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After returning from visiting the grave of Li Linshan's mother, Wang Xiu Jin noticed that Li Linshan was clearly out of sorts. He regretted suggesting the visit, for Li Linshan rarely refused his requests, and now Wang Xiu Jin felt guilty, as though he had made Li Linshan do something unpleasant for the sake of appearances. Guilt gnawed at him, but he did not know how to broach the subject.

Ya Chang sensed that both his fathers were acting strangely lately, the air heavy with tension. He glanced at his little father, then at his main father, and clambered from bed, wobbling as he prepared once again to escape the wooden cot. But given his height and weight, his chances were slim. His plan was to clamber over the wooden railing, use the bed’s sway to tiptoe to the ground, then drop and lie flat—everything was calculated, except for one thing: his own tender age.

Lifting his head, Wang Xiu Jin caught a shocking sight—his son dangling from the bed rail, face red with effort. He hurried over and scooped the child up. The first time, he could call it an accident, but not a second. He would not let his son get away with it again. Sensing his little father’s mood, Ya Chang clung to his neck and burst into tears.

Li Linshan had looked over the moment Wang Xiu Jin stood up, his own face clouded. He believed their son needed to be taught a lesson; what if it happened again and no one was around? “Let me,” he said, fearing Wang Xiu Jin would be too soft. He took the boy, whose face was streaked with tears and snot. For a brief moment, Li Linshan’s heart softened, but the memory of the incident steeled him.

“Don’t hit him. It hurts you as much as it hurts him. Make him stand in the corner,” Wang Xiu Jin said, both frightened and angry, patting his chest. Any more scares like this, and his heart would give out. “He must learn: never climb the bed rails.”

Li Linshan patted his hiccupping son’s back, but he could not bring himself to strike the child. Gritting his teeth, he set the boy in the corner. Both fathers sat nearby, watching as the little one, still too young to stand steadily, sobbed and cast furtive glances at them. Both men kept stern faces, determined not to yield—he must endure it, even if his legs gave out.

They counted the minutes, wanting only to teach him, not truly punish. After a while, they let him sit. Ya Chang sprawled on the floor, aggrieved. Li Linshan picked him up, while Wang Xiu Jin wiped his face with a damp cloth, clearing away tears and snot. “If you climb the bed again, you’ll have to stand again.”

“Does he understand?” Li Linshan asked Wang Xiu Jin. “We should have Nurse Li keep a closer eye on him.”

Wang Xiu Jin nodded, pinching Ya Chang’s tearful face. “Should we raise the railings? And fix the bed legs so it’s higher—keep him from climbing.”

“Fine. After the New Year, the carpenter can alter the bed,” Li Linshan agreed, respecting the common superstitions of the season. “He was probably hungry, that’s why he tried to get out. Have the kitchen prepare more food for him; I’m a bit hungry myself.”

“Mm.” The mention of hunger reminded Wang Xiu Jin he wanted a snack, though not from hunger, just for something to do. Looking at Ya Chang curled in his father’s arms, face buried as if ashamed, Wang Xiu Jin was struck by the absurdity—what did a baby barely a year old know of shame or wrongdoing?

“Are you angry with me?” Now that the conversation had started, Wang Xiu Jin decided to voice the worries that had plagued him for days.

“Why would I be angry?” Li Linshan was puzzled. “You’ve been restless lately—did you think I was upset? You’re overthinking. I agreed to visit the grave, so I’ve let go of the past.”

“Then why have you been so distracted, as if something’s weighing on you?” Wang Xiu Jin believed that even between husbands, open communication was vital; otherwise, suspicion and fatigue would fester.

“Lin Fei, there are no women in this household. If she marries one day and suffers as my elder sister did, who will stand up for her?” Li Linshan voiced his hidden anxiety.

“You worry too much. Does the lack of women mean no one can defend her? If we can’t scold the gossiping women, we can always go after the man who fails to protect her. Don’t talk to me about how men shouldn’t quarrel with women. If a man can’t protect his own wife, what good is he? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said those things to Song Hongyi that day.” Wang Xiu Jin rolled his eyes.

Li Linshan nodded, remembering Wang Xiu Jin’s words from that day. Wang Xiu Jin continued, “If your sister ends up with the wrong man, let them divorce. We can support her—it’s just another mouth to feed. When we’re old, Ya Chang can look after us all; if his wife objects, we’ll cast her out for lack of filial piety.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Children can be taught,” Li Linshan cut him off sharply at the mention of divorce and casting out daughters-in-law. “Ya Chang will be a fine man.”

