The limousine's interior was too quiet.
No engine rumble, no road noise — just the faint scent of leather and cologne.
Zhao Wei sat stiffly, fingers digging into the armrest as the city blurred past. His mind kept replaying the boy's hunched shoulders, the untouched porridge.
He wasn't sure what was worse — that he was now supposedly a billionaire CEO, or that he'd been handed a child who looked at him like a stranger.
The driver's voice broke through his thoughts. "Sir, we'll arrive at Shen Group headquarters in five minutes."
Right. Shen Group. The corporate giant that owned everything from shipping lines to luxury hotels. A company that, up until last night, Zhao Wei had only read about in the business section of the news.
And now, he was in charge.
The elevator ride to the top floor was mercifully short. The suited man from earlier — assistant? butler? handler? — stayed at his side.
The boardroom door swung open, revealing a long polished table surrounded by a dozen people in suits. They all turned to look at him with the sharp, assessing eyes of predators deciding if the alpha was still alpha.
"Mr. Li," the man at the head of the table began, "we have pressing matters—"
"I'll… hear them," Zhao Wei said, praying his voice didn't crack.
The man — Zhang Bo, CFO, if he remembered the name right from the morning briefing — tapped his tablet. "First, there's the acquisition of JinTech. They're requesting final confirmation before Friday."
Zhao Wei had no idea what JinTech even was. He glanced at Zhang Bo's face, trying to read it like a poker hand.
"Postpone," Zhao Wei said finally. "I want… more details."
There was a ripple of surprise around the table. Clearly, Li Shen wasn't the type to delay decisions.
"Secondly," Zhang Bo continued, "our PR manager, Lin Yue, says a reporter is pushing for a statement about your… change in lifestyle."
Change in lifestyle. That could mean anything. Zhao Wei kept his expression neutral. "No comment for now."
The assistant leaned toward him, whispering low, "Mr. Li, perhaps you'd like to review the quarterly—"
"Later," Zhao Wei cut in, buying himself time. "Let's adjourn. I have… other matters to attend to."
There was hesitation — but one by one, the suits rose.
---
Back in the privacy of the office, Zhao Wei sagged into the CEO chair. It was absurdly comfortable, the leather swallowing him whole.
The assistant — Gao Fang, apparently — placed a stack of folders on the desk. "You've always preferred the key summaries. I prepared them here."
Zhao Wei blinked at the man. "Always?"
Gao Fang tilted his head slightly. "Are you feeling unwell, sir?"
"Just… tired," Zhao Wei said. "It's been a long week."
The man's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he said nothing and left the room.
Zhao Wei took the opportunity to open the top folder. Financial reports, contracts, projections — all of it might as well have been in another language. He set it aside, rubbing his temples.
Somewhere in this building, people were expecting Li Shen to make billion-yuan decisions. And somewhere across town, a six-year-old boy was sitting at a massive dining table, waiting for someone to notice he was still hurting.
---
By lunchtime, Zhao Wei had decided two things:
1. He needed to survive this CEO act long enough to figure out what happened to him.
2. He couldn't keep ignoring Xiao An.
When he arrived back at the mansion, the house was quiet. The nanny met him in the hallway, looking wary.
"He's in the garden," she said. "Hasn't spoken a word all morning."
Zhao Wei followed the sound of rustling leaves until he found the boy crouched under a tree, tracing shapes in the dirt with a stick.
For a moment, Zhao Wei just stood there, unsure how to start. In his real life — his old life — he'd never been around kids. No siblings, no nieces or nephews, just coworkers and deadlines.
He cleared his throat. "Hey."
Xiao An glanced up, then back down at the dirt.
"You like drawing?" Zhao Wei asked.
No answer.
Zhao Wei crouched down, careful not to crowd him. "I'm… not very good at it, but I can try." He picked up another stick and started drawing a wobbly circle. "See? It's supposed to be a sun, but it looks more like a potato."
A faint sound escaped the boy — not quite a laugh, but close.
Zhao Wei kept going, adding spiky lines. "There. Potato sun. Probably won't win any awards."
Xiao An's stick moved again, sketching what looked like… a house. Small, square, with a triangle roof.
"That's nice," Zhao Wei said softly. "Is that your house?"
The boy paused, then drew a smaller figure beside the house. A stick person. Then another. Then he stopped.
Zhao Wei's chest tightened. "Is that… you? And your mom?"
Xiao An's head dropped lower.
Zhao Wei wanted to say something — anything — but the words tangled. Finally, he just said, "It's a good drawing. You're… really good at this."
The boy didn't answer, but he didn't walk away either. It felt like a small victory.
---
That evening, Gao Fang appeared again, holding a tablet. "Sir, tomorrow you're scheduled to attend the charity gala for the Children's Literacy Fund. You've been a sponsor for three years."
Zhao Wei's first instinct was to say no. Crowds meant questions, and he didn't have Li Shen's answers. But then he glanced toward the hallway, where Xiao An's laughter — real this time — drifted faintly from the garden.
"Alright," Zhao Wei said. "We'll both go."
Gao Fang's brows rose. "Both, sir?"
"Me and… the boy," Zhao Wei said. "Might be good for him."
The assistant hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. I'll arrange it."
---
Later, alone in the massive bedroom, Zhao Wei stared at his reflection again.
The face staring back was still Li Shen's — strong jaw, cool eyes, perfect hair. But somewhere underneath, Zhao Wei felt his own pulse, his own confusion, and now… a flicker of responsibility he couldn't ignore.
He didn't know why fate had put him here. But for Xiao An's sake, maybe he needed to stop treating it like a nightmare to wake up from… and start treating it like a life to live.