Chapter 961: It

What does that mean?

Cheng Kaiyuan stood by the office window, gazing at the security building across the way.

The remark Li Xuewu had seemingly tossed off at lunch still lingered in his mind.

At the time, he hadn’t known why Li Xuewu asked that, so he’d given a vague answer.

They hadn’t discussed actual work during lunch, but he was certain Li Xuewu hadn’t spoken casually—there was something wrong.

So, what exactly was wrong?

“Little Zhang, come here.”

“Yes, boss.”

Cheng Kaiyuan’s secretary first called out from outside the door, then hurried to the entrance, but slowed his steps once inside, adopting a more composed demeanor.

“Boss, you called for me?”

“Mm, there’s something.”

Cheng Kaiyuan sat back down behind his desk, flipping through documents as he asked: “Have you prepared the materials I requested this morning?”

“Just a bit of data left—Production Section says they need to wait for Finance to finish their inventory records, otherwise the books won’t balance.”

The secretary lifted the teacup lid from the desk, tested the water temperature with the back of his hand, picked up the cup, and walked to the side table to replace it.

“I’ve already coordinated with Finance—they say the results won’t be ready until next Monday. Something’s wrong with the budget.”

“What kind of problem?”

Cheng Kaiyuan lifted his eyes from the documents and asked the secretary, Little Zhang: “Wasn’t it already submitted for review?”

“I’m not entirely clear on the details.”

Little Zhang brewed fresh tea, carried it over to the desk, and placed it on his left side as he replied: “At year-end, Finance locks down accounts, so no one from other departments can enter, and the accountants are too swamped to come out.”

As if explaining his own lack of clarity, he added: “Finance has pulled staff from every department to help—they’ll probably be swamped until month-end.”

“Is that so~”

Cheng Kaiyuan lifted his teacup, frowned, glanced at the secretary, and asked: “Have you clarified the situation regarding the deputy director’s injury?”

“This…”

The secretary hesitated slightly, then saw his boss’s eyes narrow and quickly replied: “Everyone in the office is talking—rumors everywhere. I lean toward thinking there’s something wrong.”

“Speak.”

Cheng Kaiyuan lowered his eyelids, blew on the tea leaves, and took a sip.

The secretary no longer dared to be cryptic—he stepped to the side of the desk, bowed slightly, and whispered: “The injury details are confirmed—ribs and neck fracture—but the issue isn’t there.”

“Deputy Director Shi only fell and got hurt—he didn’t pass out. He underwent surgery the same day, and Director Li visited the hospital that evening of the 24th.”

Little Zhang watched his boss’s expression and added softly: “I mentioned this to you before—Ding Director from the Office accompanied you that time.”

“Mm, I remember.”

Cheng Kaiyuan nodded, set down his teacup, stared at the documents in his hand, and said: “Continue.”

“Yes.”

Little Zhang glanced at the documents in his boss’s hands—they were the ones he’d compiled and submitted two days ago regarding next year’s production and construction plans.

“Last night, the branch and disciplinary inspection teams first went to the security unit, then security personnel escorted Liu Lan to the security building.”

“We don’t know exactly what was said, but we know Deputy Group Leader Yu from security accompanied a disciplinary inspection officer to Deputy Director Shi’s hospital.”

“Soon after, Section Chief Sun from security brought another disciplinary inspection officer to Director Li, and only then did Director Li leave with them.”

“Oh, by the way.”

The secretary emphasized: “Also leaving with Director Li were Deputy Team Leader of the Propaganda Unit and Dance Troupe Leader Zhou Miaomiao.”

“What does she have to do with this?”

Cheng Kaiyuan frowned, raised his head, and glanced at the secretary—he noticed the depth in the secretary’s gaze.

He didn’t need the secretary to tell him about that relationship—anyone in the factory who’d ever interacted with Li Huai or even the Propaganda Unit knew about Zhou Miaomiao’s connection to Director Li.

He didn’t care whether Zhou Miaomiao and Li Huai had an affair—he wanted to know what Liu Lan was involved in, and what tied this entire chain of people together.

