Zhuang Shaoyan had lived in a Princess Room filled with pink girlish vibes ever since he was born.
After all, a little baby didn’t know anything; he just giggled gleefully, clueless about the difference between boys and girls.
Every time Zhuang Qiting saw his son lying in a cradle adorned with milky white lace, kicking his chubby little legs, he would smile wryly.
But after the smile came a sigh, and after the sigh, he would flick his son’s little foot and mutter softly, wondering how his “money-losing” child turned out like this.
This amusing mix-up made everyone in the Zhuang family sigh with regret—the carefully prepared gifts for the first meeting couldn’t be given out as planned. In the end, they scrambled at the last minute and all gave Jinsuo, Jin Fupai, Jin Zhuozi, or simply chose the easy route of giving a hongbao.
Li Yaru looked at the pile of uninspired gifts and truly found it funny.
For Zhuang Shaoyan’s first birthday, they took two sets of photos.
One set was taken at the Zhuang Residence. The clean little boy wore a crisp, neatly ironed white shirt, suspenders, a red bowtie, and his hair was styled in a gentlemanly side part.
His fair, well-behaved face exuded a natural air of nobility—anyone who saw him would exclaim, “What a handsome boy.”
The other set was Li Yaru’s private treasure.
She coaxed her clueless son into a fluffy little pink tulle dress she’d bought in Tokyo, paired with lacy socks and shiny patent leather shoes with butterfly bows.
Finally, she clipped a pearl hairpin onto his forehead, dabbed a spot of rouge on each cheek, and even put a touch of lipstick on his lips.
“Xiao Yan is really too cute!” Li Yaru was delighted, scooping up her “daughter” for a kiss.
Unaware that he was about to have a spot in black history, the young master of the Zhuang family let out a tender sound: “Mama——”
As for Li Yaru dressing her son up as a girl, Zhuang Qiting was very indulgent and said nothing. If it made his wife happy, that was a skill even a “money-losing” child had.
But when his wife hugged their cross-dressed son and showered him with kisses, Zhuang Qiting’s displeasure was obvious.
“That’s enough, stop kissing him nonstop. How does that look?” Zhuang Qiting walked over and scooped his son from Li Yaru’s arms with one move.
His strong arms lifted the child easily, letting him sit comfortably with no effort at all.
Zhuang Qiting saw his son grinning up at him, his little face covered in his wife’s lipstick. With a low snort, he wiped it off and sternly chided, “Shameless.”
“You’re the shameless one! What’s wrong with kissing my child?” Li Yaru thought Zhuang Qiting was scolding her.
“Wasn’t talking about you, baby.” Zhuang Qiting laughed softly.
Li Yaru rolled her eyes, “I think you’re even more shameless than your son.”
Zhuang Qiting raised an eyebrow and hefted his chubby son, unwilling to be compared, “Don’t lump me together with this stinky brat.”
“You’re the one always competing with your son all day long. Who knows what you’re even competing about.” Li Yaru chuckled, poking the man’s shin with her toe.
“Am I?” Zhuang Qiting absentmindedly squeezed his son’s soft little hand.
This brat had inherited his wife’s good skin—so pale and tender, it was hard not to love him. He’d surely grow up to be quite the little man.
Li Yaru thought seriously for a moment, “I think so…”
It was true.
Whenever she praised her son’s good temperament and love for laughter, Zhuang Qiting would always bring up—didn’t he have a good temperament too?
When she kissed her son’s little face and hands, Zhuang Qiting might not say anything at the time, but at night when he pressed her beneath him, he would insist that she kiss him too.
He wasn’t one to celebrate birthdays, but seeing her so busy organizing their son’s first birthday banquet, he asked her to handle his birthday as well that year.
And whenever she bought things for their son, Zhuang Qiting would say, “Little boys don’t need to be dressed or cared for so finely—rougher, simpler is better.” But if she bought something for him too, he’d take the gift and fall silent.
She realized that ever since they’d had their son, Zhuang Qiting had started to show a tendency to compete with their child from time to time.
As if… vying for affection…
Li Yaru suddenly thought of the phrase and her heart trembled at the thought. She snuck a glance at Zhuang Qiting.
He was playing with their son using a bunny plushie, his usually stern face softened with a gentle warmth—but he still radiated an air of authority that brooked no intrusion.
Would such a domineering, proud man also vie for affection? For her affection?
