Chapter 296 Sweet Cream and Jade Pins

Runze’s POV

Mrs. Wen and I made the cake yesterday afternoon.

It was her idea to do it together. She appeared in the kitchen doorway while I was looking up recipes on my phone with one of the maids and said that she had been making celebration cakes for this family for thirty years and she wasn’t about to stop now, but that she would allow me to help. I put my phone away and washed my hands.

We spent two hours in the kitchen, which is two hours more than I have ever spent in a kitchen in my life. Mrs. Wen directed every step with the focused authority she brings to everything, and I followed instructions, and somewhere in the middle of it we stopped talking about the cake and just talked. About Siying. About the year. About small things I don’t remember now but felt important at the time.

The cake was three layers, vanilla sponge with soft sweet potato and fruit cream filling, with delicate peach blossom branches drawn along the sides and Siying’s name written across the top in careful script that Mrs. Wen did herself because my handwriting, she said, was not suitable for a birthday cake.

She wasn’t wrong.

Now, the main living room of the estate holds a lively hum of conversation, bright laughter, and the rich scent of Mrs. Wen’s pastries. A hired photographer moves discreetly near the grand windows, his shutter clicking as he catches early portraits of Siying sitting on her soft play mat in her vibrant red silk qipao. On her small wrist, the carved jade lock bracelet Ling Yue gave her at her one-month celebration catches the light. Bael had spent twenty minutes earlier pinning her hair up with the small jade pin he ordered, adjusting it twice to make sure every fine strand stayed neatly in place.

The front doors open, and Ling Yue walks in carrying a decorated gift bag.

“Where is the birthday girl?” Ling Yue calls out, stepping into the foyer.

Jin Hao walks in right behind him, carrying a large gift box. He looks relaxed, his jacket unbuttoned as he steps into the room and turns toward Bael, who stands near the side table.

“Good afternoon, Bael,” Jin Hao says smoothly, offering a familiar nod. “The traffic near the south district was terrible, but we made it.”

Bael sets his glass down, his face entirely unreadable. “I was hoping you didn’t make it.”

“Heartless as ever,” Jin Hao replies, a light, amused spark in his eyes as he sets the gift box on the table. “Is this how the chairman of Wuchen Group treats a friend?”

“Delusional,” Bael says without hesitation. “I never agreed to be your friend.”

“You should be grateful I am offering,” Jin Hao teases, leaning back against the edge of the table. “I am doing you a favor. You don’t have many friends as it is.”

Bael lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so? Isn’t it because you have no friends of your own that you keep forcing yourself into my house? Unlike you, I am not friendless. Siying is my best friend.”

I turn my head away to hide my smile, tuning out their back-and-forth as I wonder when exactly those two got comfortable enough to bicker like old classmates.

Ling Yue, meanwhile, strides right over to me. Without missing a beat, he lifts his left hand and shoves his ring finger directly into my face, flashing the platinum band for the hundredth time since he first showed up at the estate weeks ago.

“Still looks just as good as it did the first day I showed you,” Ling Yue declares, his eyes sparkling with unabashed pride. “An engaged man, right here in your living room.”

I laugh, pushing his wrist back slightly so I can actually see. “You have reminded me every single time you have visited this month.”

“And I will keep reminding you until the wedding invitations go out,” Ling Yue exclaims happily, catching sight of Siying sitting nearby. “Now, where is my favorite niece?”

He drops to his knees on the padded floor, pulling out a small music box with a polished brass mechanism from his bag. The moment he winds the golden key, a bright, chiming melody fills the room.

Siying lets out a high-pitched squeal, her small hands immediately reaching forward to grip the sides of the box. She bounces her body up and down with energetic rhythm, her legs remaining planted on the floor while she lets out a string of excited, nonsensical sounds that sound suspiciously like she is trying to sing along with the tune.

“She likes her Uncle Ling Yue best, no contest,” Ling Yue boasts cheerfully, watching her shake the box in rhythm.

A few minutes later, Feifei arrives, carrying a flat, carefully wrapped package. She bends down first, gently taking Siying’s small hand in hers. “Happy first birthday, little one.”

She stands up and hands the package to me with a small, nervous smile. “I made this myself, Runze… please don’t laugh at it.”

Unwrapping it reveals a small hand-embroidered wall hanging for the nursery, featuring pale fabric with Siying’s name stitched in the center, surrounded by tiny flowers and a single bird. The embroidery is careful, with one corner slightly uneven in a way that makes it feel deeply human and sweet.

“It’s beautiful, Feifei,” I tell her honestly, running my fingers over the stitches. “Thank you. We are hanging this right over her crib.”

Feifei flushes with a happy smile. “I am glad you like it.”

Before we bring out the cake, the photographer gathers us around the low central table for family portraits. Bael and I sit on either side of Siying, framing her while she gleefully shows off her music box to the camera. The shutter clicks multiple times, capturing the three of us laughing together. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Bael surreptitiously pulling out his own phone, taking five quick photos of me adjusting Siying’s sleeve before pretending he was just checking his notifications.

Then comes the main event.

Mrs. Wen brings out the three-layered cake, setting it down right in front of Siying. The room settles into an excited stillness as everyone gathers around.

Siying does not understand what today is. She only understands that something is happening because the adults are all looking at her with wide, expectant smiles. I lean down beside her, gently taking her tiny hand in mine as I make a silent wish for her health and happiness. Bael leans in on her other side and helps her blow out the single golden candle.

The moment the smoke clears, Siying stares at the smooth, pale cream frosting. Before anyone can stop her, she lunges forward with both hands, plunging her fists straight into the cake.

A collective gasp breaks out, followed instantly by Ling Yue’s loud, uncontrollable laughter. I burst out laughing right alongside him, unable to hold it back as Siying pulls her hands back, completely covered in thick cream.

A look of pure, triumphant joy lights up her face. She immediately rubs her face with her sticky knuckles, smearing cream across her cheeks, her nose, and all over the front of her red silk qipao.

“Well,” Bael says dryly, looking down at his daughter’s cream-covered face. “She likes the cake.”

I pick Siying up, her sticky fingers immediately leaving two cream marks on my shoulder, and carry her upstairs to the nursery. It takes twenty minutes, three warm washcloths, and a complete change of clothes to fix the aftermath.

When I bring her back downstairs, she is wearing a simple, soft peach jumpsuit. Her hair is still pinned up with the jade pin, and when I set her feet on the floor, she takes two shaky, independent steps forward before plopping back down onto her bottom with a soft thud, grinning up at us. She still smells faintly of sweet cream and baked fruit.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Grandmother steps into the center of the room.

She walks over to where Siying is playing. Grandmother rarely stays standing for long periods these days, usually preferring her armchair. But now, she bends down and lifts Siying up into her arms, cradling her against her chest as she stands in the center of the living room.

Siying reaches out with a sticky finger, gently touching the jade beads around Grandmother’s neck. Grandmother doesn’t pull away. She simply smiles, holding her great-granddaughter securely against her shoulder with quiet pride.

Bael steps up beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine as we watch them.

He reaches down, his fingers finding mine and locking our hands together. In his other hand, he holds the custom book we commissioned for her three months ago—an illustrated story with her name in the title, drawn with details from her actual life. The nursery, the estate garden, a small bear that looks like the one on her play mat. Two figures that are recognizably us, if you look with generous eyes. It ends with her, small and certain, standing at the edge of something new.

She will not understand it for years.

That’s the point.