Chapter 90 – The Crybaby Confrontation

There’s a Chinese idiom called “hair standing on end in anger.” Wei Lai had always thought it was just ancient people talking nonsense.

However, against the light, he noticed that Chu Yin’s soft hair was slowly standing up one strand at a time, as if a fluffy ball had been rubbed with static electricity.

This was a serious problem. Wei Lai quickly reached out to smooth down the frizzed hair, even giving it a few extra pats for good measure.

Chu Yin: “…”

Wei Lai: “…”

Chu Yin shook his head vigorously, dislodging Wei Lai’s hand, and said coldly, “Don’t think patting my head will make me forget that you lied to me.”

Wei Lai wiggled his butt and acted spoiled, trying to weasel his way out of it. “That was so many years ago, and I turned out fine, didn’t I?~ Lai Lai’s butt hurts, don’t be mad at Lai Lai~”

Chu Yin’s lips twitched. Clearly, as the other delicate flower in the household, he wasn’t falling for this act. He flicked a grain of rice at Wei Lai’s face, signaling that he was done with him. Wei Lai hurriedly wedged himself between Chu Yin’s legs and said with as much sincerity as he could muster, “Hey, hey, don’t go! Listen to my explanation!”

Chu Yin said, “Fine. Explain.”

Wei Lai found himself at a loss for words again, unsure where to even begin.

This was a long story.

From childhood, it seemed he had always been an expendable tool.

His father didn’t care for him, disgusted by his effeminate nature. His mother didn’t care for him either, believing his birth had ruined her beauty.

In short, Wei Lai was entirely left to the care of nannies.

Sometimes, there were situations the nanny couldn’t handle—like Wei Lai being obsessed with studying while also frail and sickly, spending half the year battling colds.

Wei Gangzheng, a hardened man his whole life, couldn’t tolerate having a son who was a delicate, sickly flower. He forbade him from taking medicine or getting IV drips, insisting he fight off illness with sheer willpower. So, in Wei Lai’s subconscious, suffering through sickness alone was just how things were.

At school, Wei Lai was also taken for granted. Even in kindergarten, his self-sufficiency was terrifyingly strong. While other kids forgot things, were picky eaters, or wet the bed, Wei Lai never did. The saying goes that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, so teachers rarely gave him special attention. When they thought of him, their only impression was: reliable and outstanding.

After starting work, Wei Lai gradually let loose, but he was still the person everyone relied on. His name alone meant security.

Wei Lai didn’t allow himself any weaknesses or moments of vulnerability. In other words, he was obsessed with saving face—even his coffin lid would have to be closed with dignity.

At the time, Wei Lai was infinitely grateful that Chu Yin wasn’t there to see him in the hospital—unable to see or hear, rolling on the floor in agony, begging the doctors to chop his head off. It was beyond humiliating. He’d rather have died quietly on the operating table than let Chu Yin remember him as anything less than his dazzling, enchanting daddy.

After hearing all this, Chu Yin let out an “Oh,” then hopped off the kitchen counter and went back to washing rice.

Wei Lai asked cautiously, “Are you okay now? Still mad?”

Chu Yin mumbled, “I don’t know.”

Wei Lai: “…”

After that, Chu Yin acted strangely. He didn’t throw a tantrum but instead became an attentive little caretaker, sticking close to Wei Lai’s side. He didn’t even let Wei Lai lift a finger to drink water, inserting a straw and personally feeding it to him.

When Wei Lai drank too much and needed to use the bathroom, Chu Yin asked, “Should I carry you?”

Wei Lai: “…No need.”

Chu Yin ignored him, scooped Wei Lai up in a princess carry, and deposited him in the bathroom.

Wei Lai protested verbally, “Aiya, no need~”

But his body was honest. He squeezed Chu Yin’s pecs happily and said, “Spin me around again~”

Chu Yin spun him dramatically three times before setting him down in front of the toilet.

Chu Yin asked solicitously, “Need help holding your bird?”

Wei Lai coughed. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh.”