Although Li Huai had returned and likely settled everything, he didn’t regret missing the chance to make a big move—he had to understand the full sequence of events.

This time, Li Huai got lucky—he happened to be caught in the middle of Li Xuewu’s ongoing case.

No need to guess: Li Huai must have received Li Xuewu’s help, otherwise the disciplinary inspection team wouldn’t have let him go so easily after taking him away.

But next time?

He can’t expect Li Xuewu to rescue him every time—he’ll keep making mistakes, and eventually, he’ll be exposed.

Cheng Kaiyuan knew well: his own influence had already been nearly severed by Li Huai and Li Xuewu—he no longer had the power to stir up trouble.

But that didn’t mean he had no chance to turn the tide—if he couldn’t create difficulties for his enemies, he’d just wait for them to trip over their own feet.

When the time came, he’d only need to extend his foot slightly—the towering, conspicuous Li Huai would be the one to fall.

“Find out about the case Deputy Director Li is handling—start with the Dongcheng Credit Cooperative.”

Cheng Kaiyuan pointed at Little Zhang and said: “Forget about that material—give it to someone else. First, get to the bottom of this.”

“Yes, boss.”

Little Zhang groaned inwardly but answered enthusiastically, even volunteering: “Should I bring a camera?”

“No!”

Cheng Kaiyuan glanced at him and warned: “Don’t do anything reckless. Just use business procedures as your excuse—ask around, you’ll find out.”

“One more thing.”

As Little Zhang was about to turn and leave, Cheng Kaiyuan added: “Be careful—Security Department personnel might be on-site.”

“Understood.”

Little Zhang nodded seriously and said: “Then I’ll go right away, boss—I’ll report back the moment I have news.”

“Mm, go.”

Cheng Kaiyuan lowered his head and said: “If it’s late, you can come straight to my house, alright?”

“Understood.”

Little Zhang was straightforward—he nodded, stepped back a few paces, and turned toward the door.

He spoke with loyal devotion, but inside he was terrified—he knew exactly how little he was worth.

Who was his boss asking him to investigate?

He said it was just to “ask around” about the case—but who was involved in this case?

Leaving others aside, Director Li was definitely in it—plus Deputy Director Shi, Liu Lan, and that “reckless” Zhou Miaomiao.

Deputy Director Li was even an expert assisting in the investigation—any slip from him would get him caught immediately.

He was already nervous, and now his boss had scared him with talk of the Security Department—was this going to blow up into something huge?

With his puny frame, he’d be crushed before he could blink.

That’s why he’d offered to bring the camera—to subtly warn his boss not to go poking into everything.

Now his boss insisted on sticking his nose in—chances were he’d get dragged in too.

Just think: is Deputy Director Li the kind of man who takes insults or tolerates idle talk?

You provoke him?

That’s just asking for trouble!

“Phew~~”

Peng Xiaoli stood in the gatehouse, saw Cheng Deputy Director’s car drive out, and whistled to Gu Cheng, who was squatting outside smoking.

Gu Cheng stood up, cigarette dangling, leaned on the windowsill, and raised his eyebrows: “This time you better be right—don’t screw up again like last time.”

Peng Xiaoli gripped the window frame and assured him: “Relax, trust me—this time it’s definitely fine!”

He glanced back, then urged: “Hurry up—the car’s coming out.”

“Damn it! Last time you swore it was fine too!”

Gu Cheng grumbled, pulled on a cotton mask, strapped on a motorcycle helmet, then added a pair of tank soldier goggles—looking as flashy as possible.

Peng Xiaoli stared at him in disbelief: “I told you to tail him, not to go undercover in full disguise—what the hell are you doing?”

“Bullshit! Try riding a motorcycle in winter and see how you like it!”

Gu Cheng cursed, leapt onto his motorcycle, kicked the starter, and sped off.

Peng Xiaoli had no reply—he’d known since Gu Cheng got transferred to the car fleet, he’d gone completely wild and learned to ride a motorcycle.

