As a Scummy Omega, I Ran Away with the Baby - Chapter 51

Bai Qingqiu had not rushed back to the company without so much as a glance at her daughter for no reason of her own.

In fact, when she finally returned home after working through the night, she had already faintly heard sounds drifting down from upstairs—Bai Xia’s soft, intermittent whimpering, brought on by physical discomfort.

The crying came in broken spurts, never loud, entirely unlike the sharp, heart-rending wails of most children. Even so, it tugged painfully at Bai Qingqiu’s heart—enough that, despite having firmly resolved to seize what little time she had left to rest, she still felt a pang the moment she heard it.

When she passed Bai Xia’s bedroom door, she truly wanted to push it open.

But she had always been rational, or perhaps, as others would put it, cold-blooded.

She placed Bai Xia on one side of an invisible scale: a child with some minor illness, uncomfortable but, by all accounts, not in serious danger. On the other side sat the company—several S-level projects advancing in parallel, along with a major IP overseas expansion plan that would shape the next several years of strategy.

Her time was finite. Having just come out of her rut, her physical stamina was even more limited. It was impossible to give both sides perfect attention. In this world, resources must—and can only—tilt toward what matters more.

First, Bai Xia underwent a comprehensive physical exam every year, and the results had always been excellent. Second, Bai Qingqiu trusted Aunt Han’s capabilities. Aunt Han would look after Bai Xia well, and if there were any changes in her condition, she would report them immediately.

Aunt Han had said nothing.

Which meant Bai Xia’s condition was stable.

After weighing it all, she made her choice instinctively.

She left Bai Xia entirely in Aunt Han’s care—did not inquire further, did not go in to see her—and instead used the little rest time she had to recover enough strength to face the grueling schedule ahead.

Bai Qingqiu quickened her pace, deliberately avoiding the living room where Gu Yining sat.

In just a few steps, she reached the nanny van, opened the door, and sat down. Under Aunt Dong’s control, the door closed automatically, sealing her off completely from the villa—and from everyone inside it.

Perhaps someone watched from behind the glass.

Perhaps no one did.

Either way, it had nothing to do with her anymore.

“Back to the company. As fast as possible.”

There were few patients at the private hospital. Bai Xia’s test results were quickly sent to Gu Yining’s phone by Xiao Li, who had accompanied Aunt Han and stayed by the child’s side.

A respiratory viral infection.

Not severe enough to be called critical, but far from mild.

The doctor explained that this adenovirus had no specific cure. It was a self-limiting illness—something the child would have to endure on her own immune strength. Recurrent fevers and throat inflammation were normal, and it wouldn’t clear up in two or three days; it usually took one to two weeks.

What was more, adults could catch it too. It was highly contagious.

So, when the listless Bai Xia was brought home, a child-sized mask covered her face. Bai Xia was usually a remarkably well-behaved, sensible child, but now—struggling to breathe comfortably with a respiratory infection and forced to wear a mask—she cried nonstop in Aunt Han’s arms, reaching up again and again to tear it off.

“No, no!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she flailed her small hands, fat droplets streaming down her cheeks.

Gu Yining couldn’t bear the sight. She rose from the sofa at once, stepped forward, and took the child from Aunt Han.

But instead of calming down, Bai Xia only cried harder. She looked at Gu Yining’s face, her little mouth crumpling, sobbing even more miserably as she struggled to get back into Aunt Han’s arms.

“No!”

“Xia Xia, be good, don’t cry. Aunt’s here.”

Gu Yining’s face stiffened. Flustered, she tried to soothe the child softly, but a sick child was nothing like usual—she wouldn’t listen at all. The more Gu Yining coaxed her, the more Bai Xia twisted and turned, throwing a small tantrum.

Seeing her embarrassment, Aunt Han smiled gently and opened her arms, catching Xia Xia as she leaned halfway back toward her. Returned to the familiar embrace, Bai Xia’s crying immediately softened. She was still sniffling, but she stopped struggling, burying her little face in Aunt Han’s neck in grievance.

“It’s alright,” Aunt Han said kindly to Gu Yining. “When children are sick, they cling to familiar people.”

Then she patted Bai Xia’s back lightly and murmured to her, “Xia Xia, no more crying, okay? Let’s go upstairs and sleep.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Aunt Han.”

Gu Yining stood where she was, offering a dry, subdued thanks as she watched Aunt Han carry Bai Xia upstairs. A deep sense of frustration and helplessness weighed on her. Only when the figure disappeared around the turn of the stairs did she slowly withdraw her gaze.

After all, Aunt Han was the one who had cared for Bai Xia since birth. Gu Yining had known her for less than half a year, and she wasn’t able to visit every day. She didn’t even know how to look after a child—didn’t know how to cheer her up or distract her, not even a little.

Xiao Li, who had accompanied them to the hospital, walked over and spoke softly in consolation.

“When children are sick, they cling to people they know best. That’s completely normal. Once she’s better and not feeling uncomfortable anymore, you can take your time building your bond.”

“Mm.”

Gu Yining took a deep breath, pressing down the tangled emotions for the moment. Then she asked, “By the way, do I have any schedules in the next few days? Didn’t you tell me earlier that a lot of my confirmed engagements were postponed or canceled?” It was a question, but also a confirmation.

At the mention of work, Xiao Li straightened up, pulled out her phone, and opened the schedule to check on the spot. The glow of the screen reflected on her face, and from her abruptly shifting expression, Gu Yining could tell that even appearances were no longer being maintained.

“Ningning.”

Xiao Li pressed her lips together, hesitating.

“All canceled?” Gu Yining, the person most affected, remained surprisingly calm. She even raised an eyebrow, unhurried. “Not a single one left?”