Chu Yin didn’t leave, just stared at him. Wei Lai complained, “Why are you staring? Turn around.”

Chu Yin retorted, “Why? Like how I wasn’t allowed to see you during your tumor surgery?”

So this grudge wasn’t over yet.

Wei Lai sighed. “Imagine this: You’re taking a shit, and I’m squatting next to you, critiquing the top notes, middle notes, and base notes of your poop’s aroma. Is that what you want?”

Chu Yin wrinkled his nose and turned away. “Madam Wei, you’re disgusting!”

Wei Lai thought Chu Yin had gotten over his anger, but in the middle of the night, he realized it wasn’t just anger—it was something deeper.

Having slept too much during the day, Wei Lai was still awake at midnight when Chu Yin, lying beside him, suddenly started breathing rapidly and jerked upright.

The moment he sat up, Chu Yin held his breath, as if afraid of waking Wei Lai. Wei Lai realized Chu Yin was having another nightmare—and didn’t want him to know.

Wei Lai pretended to sleep, staying still and even lightening his breath to sell the act. Then, Chu Yin did something unexpected.

He reached out a finger and checked Wei Lai’s breathing.

At that exact moment, Wei Lai was inhaling, so it must have seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all. For a few seconds, Chu Yin’s hand trembled. Wei Lai opened his eyes and pulled Chu Yin into a hug. “What are you doing?”

Chu Yin had dreamed that Wei Lai died.

Silently, in bed. When he turned his head, Wei Lai had already turned into a skeleton.

But Chu Yin didn’t want Wei Lai to find out.

He wanted to be strong, someone Wei Lai could rely on.

First goal: Only cry once a day.

Chu Yin said gravely, “Nothing.”

Wei Lai asked, “Were you planning to pick my nose for me?”

Chu Yin: “…”

Wei Lai sighed, wrapped Chu Yin tightly in the blanket, and kissed his earlobe. “You haven’t had nightmares in years. Why today? What did you dream about?”

Chu Yin stayed silent, fighting back tears.

“You were checking if I was dead. So in your dream, I died?”

Chu Yin tensed up instantly, overwhelmed by a crushing sense of failure. Tears pooled in his eyes. “Wei Lai, not telling me about your tumor was the right decision. I’m useless—I just cry, and then you have to comfort me instead…”

Wei Lai hastily offered his belly. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. Here, bury your face in my tummy!”

Chu Yin pinched Wei Lai’s belly and sobbed, “Your chubby belly is gone… it turned into abs… wuuu…”

Wei Lai didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You weren’t happy when I was fat, and now you’re not happy that I’m fit. Master, what do you want from me~?”

“I liked your soft belly. If only I hadn’t let you lose weight… it’s all my fault…”

“By that logic, if I hadn’t called you fat, you wouldn’t have dieted with me, right? Overthinking it is pointless. Chu Yin, what did the therapist tell you? Don’t let guilt control you. Just like you don’t owe Chen Meixian, you don’t owe your fans, and you definitely don’t owe me. Got it? If you keep thinking like this, I’ll get mad.”

Chu Yin gave a small “Mm,” but still felt miserable. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t take care of you well. You sleep. I’ll just… cry a little more.”

Wei Lai was silent for a moment before saying seriously, “Chu Yin, you’re the first person I think of when I’m sick. I get sick easily, and you’re the only one who worries endlessly and stays by my side until I recover.”

Wei Lai gently bit Chu Yin’s lips, accidentally tasting a drop of bitter, salty tears. His heart ached too. “All these years, you’ve taken such good care of me. But I never thanked you. Thank you.”

In the dead of night, the tragic 0 and the unhinged 0 clung to each other, eyes wet, kissing messily. The orange cat came in to inspect, confirmed the two poop-scoopers were still alive, gave a disinterested “Meow,” and strutted off to patrol the balcony, tail held high.

Before Wei Lai went for his hemorrhoid surgery, an unexpected guest arrived at their home.

Wei Gangzheng.

Chu Yin recognized him immediately—he was the old man who had once sprayed him with a hose.