This bastard was abusing his position—he had this convenience and never thought of his buddies!

He’d kept thinking of Gu Cheng, always remembered to call him for field assignments whenever the boss had tasks.

Peng Xiaoli warmed his hands on the radiator, crouched down, and watched Cheng Deputy Director’s car roll out the gate.

In this era, car windows had no anti-peeping film—he could clearly see no one in the back seat, only Zhang Shicheng in the front passenger seat.

Peng Xiaoli knew him well—Zhang Shicheng had joined three or four years earlier and was a senior in the department.

When Cheng Deputy Director arrived this year, he picked Zhang as his secretary and bragged about it for days.

But this guy had no friends—he’d always been low-key, and now his presence was still unremarkable; among all the boss’s secretaries, he was a minor nobody.

Though Peng Xiaoli arrived later, he made up for it with his flashy antics—he always had a circle of shady friends, and even Gu Cheng was one of the few decent ones among them.

His family didn’t rely on his income, so why not spend freely with his buddies?

Of course, the factory office circle was small, everyone at the same level—meals and drinks were always shared, no one had more or less.

Back then, over drinks, everyone swore, “If I get rich, I won’t forget you!”—but what happened?

The dogs got rich and forgot them all completely.

Once someone became a secretary or got transferred out, they were never seen again.

Forget about helping each other—just getting out of the factory office doesn’t make you a leader overnight; everyone’s in the same shitty boat, who’s helping whom?

Peng Xiao had never been honest, and in the department he was the type who never let himself be taken advantage of; he teamed up perfectly with Gu Cheng, specifically targeting veteran comrades.

This time, he actually practiced what “if you get rich, don’t forget your brothers” means—good brothers, for life.

Good brothers should suffer together for life!

It’s fucking cold today, and driving the boss’s car would be too flashy, so I’ve got to make Gu Cheng do it.

That bastard bragged about his motorcycle license a few days ago—perfect time to “deploy the troops.”

What?

Envy? Jealousy?

How could that be? They’re brothers!

When trouble comes, brothers step up—what else are brothers for?

To look after your wife and kids!

“Secretary Peng, have a smoke.”

“Section Chief Ren, have mine.”

Peng Xiao turned around and saw Section Chief Ren An entering the room; he politely accepted the smoke.

“Hey, whose smoke doesn’t matter.”

Ren An smiled and hurried to light Peng Xiao’s cigarette.

Peng Xiao glanced at him and asked with a grin, “Something good happen? I ran into your wife just a few days ago when she was asking for leave.”

“Hehehe~”

Ren An chuckled a few times and said, “Just found out—I haven’t had time to prepare yet.”

“Prepare what?”

Peng Xiao took a drag, smiled, and bowed slightly. “Get ready to hold your son—I’m already congratulating you!”

“Boy or girl, same thing—thanks, brother.”

Ren An, sincere and simple, returned Peng Xiao’s congratulations and said, “When the baby’s full moon comes, I’ll invite you to the celebration.”

“Definitely, definitely.”

Peng Xiao lightly tapped Ren An’s arm with his cigarette and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t forget to invite the boss.”

“That…”

Ren An said, a little embarrassed, “How could I possibly trouble the boss over something so small…”

“Wrong.”

Peng Xiao took a drag, looked at him, and said, “Who in the Security Department ever had an event and got ignored by the boss?”

“Don’t worry, be bold.”

He smiled at Ren An. “If you don’t bring it up, the boss will think you’re stingy. It’s a happy occasion—what’s there to fear?”

Without waiting for Ren An to reply, he nodded and left.

Ren An stood in the duty room, watching Peng Xiao’s figure vanish around the corner, then sat down with his cigarette and took a drag.

A guard on duty came in, greeted him, and asked about Secretary Peng; Ren An gave a vague reply, still lost in thought.

Actually, when he got married, Fan Hua had urged him to deliver the invitation to Li Xuewu—he’d felt awkward about it.

Li Xuewu was the de facto head of the Security Department, while he was just a section chief—how could he possibly invite a boss to his wedding?

