Chapter 19: Concealment

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Jiang Chaozhou quietly tidied the dishes on the table and turned toward the modest sink. The dim yellow light flickered overhead, casting mottled shadows. He carefully placed the bowl into the basin; cold water flowed from the faucet, splashing onto his slender yet slightly roughened hands. Years of labor had left small cuts and calluses on them. Just as he picked up a bowl to wash, a sharp sting pricked his finger. Looking down, he saw the bowl had a broken corner, its jagged edge like a blade, slicing his skin. A thin line of blood appeared instantly, seeping slowly and dropping into the water, tinting it faintly red.

Jiang Chaozhou frowned but made no sound. He brought his injured finger to his lips and gently sucked on it. Helan, standing nearby, saw this and hurriedly rose, worry filling her eyes. She quickly approached Jiang Chaozhou, her rough hands fumbling through her pocket until she finally produced a bandage. Her hair, somewhat disheveled, framed her face, and the wrinkles deepened with her anxiety. Her eyes shone with motherly concern.

“Chaozhou, let me see your hand,” Helan’s voice trembled slightly as she gently held his injured finger, inspecting the wound carefully. Jiang Chaozhou pulled back slightly. “Mom, that’s for you and Dad. This little scratch is nothing,” he said stubbornly, lips pressed tight as he tried to withdraw his hand. Helan’s brow furrowed deeper. She gripped his hand firmly, refusing to let go.

“Nonsense. None of us matter more than you,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. Carefully, she peeled open the bandage packaging as if handling a precious treasure. Slowly, she applied the bandage, pressing its edges softly to ensure it adhered snugly. Jiang Chaozhou watched his mother’s focused expression, warmth flooding his chest. His eyes moistened, and his throat tightened, leaving him speechless. His mother cared for him so deeply, he thought.

After finishing, Helan looked up at Jiang Chaozhou with tender eyes. She stroked his hair gently. “Silly child, be more careful next time,” she said softly. Jiang Chaozhou nodded. “I know, Mom.” His voice was hoarse, carrying the flavor of happiness.

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In the dining room, warm yellow light bathed the elegant table, casting a soft haze over everything. Lin Siqing sat before the table, his deep eyes filled with dissatisfaction and disdain. His brows knit slightly, forming a faint furrow; his thin lips pressed tightly, sharp and rigid. Watching Fu Siqiao eat, he couldn’t help but speak, “Could you not eat so messily? It’s unpleasant to watch.” His voice was cold, as if chilling the very air around them.

Fu Siqiao paused, her bright eyes full of confusion, long lashes fluttering as she innocently asked, “What’s wrong?” Her lips pouted slightly, cheeks puffed from chewing, resembling a cute little hamster. She wore a simple loungewear outfit, her hair casually draped over her shoulders, a few strands falling by her cheeks, enhancing her delicate features.

Lin Siqing stared openly at Fu Siqiao, his gaze tinged with disdain, as though her mere presence was a crime. His posture was rigid and formal, leaning back slightly, deliberately maintaining distance—a clear boundary. At that moment, Housekeeper Li approached with the last bowl of soup, her steps light. “Young master, miss, enjoy your meal,” she said with a kind smile, her eyes flickering between them, sensing the tension in the air.

Lin Siqing’s irritation deepened; inside, he raged silently—why did Fu Siqiao get to be family? His once peaceful family life was utterly disrupted by this girl’s sudden arrival. He recalled their first meeting, her timid eyes and reserved demeanor, which had already annoyed him then. Yet now, he had to live under the same roof with her every day.

Fu Siqiao seemed unaware of Lin Siqing’s hostility. She blinked and sweetly called out, “Brother.” Her voice was clear and melodious, like birdsong in spring, tinged with a touch of endearment. But that single word darkened Lin Siqing’s expression further. He slammed down his utensils with a loud clang that echoed sharply in the quiet dining room.

“Don’t call me brother!” Lin Siqing spat the words through clenched teeth, hands clenched into fists until his knuckles whitened. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping sharply against the floor, and strode out of the dining room. Not blood-related, so why should she call him brother? How annoying, he told himself.

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Fu Siqiao watched Lin Siqing’s retreating figure, the sparkle in her eyes dimming gradually. Sigh, having a brother who dislikes me is such a hassle—aren’t brothers supposed to be nice? Her cheeks flushed slightly. Housekeeper Li approached gently, her face wearing a trace of helplessness. Time had carved deep wrinkles on her face, yet her eyes radiated warmth and kindness. She bent slightly and softly said to Fu Siqiao, “Miss, please don’t blame the young master. Since madam passed away, he’s had this temper.”

Her voice was soft, deliberately gentle to ease Fu Siqiao’s heart. Fu Siqiao looked up, forcing a small smile and shaking her head. “I don’t blame him, Housekeeper Li.” She didn’t mind Lin Siqing’s dislike. After all, it was a secret—no matter what, she didn’t hate him. Who could, when her brother was so adorable?

Her long hair fell over her shoulders, strands dampened by tears clinging to her cheeks. Deep down, she understood Lin Siqing’s hostility wasn’t baseless. Like him, she struggled to accept their new relationship, though she concealed it well. As for her mother Fu Chun marrying Lin Chaoyang, Fu Siqiao had long harbored resistance. She couldn’t understand why her mother chose to enter such a complicated family and missed the simple life they once shared.

In Fu Siqiao’s memory, Fu Chun was a shrewd woman who, like herself, had given up a marriage with her father for a better life—she believed she had found true love. Fu Siqiao had learned to hide her feelings and observed her mother’s cunning, even mastering some of it herself, like ingratiating with Lin Chaoyang. Lin Siqing, however, could never accept Fu Chun and Fu Siqiao’s presence. His attitude toward Fu Chun was cold and disdainful; toward Fu Siqiao, openly hostile.

Fu Siqiao knew this was because Lin Siqing deeply loved his biological mother. In his heart, no one could ever replace her. She sighed, a wave of helplessness and resignation washing over her. How was she supposed to survive in such a family?