Chapter 353: It's Always Been You

Because Xu Guanshan didn't release any more pressure, the meal was fairly harmonious, but still somewhat short of true bliss.

Xia Xi kept having food piled into her bowl by Zhong Yinghong and Xu Yanfeng, stacking up like a small hill; she thought it was lucky her dress was just fitted, not tight, leaving room, and silently ate the vegetables.

After the meal, Xu Junmo found a chance to remind Xu Yanfeng: "I sent it to you."

"What?" Xu Yanfeng pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and opened WeChat.

A few minutes earlier, Xu Junmo had sent him an audio file.

"You wanted to know what Da Lao Hu and Xia Xi talked about, didn't you? It's all in there." Xu Junmo raised his palm, made a throat‑slitting gesture, and said, "I risked a beating to record this for you."

Xu Yanfeng had previously messaged him to look after Xia Xi, but when his father summoned Xia Xi alone to the study, how was he supposed to watch over her?

Inspiration striking, he pretended to go in to bring Xia Xi juice, turned on his phone's recorder, and left the phone inside.

After Xu Guanshan came out of the study, he finally had a chance to go in and retrieve the phone.

Xu Yanfeng looked at him, eyes smiling and appreciative, but his words were unsparing: "How dare you pluck hair from a tiger's mouth."

Xu Junmo rolled his eyes: "It's all because you forced me." He pointed at Xu Yanfeng: "Brothers settle accounts clearly; you owe me this favor, and if you ever need my help later, you must stab me in the ribs—no equivocating."

Xu Yanfeng nodded absentmindedly.

Zhong Yinghong took out an old photo album and told Xia Xi it contained pictures of Xu Yanfeng from childhood onward; he dislikes having his photo taken, so most are candid shots.

Xia Xi flipped it open with great interest, and her gaze froze.

It was Xu Yanfeng's 100‑day memorial photo: a tiny child in a soft yellow onesie, held by Zhong Yinghong, a red dot on his forehead, his cheeks soft and delicate.

In the photo, Zhong Yinghong wears a red dress, her black hair flowing, a pearl hairband on her head, smiling at the camera, her manner gentle yet noble—befitting a lady of a great clan.

Xia Xi murmured to herself: "Looking at this, Zi Heng and Xu Yanfeng were quite alike as kids."

Zhong Yinghong didn't catch it, tilted her head, and asked, "What did you say was alike?"

Xia Xi took out her phone, scrolled to a photo of Zi Heng taken not long after his birth, and handed it to Zhong Yinghong.

Zhong Yinghong glanced at it, astonished, and said, "How do you have a photo of A Feng this young? Did he give it to you? No way… wait, I've never even seen this photo."

Xia Xi laughed, realizing she wasn't the only one who thought they looked alike: "This isn't Xu Yanfeng—it's his son."

Zhong Yinghong stared as if struck by lightning: "Whose son???"

Xia Xi didn't understand why she looked so startled; she sobered up, intending to ask Xu Yanfeng, since he said he'd already told his mother clearly—why did Zhong Yinghong seem to have just learned he had a son?

She couldn't find Xu Yanfeng—he had just been in the living room, but now she didn't know where he'd run off to.

Xia Xi had no choice but to say herself: "That child you saw at my place last time is mine and Xu Yanfeng's."

Zhong Yinghong's jaw dropped, her mouth forming an O, and she was speechless for a moment.

Perhaps this was the most unseemly expression an elegant aristocratic lady could make.

Xia Xi grew more certain Zhong Yinghong knew nothing; her mind went blank for a second, unsure where the mix‑up lay: "Xu Yanfeng said he'd told you."

Zhong Yinghong finally came to, though her gaze was still a bit vacant: "He did say it—that's his child—but… but I thought…" She chastised herself: "I thought he meant he would love your child as his own."

Xia Xi: "……"

Even Xu Yanfeng could be this unreliable—his own mother misunderstood him, and he didn't even know it.

Yet it surprised her that Zhong Yinghong, even thinking the child wasn't Xu Yanfeng's, would still accept her—showing how deeply she loved Xu Yanfeng.

Zhong Yinghong took a while to recover, then exclaimed both surprised and delighted: "Is the child five?"

"Yeah, he just turned six after his January birthday."

Zhong Yinghong counted on her fingers: "So you and A Feng were already… back in college… Ah! Turns out the girl A Feng liked back then was you! It's always been you!"

Zhong Yinghong felt a sudden clearing, like parting clouds to see the moon.

Years ago, she only knew Xu Yanfeng had a girl he really liked; his mood swayed with her, making him unlike himself, and she didn't see anything wrong with that—dating at his age was quite normal. Later, presumably they broke up, and he reverted to his former self: silent, emotionally flat, seeming to care about nothing, unable to muster interest in anything, even more so than before.

From beginning to end, she never knew that girl's name or appearance. When she previously saw Xia Xi, she naturally didn't connect her with that girl.

Thinking back, Zhong Yinghong felt a twinge of regret, but looking at Xia Xi's face again, the regret faded—after all this back‑and‑forth, they're together again.

"Did you two break up?" Zhong Yinghong asked for confirmation.

"Yes."

"These past years, haven't you been raising the child alone?"

Xia Xi smiled and nodded.

Zhong Yinghong, also a mother, naturally understood how hard raising a child is; her gaze toward Xia Xi filled with pity: "You've had it rough—I didn't look closely last time, but I can tell you've raised the child well."

Xia Xi was a bit unsure how to respond, lowered her head, and flipped through the album.

She came upon a photo of Xu Yanfeng at five or six: small, his features already showing delicate contours, wearing a white short‑sleeve shirt, black suspender pants, a backpack, like a little prince, his expression somewhat unhappy—who knows what troubled him then.

Zhong Yinghong wiped the corner of her eye, smiling: "That was on the way to Go class—he didn't want to go, so I secretly snapped a photo, then took him to play soccer, and he cheered up. But that day there was a minor mishap: he scraped his knee, bleeding heavily, yet he didn't shed a tear or tell anyone, because back then his father disliked his playing these sports and wouldn't let him."

Xia Xi pursed her lips in displeasure for the little boy; Xu Guanshan really was domineering from start to finish.

She had meant to see how Xu Yanfeng was reacting now, glanced around, but still didn't spot him—perhaps he'd slipped off to make a call.

Xu Yanfeng went upstairs, found earphones, plugged them in, opened the audio file Xu Junmo had sent him, turned the volume up, and the sound rang clear in his ears—

"I recall you once promised me personally that even if you worked with the Xu Clan, you'd discuss only work with Xu Yanfeng, no personal matters; I chose to believe you, yet you toyed with me. Xia Xi, did you think that with Xu Yanfeng shielding you, I wouldn't dare move against you?"

"Back when I made that promise to you, I truly hadn't imagined a future with him. You know how bitter our split was—how could I dare hope for a future with him?"

"Then tell me, what are you doing now?"

"……"

The more Xu Yanfeng listened, the colder his face grew, his whole body feeling frozen, blood congealing—now he knew what "chilled to the bone" truly felt like.

At this moment the earlier puzzling question cleared up: why Xia Xi had stayed tight‑lipped, refusing to speak the truth.

Indeed, that's how it was; indeed, that's how it was.

His kind father, of course, knew exactly how to wound him most deeply.