In the end, Fan Hua pressured him so hard he had no choice; if he didn’t go, she’d fly off the handle—so he gathered his courage and delivered the invitation during a time when Li Xuewu was away.

At the time, Li Xuewu’s secretary was Sha Qizhi; the man just smiled and accepted the invitation on behalf of the boss.

He assumed Sha’s smile was just polite formality—but on his wedding day, the boss didn’t show up, while Sha came with a gift.

Not much: one yuan.

Of course, “not much” means it wasn’t the highest amount for wedding gifts in this era.

Some said they’d received five yuan as a wedding gift.

But such cases were extremely rare—at least he’d never seen one himself; his own wedding ledger had no five-yuan gifts, only three-yuan ones from close relatives.

One yuan didn’t attract attention back then—but it depended on how you looked at it.

Just like Secretary Peng just said: who in the Security Department ever had an event and got ignored by the boss?

The boss might not show up, but the gift always arrived.

Red events: one yuan. White events: fifty fen. How many people are there in the Security Department?

Because of this alone, Li Xuewu’s word always carried weight in the Security Department—not because he ruled with an iron fist, but because everyone trusted him.

Sun Jian originally came to the Security Department with the mindset of being a stubborn nail—but ask him now, would he still think that way?

Just pick any one person from the Security Department and ask: why do you respect Li Xuewu?

Nothing else—moral authority.

Everyone knows this. Outside, rumors call him the “Tiger of the Security Department,” saying he’s terrifying, ruthless.

But the people in the Security Department have never seen their boss act cruelly or lose his temper with them.

If he’s harsh toward others, that’s none of our business—if the Security Department wasn’t tough, what would it even be?

A nursery?

Right now, Ren An was thinking more about the conversations Fan Hua had had with him at home, teaching him how to advance.

Sometimes he resented his wife for being so ambitious, always thinking about progress.

Couldn’t she just be ordinary? Couldn’t she just work steadily, waiting for promotion by the book?

Fan Hua once told him: opportunities in life are rare, and good bosses are even rarer.

A young leader like Li Xuewu is precisely the great opportunity for people like him—those who seek diligence, hard work, and sincere effort.

You don’t need to bribe him or flatter him—just maintain good relationships at work and in private, and advancement becomes inevitable.

Birds fly high with phoenixes; men rise with the virtuous.

Seeing Peng Xiao today, Ren An suddenly had an insight: dealing with a boss doesn’t require begging—that only traps you.

The wisest way to interact is to learn: learn the boss’s character, his conduct, his virtues.

Birds of a feather flock together; people group by kind. Those who share the same ideals and beliefs don’t need to flatter—they’ll naturally come together.

Those who love singing go sing together; those who love dancing dance together; those who love reading discuss scholarship together.

Even leaders who enjoy passive entertainment must have a few who play cards with them, or… you know, do other things, right?

What was Peng Xiao before? A notorious little brat from the factory office—every time a new boss arrived, he’d dream of soaring to the top.

The result? Arrogant and aloof, dreams shattered on the ground, nearly falling into self-destruction.

Failure always needs excuses to consume shame—the more failures, the more excuses.

In a way, Li Xuewu was Peng Xiao’s benefactor; their first encounter gave him an unforgettable lesson.

Made him understand that section-level cadres weren’t to be trifled with—and section-level cadres in the Security Department were even less so.

Later, Peng Xiao was chosen as Li Xuewu’s secretary thanks to Sha Qizhi’s discernment and Sun Jian’s behind-the-scenes help.

But no matter how you look at it, look at Peng Xiao now: walking with chest out, head high, confident, balanced in action—no trace left of his former brat persona.

As for flattery, fawning, or serving as a secretary, Ren An admitted he lacked Peng Xiao’s ability and perseverance—Li Xuewu didn’t choose him.

So if young men like Peng Xiao understand how to seize opportunity and emulate the virtuous, what’s he complaining about?

“Hss~”

Ren An felt pain on his hand and reflexively flicked away his cigarette—he’d been so absorbed in thought he’d forgotten he was holding one.

