As a Scummy Omega, I Ran Away with the Baby - Chapter 54

With Gu Yining’s official move-in, the villa’s long-established equilibrium was subtly—and thoroughly—overturned in the days that followed.

The once iron-fisted Bai Qingqiu, who had always held absolute control over everything, became a bona fide “invalid.” First came the physical limitations: under strict medical orders, she was forbidden from getting out of bed, and with her injury immobilized in splints, her range of movement shrank drastically. There was very little she could do.

Forget her usual routine of shuttling between home and the office—she now found it difficult even to fetch herself a glass of water.

To make matters worse, the adenovirus Xia Xia had caught took advantage of Bai Qingqiu’s weakened condition and struck her as well. All of a sudden, aside from Aunt Han and Gu Yining, the household had two patients—one big, one small.

But BaiXing Entertainment did not grind to a halt just because Bai Qingqiu had gone down. Since she could no longer go to the office, her pending documents were delivered to the villa instead, her secretary ferrying stacks of files over again and again, piling them neatly onto Bai Qingqiu’s desk.

Every time Gu Yining passed by the study, she saw the same scene: Bai Qingqiu forcing herself to sit upright, pinching the bridge of her brows as she flipped through documents and signed her name, stubbornly working through her illness.

Many times, Gu Yining would pause outside the half-closed door, wanting to push it open and tell her that work was endless—that dragging herself through it while sick wouldn’t only ruin her efficiency, but also delay her recovery. In the end, she would neither heal properly nor clear the paperwork on time. No matter how one looked at it, it was a losing proposition.

Yet every time, Gu Yining stopped herself. She never reached out to push open the door that wasn’t even fully closed. Instead, she would cradle the cup of sweet milk she’d poured for Xia Xia and walk away in silence.

Holding the milk, Gu Yining gently pushed open the door to the children’s room.

The ceiling light was on, bright and warm. The little patient she’d been worrying about was curled up on the bed, hugging the well-worn teddy bear Gu Yining had given her, eyes fixed intently on the cartoon playing on her tablet.

“Xia Xia, come—have some milk,” Gu Yining said as she walked to the bedside and held the cup out to her.

At the sound of her voice, the child tore her gaze away from the screen and turned toward her.

“Aunt!” Xia Xia called out, obediently reaching for the glass. It was a little too big for her, but she gripped it firmly with both hands.

After these past few days together, Xia Xia no longer addressed her by her full name. The soft, childish aunt made Gu Yining’s heart go warm and tender, melting completely.

Gu Yining smiled and nodded, then sat down beside her. She reached out and lightly pressed the back of her hand to the child’s forehead, gauging her temperature.

Thankfully, it was no longer alarmingly hot like it had been a couple of days ago—just a faint residual warmth. Just as the doctor had said, children recovered quickly. Xia Xia’s spirits were clearly much better too; the familiar sparkle and liveliness had returned to those big, grape-dark eyes.

“How are you feeling today?” Gu Yining asked softly. “Does your throat still hurt?”

Xia Xia shook her head, her gaze drifting eagerly toward the enormous Lego set on the carpet—the one Gu Yining had brought over days earlier. Her little face was full of longing.

“Aunt, when can I play with that?”

Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, something stirred in Gu Yining. She reached out and patted the child’s soft hair.

“Hmm, how about we make a deal?” Gu Yining raised her pinky finger in front of her. “If you finish all the milk in your cup like a good girl, Aunt will carry you onto the carpet, and we’ll build this Lego set together. How does that sound?”

The moment the words left her mouth, Xia Xia’s eyes lit up with joy. She nodded vigorously, then mimicked Gu Yining, sticking out her own chubby little finger and hooking it around hers.

“Pinky swear! A hundred years, no take-backs!”

Clearly, the proposal was irresistibly tempting.

“Mm. Pinky swear,” Gu Yining echoed, struggling to suppress her smile as she adopted a solemn expression. Their hooked fingers tightened together.

Deal made.

The little one sprang into action with astonishing determination. Holding the glass—nearly as big as her face—she tilted her head back and gulped down the milk in one go, draining it completely.

When she finished, she lifted her chin proudly and held the empty cup up to Gu Yining like a trophy.

“Aunt, look!”

“Xia Xia, that’s amazing!” Gu Yining praised her without restraint, deliberately raising her voice as she took the glass with both hands. “You drank it all—so clean!”

As she spoke, she tipped the cup to show that not a single drop remained.

Xia Xia beamed, giggling as she showed off her neat row of little white teeth. Gu Yining could practically see the invisible tail wagging behind her.

Laughing, Gu Yining pulled out a tissue and wiped the milk from the corner of her mouth, then honored their agreement—lifting her from the bed and carefully setting her down on the carpet beside the enormous Lego castle.

“All right. It’s game time.”

Mother and daughter sat down together on the floor as sunlight streamed in through the large floor-to-ceiling window, scattering bright patches across the carpet. The air filled with Xia Xia’s delighted exclamations and Gu Yining’s gentle, patient guidance.

“This piece goes here—right, that’s the castle tower.”

“Wow! Aunt, look—it’s a princess!”

“Mhm. That’s Princess Sleeping Beauty.”

The scene was so tranquil it looked like a painting.

And the sole viewer of that painting stood quietly at the doorway, leaning on a cane.

It was Bai Qingqiu.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there—perhaps five minutes, perhaps ten.

She had just finished a long, exhausting video conference, her head throbbing, and was on her way back to rest when the long-absent sound of laughter drifting from the children’s room caught her attention.

And then she saw it—a scene she had never once imagined.

She saw Gu Yining, who was always polite yet distant with her, now sitting cross-legged on the floor without a shred of defensiveness. Her hair was loosely tied up, and a bright, unguarded smile bloomed across her face. It was a smile free of both ingratiation and reserve—one Bai Qingqiu hadn’t seen on her face in a very long time.

So long that she couldn’t even remember the last time she had.

She also saw Xia Xia—the child who was usually so cautious and well-behaved in front of her, so sensible it made one ache—now acting like any ordinary child. She clung to Gu Yining without restraint, pointing at the finished Lego pieces and showing them off like treasures, eagerly asking for praise.

Bathed in sunlight, their figures merged into one warm, complete picture, glowing softly—an intimacy no outsider could intrude upon.

And there stood Bai Qingqiu, in her silk robe that felt utterly out of place here, at the doorway like someone who had wandered into the wrong set.

An unfamiliar emotion surged up in her chest without warning.

There was relief—at seeing her daughter recovering.

There was loss—at realizing she couldn’t be part of it.

And there was even a trace of something she didn’t want to admit to herself at all.

Jealousy.

Gu Yining had so effortlessly accomplished what she herself had failed to do in four years—slipping naturally into the role of a “good mother” in front of the child. While Bai Qingqiu, after four years, still hadn’t learned how to be with Xia Xia, or how to make her happy.

Aside from knowing that Xia Xia shared Gu Yining’s fondness for sweets, she didn’t even know what her daughter liked, or what she usually did.

She didn’t step forward to break the tender warmth of the moment.

Instead, she turned away silently and, almost as if fleeing, leaned on her cane and limped back—quietly, unnoticed—into the study filled with towering stacks of cold documents and boundless solitude.