Chapter 271: Independent Steps

Runze’s POV

Two days after the celebration, the estate has finally settled back into its quiet, familiar rhythm.

The main reception hall downstairs has been completely cleared out. The display platform, glass panels, and guest seating were dismantled yesterday morning, leaving the marble floor polished and empty once again. Looking out the window, you would never guess that hundreds of corporate partners, board members, and high-society families were standing in our courtyard just forty-eight hours ago.

On the internet, however, the party is still the main topic of discussion.

News portals, business magazines, and social media feeds are flooded with official photographs from the event. Because Bael had strictly controlled the media releases, every uploaded image is clear and carefully chosen.

There are photos of Bael standing tall in his cream suit beside me, photos of Grandmother sitting with her usual sharp composure, and wider shots of the gold cradle on the display platform. The comment sections under the articles are endless, filled with public speculation about the Wuchen family’s future, the heiress, and the sudden prominence of the estate.

Inside the nursery on the second floor, none of that noise matters.

I sit at the small work table set up against the side wall. My laptop is open next to a stack of organizing bins, giving me an unobstructed view across the room. Siying lies inside her cradle, awake and active this morning, her tiny legs kicking rhythmically under her cotton blanket as she reaches up with both hands, trying to grab a soft plush ring suspended above her mattress.

I watch her for a moment, smiling as she lets out a small, satisfied grunt when her fingers make solid contact with the toy.

Turning back to my screen, I open my project folder to review the latest construction updates for Grandmother’s project. Meng Tai sent over a fresh set of site photos earlier this morning showing the framing work around the main entrance. Everything is progressing right on schedule, the contractor team executing my specifications without any issues.

Once I finish going through the files, my attention drifts toward my email inbox. I don’t check it every day, but given the quiet morning, I decide to refresh the page.

A new message sits right at the top of the unread list, sent late last night.

I recognize the sender immediately. It is from the smaller client who had emailed me months ago, asking whether their budget was compatible with my design style—the message that had made me smile back then for its straightforward honesty about money.

Back then, I took the time to write back with a clear breakdown, explaining how they could save on building materials without losing a clean layout, along with a fair estimate of my fees if they ever secured the funding.

I click on the email to read their update.

*Dear Mr. Runze,

We are writing to share some good news. Following the material options and budget structure you sent us a few months ago, our board applied for local project grants. Last week, we received confirmation that our funding has been fully approved.

We now have sufficient funding to proceed with the construction and cover your design fees. Our committee was deeply impressed by your presentation at Dingshan Corporation and the advice you gave us. We would be honored if you are still willing to take on our community gallery as our lead architect.

Attached are the site dimensions, relevant local building requirements, and our proposed timeline. Please let us know if you are available to discuss the next steps.*

I finish reading the email and lean back against my chair, staring at the screen as a quiet sense of satisfaction settles in my chest.

Grandmother’s project is a major milestone in my career, but there is no denying that it came to me through family ties. This gallery project, however, is completely different. This foundation reached out because they saw my presentation at Dingshan, valued my ideas, and kept my notes for months until they could afford to hire me.

Taking on this commission means that when I officially open my studio, my portfolio won’t consist of only one family-backed contract. I will have a diverse record of independent work built on my own merits.

The gallery space is relatively small, which makes it manageable. I won’t need to be on the construction site every single day during the early phases.

I open a blank reply window and begin typing. I write a polite, professional message expressing my excitement to work with them, accepting the project, and proposing that we handle the preliminary site review, layout concepts, and initial floor plans through video calls and digital documents over the coming weeks.

Just as I click the send button, a soft, discontented whimper comes from across the room.

I look over immediately. Siying has accidentally knocked her plush ring out of reach. Her toy is swinging uselessly to the side, and her tiny face is starting to scrunch up. Her small fists wave in the air as her soft complaints quickly turn into a steady, fussy cry.

"Alright, sweetheart, I’m right here," I say softly.

I close my laptop, push back my chair, and walk over to the cradle.

Siying’s cheeks are red, tiny tears forming at the corners of her wide eyes as she kicks her legs against the mattress. I reach down carefully, placing one hand beneath her lower back and the other supporting her neck, and lift her up against my chest.

"Shh, it’s okay," I murmur, settling her head against my shoulder.

She lets out another short squeak, her small body holding a bit of tension against my shirt. I turn away from the cradle and begin pacing slowly across the room, keeping my steps even and steady. I start humming a simple, slow melody under my breath, the same quiet tune I’ve been using when she gets restless during the night.

For the first two laps around the room, she continues to fuss, her small hands clutching tightly at the fabric over my collarbone. But as I keep up the slow pacing, rubbing gentle circles over her back with my palm, her cries gradually lose their sharp edge.

Her fussing slows down to small, ragged hitches in her breathing.

I keep walking, stepping quietly back and forth between the window and the work table. Slowly, I feel the tension leave her small body. Her breathing evens out, turning slow and deep against my neck. Within less than ten minutes, her hands loosen their grip on my shirt, her eyes drifting completely closed as she falls fast asleep.

I stay standing for another minute, making sure she is thoroughly settled, before walking back over to the cradle. I lean down slowly and lay her back onto the mattress, pulling her light blanket up over her chest. She lets out a long, quiet sigh, turning her face into the soft fabric without waking up.

I am just straightening up when a soft knock sounds at the nursery door, followed by the handle turning with a quiet click.

Liang Feng steps into the room, moving quietly so as not to disturb the baby. He is holding a branded Japanese takeaway box wrapped in dark paper, stamped with a gold logo. The subtle, rich aroma of grilled beef, soy glaze, and toasted sesame immediately fills the quiet room.

"Master Bael asked me to bring this up to you, Young Master Runze," Liang Feng says in a low, respectful voice. He walks over and places the container neatly on the small side table next to my chair.

I look at the branded packaging, a small wave of surprise hitting me. "Thank you, Liang Feng."

He gives a short, polite bow and steps back toward the hallway, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

I walk over to the table and sit down, unwrapping the dark paper. Inside is a high-end, multi-tiered meal box containing a steaming bowl of prime wagyu over rice, accompanied by delicate side dishes and dark chopsticks.

A faint smile touches my lips as I look at the food.

Late last night, after Siying had been put to sleep, I was lying in bed resting against Bael’s chest while he worked on his tablet, going through corporate acquisition reports. I had been lazily scrolling through food blogs on my phone to pass the time, lingering for several minutes over a video showing a famous Japanese chef preparing this exact signature rice dish. I hadn’t said a single word out loud about wanting it, nor had I asked him to order anything.

Yet, Bael had clearly been watching where my eyes stayed on the screen. He had quietly taken note of the restaurant name and arranged to pick it up today.

The food smells incredible, still piping hot.

Impulsively, I pick up my phone from the table and open the camera. Instead of just taking a picture of the food box, I hold the phone out at an angle, making sure the frame captures the steaming dish clearly on the table while showing my own smiling face right beside it.

I open my chat thread with Bael, select the photo, and attach it to the message bar.

Below the photo, I type out a single line:

*What looks more delicious, me or the dish?*

I hit send, a quiet laugh escaping me as I watch the message deliver. I set the phone on the table, pick up my chopsticks, and begin eating my lunch while I wait to see how he responds.