He waved off the guard outside who’d looked over, then stood and stepped out, asking the duty guard: “When Secretary Peng was here, which car left?”

“No, no, I’ve got real business here.”

Li Xuewu hung up the phone, glanced at his watch, and said, “It’s almost quitting time—I need to go home and see my wife and kids. Two days without being home, and my wife’s pregnant.”

…

“Yeah, yeah, eat, eat.”

Li Xuewu waved Peng Xiao over, handed him the recently signed document, pointed to the name of the leader it needed to be forwarded to, then returned to his call.

The call was from Xiang Yun, saying the Discipline Inspection and Branch leadership had just finished a meeting, and it was a rare chance—they’d be gathering for dinner in the canteen.

Li Xuewu knew exactly why this dinner was being held, and exactly why Xiang Yun had called.

He had no desire to attend, and had already made clear he had no demands—the case was nearly over; showing up now would be strange.

So when Xiang Yun pressed hard, Li Xuewu simply cited his wife and children.

“Alright, alright, that’s settled—I’ll treat you next time.”

Hearing Xiang Yun’s tone of regret and guilt, Li Xuewu smiled politely and hung up.

Xiang Yun felt guilty toward Li Xuewu—even though Li had personally connected him and the Confidentiality Department on this case, Xiang was the one who reaped the real benefits.

Zhang Shuqin’s case was officially credited to the Discipline Inspection; today’s meeting between the Branch and Discipline Inspection leadership had unified their stance, and future publicity would be led by Discipline Inspection.

As the actual lead investigator, Xiang had gotten a huge windfall.

He wasn’t stupid—after Li Xuewu cracked Du Xiaoyan, he understood the case’s hidden depths.

So he went straight to Li Xuewu and expressed his position.

That’s why people say Li Xuewu may be a bit ruthless, but he’s trustworthy—and worth befriending.

Ji Weidong’s crude nature had alienated everyone in the Investigation Department—but look how well he gets along with Li Xuewu.

Xiang Yun knew his own reputation well—“cautious and reserved” was a polite way to say colleagues behind his back called him cold, heartless, cruel, and untrustworthy.

But among the few people he considered friends, Li Xuewu was one he could absolutely trust.

Distance reveals a horse’s strength; time reveals a man’s heart.

From this case, you can see Li Xuewu’s character—calm, composed, emotional, and righteous.

He took the bulk of the case on behalf of the Discipline Inspection, and under Li Xuewu’s mediation, the branch office preserved both face and substance.

The Confidentiality Department suddenly went silent. Xiang Yun had spoken privately with his superior about it; the superior’s response was peculiar—he patted Xiang Yun’s shoulder but said nothing.

But tonight’s dinner gathering was specifically arranged by the superior, who instructed him to invite Li Xuewu without fail.

Perhaps due to his understanding of Li Xuewu’s character, or perhaps out of deeper respect for Li Xuewu’s choices, the superior didn’t issue a direct order.

Yet the fact that his call to Li Xuewu was politely declined shows this friend deserves to be called upright and honorable.

What’s given is given; if he says no, he truly won’t accept.

Now it was Xiang Yun’s dilemma: how to deliver Li Xuewu’s rightful share?

Li Xuewu didn’t care what was sent, nor did he care whether the dinner gathering organized by the Discipline Inspection and branch leadership had invited him.

What did he care about?

Perhaps it was an attitude, or an intention, or simply friendship.

Does a man like Li Xuewu even have friends?

Ding ling ling~ ding ling ling~

Not long after Xiang Yun hung up, the phone on his desk began ringing again.

Peng Xiao, who had just returned to the office after delivering documents, answered the call at Li Xuewu’s signal.

After just two sentences, he covered the receiver and whispered to his superior: “Director Huang of Prison One.”

Li Xuewu took a breath, impatiently snatched the phone, and pressed it to his ear: “It’s me. What?”

“Today I’ve got a few friends…”

Before Huang Ganjian could finish, Li Xuewu cut him off: “Busy. That’s all.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the phone down with a bang.

