Spoiled by a Paranoid Big Shot Since Childhood - Chapter 11

The following day, Saturday. Five-thirty in the morning.

Qin Yian was already preparing to get out of bed. He had long abandoned the habit of sleeping in since he was three years old, primarily because his weekends were always exceptionally grueling. Aside from his core academic tutoring, he had piano lessons and equestrian training, to which a golf class had recently been added.

Little Xi Bei’s childhood, however, had looked entirely different. From the age of two up until he turned seven, he had spent his mornings curled up at the bottom of his parents’ street food cart.

Usually, his parents would carry him onto the cart around four in the morning, and he would happily drift back to sleep tucked away beneath the counter. He would sleep soundly until it was almost time for school around eight o’clock at which point his father would walk him to the academy.

But today seemed a little different.

Just as Qin Yian slipped into his small house slippers and prepared to head to the washroom, a voice suddenly called out to him from behind.

“…An An.”

Xi Bei rubbed his weary, stinging eyes, his voice soft and small. “I can’t sleep anymore.”

Ever since his biological clock woke him up at four o’clock, he found himself utterly unable to drift back to sleep, no matter what he tried. It felt as though someone were calling to him from the ether, leaving his chest trembling with a lingering, heartbreaking ache.

He couldn’t fathom why; he only knew that he felt a desperate urge to weep, which he was barely managing to suppress. When he sat up, his body was slick with sweat. A heavy bead of perspiration rolled down his forehead, catching on his long, curled eyelashes.

It looked exactly like a tear.

Qin Yian turned around instantly. He quickly strode over to Xi Bei’s side, kicked off his slippers, and climbed onto the bed to gently wipe away the sweat from the younger boy’s forehead.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Qin Yian’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you running a fever? Are you sick?”

Xi Bei shook his head, whispering, “I’m not sick. I just… I just feel…”

He felt as though something monumentally important someone profoundly precious was about to vanish completely from his world.

Qin Yian remained uneasy. Ever since he had accidentally let Xi Bei catch a fever during their last ordeal, he had been on high alert. Listening closely to Xi Bei’s murmurs, he reached out to feel his forehead. Only after confirming that the temperature was normal did he give a reassuring nod.

“It’s alright,” Qin Yian said. “If you feel unwell, just rest here… I’ll play the piano for you, okay?”

Xi Bei forced a silly, innocent smile. “Okay… I want to tell An An a story too.”

Qin Yian gave a solemn, serious nod, answering with absolute gravity, “I look forward to it.”

He quickly climbed down from the bed, intending to help Xi Bei wash up before heading to the music room. However, the moment he finished rinsing his face and stepped out, a soft knock echoed at his bedroom door.

At this early hour, the only person knocking could be the butler, likely arriving with the piano instructor.

Qin Yian opened the door and immediately spoke up: “Postpone today’s piano lesson by an hour. I have other matters to attend to.”

Yet, after delivering his command, he noticed that the butler didn’t give his usual nod of compliance.

Qin Yian blinked in surprise, realization suddenly dawning on him. There was no piano instructor standing behind the butler; the old man had come entirely alone. Furthermore, the gentle, radiant smile that usually graced his face was completely absent, replaced by a solemn, heavy silence.

“Understood, young master,” Butler Gu said softly. “However, I am here this morning to take young master Xi Bei out.”

“…”

Qin Yian stiffened slightly, asking, “Where to?”

Butler Gu fell silent for a long moment.

The cemetery.

He needed to take Xi Bei to see his parents one last time before they were formally laid to rest.

However, before the butler could bring himself to say the words, he suddenly felt a tiny hand gently tugging at the corner of his suit jacket.

“…I know.”

Both Butler Gu and Qin Yian froze. They fell utterly silent at the same time, feeling as though their throats had been tightly seized, leaving them entirely speechless.

With his vision blurred by a thick veil of tears, Xi Bei repeated, “I know.”

Qin Yian did not attend any of his classes that day. Instead, he climbed into the car alongside Xi Bei, accompanying him on the long journey to the cemetery.

Everything proceeded with somber efficiency. The paperwork was seamless, the funeral procession went smoothly, and the burial rites were completed without a hitch. Xi Bei didn’t throw a tantrum, nor did he wail or scream. It was only when Qin Yian turned his head slightly that he could hear the younger boy softly, repeatedly murmuring for his mother and father.

Once the coffin was lowered and the earth was set, Xi Bei simply pressed his lips together, standing frozen in place. He was an incredibly resilient, well-behaved child; he silently wiped away his own tears, his face starkly pale.

His father’s small food cart would never carry him again. His father would never bathe him, play with him, or take him and his mother out for delicious treats. His mother would never mend his clothes, order his favorite little cartons of milk, or kiss his cheek while calling him her precious baby.

“…”

Following traditional customs, Butler Gu purchased some ritual joss paper. He arranged it respectfully before the tombstone and bowed deeply three times before gently pulling Xi Bei out of his trance: “Master Xi Bei.”