“So you’re not worrying anymore?” Wang Xiu Jin raised an eyebrow. “If you’re feeling better, tomorrow I’ll visit the shop, and you can go inspect the camp.” He recalled something a teacher had mentioned during a recent New Year’s visit. “I hear the royal children have changed a lot—now many flock to the military camps, all eager to trade letters for swords.”

“Liu Qing has reported—they all tried to sneak in and were turned away,” Li Linshan replied, setting the boy on the rug to play. But Ya Chang crawled to sit at their feet, clutching Li Linshan’s leg with one hand and tugging at Wang Xiu Jin’s sock with the other, pulling at a loose thread with relentless determination. Li Linshan looked down, wondering if his son simply found it amusing or had something else in mind—probably just amusement.

Wang Xiu Jin followed Li Linshan’s gaze and smiled wryly. “Son, that’s a sock, not a toy.”

“Let him play. We can always have new ones sent up—as long as he’s happy,” Li Linshan replied, not noticing that as he spoke, the child’s little hands froze, then slowed in their tugging.

Wang Xiu Jin missed the subtle change, too, and nodded. “Tomorrow, I’ll get him a new sock to play with.” As they spoke, a servant arrived with the young master’s meal, along with food for the two fathers.

Wang Xiu Jin fed his son first, watching him eat with gusto—clearly, the child was famished. Only after the boy had eaten did Wang Xiu Jin take his own meal, eating lightly—just two duck necks—before stopping. “I always gain three pounds over New Year,” he grumbled, rubbing his belly.

“You should gain more—you’re too thin,” Li Linshan commented, glancing up before resuming his meal. “A strong wind might blow you away, and then where would I find you?”

“Pfft, you don’t think that sounds fake?” Wang Xiu Jin was glad he wasn’t drinking, or he’d have spat out his water.

“Not at all,” Li Linshan replied, utterly serious.

Just fed, Ya Chang blinked his big eyes at his two fathers, patting his little belly as he’d seen his little father do, and as he patted, he drifted off to sleep. Wang Xiu Jin couldn’t help but laugh softly at his son, and even Li Linshan’s expression softened.

“Isn’t our son a little too mischievous?” Wang Xiu Jin mused. First climbing the bed, now pulling Li Linshan’s sock—perhaps it was time to start teaching him early, as the saying goes, ‘As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.’

“He’s only a year old—three is still far off,” Li Linshan said with a hint of exasperation. “You’re worrying too soon, but there’s no harm. He’s already starting to babble; once he can speak clearly, we’ll teach him to read.”

“…You’re even more eager than I am? Teaching him to read at this age? Better to start with stories—read to him, then explain the lessons within.” Wang Xiu Jin recalled hearing about bedtime stories for infants in his previous life, though he’d never had the chance to experience reading them to a child. Now he felt a pang of regret. “How about we have someone write some meaningful bedtime stories, and we take turns reading them to our son?”

Li Linshan considered it. “But stories can’t simply be conjured up—they must suit our boy. That won’t be easy.” He couldn’t recall what he’d done at his son’s age, nor even much of his sister’s childhood. He thought he’d cared greatly for his sister, but compared to his son, it was different—or rather, compared to Wang Xiu Jin, he was less attentive.

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Tomorrow I’ll visit the academy and ask the teachers. If it’s done well, it could be a great thing.” The more Wang Xiu Jin thought about it, the more viable it seemed. He’d even bring home the odd stories he’d written before, to read to his son—no matter if the boy understood or not.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping Ya Chang, his days of woe were about to begin.

Wang Xiu Jin was a man of action. At dawn, he stopped by the shop to leave a few instructions with Manager Wang, then hurried to the academy—his son’s upbringing was far more important than profit. After explaining his intentions, the teachers stared in astonishment. “Master, writing stories is not difficult, but writing for children not yet of school age is another matter.” What’s more, the master had a list of requirements: no ghosts or monsters, only positive, uplifting tales. Every word made sense, but together, it gave them a headache.

“Difficult doesn’t mean impossible, does it?” Wang Xiu Jin smiled at the teachers. “Classes haven’t started yet, so try your hand at a few stories. If you can add illustrations, even better. If we succeed, it will be a blessing for generations to come—I believe in you!”