He finished signing the documents in his hand, and the phone rang again.

This time, Li Xuewu picked it up himself.

“It’s me. Don’t shoot!”

It was Huang Ganjian again!

This time, Huang Ganjian spoke faster, letting him say more.

He meant his father had introduced him to several connections—all within the same system.

Tonight, he’d invited a few comrades from the club, hoping to drag Li Xuewu along for dinner, to make friends.

Another guy who felt he owed Li Xuewu a favor, trying to share the resources his family offered.

But Li Xuewu showed no gratitude—he just let Huang ramble on, then set the phone aside and ignored him.

After finishing the documents, he picked up the phone again, listened as Huang kept talking, then interrupted: “Mm, mm, I got it. You invite your dad—I’ll treat you. Can’t make it tonight. That’s all.”

Bang~

He hung up on Huang Ganjian again, coldly and without mercy.

On the other end, Huang Ganjian froze, staring at the phone in disbelief.

He wasn’t shocked that Li Xuewu had hung up on him a second time—he was stunned by what the kid had just said!

Hadn’t he just said on the phone he wanted to take Li Xuewu dancing and introduce him to some pretty girls?

Why would he need to bring his dad along for that?

…

Huang Ganjian wanted to call back and ask what the hell he meant.

But then he thought better of it—he wouldn’t get him out tonight anyway, and he feared the operator ladies would start yelling.

He didn’t know that even if he called again, he couldn’t reach Li Xuewu—the quitting bell had just rung.

He signaled Peng Xiao to pack up the documents, changed into his shoes, grabbed his leather briefcase from the desk, and left straight away.

Overtime one minute is wasting sixty seconds.

All work that needed doing was done; what remained couldn’t be finished even if he stayed up all night.

So life can have extra hours, but never overtime.

Peng Xiao followed Li Xuewu downstairs, glanced toward the driver’s station, and softly reminded him before getting in: “Leader, Gu Cheng hasn’t returned.”

He looked at his superior’s face and asked quietly: “Should I wait here for him?”

“Is it convenient for him to go home tonight?”

Li Xuewu opened the car door and said: “That matter isn’t urgent. Do as you see fit.”

“I’m fine. I can sleep anywhere.”

Peng Xiao handed Li Xuewu his bag, then closed the passenger door and said: “If Gu Cheng comes back tonight, I’ll meet you at the club tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

Li Xuewu patted his arm and said: “Stay safe. Same as before—no rush. Take your time.”

He got in the car, nodded to Peng Xiao, and signaled Han Jiankun to drive.

The command vehicle slowly moved out of the factory compound, then picked up speed once on the street.

Light snowflakes drifted down. The Red Star Traffic Radio announced on the car radio: “Heavy snow expected in Jingcheng tonight.”

“Hit him! Hit him!”

As Li Xuewu entered the house, he saw his daughter swinging the bamboo pole used to hang curtains, wildly mimicking a fight in the stairwell.

Qin Jingru, who had just opened the front door for them, smiled and explained: “Some rat ran out this afternoon—I shouted about hitting it, and she somehow picked it up.”

As Qin Jingru spoke, she moved beside Li Shu to take the pole from her hand, which upset Li Shu—she grumbled and refused to let go.

But when she saw Ba Ba had changed into slippers and was watching her, she dropped the pole instantly and pretended to be a good girl.

“Get a cat.”

Li Xuewu placed his briefcase on the hallway cabinet, took off his overcoat and jacket, and hung them on the rack.

He straightened his shirt and sweater, walked behind Li Shu—who was trying to slip away—and scooped her up, lifting her high; his daughter giggled uncontrollably.

Gu Ning lay back on the sofa, the logs in the fireplace crackling behind her.

She watched the father and daughter laugh and play for a while before saying: “We have a child now—how can we keep a cat?”

Doctors always see the danger, always prioritize prevention.

Li Xuewu wanted to say that the Sihe Academy kept cats too—they didn’t need feeding, they caught rats themselves.

