Beautiful Wife: The Cold Boss is My Husband - Chapter 26

This chapter delves into Yan Xiaogou’s family background…

Ever since developing the post-accident symptom of forgetting things after drinking, Yan Chengming’s dreams had been dark yet blank, like the most ancient universe—vast and empty. But today, for some reason, the universe began to explode.

Thus, everything unfolded like a revolving lantern, expanding and then compressing, flashing back before Yan Chengming’s eyes.

Before he even had the ability to perceive happiness, Yan Chengming had already attained a level of happiness that many people never achieve in their entire lives.

The Yan family had not always been wealthy. Yan Chenrui, who was five years older than Yan Chengming, had once lived with Yan Rong and his biological mother—Yan Rong’s first wife—in a cramped basement. When Yan Chenrui was three years old, Yan Rong, who had started from scratch, made significant progress in his career, and they moved into their first building that could be called a “villa.” Unfortunately, just three months after moving in, Yan Chenrui’s mother passed away suddenly from an acute illness caused by overworking.

The little boy, only three and a half years old, sat beside the slowly cooling body for an entire day, waiting for his father to return late at night from overtime work at the company. By then, the tears on his face had dried, leaving him numb. He watched as panic slowly surfaced on his father’s composed face, and as Yan Rong knelt down, futilely performing CPR on the woman’s body, he made no sound at all.

From then on, he became extremely obedient, yet also withdrawn and silent.

Compared to Yan Chenrui, Yan Chengming was incredibly fortunate.

His mother, Du Ruo, Yan Rong’s second wife, was a ballet dancer who had returned from studying in France. She met Yan Rong at a banquet. Young and beautiful, with long, wavy brown hair that shimmered enticingly, she was tall, eloquent, and her smile when she spoke was like the most vibrant and passionate rose. She was a fluttering butterfly, dancing gracefully through the banquet hall, capturing the attention and gaze of everyone present.

No one knew how Yan Rong had managed to win her over. After all, in everyone’s eyes, she was like a fleeting, free-spirited breeze—how could she ever linger for mere mortals?

The earliest stage of a human child’s life is both existent and non-existent—a strange phenomenon. You are clearly here, yet you have no memories of it. Only at a particular moment does the newly arrived little life suddenly awaken, belatedly establishing its first connection with the world.

Yan Chengming’s earliest memory was in his mother’s arms. The nursery was dim and quiet, lit only by a faint yellow nightlight, casting a simple yet beautiful glow on his mother’s face. Her embrace was so warm. As he drank milk, a strange feeling—perhaps called happiness—sprouted in his tender heart.

Human experiences are not always shared.

On a quiet night, Du Ruo stood in the nursery, her weary eyes shadowed by heavy dark circles. For the “good of the child,” Yan Rong had suggested she breastfeed. Knowing nothing about it, she had heard it was beneficial and agreed lightly and happily, never imagining it would be the beginning of a nightmare.

Newborn babies have small appetites, like cats, and need to be fed frequently. The nursery often echoed with cries in the middle of the night whether from hunger or thirst. At first, Du Ruo and Yan Rong slept together in the master bedroom, but as she got up more and more often to check on Yan Chengming, Yan Rong, who worked tirelessly at the company during the day, grew increasingly unable to bear it.

His tone was displeased, his gaze full of reproach. “Can’t you be quieter when you get out of bed?”

Du Ruo felt utterly wronged. “I’m already trying my best to be quiet, but as long as a person is alive, there will always be some noise. Why am I the only one taking care of the child? Can’t you get up and help sometimes?”

Yan Rong looked at his wife, who seemed like a completely different person from before their marriage—disheveled and worn out—and retorted without mercy, “You know how busy and exhausted I am during the day. Besides, isn’t it breastfeeding? What use would I be? Can I feed him?”

Du Ruo had no response.

Yan Rong ended up moving to the study.

So, Du Ruo got up alone in the night. Even though it was summer, the few meters from the bedroom to the nursery felt lonely and cold.

“Ouch.” Her constantly interrupted sleep left her nerves dulled. It wasn’t until a sharp pain shot through her nipple that Du Ruo realized the baby’s latch was wrong. Though the infant had no teeth, the constant tugging on her swollen, aching breasts was no less than torture.

Adjusting the position, Du Ruo frowned as she fed the baby until he was full. She gently laid Yan Chengming down, tucked him in with a small blanket, and rocked the cradle. Amid the faint creaking sounds, Du Ruo drifted off to sleep at some point, her arm resting weakly on the edge of the cradle, her head drooping unconsciously under its own weight before she suddenly jolted awake.

The night remained deep, the hour unknown.

A small nightlight glowed in front of the mirror. As Du Ruo got up to turn it off, she paused for the first time before the mirror. Usually, she was too exhausted from caring for the child to pay attention to such things, but perhaps because she had dozed off earlier, she felt more awake now.

She stared at her reflection: messy hair like withered grass, a bloated and shapeless figure, wrinkled pajamas, a haggard face with dark circles under her eyes, dull gaze, and dry, pale lips.

She froze, barely recognizing herself.

Her sluggish nerves hadn’t fully caught up yet. She quickly turned off the nightlight and returned to the bedroom. As she slipped her legs under the thin blanket, her eyes instinctively fell on the photo on the nightstand. Pressing her lips together, she reached out and picked it up.

