Chapter 304: The Potbelly & The Secret

*Runze’s POV*

The soft silk of my loose trousers stretches tighter across my lap than it used to.

I smooth the pale fabric of my linen blouse over my stomach, where the small mound from two months ago has grown into a prominent six-month bump. No amount of loose tailoring can hide it anymore.

I settle against the sofa cushions, my legs resting comfortably on the footstool.

Xiao Mei steps through the side passage carrying a small tray with a pot of warm herbal tea and a plate of sliced melon. She sets it on the low table in front of me with a small, knowing smile.

“The Madam is finishing her morning walk in the courtyard,” Xiao Mei says, her tone polite and natural. “Should I bring her tea out there, Young Master Runze?”

“Leave it here on the tray,” I tell her, reaching for a slice of sweet melon. “She said she would be coming inside soon.”

Xiao Mei bows her head slightly, stepping back toward the hallway to check on the morning cleaning schedules.

The doors leading out to the inner garden open. Grandmother walks into the room, her shoulders held straight and upright despite the slow, deliberate pace of her steps. She takes her time crossing the floor, maintaining her usual composed posture before settling gracefully into the armchair opposite my sofa.

Her sharp eyes drop to my lap, lingering on the distinct curve beneath my blouse.

“You are filling out much faster this time,” Grandmother remarks, setting her cane against the cushion. “With Siying, you looked as though you had merely eaten a large lunch until the seventh month.”

I laugh softly, leaning back against the cushions. “Dr. Xi said the second pregnancy often shows earlier. My body remembers what to do.”

“Good,” Grandmother says, her lips curving into a pleased expression. “A strong frame carries a healthy child.”

Before I can answer, the loud, familiar sound of shoes against the marble floor echoes from the upper staircase.

Siying comes running down the corridor, her bright blue hair elastics bouncing with every step. She carries a thick sheet of drawing paper in her small hands, her face flushed from running through the upper halls. She speeds into the sitting room, her eyes zeroing in on me instantly.

“Papa!” she calls out, her voice high and full of morning energy. “Look what I drew! I drew the big red bus we saw near the school gate!”

She skids to a halt right in front of the sofa, hoisting herself up onto the cushion beside me without waiting for an invitation. She drops her drawing right onto my lap, leaning her whole upper body against my side so she can point out the black crayon wheels she drew on the paper.

“See?” she says, her small finger tapping against the page. “I made six wheels because big buses have six wheels!”

“It is a very impressive bus, Ying-er,” I say, running my hand over her tight pigtails to smooth down the stray hairs. “Your lines are getting much straighter.”

Siying smiles proudly, but as she leans closer to point at the windows on her paper bus, her arm brushes against the firm, rounded mound of my stomach.

She pauses, looking down at where her elbow rests against my lap. Then she pulls back and presses her palm against the center of my stomach, giving the rounded bump two inquisitive pats.

Her brow pinches into a tight, incredibly serious frown.

“Papa,” she says, her voice dropping into a stern, reprimanding tone that sounds suspiciously like Bael when he is reviewing quarterly reports. “What is this?”

I try to keep my face completely blank, though a small twitch catches the side of my mouth. “What is what, Ying-er?”

“Your stomach!” Siying exclaims, sitting up straight on her knees and pointing her index finger directly at my bump. “It is big! It is like a big melon!”

Grandmother sets her teacup down onto her saucer with a faint clink, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches us from her armchair.

“It is just a little rounder today,” I say mildly, trying to shift my position on the cushion.

“No!” Siying shakes her head vigorously, her pigtails slapping against her cheeks. She takes my teacup and slides it to the far end of the table, out of my reach. “Xiao Mei gave you too many red bean pastries yesterday! And you drink too much tea!”

“Siying—”

“You have a potbelly, Papa!” she announces loudly, her voice echoing into the high ceiling of the sitting room. She places both of her small hands on her hips, looking down at me with absolute authority. “A big potbelly! Like the old man who sells buns near the park!”

I cover my mouth with my hand, letting out a sudden, uncontrollable laugh that makes my stomach rise and fall. Grandmother lets out a clear, delighted chuckle, shaking her head as she reaches for her napkin.

“A potbelly?” a deep voice asks from the archway.

Bael steps into the sitting room, holding a folder of papers in his left hand. He wears a simple white button-down shirt with the top collar unfastened, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He stops near the edge of the sofa, looking between Siying’s furious, stern face and my red, laughing one.

“Baba!” Siying turns on her knees, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Look at Papa’s belly! He ate too many treats! He has a potbelly now!”

Bael sets his folder down on the side table. A faint, genuine smile touches his lips as he steps closer, taking a seat on the sofa right on the other side of me. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Siying insists, her face completely earnest. “He needs to stop drinking tea and run laps with me in the courtyard! If he runs twenty laps every morning, his stomach will go back to normal!”

I shake my head, wiping a tiny tear of laughter from the corner of my eye. “I am not running twenty laps in the courtyard, Siying.”

“You have to!” she bossily instructs, reaching out to pat my stomach again with both hands. “It is getting too big!”