Xi Bei snapped back to reality.

He discovered that the ritual fire had already been lit. Billowing sheets of joss paper swirled with the wind, burning down into delicate, black ash that danced gently around his small frame.

The crackling flames licked upward, casting a bright, towering glow. Amid the biting chill of late autumn, the sudden wave of scorching, oppressive heat caused Xi Bei’s entire body to run completely cold.

In that fleeting instant, it was as if the brutal scene of the car crash materialized right before his eyes once more.

The moment he realized this; his entire body began to violently shudder. His pupils lost their focus. His lips turned completely white. His entire mind went numb.

Xi Bei couldn’t squeeze out a single syllable; his body went limp, swaying backward as he prepared to collapse.

Qin Yian detected his abnormal state instantly. In a flash, he sprang forward, using his own small body to firmly catch Xi Bei and shield him from the hard ground.

“Fire…”

Xi Bei barely managed to force the single word past his lips, his entire body breaking out into a cold sweat.

The surrounding servants gasped in shock, letting out a flurry of frantic cries. They swarmed around like ants on a hot skillet, completely sweating through their autumn clothes out of sheer panic. “What do we do? What’s happening?!”

Butler Gu understood the psychological trigger almost instantly.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Qin Yian commanded, “We’re leaving!”

Xi Bei had developed severe PTSD. He could no longer bear the sight of fire.

The open flames of the kitchen, the burning of ritual paper, even the most beautiful fireworks displays… none of it was permitted. The concept of “fire” had become inextricably linked to the deepest, most agonizing trauma harbored within his soul. The moment he witnessed flames burning, it was as if he were dragged right back to that chaotic, panicked morning, watching the most precious people in his life burn away into nothingness.

The moment they returned to the estate, Butler Gu strictly enforced this mandate among the household staff, ordering that no open flames were to be used anywhere within the mansion.

Qin Yian personally ordered for the fireplace within his own bedroom to be extinguished, decreeing that it was never to be lit again. Downstairs, the servants scrambled frantically to arrange alternative central heating, bustling about in a whirlwind of activity.

Meanwhile, Qin Yian guided the still-trembling Xi Bei into the music room, settling him onto a large beanbag sofa and telling him to close his eyes and rest.

Then, Qin Yian began to play the piano.

The young master of the Qin family sat at the keys and played, executing piece after piece without a single moment of rest. He knew that the instant the music ceased, Xi Bei’s body would begin to shudder imperceptibly, as if plunging right back into a living nightmare.

Qin Yian played pieces ranging from melancholic to joyous, shifting from Eastern melodies to Western classics. He didn’t stop even when his fingers and forearms grew completely numb from exertion.

He cycled through two or three entire books of sheet music. It wasn’t until around seven o’clock in the evening that Butler Gu carefully stepped into the room to softly inquire if they would like some dinner.

Xi Bei remained curled deep within the beanbag. Due to Butler Gu’s sudden interruption, he shifted somewhat uncomfortably, resembling a wounded, isolated little animal.

Qin Yian turned his head slightly to look at Xi Bei. The butler asked the young master if he was exhausted and wished to take a break.

Qin Yian shook his head.

This response was entirely within Butler Gu’s expectations; he knew how deeply attached the young master was to Xi Bei and that he would undoubtedly stay by his side. The butler had already prepared to have the meal brought up directly to the music room.

Suddenly, however, Qin Yian stood up.

As if struck by an urgent realization, he abruptly bolted past Butler Gu, sprinting out of the music room in a blur.

Creeeak—! The heavy doors groaned under his haste.

“…Young Master!” Butler Gu was left entirely bewildered. He turned back to look at Xi Bei, who sat entirely alone in the vacant room, a sudden wave of panic and anxiety washing over him. “What on earth—”

What was happening? Could it be that Qin Yian’s patience had finally worn thin? Had he simply had enough after playing the piano for an entire day?

Xi Bei felt that he was being utterly dreadful.

He could hear everything happening in the outside world. He could recall the sheer, unadulterated terror that erupted within him when he saw the burning joss paper flying through the air; he could feel the delayed, monumental horror and the soul-shattering agony.

He also knew that Qin Yian and Butler Gu were incredibly good to him. He remembered how they had rescued him from the cemetery, comforted him, and ordered the staff to banish every trace of open flame from the house. He knew he needed to pull himself together quickly.

But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t do it.

Over the past few days, he had behaved with a calm maturity completely unbefitting of a child who had just lost his parents. There were even moments where he had managed to smile. In all likelihood, his brain had simply found the agony too overwhelming, opting to partition off a portion of his perception to protect him.

Now, however, that protective barrier had overextended its reach. The events of the outside world felt separated from him by a thick, impenetrable film; no matter how hard he thrashed, he couldn’t break through.

Only Qin Yian’s piano music which seemed to pierce straight through to his soul could soothe the terrifying, roaring flames in his mind and grant him a semblance of peace. But now, even Qin Yian had left his side.