In the photo, a girl in a pristine ballet dress, her dark, glossy bangs adorned with a white feather headpiece, held a gleaming golden trophy aloft, surrounded by a crowd, her smile radiant. The trophy was striking, but anyone who saw the photo would first be drawn to the vibrant, full-of-life girl.

Du Ruo stared blankly, her mind slowly beginning to stir. A sense of awareness, long suppressed, seeped back into her body. Her eyes grew sore, as if soaked in vinegar, and tears—large as beans—began to fall. One, two… countless drops, like a torrential downpour after a drought.

Slowly, she buried her face in her knees, tightening her arms around herself. The sound that escaped through the gaps was muffled yet filled with overwhelming despair. She whispered, “What am I doing…?”

The next day, Du Ruo watched all those romantic love films she had once been so passionate about, from lighthearted and joyful ones to tragic and heart-wrenching ones. Sitting in front of the screen, she let out a laugh, then shed a tear, crying and laughing in turns, releasing all her pent-up emotions.

Movies only depict the process of the protagonists falling in love, but they never tell the audience what comes after.

Would the female lead in the movies also wake up countless times in the middle of the night to feed the baby, going months without a full night’s sleep? Would she also have reddish-purple stretch marks on her belly like tree branches? Would she also endure a month of lingering, unpleasant postpartum discharge?

From then on, Du Ruo began obsessively pursuing postpartum recovery treatments and cosmetic procedures, buying beautiful clothes and skincare products as if in revenge.

Yan Rong said nothing, only occasionally checking how much money had been spent from the card he gave Du Ruo. If the balance was running low, he would simply transfer more.

When Yan Chengming turned two, perhaps feeling that the child was older and no longer needed as much of her company, Du Ruo started reconnecting with friends she had known from her dance troupe. Ever since their marriage, Yan Rong had stopped allowing her to perform, insisting she stay home as a carefree “wealthy wife.” At first, she felt happy, believing Yan Rong cared for her and couldn’t bear to let her suffer even a little.

But as her old friends gradually stopped contacting her one by one, and she struggled to fit in with the new wealthy wives she met, she began to feel lonely.

Fortunately, she was highly skilled at socializing. With just a phone call and a few topics of conversation, she rekindled her old friendships with her sisters. To ensure she had plenty of time to go out and have fun, she hired several nannies. However, perhaps because she had personally cared for him since he was little, Yan Chengming never quite adjusted to the nannies. After about a month, she finally couldn’t take it anymore. Handing Yan Chengming over to the new young nanny, she resisted the urge to look back and rushed out the door.

The decisive choice brought her immense joy. She went shopping with her sisters, attended concerts, visited art exhibitions, participated in various events, and drank to her heart’s content. This lifestyle went on for a long time.

Then, one day, after a long and busy day, Yan Rong pushed open the door of the villa in the evening. The housekeeper was setting dishes on the dining table, but aside from that, the living room was empty and silent. His brow furrowed instantly. He went upstairs first to check—Yan Chenrui was in his room doing homework.

His frown deepened. He hurried back downstairs, and a burst of crying echoed through the house.

Yan Rong rushed toward the source of the sound. In the playroom, half of a block castle on the mat had collapsed. The young nanny held Yan Chengming in her arms, her face filled with embarrassment and helplessness. She looked at Yan Rong as he approached and stammered, “Sir, the young master has been crying nonstop. Nothing I do seems to comfort him.”

Yan Rong’s chest felt heavy, a suffocating pressure building inside. He took Yan Chengming into his arms, doing his best to soothe him, gently patting the boy’s back. But it was no use—Yan Chengming continued to cry.

Taking a deep breath, Yan Rong tried to remain patient. “Xiao Ming, stop crying. Where’s your mom?”

Hearing the word “mom,” Yan Chengming cried even harder. Wiping his tears with his chubby little hands, he wailed, “Mom… I want Mom!”

The nanny hesitated, stammering under Yan Rong’s intense gaze. “Madam went out to have fun early in the morning. She’s been doing this for over two months now…”

At that moment, Yan Rong’s hands trembled as he held the child. He took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and carried Yan Chengming to the study. “Mingming, don’t cry. How about Daddy reads you a storybook? Mommy will be back soon.”

“The little lamb met a little fish and said, ‘Why are you so chubby?’…”

Yan Rong rubbed his throbbing temples, weary from exhaustion, and slowly read the words from the storybook. Suddenly, a noise came from the entrance. Holding Yan Chengming tightly, Yan Rong rushed out and saw Du Ruo, drunk and sprawled in the entryway, her face flushed and wearing a seductive halter dress. His expression darkened instantly.

He handed Yan Chengming to the nanny and urged them to go upstairs. Then, he grabbed Du Ruo by the arm and began to interrogate her.

“Where have you been? Why didn’t you take care of the child? And why are you dressed like this? How can you call yourself a mother like this?”

“Did you fall in love with me just because I acted like a mother? I did take care of him—I fed him breakfast myself this morning! What’s wrong with me going out for a bit?”

“Just ‘a bit’? Your son has been left alone for two months! He’s been playing with building blocks all by himself in the villa. Can a nanny… can a nanny replace a mother’s companionship? Do you know he was just crying and calling for you?” Yan Rong gritted his teeth. “Do I have to lock you up for you to feel even a shred of responsibility as a mother?”

“Mother! Mother! Was I born a mother?” Du Ruo, slumped on the floor, began to sob uncontrollably. “You always demand that I be a mother, a wife, but what about ‘me’? What am I supposed to do?”