Becoming the Runaway Little Wife of the Domineering CEO - Chapter 17

Happy Valley had undergone a massive renovation back in September, opening two new sections and introducing a variety of classic carnival stalls. Where there used to be nothing but overpriced souvenirs and snacks, the park now featured ring-toss, shooting galleries, and other street-fair games. Since it was a weekday, the crowds were thin. As soon as they entered, Yin Shuang made a beeline for the park’s famous flume ride, only to find it closed. They had no choice but to look for something else.

After a spin on the roller coaster, Yin Shuang quickly figured out the “trick” to the thrill and lost interest.

Is this it? Flying around in circles? she thought. She could do that on her own, and she flew much higher than these clunky machines. She couldn’t see the appeal.

******

While Fu Mang started the day with her usual mask of indifference, the excitement eventually got the better of her. They spent the entire morning darting between major attractions. By noon, the park began to fill up, and with Yin Shuang complaining of hunger, Fu Mang led her toward the new district for lunch.

The two of them strolled along, each holding a trendy ice cream cone.

This section of the park was encased in massive glass walls, keeping the air warm and cozy despite the winter chill. Fu Mang’s eyes scanned the row of snack stalls before lingering for a split second on a claw machine. She quickly looked away, acting as if she hadn’t noticed it at all.

Yin Shuang caught the look instantly. “You want to play? Let’s go, let’s go!”

Fu Mang shot her a look of disdain. “Why bother? Those things are rigged. It takes actual skill to win, and we’d just be throwing money away.”

Ignoring the protest, Yin Shuang tugged at her sleeve. “Oh, come on! How do you know if you don’t try? You just lower the claw—it’s probably a piece of cake.”

Fu Mang gave her another scoffing look but eventually led her over. This wasn’t a standard mall machine; it was a “super-sized” version, three times the size of a normal one, packed with an array of plushies. Because the distance for the claw to travel was longer but the timer was only slightly extended, it was notoriously difficult to win.

Fu Mang scanned the QR code and bought ten attempts at once, figuring that should be enough to satisfy “Jin Xiaoyu’s” curiosity.

Yin Shuang patted the glass with a look of supreme confidence. “Which one do you want? Don’t be shy, just say the word and I’ll get it for you!”

Fu Mang: “…”

She scanned the pile and pointed at a small yellow chick. “That one.”

Fu Mang didn’t think she stood a chance, but remembering Yin Shuang’s uncanny streak of luck, she felt a flicker of doubt. Sure enough, after a bit of casual maneuvering, the claw snatched the chick. Despite a heart-stopping wobble on the way up, it held firm, dropping the toy right into the chute.

Yin Shuang bent down, retrieved the chick, and pointed back at the machine with a flourish. “Next?”

Fu Mang stood there dazed for a moment, clutching the chick Yin Shuang had just shoved into her arms. Then, she pointed eagerly at a pink pig. “That one! I want Peppa!”

Ten attempts. Ten wins. Yin Shuang didn’t waste a single credit. Soon, a crowd of kids and parents gathered around them, whispering in awe as they watched the “Claw Machine Goddess” at work.

After Yin Shuang’s streak, Fu Mang was itching to try. She bought ten more credits, determined to win one herself. But she lacked the knack, failing five or six times in a row. As the crowd began to lose interest, Yin Shuang, seeing her struggle, discreetly brushed her pinky against Fu Mang’s hand.

Fu Mang, focused intensely on the joystick with her other hand hanging by her side, felt the sudden touch. She whipped her head around, tucking her hand behind her back. She stared at Yin Shuang with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

Caught in the act, Yin Shuang didn’t bother hiding it. She offered a radiant smile. “Just sharing some of my luck.”

Fu Mang stared at her for a long beat, said nothing, and turned back to the machine. However, the laser-focus in her eyes had softened.

On her seventh try—the one where she was paying the least attention—she finally snagged a Peppa Pig.

Fu Mang had spent every credit aiming for that specific pink pig. Yin Shuang was puzzled. “You already have the pigs I won. Why keep going for that one?”

Fu Mang didn’t answer. Seeing the envious looks from the surrounding children, she maintained her poker face and beckoned them over. In a matter of minutes, she had given away every single plushie.

In the end, she kept only two: the Peppa she had won herself, and the yellow chick Yin Shuang had won for her.

As they walked away, Fu Mang suddenly shoved the Peppa into Yin Shuang’s arms and snatched the yellow chick back with an air of bossy possessiveness. “This one’s mine.”

