Chapter 119 — A Father Learning to Love
Morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of the Mu estate's living room, casting a soft golden glow on the quiet space. It was peaceful — the kind of peace that the house had not known in years.
Shi Yunxi stood at the doorway, watching.
On the rug, surrounded by scattered blocks and crayons, sat the man who was once feared across the entire business world — Mu Lingchen.
A man who once knew only silence, discipline, and ruthless precision…
Now sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying very seriously to build a block tower while being bossed around by three very tiny dictators.
Mu Rui was in front of him, eyebrows scrunched with adorable seriousness.
Shi Yichen was leaning on Lingchen's knee, watching curiously.
Shi Qing'er was off to the side, coloring the wrong side of a coloring book with intense determination.
It would have been hilarious if it weren't so heart-melting.
Rui pointed firmly at the crooked tower.
"Daddy, it's slanting. It's going to fall."
Lingchen froze, as if given a mission of national importance.
"I used the wrong block shape. Wait— wait, Rui, don't touch that one—"
Rui poked it.
The tower wobbled.
Wobbled harder.
Collapsed.
Lingchen stared at the disaster with tragic disbelief.
Rui sighed dramatically.
"Daddy, you're not good at building."
Shi Yichen nodded wisely.
"Daddy needs training."
Shi Qing'er lifted her crayon without looking up.
"I'll draw you a star for trying."
Lingchen looked absolutely defeated.
Yunxi had to bite her lip to keep quiet. When Lingchen saw her, she quickly straightened her expression, pretending she had not just watched him lose a battle to geometry designed for toddlers.
Lingchen cleared his throat and looked up at her like a soldier caught doing something embarrassing.
"Yunxi. They sabotaged the structure."
Rui gasped.
"I did not! Daddy, you're just—"
He paused, thinking hard for a word.
Then proudly declared, "—un-professional."
Lingchen's mouth twitched.
Yunxi finally burst into laughter.
It came out warm and bright, filling the entire room. The three children looked up, instantly smiling back because their mother's laugh was magic — it always had been.
Lingchen looked at her with a softness he didn't bother hiding.
"Don't laugh at me," he muttered quietly, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.
"I'm not laughing at you," Yunxi said sweetly. "I'm laughing at the situation."
Rui nodded seriously.
"Mommy, Daddy is practicing. He needs encouragement."
Lingchen raised an eyebrow. "Encouragement?"
Yichen patted his arm.
"I believe in you, Daddy."
Qing'er handed him a paper.
It had a circle, a potato shape, and something that might have been a star.
"This is you."
Lingchen blinked slowly.
"…Thank you?"
Yunxi hid another laugh.
The man who once intimidated entire boardrooms was now being spiritually evaluated by toddlers who couldn't tie their own shoes.
And somehow…
It fit him.
This role — father — fit him better than the cold, powerful image he used to wear like armor.
Yunxi stepped closer.
"You're doing well," she whispered.
Lingchen looked up. Something tender flickered in his eyes.
A gratitude he couldn't voice.
A warmth that reached places he once thought frozen.
He had always been strong.
But this — learning to be gentle — was a different kind of strength.
And he was trying. Every day.
For her.
For the children.
For their family.
Later that afternoon…
The children napped in a tangled pile on the couch — Rui sprawled over Yichen, Yichen hugging Qing'er, and Qing'er drooling on everyone.
Lingchen gently draped a blanket over them, careful not to wake even one.
Yunxi watched from the doorway again, her heart softening.
"They like sleeping together," she said quietly. "They always have. Even when I tried giving them separate beds, they'd drag their pillows into one room."
Lingchen smiled faintly.
"They're attached to each other."
"They're each other's world," Yunxi said. "For a long time, they only had me… and themselves."
Lingchen walked toward her, stopping just a step away.
"Now they have more."
Yunxi lowered her eyes.
"Lingchen…"
He reached out slowly — giving her room to pull away.
She didn't.
His fingers brushed her cheek, a gentle stroke that made her heart flutter painfully.
"I can't erase the years you suffered," he whispered. "I can't give back the time you raised them alone."
Her breath trembled.
"But I can be here now," he said. "I can learn. I can grow. I can make sure you never carry everything by yourself again."
Yunxi closed her eyes.
His hand was warm. Safe.
Grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years.
After everything…
The kidnapping.
The nightmare with the Shi family.
The years of running.
The wounds she still carried.
She was finally allowed to breathe.
Lingchen's voice softened further.
"I'm not perfect. But I'll learn to be a father they can rely on."
"You already are," she whispered.
He inhaled sharply, emotion flickering across his face.
"Yunxi… I want to do this right. I want to earn your trust properly. I want to earn them properly. No rushing. No pressure. Just… let me stay. Let me try."
Her heart squeezed.
"Lingchen," she said softly, "you're not trying. You're doing."
He looked shaken for a moment.
Then relieved.
Deeply, quietly relieved.
He didn't pull her into his arms — not yet.
He simply rested his forehead gently against hers.
A small, stolen moment.
A promise.
A beginning.
The children stirred.
Rui rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"Mama… Daddy…"
Lingchen and Yunxi separated quickly — like teenagers caught doing something suspicious.
Rui blinked up at them.
Then, with the most innocent expression imaginable, asked:
"Were you two kissing?"
Both adults froze.
Yunxi choked.
Lingchen turned an impressive shade of red.
Shi Yichen sat up.
"If Daddy kisses Mommy, then they should get married."
Qing'er nodded sleepily.
"And then we get cake."
Rui pointed at them seriously.
"And then Daddy will sleep in Mommy's room."
Yunxi: "…"
Lingchen: "…"
All three children: staring expectantly.
Lingchen cleared his throat.
"We… will discuss that later."
Rui gasped.
"Yay! Daddy said yes!"
Yunxi covered her face with both hands.
Lingchen looked at her — and smiled.
Warm.
Full.
Soft in a way only she had ever seen.
This…
This was family.
Not perfect.
Not healed completely.
But healing.
Together.
And from that moment on, the house felt less like a shelter…
And more like a home.