She pressed her hand to her quickening heartbeat, feeling a strange mix of pride and excitement.
Her black eyes grew ever brighter as she regarded Zhuang Qiting with a subtle, almost teasing gaze.
“Papa——” One-year-old Xiao Yanyan could only babble repeated syllables, tugging at his father’s golden tie with his small but surprisingly strong hands.
Zhuang Qiting chuckled, “You rascal. The moment I hold you, you get all fussy, but you’re as obedient as can be with your mommy.”
Xiao Yanyan, scorned by his dad, laughed even harder. His face, soft as a dumpling, puffed up, and his rosy lips drooled little bubbles.
“Dirty.” Zhuang Qiting lifted the bib and wiped him, taking the opportunity to clean off the lipstick from his lips.
Li Yaru seized the chance to pick up the camera, capturing the scene—a pink room, a cold, stern man holding his son dressed in a princess dress.
The picture was odd, but overflowing with warmth.
Li Yaru snapped a few more shots, picked up the camera, and walked over.
“Pictures are fine,
“But I want kisses.” She grinned wickedly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She bent down, brought her face close to her son’s, and planted a noisy kiss on his soft little cheek.
“Muah—muah—”
On the tiny foot.
For some reason, Zhuang Qiting felt a bit uncomfortable. He couldn’t figure out this strange, unhealthy sense of possessiveness—just seeing his wife kiss their son made him upset, jealous, even sour.
His wife was his woman; she should only kiss him, embrace him, gaze at him—how could she spare any affection for someone else?
He did his best to restrain himself, not letting Li Yaru notice that he was actually jealous of their own child.
Such childishness would only make her mock him.
He put on a stern face and took a few photos of his wife and son. His wife, purposely defiant, only hugged and kissed their son in every picture, making it impossible for him to watch any longer.
“That’s enough, you’ve already taken seven or eight.”
Zhuang Qiting set the camera down, strode over, and once again scooped their son out of his wife’s arms, about to hand him to the Butler, when Li Yaru interjected, “We haven’t taken a family photo yet! I’ll call in Li Guanjia. He’s tight-lipped and won’t say a word.”
Li Yaru was worried that if her in-laws found out she dressed her son up as a little girl, they’d make fun of her.
Li Guanjia entered, and at the sight of Xiao Shaoye’s new look, he couldn’t hold back his laughter, saying cheerfully, “Xiao Shaoye has such fair skin—he looks adorable in a little dress!”
Li Yaru cradled her son, sitting down beside Zhuang Qiting, her head tilting gently onto his shoulder.
But Zhuang Qiting thought that wasn’t enough, so he took the child into his own arms and wrapped his other arm around Li Yaru, pressing her fully against his chest.
Li Yaru’s face turned rosy, her smile growing even more bashful. Under Li Guanjia’s teasing gaze, the family finished their group photo.
Task complete at last, Zhuang Qiting promptly handed the little one to Li Guanjia to prevent Li Yaru from launching into another round of motherly kisses.
What’s so great about kissing anyway? He’s just a little fairer and softer—little boys are all fair.
Thinking of this, Zhuang Qiting looked over his own big hands.
His skin was a healthy wheat color, nails neat and smooth, his fingers thick but long, joints prominent, veins snaking along the back—a distinctly masculine hand, strong and powerful at a glance, full of mature male charm.
His wife must like them, too.
After all, whenever he slipped them in, whenever those rough calluses rubbed and kneaded her, she’d sob with pleasure time after time.
Li Yaru had no idea about the monologue in his heart—she was just excited by the thought that he would actually fight for her affection.
If she could, she’d ride his face, make that proud look melt away, and force him to bow his head.
She only imagined the scene, but already felt refreshed and delighted.
“What are you smiling about, darling?” Zhuang Qiting reached out, pinching her chin, lifting her head.
Li Yaru, unaware of her goofy smile, replied, “Huh?”
“What are you thinking about, little thing, smiling so foolishly?” Zhuang Qiting lowered his head and kissed her cheek.
“Thinking… fun things.” Li Yaru giggled twice.
Zhuang Qiting narrowed his eyes, tracing her lips with his fingers, playing with the soft, moist flesh within.
His fingertips soon grew wet. He recalled those months right after their son was born, when her full, juicy fruit was always a little damp.
When she felt swollen and sore, it was always he who helped her—massaging, sucking, easing her discomfort.