But considering Li Shu was at the age of mischief and Gu Ning was about to give birth, keeping a cat wasn’t a good idea.

Cats are kept to catch rats, so they move indoors—and the germs carried by rats could easily infect the child.

Not to mention whether Li Shu might play with the cat and get scratched or bitten—it’s just not worth the risk.

It’s not that Li Xuewu had coddled the child; the Sihe Academy did have several cats.

Wherever the hearth was warm, the big yellow cat would sleep there—total deadbeat.

Back then, who cared if cats carried germs? Most likely, you’d starve to death before catching a disease from one.

We kids were tough—we didn’t care if a cat scratched us; our bodies had built up immunity from the environment.

But in the end, Gu Ning’s feelings had to be considered: no cat. Rat poison was acceptable, but it had to be kept out of Li Shu’s reach.

Rat traps were the same—this little girl was curious about everything, dangerously so.

Han Jiankun had just taken off his coat when Qin Jingru ordered him to set up these things, stressing especially that Li Shu must not see or touch them.

Li Xuewu heard her instructions and looked slightly embarrassed; he sat beside Gu Ning with Li Shu in his arms and gave her an apologetic glance.

He’d been too busy lately, neglecting the family.

Gu Ning understood his look and, unusually, reached out to take his large hand in hers.

Li Xuewu smiled, held Li Shu up, and pointed to Gu Ning’s belly: “Daughter, do you want a little brother or a little sister?”

Li Shu looked at Mama’s belly, then at Ba Ba, then seriously said: “Cat~ cat!”

“…”

“Pfft~”

Gu Ning couldn’t hold back—she burst out laughing, especially at Li Xuewu’s stunned expression.

Li Xuewu realized his daughter’s childhood was missing something—she needed a good hard spanking from her father!

“Dad’s asking again—do you want a little brother or a little sister?”

“Yi yi?”

Li Shu looked puzzled at Ba Ba, not understanding what he meant.

Li Xuewu patiently coaxed her: “Brother, sister.”

“Bro~”

“Yes, brother, sister.”

“Sis~”

“Brother, sister.”

“Bro~ sis”

“…”

Li Xuewu stared at his daughter, half-laughing, half-frustrated: “You can’t just want a ‘brother-sister’!”

“Ya!~”

Li Shu, tired of being teased, wiggled her little hands to stop him.

Ugh! I’m done playing!

Li Xuewu soothed his daughter, picked up the scattered toy figures from the floor, placed the boy and girl ones on either armrest of the sofa, and asked her: “Which one?”

Li Shu first looked at him, then pointed with her tiny finger at the doll wearing a little dress.

“Ah, it’s the little sister…”

Li Xuewu smiled and handed it to her; just as he was about to ask if she liked the little sister, he saw Li Shu happily raise her hand and, with practiced motion, hurl the doll like a grenade to the other side of the sofa.

“Ah! Gigglegiggle~”

Li Shu paid no mind to her father’s frozen smile; she clapped her hands and laughed heartily at her own handiwork.

Gu Ning, seeing Li Xuewu look at her, shrugged helplessly—as if to say, you brought this on yourself; the house was peaceful until you insisted on playing this game.

Stung by her silent laughter, Li Xuewu refused to give up, took an apple from the fruit bowl, and pointed at it: “Brother.”

Then he took a pear and pointed to it for his daughter: “Sister.”

Finally, he asked her: “Do you like the brother or the sister?”

Li Shu hugged her arms, looked at her father in confusion, then suddenly understood, widened her eyes, and nodded seriously: “Hao qi! Chao hao qi~”

“Heh~ Hahaha~”

Gu Ning could no longer hold back; she covered her mouth and lowered her head, laughing quietly—she dared not look at Li Xuewu’s expression now, afraid her laughter might be too loud and disturb the baby inside her.

Li Shu watched her mother laugh, bewildered, not understanding what was happening.

Then she looked at her father’s helpless, half-laughing, half-outraged face, still emphasizing “hao qi” (good taste) with a toddler’s slurred “chao hao qi” (all good taste).