Xi Bei didn’t doubt Qin Yian’s affection for him; he trusted the older boy implicitly. It was simply that right now, he truly couldn’t break free from the dark recesses of his own mind. He didn’t even have the spare mental energy to ponder why Qin Yian had run away.

By now, it was approximately eight o’clock in the evening.

Butler Gu didn’t dare force Xi Bei into conversation. Instead, he exerted all his strength to gently lift the massive beanbag sofa, carrying Xi Bei back into the bedroom he shared with Qin Yian.

He tucked the boy into the small bed, pulling the covers snug around him and leaving a single, warm, dim nightlight illuminated in the corner of the room.

Xi Bei lay there, curled into a tight ball beneath the duvet. His face was entirely devoid of expression, appearing almost wooden. If it weren’t for the occasional tremble of his long, curled eyelashes, one might truly have mistaken him for a porcelain doll.

Knock, knock. The bedroom door was suddenly wrapped twice.

Receiving no response from Xi Bei, the person at the door didn’t display the slightest hint of annoyance.

Qin Yian stepped into the room, holding a small bundle in his hands. Perhaps because he had sprinted back too quickly, his chest heaved up and down dramatically, and he had to pause for a good long while before his breathing finally stabilized.

Beneath the soft, golden glow of the nightlight, he walked over step by step.

“Tuan Tuan,” Qin Yian called out.

Xi Bei didn’t answer.

“I know you’ve already done wonderfully. You are the strongest little man, and you’ve already tried so hard. Being afraid of fire means the fire is bad, not that you are bad.”

“…”

“When my mother passed away, I was exactly like you. I didn’t understand why she had to leave without taking me with her. I was deeply heartbroken, and I didn’t want to eat or sleep. I couldn’t comprehend anything anyone said to me.”

“But during those few nights, I had a dream.”

As he spoke, Qin Yian kicked off his house slippers. Setting the small bundle gently onto the mattress, he slowly crawled over to Xi Bei’s side.

Outside the windows lay a deep, ink-black night, where the silhouettes of twisting branches shivered and swayed against the dark. Inside, a tender, golden light enveloped the two children.

Xi Bei finally stirred slightly. As if waking from a profound slumber, he shifted his gaze, anchoring it onto Qin Yian.

“Do you know what I dreamed about?”

Xi Bei remained rigid for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. His dark, deep eyes resembled glossy black grapes, looking incredibly innocent.

The frosty demeanor on Qin Yian’s face melted away completely, his voice turning incredibly soft and slow: “My mother was wearing a beautiful white robe, and she had gorgeous wings behind her back. She told me that she was exceptionally happy right now. Because I remembered her, she had endless fields of flowers, a massive house, and little fairies to keep her company.”

Xi Bei blinked, his voice rough and dry: “Then my mama and papa…”

“Will have beautiful flowers to keep them company too. They will live incredibly happy lives over there, so long as you remember them.”

“Do you still remember what I told you before?” Qin Yian asked softly.

Xi Bei nodded. “…They are staying by my side.”

“Exactly.”

With careful movements, Qin Yian finally unwrapped the small bundle.

It was the little knit sweater that Xi Bei used to wear. It was rather worn and old; it had once sustained a hole, which his mother had lovingly patched over with a stitched little flower. Later on, when Xi Bei fell while running through the pouring rain, the sweater had been badly soiled and torn with fresh holes, rendering it seemingly unwearable.

Yet, the new tears on the sweater had been mended. They were held together by a brand-new, crooked set of stitches, forming a slightly misshapen, peculiar little flower.

When the sweater was unfolded before Xi Bei’s eyes, he stared blankly at it for two full seconds. By the time he lifted his head again, a fresh torrent of tears had already breached his eyes.

Qin Yian’s fingers were pricked and battered; he had accidentally pierced his skin with the needle multiple times until he bled. Yet, those clumsy stitches seemed to have pierced right through the numbing film that isolated Xi Bei from the rest of the world.

“…An An,” he choked out, his voice fracturing into uncontrollable sobs. “An An.”

“They will always be by Tuan Tuan’s side,” Qin Yian murmured. He reached out, using his fingers to gently brush away the tears streaming down the seven-year-old’s face, pulling the younger boy incredibly, undeniably close.

“But Tuan Tuan needs to run forward. You have to look toward the future.”

Xi Bei wept until he could barely catch his breath, yet he still nodded with absolute compliance.

“From now on, let’s sleep together, okay?” Qin Yian proposed softly. “We will never be apart.”

Sobbing, Xi Bei nodded.

The twisting silhouettes of the trees and the heavy, oppressive darkness outside were entirely shut out. In the heart of that late autumn night, a single light remained permanently lit, illuminating two young children as their hands and feet intertwined, forging a solemn, unbreakable vow.

“I want to sleep with An An.”

“…We will never be apart.”