Yin Shuang blinked, confused by the unnecessary clarification. It was hers to begin with, wasn’t it?

Fu Mang guiltily stroked the soft fuzz of the yellow chick. When she realized Yin Shuang wasn’t going to ask for it back, she finally relaxed.

******

After the high-energy morning and the long walk at lunch, Fu Mang’s stamina began to flag by the afternoon. They found a spot by an artificial rock formation and sat down to rest.

Fu Mang looked at Yin Shuang with genuine bewilderment. “What exactly were you fed growing up? Do you never get tired?”

Oh, so many things, Yin Shuang thought, mentally scrolling through the delicacies of the Heavenly Realm. Finally, she answered, “Just very nutritious things. You’ve never seen them, and you wouldn’t be able to eat them anyway.”

If you did, the spiritual energy would probably make you explode, she added silently.

Fu Mang, however, assumed she meant she’d grown up on some obscure rural health food. She looked at Yin Shuang’s profile, about to say something, when Yin Shuang suddenly turned to her as if she’d discovered a new continent. “There’s a live-action movie theater over there. Let’s go!”

Grateful for a chance to sit down without walking, Fu Mang agreed, swallowing whatever she had been about to say.

Inside the darkened theater, Fu Mang couldn’t see anything but the stage. The play was The Little Match Girl, featuring only two actors supported by elaborate backdrops, recordings, and screen effects. Only a child—or Yin Shuang—could find such a thing fascinating, convinced it was some pinnacle of new technology.

When the curtains fell, the theater slowly emptied. They had caught the final afternoon show; the next wouldn’t start until 6:00 PM. Sitting in the deserted hall, Yin Shuang found the vast silence a bit eerie. She tugged at Fu Mang’s sleeve. “Should we head out too?”

Fu Mang didn’t move. She turned to look at Yin Shuang. “Do you know why I hate having strangers in my house after 6:00 PM?”

Yin Shuang blinked and shook her head honestly.

Fu Mang offered a faint, bitter smile. “The day of my mother’s funeral, I came home from the cemetery. My father—Fu Quanru—left for the office almost immediately. I stayed home alone, staring at the TV. My half-siblings, Fu Lin and Fu Long, were running around playing; their laughter felt like a knife. I wanted to tell them to stop, but I didn’t dare. They had a mother. I didn’t. They were loved. I wasn’t.”

Yin Shuang stared at her, stunned. Fu Mang looked toward the stage, where the girl in the movie had lit her last match to see her beloved grandmother—the angel who came to take her away.

“That wasn’t the worst part,” Fu Mang continued, her gaze fixed on the empty stage. “An hour later, their mother—Lu Shaomin—arrived. My mother was barely in the ground, and she was already in our house, pretending to care about me while ordering the butler to make ‘toning soup’ for my father. She said she needed to stay and ‘comfort’ him.”

“I’ve known my place in that family for a long time. I know I shouldn’t expect anything from them, but I can’t help it. Every time I face Fu Quanru and he speaks harshly to me, I feel this uncontrollable rage. Tell me… why do you think that is?”

Fu Mang was looking at her with genuine curiosity. Yin Shuang met her eyes and gave the only answer that made sense to her. “Because you still care about him. You want him to actually be a father to you.”

Fu Mang suddenly laughed. “Maybe you aren’t as dense as you look.” She rested her hands on her lap and sighed. “Ultimately, it’s my own weakness. If I were cold-hearted enough, I wouldn’t care.”

“It has nothing to do with being ‘hard’ or ‘soft,'” Yin Shuang countered. “People long for what they lack. The poor want money, the sick want health, and the lonely want to be loved.”

Fu Mang arched an eyebrow. “You think I’m lonely?”

“I think you were,” Yin Shuang nodded seriously.

“And why aren’t I now?”

Yin Shuang gave her a look that suggested the answer was obvious. “Because I’m here now. I’m much better than your father. Whatever love he didn’t give you, I’ll make up for it.”

Fu Mang froze. For a brief second, the walls around her heart seemed to tremble.

But before the emotion could settle, Yin Shuang hopped up. “Come on! I’m going to start making up for that ‘daddy’ love right now. Little Mang-mang, what do you want for dinner? Name it! As long as it’s under a hundred bucks, ‘Daddy’ is buying!”

Fu Mang: “…Do you want to die?”

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