Xiao Li nodded heavily in silence.

“Perfect.” Gu Yining said lightly. “I want to stay here and help Aunt Han take care of Xia Xia. If anything comes up, notify me immediately. And please go to my place and pack a few days’ worth of clothes for me and bring them over.”

Night deepened.

Only a warm, yellow bedside lamp was lit in the children’s room, its soft, dim glow bathing the entire space in a quiet, gentle warmth.

Gu Yining had just worked together with Aunt Han—half coaxing, half cajoling—until they finally got Bai Xia to obediently swallow the fever medicine and crawl back under the covers. Perhaps the medication was beginning to take effect, or perhaps the long ordeal had simply worn her out. As Gu Yining hummed a lullaby softly through her nose, the child’s eyelids slowly drooped, and she slipped into a deep sleep.

Watching her daughter’s face relax into steady, peaceful slumber, the agitation in Gu Yining’s chest finally eased a little. She reached out to tuck the blanket around her, but before her fingers even touched it, Bai Xia frowned in her sleep and let out a small, uncomfortable sound. Startled, Gu Yining quickly rested her hand on the child, stroking her gently in slow, even motions just as Aunt Han had taught her.

Only then did Bai Xia’s brow smooth out, and she drifted back into sleep.

Time passed without her noticing. Bai Xia remained sound asleep, showing no further signs of discomfort. Gu Yining blinked her dry, aching eyes and was just about to step into the adjacent guest room to catch a brief nap when a series of extremely light footsteps sounded at the doorway.

She turned instinctively—and met a pair of familiar eyes, their exhaustion impossible to conceal.

It was Bai Qingqiu.

Gu Yining had no idea when she had returned. She stood there silently at Bai Xia’s bedroom door, still dressed in the same suit she’d worn earlier in the day. The ponytail she usually kept so neat was slightly disheveled now, a loose strand slipping free and hanging beside her face.

Her complexion was frighteningly pale.

Their eyes met. Surprise flickered across Gu Yining’s gaze, and she parted her lips reflexively—but Bai Qingqiu immediately frowned, raising a finger to her lips in a quiet gesture for silence.

Gu Yining obeyed, closing her mouth at once.

Bai Qingqiu moved slowly into the room and, a little unsteadily, crouched down not far from Gu Yining, her eyes settling on Bai Xia, asleep on the bed.

Neither of them spoke. Together, they watched the small figure on the mattress.

Bai Xia was clearly sleeping deeply now, one little arm stretched out from beneath the covers. Gu Yining instinctively reached out, intending to tuck it back in.

Bai Qingqiu had the same thought.

Midair, their hands met.

When her fingertips brushed against the back of that familiar, warm hand, Gu Yining’s fingers trembled. She lowered her gaze, her heart giving an uncooperative flutter.

Bai Qingqiu withdrew her hand first.

Gu Yining paused only briefly, then followed through with her original intent, gently holding Bai Xia’s wrist and lifting the blanket to tuck the “escaped” little arm back inside.

After finishing, Gu Yining couldn’t quite explain why—but she instinctively turned to look at Bai Qingqiu again.

Those eyes—usually so cold, always carrying thoughts Gu Yining could never quite read—were no longer filled with indifference alone. She seemed to glimpse something fragile there. But before she could see it clearly, Bai Qingqiu turned her head away, ending their shared gaze.

Taking the hint, Gu Yining didn’t pursue it. When she caught sight of Bai Qingqiu shifting as if to stand, she moved with her. Together, they tiptoed away from Bai Xia’s bedside and out of the room.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving the two of them standing in the hallway.

The corridor lighting was much brighter than the children’s room, where only the bedside lamp had been on. Under this light, the weariness etched into Bai Qingqiu’s face was impossible to hide.

An awkward silence fell between them. Gu Yining wanted to ask what was wrong. The words You look terrible rose to her lips again and again—only to be swallowed back down each time.

She simply didn’t know in what capacity she could offer concern.

Before she could find an excuse, Bai Qingqiu lifted her foot and walked away—not toward her bedroom deeper inside the house, but downstairs.

“You’re leaving?”

The question slipped out of Gu Yining’s mouth in surprise, her tone carrying a trace of reluctance she herself hadn’t noticed.

“Yes.” Bai Qingqiu didn’t stop walking. Her reply was calm and flat. “There’s another meeting at the company soon. I only came back briefly.”

Another meeting.

More work.

Gu Yining didn’t know whether to smile bitterly or sigh. She had always known that Bai Qingqiu worked herself to the bone, that the company’s business was overwhelming. But no matter how busy things had been before, Bai Qingqiu would still come home to rest each day. Judging from tonight, if Bai Xia hadn’t had a fever, she might as well have been living at the office.

She didn’t know whether it was because BaiXing was expanding too rapidly—or because Bai Qingqiu had become even more ruthless with herself.

Ruthless with others, but even more so with herself.

Gu Yining shook her head. But what did any of this have to do with her now?

She turned to head for the guest room when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bai Qingqiu—already near the lower part of the staircase—looking dazed. Her foot slipped, and she pitched forward, falling straight toward the steps below.

“Bai Qingqiu!”

Gu Yining lunged forward instinctively. But she was some distance from the stairs, and Bai Qingqiu had already fallen near the bottom. It was too late.

Gu Yining could only watch as Bai Qingqiu crashed heavily onto the ground floor, her body striking the floor with a dull, sickening thud.

Thump.

“Bai Qingqiu!!!”

Gu Yining cried out again, her voice hoarse, charging toward her without a second thought. Her eyes burned red as she stared at Bai Qingqiu lying motionless on the floor, her heart all but stopping.