Bael reaches over, his hand settling gently over the center of my bump, covering Siying’s tiny hands beneath his broad palm. His touch is light and careful, feeling the firm heat beneath my shirt.

He looks up at our daughter, his expression softening into something quiet and deeply patient.

“Siying,” Bael says, his deep voice calm and clear. “Your Papa does not have a potbelly.”

“He does!” she argues, trying to pull Bael’s hand away to show him. “Look how round it is!”

“Listen to me,” Bael tells her softly, his fingers tightening gently over hers to keep her hand resting flat against my stomach. “Do you remember your birthday months ago? When you blew out your six candles in the garden?”

Siying stops wriggling. Her big eyes blink once, twice, as she looks from Bael’s face down to where their joined hands rest on my lap. “I wished for a baby brother.”

“That’s right,” I say gently, taking Siying’s other small hand in mine, guiding her fingers so she can feel the distinct, firm curve. “Your wish didn’t come in a wrapped box, Ying-er. It is growing right here, inside my belly.”

The room falls into a sudden, complete stillness.

Siying freezes. Her mouth opens slightly into a small ‘O’, her eyes wide as she stares at my stomach. She looks down at her own hand pressed against the cloth, then looks up at my face, and then turns her head to stare at Bael.

“Inside?” she whispers, looking back at me, her high voice turning small with absolute wonder. “A real baby?”

“A real baby,” I confirm, smiling at the total awe on her small face. “That is why my stomach is getting rounder. The baby is growing bigger every week so they can come out and meet you.”

For three long seconds, Siying doesn’t move. She just stares at my stomach as if trying to process how a whole human being fits inside a shirt.

Then she lets out a high-pitched, triumphant gasp, throwing her hands up into the air. “My wish worked! I am very good at wishing!”

Grandmother laughs softly from her chair, resting her chin against her hands. “She takes full credit, of course.”

“I made him grow!” Siying declares proudly, scrambling closer until her knees are pressed right against my thigh. She immediately leans her face down, pressing her ear directly against my rounded stomach, her pigtails brushing against my ribs.

She cups her hands around her mouth like a megaphone and speaks right into my top.

“Hey!” she calls out loudly toward my belly. “Baby brother! Can you hear me?”

I wince slightly at the volume, letting out a breathless laugh as I pat her back. “You don’t need to shout, Ying-er. He is very close.”

Siying pulls her head back slightly, keeping her cheek pressed firmly against the pale linen over my bump. “I am Siying! I am your big sister! I am six years old and I am in charge of this whole house!”

Bael leans back against the sofa cushions, his arm resting on the back of the couch behind my shoulders. His thumb gently strokes the side of my waist, his face relaxed and full of contentment.

“Tell him the rules,” Bael says dryly, a light spark in his dark eyes as he watches our daughter.

“Rule number one!” Siying informs my stomach with utmost seriousness, tapping her small finger against my lap to emphasize every word. “I will teach you how to draw the red bus, but you have to listen to me! Rule number two! When you get big, I will share my building blocks so we can make a giant tower together! And rule number three! I will save the strawberries for you if you eat your eggs!”

“That sounds like a very generous big sister,” I tease, running my fingers through her hair.

A tiny kick presses outward, right where Siying’s cheek rests against my stomach.

Her head pops up, her eyes wide. “Papa! It moved! Something poked my cheek!”

“He is saying hello,” I tell her, my heart swelling with an intense, boundless emotion.

“He heard me!” Siying shouts, bouncing excitedly on the sofa. “He tapped my face to say hello!”

She turns around, sliding off the sofa onto her feet, her small shoes clicking against the floor as she races toward the hallway entrance. “Xiao Mei! Xiao Mei, look! The baby heard me! He tapped my cheek!”

Her loud, energetic voice echoes down the long corridor toward the kitchen staff quarters, full of unbridled six-year-old pride.

The sitting room settles back into a relaxed, easy calm.

Grandmother picks up her teacup once more, taking a slow, peaceful sip, a pleased smile lingering on her face as she watches the hallway where Siying disappeared.

Bael shifts closer on the sofa, sliding his arm fully around my waist, pulling my body back until I am resting comfortably against his chest. His warm palm covers my rounded stomach, resting right over the spot where our baby just kicked.

I lean my head back against his shoulder, letting my eyes close for a moment as his steady breath moves against my temple.

“She is going to boss him around from the second he is born,” Bael murmurs into my hair, his voice low and rich with affection.

“He or she,” I gently correct with a soft chuckle, placing my hand over his on my lap, feeling another soft, gentle flutter beneath our fingers. “We still don’t know if your daughter’s birthday wish got the gender right.”

Bael lets out a faint, amused breath against my neck. “Siying is so convinced it is a brother that she won’t accept any other possibility.”

“Brother or sister, it doesn’t matter,” I smile, leaning my head back against his shoulder as peace settles over us. “Siying will love them and boss them around all the same. And they are going to adore her for it.”

Bael turns his head slightly, pressing his lips against the side of my neck, holding the two of us securely in his arms as the calm morning continues around us.