childish excitement — squeals, laughter, the clatter of toys, and the unmistakable chaos that only three three-year-olds could create.
Shi Yunxi paused at the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene.
Her children were happy.
Truly, freely happy.
And it made her chest warm in ways she wasn't sure she was ready to admit.
Shi Yichen and Shi Qing'er were sitting on the floor, legs spread, building what they claimed was "the tallest tower in the world." In reality, it leaned dangerously to the right like it was already planning its own destruction.
But Mu Rui…
Her eldest—by only three minutes, yet carrying authority like he was born for it—stood planted in front of the tower like a tiny commander.
Little feet firmly apart.
Little hands on little hips.
Little eyebrows drawn in perfect seriousness.
"NO ONE TOUCHES THE TOWER!" Rui declared.
Qing'er blinked innocently. "But I'm someone…"
"You don't count," Rui said.
"What?!" Qing'er gasped with absolute betrayal.
Before she could attack him with her plush bunny, another presence stepped into the room — tall, steady, warm.
Mu Lingchen.
He carried a tray with three small cups of warm milk and a plate of sliced apples.
The moment the triplets saw him, the tower was forgotten.
"DADDY!!!"
Three tiny comets rocketed toward him.
He kneeled quickly to avoid being toppled over, balancing the tray with surprising skill as three little bodies wrapped around him from all sides.
Yunxi hid a smile.
He looked… different these days.
Softer.
Brighter.
More alive.
Rui pressed his forehead to Lingchen's shoulder. "Daddy, we're building a tower, but Yichen doesn't know how to do it properly."
Yichen gasped. "I do know!"
"Your blocks are crooked."
"They're artistic!"
"No, they're wrong."
Lingchen chuckled, setting the tray down before addressing the situation like an experienced diplomat.
"Rui," he said gently, "being the eldest doesn't mean you have to tell everyone what to do."
"Yes, it does," Rui answered immediately.
"No," Lingchen corrected softly, "it means you take care of them. You guide them. You protect them. But you also listen to them."
Rui blinked up at him, confused.
Yichen snorted. "He's bossy."
Qing'er nodded vigorously. "Very bossy!"
Rui folded his arms, ready to fight, but Lingchen touched his head lightly.
"You're doing a good job," he said quietly. "But letting them have opinions too is part of taking care of them."
Rui's confident expression wavered.
Yunxi stepped in then, crouching beside her son.
His little hands were clenched into fists.
She knew that look.
The pressure he lived with — unspoken, inherited, shaped by panic-filled first years of life. He felt responsible for everything. For everyone. Even when she tried to shoulder the world alone, Rui always picked up pieces she didn't notice she'd dropped.
"Rui," she murmured softly, touching his cheek, "you don't have to be perfect."
His lips trembled slightly. "But… I'm the oldest."
Lingchen met her eyes.
Understanding everything.
Without a word, he scooped Rui into his arms, and the boy automatically curled against him, small hands gripping his shirt.
Lingchen's voice was warm and steady. "Being the oldest doesn't mean you must be strong all the time. You can cry. You can be tired. You can ask for help. You're three, Rui."
Rui stiffened. "But I have to protect them. If something happens—"
"Nothing will happen," Lingchen said firmly.
"Not here. Not now. Not anymore."
Rui hesitated.
Lingchen continued, brushing a thumb over the child's hair.
"You're not alone anymore."
It was a simple sentence.
But Rui stilled as if something deep inside him finally loosened.
He looked at Yunxi.
Then back at Lingchen.
"Really… not alone?"
"No," Yunxi whispered. "You have me."
"And me," Lingchen added.
"And us!" Yichen and Qing'er shouted from the floor, half-tangled in blocks.
A small sound escaped Rui — a soft sniff — before he hid his face in Lingchen's shoulder. His tiny body trembled, and Yunxi felt her heart squeeze painfully.
He was so strong.
Too strong for a three-year-old.
Lingchen held him close, rocking gently. "I've got you."
Minutes passed quietly.
Eventually, Rui pulled back, wiping his cheeks quickly as if embarrassed. Lingchen pretended not to see, placing him down gently.
"Okay," Rui said in a tiny voice, "I will try to… listen."
"Good." Lingchen ruffled his hair. "And I will help you protect your brother and sister."
Rui's eyes widened. "Really? You'll help me?"
Lingchen nodded solemnly. "We'll be a team."
The transformation was instant.
Rui puffed his chest proudly, his confidence returning with double the strength. "Okay! Then I'll protect Mommy too."
Yunxi choked. "What—"
"Daddy protects Mommy now," Qing'er said simply, as if discussing a weather forecast.
Lingchen coughed.
Yichen added in a thoughtful tone, "Daddy sleeps near Mommy's room. That means he likes her."
Both adults froze.
Rui narrowed his eyes at Lingchen. "You like Mommy?"
Lingchen opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Before he could answer, Qing'er tugged Yunxi's sleeve. "Mommy, Mommy, can Daddy go with us to the garden today?"
"Yeah!" Yichen jumped excitedly. "He promised to show us butterflies!"
Lingchen looked helpless. "I… did?"
Yunxi raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"
Yichen nodded vigorously. "You said yes!"
"I did not—" Lingchen began, but froze when three pairs of wide, pleading eyes stared up at him.
He sighed.
"I… guess I did."
The children cheered.
Rui grabbed Lingchen's hand. "We go NOW!"
Lingchen looked at Yunxi for help.
She only smiled. "They've adopted you. Good luck."
He exhaled with dramatic resignation — but there was a hidden smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
A soft, tender smile Yunxi wasn't sure she'd seen before.
They walked together to the garden.
The triplets running ahead.
Lingchen following protectively behind.
Yunxi watching with a heart that felt both fragile and full.
And somewhere among the butterflies, laughter, and warm sunlight…
Their little family took one more quiet step toward healing.
Toward trust.
Toward belonging.
Toward something unnamed, but undeniably real.