"Master, it's eleven o'clock." Butler Zhao Chengshu placed the tray on the low table and frowned imperceptibly as his eyes swept across the holographic screen. In the screen, his own son was using a black card to lift the chin of a hostess, looking like a nouveau riche.
His phone vibrated, a text message alerting him of the total purchases made on his black card today: 2,387,650 yuan. The boy's lips curved dangerously, his fingertips tapping lightly against the secondary card.
"Grandpa Butler," he suddenly said, his voice sweet as if laced with poison, "Your son seems to be quite good at spending money."
The butler put down the milk cup with a slightly imperceptible tremor in his movements. He bent down to pick up the slippers kicked away by Ye Qingliu, knelt on one knee and put them on the boy: "I'm sorry to have embarrassed you, young master." His voice was as calm as if he was discussing tomorrow's weather forecast.
A red alert suddenly popped up on the holographic screen, displaying Zhao Pingchi's purchase history at the Hermès counter in the IFC mall. Ye Qingliu whistled, "Wow, a limited-edition crocodile leather bag. Your daughter-in-law has good taste."
The butler's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He knew this young man too well—whenever Ye Qingliu used honorifics, he was sure he had something bad going on. Sure enough, the boy suddenly leaned in, his milky breath wafting into his ear:
"Tell me, if he knew this card was linked to the Ye family's core account..." Ye Qingliu swiped his fingertips across the holographic screen, calling up the black card's permissions, "Would he be so scared that he would pee his pants?"
Zhao Chengshu silently pushed the cookie plate toward the young master.
He recalled that snowy night more than a decade ago, when nine-year-old Ye Qingliu, blinking his foxy eyes, had asked him, "Uncle Zhao, what would happen if you put an ant in a honey pot?" How had he answered then?
"Master, please have mercy! I'll have that evil creature return all the things..."
Ye Qingliu suddenly laughed. He walked over to the old man and squatted down. This action made him look like a curious child, if you ignore the paper shredder in his hand.
"Refund?" The boy held the secondary black card to the shredder. "Grandpa Zhao, do you think the Ye family's money is a toy?"
The sound of the metal cards being crushed was like bones breaking, "crack, crack, crack".
The antique clock in the study struck nine. At the same time, the sound of a door being broken open was heard on the surveillance camera, and Zhao Pingchi's terrified face zoomed in on the camera. Ye Qingliu pressed the remote control, and all the screens went dark simultaneously.
The shredder made its last crisp "click" sound, and the fragments of the black card scattered on the leather carpet like withered metal petals.
Ye Qingliu squatted before the housekeeper, the subtle vibrations of a credit card still lingering on his fingertips. The cold light from the surveillance screen cast mottled shadows on his face, making his amber pupils look even more like those of a dangerous feline.
"Twenty years of loyalty..." The young man's voice was soft, but the ending was sharp. He reached out and wiped the dried blood from the old butler's collar with his thumb. The gesture was so gentle that it was almost cruel. "And you raised this kind of bastard?"
Ye Qingliu tilted his head, a sweet curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, and his fangs were faintly visible.
Butler Zhao Chengshu didn't answer. The corners of his wrinkled eyes twitched slightly, but his gaze remained gentle. He suddenly raised his hand—
"Snap!"
A piece of candy wrapped in a strawberry-patterned candy wrapper hit the young master accurately between the eyebrows, leaving a faint red mark on Ye Qingliu's smooth forehead.
The boy was stunned. The candy rolled down his nose and finally stopped between his knees, which he unconsciously put together.
Ye Qingliu's eyelashes blinked rapidly a few times, as if some strange switch was pressed, and the intimidating aura just now suddenly stopped.
"When you were little," the butler said with a smile, his blood-stained hand covering the boy's fluffy hair, "you would always get stuck like this before losing your temper."
Ye Qingliu froze in place. His black hair was a mess beneath the old man's palm, with a few pieces of metal shavings from the shredder clinging to it. The young man opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but was interrupted by Zhao Chengshu's skillful kneading.
The butler's fingers accurately found the familiar whorl of hair and gently circled it clockwise, just as he had done countless times in the past twenty years.
"Butler...Grandpa...!" Ye Qingliu's voice suddenly changed tone. The coldness just now disappeared, and the ending tone even had a bit of childishness.
He subconsciously tried to dodge, but the old man's other hand pressed the back of his neck. This subdued gesture, which he had been using since childhood, made his body react before his brain did—the moment his forehead touched the old man's shoulder, the boy let out a frustrated whimper.
The murderous intent in the study dissipated like mist in the sunlight. Ye Qingliu caught the familiar scent of sandalwood mixed with ointment on the old butler's body, and only then did he notice the fresh bruise on his wrist. The young man suddenly fell silent, only a tuft of ruffled hair on the top of his head still stubbornly sticking up.
"......" Ye Qingliu's muffled voice came from the fabric of his suit, "The butler's hands are shaking."
The butler chuckled, but his hands didn't stop moving: "Because the young master has grown up."
——————————————
Ye Qingliu fell asleep.
Zhao Chengshu looked down at the boy leaning on his shoulder, his fingertips still tangling his hair. Moonlight streamed in through the French windows, casting a shadow on Ye Qingliu's eyelashes.
Zhao Chengshu sighed softly and reached out to smooth the wrinkles between his brows.
"Young Master," he called softly, his voice so soft as if he was afraid of disturbing anything, "it's time to go back to your room."
Ye Qingliu didn't wake up, but just rubbed against his arms unconsciously, like a cat that refused to leave its warm nest.
"If you don't go back, you'll have another headache tomorrow."
The young man groaned in confusion, still without opening his eyes. He simply put his arms around the butler's neck and leaned against him.
Zhao Chengshu held his knees firmly and lifted him up from the sofa like a child.
This was the first time Zhao Chengshu carried him back to the room like this.
The wall lamp in the corridor was dimmed, and Zhao Chengshu's footsteps were almost swallowed by the thick carpet. Ye Qingliu's head rested on his shoulder, and his warm breath brushed against his neck, carrying a faint scent of mint candy.
"Butler..." the young man mumbled vaguely in his sleep, his fingers unconsciously grabbing his collar.
"Yes, I'm here." Zhao Chengshu replied in a low voice without stopping.
Ye Qingliu's bedroom is at the end of the corridor. When he opens the door, a faint scent of cedar hits him in the face.
Zhao Chengshu gently placed him on the bed, but the young man refused to let go and still held onto his collar, his brows furrowed again, as if he had encountered something unpleasant in his dream.
"…Don't go."
Zhao Chengshu paused, then smiled helplessly. He reached out and ruffled Ye Qingliu's hair, coaxing her softly, "Okay, I won't leave."
He sat down beside the bed, watching the boy's brows gradually relax, and reached out to tuck the quilt in for him. The moonlight was like water, and the only sound in the room was the sound of steady breathing.
Zhao Chengshu's gaze fell on Ye Qingliu's slightly opened lips, where there was still a hint of the sweet scent of strawberry candy.
He sighed softly and reached out to turn off the bedside lamp.
"Good night, young master."
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