At dinner, Gu Ning still dared not look at Li Xuewu—every time she did, she couldn’t help laughing.

The more she laughed, the more Li Xuewu felt defeated, and his expression only made Gu Ning want to laugh harder.

Qin Jingru, watching their interaction, couldn’t help biting her lip and sneaking a glance at Han Jiankun before explaining: “Li Shu started speaking relatively early, but she still doesn’t fully understand adult words.”

“It’s the environment.”

Li Xuewu automatically reflected on himself: “There are so few people in our home, and we never see children around—how could she possibly understand little brothers and little sisters?”

He then gestured toward Han Jiankun and said to Li Shu: “If you say ‘uncle,’ she’ll definitely know.”

True to her father’s expectations, Li Shu pointed at Han Jiankun the moment he said “uncle,” giggling loudly: “Zhu! Zhuzhu!”

“...”

Han Jiankun stared at Li Shu, holding his bowl, utterly speechless—he hadn’t said a word or done a thing!

Truly, he sat quietly at home, and insults rained from the sky—how unjust!

“Hahaha~”

Qin Jingru laughed and told Han Jiankun: “Kids mispronounce words—you teach her ‘uncle’ or ‘auntie,’ and she calls them ‘dudu.’”

“Zhuzhu~”

Li Shu held her little spoon, watching the adults laugh because of her speech, and now, in full toddler frenzy, she shrieked again.

In truth, Li Shu’s pronunciation was “dudu,” but since her mouth was also smiling, what came out sounded like the impolite “zhuzhu.”

Han Jiankun shook his head with a smile: “Call me Zhuzhu then—better than throwing me like a grenade.”

“Hahaha~”

Han Jiankun, who never joked in daily life, suddenly making a joke had an even stronger effect.

Gu Ning had already turned away, covering her mouth—she feared spitting out her food.

Li Shu, meanwhile, grabbed her spoon, laughed, and tapped it against the little dining table; she didn’t know why the adults were laughing, but she knew she should laugh along.

It’s all about participation!

After dinner, Han Jiankun went out to chop firewood for the fireplace.

Shen Guodong had driven a truckload of dried logs up from the mountain—all pre-cut by chainsaws.

Coal could be used for cooking and heating the boiler, but not for the fireplace—risk of carbon monoxide poisoning.

This house was too airtight; if carbon monoxide formed, it wouldn’t escape.

There’s a Western saying: “Each for all, and all for each.”

Li Xuewu didn’t know its origin, but he understood it thoroughly.

Because he thought of others and acted for them, others thought of him and helped him in return.

Leaving work aside, in daily life, the families he kept in mind quietly kept him in mind too.

How many knew his home had a fireplace and needed dry firewood?

Even if they knew, how many would prepare it for him in advance?

Sometimes, among friends or relatives, no words are needed—just doing something lets each feel the care and affection.

Qin Jingru finished cleaning the kitchen, came out to play with Li Shu, then said to Li Xuewu: “Brother Li, Xiao Ning’s due date is drawing near—we need to get ready.”

“Mm? Huh?”

Li Xuewu was soothing Li Shu; at first he didn’t hear her, then he realized and looked at her, then at Gu Ning, puzzled.

Gu Ning lifted her eyes from her book, equally confused, looking at Qin Jingru.

“In our hometown, childbirth is simple—you just need scissors and a pot of boiling water. But Xiao Ning has the means here, so we should prepare properly.”

Seeing their blank stares, Qin Jingru knew they hadn’t prepared anything at all.

“It’s cold—though the hospital is close, we still need to plan how to get there: either someone stays home, or someone stays at the hospital.”

“And there’s clothing, hygiene supplies, documents, the baby’s swaddling clothes, formula, bottles...”

“Wait!”

Li Xuewu suddenly realized—Gu Ning was going to give birth soon. Ten months of pregnancy didn’t mean she had to wait until the very end.

Counting on his fingers, he realized they were already seven months in—it was time to prepare.

“I’ll get pen and paper—we’re having a family meeting!”