Yang Wenfu spoke with a wistful sigh. “You probably have a rough idea about what happened between your mom and me. After all these years, Daddy’s finally come around. No matter the reason, it wasn’t right for us to stay in a cold war for so long. Couples disagree all the time; that’s normal. A little bickering and making up—that’s what makes a house feel like a real home.
Our family was always too quiet before, all because of your mom and me.”
Yang Haoran listened as that ominous premonition grew stronger and stronger. Did Dad mean he wanted to reconcile with Mom? If they patched things up, what chance would he have left? His heart felt like it had been doused with a bucket of ice water, chilled straight through.
“Originally, Daddy was going to have Yaoyao tell you tomorrow, but since you’re home today, I’ll fill you in myself.”
Yang Wenfu didn’t notice anything amiss with his son and pressed on. “Tomorrow, after school, you and Yaoyao come straight home. Daddy’s taking the day off to set everything up. When your mom gets back, it’ll be a surprise. You two hide at first. Once Daddy’s said what he needs to say, come out and chime in with some…” He paused, then gave an example. “You’ve seen those TV dramas, right? All those proposal scenes where friends hype up the mood, cheering them on to get together and all that. Daddy’s not proposing again, of course, but an apology works the same way. You and Yaoyao can say things like ‘forgive Daddy’ to help sway her.”
A smile crept across Yang Wenfu’s face as he spoke, as if reliving his own youthful proposal. “I know your mom’s temperament. If it’s just me apologizing, she won’t give me the time of day. But if you siblings step out and back me up, she just might forgive Daddy.”
Yang Haoran’s heart sank lower with every word. He couldn’t hold back. “Dad, how sure are you? Mom’s stubborn—you know that. What if she doesn’t go for it? Won’t you end up feeling pretty awkward?” He tried to talk his dad out of it, but Yang Wenfu brimmed with confidence. “If it’s just Daddy apologizing solo, your mom’s maybe thirty percent likely to forgive me. But add you two siblings on my side? That’s a game-changer. I know her—I’ve got a ninety percent shot.”
Staring at his dad’s animated, hopeful face, Yang Haoran’s heart plummeted. Yeah, just like Dad said. With him and his sister pitching in, Mom would probably forgive him.
But what about him? His heart plunged into the abyss, though he forced a smile onto his face. “Haoran, are you with Daddy on this?” Yang Wenfu asked solemnly, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“No question, Dad. I’m all in—both hands up.”
Yang Haoran raised his hands in a comical gesture, his smile strained. Yang Wenfu beamed, oblivious to the flicker of bitterness in his son’s eyes. “That’s my boy!” Yang Wenfu slapped his shoulder hard and made a promise. “Once your mom forgives me and we’re all one big happy family again, Dad’ll take you on a National Day trip.”
“Anything you want? Name it—Daddy’ll get it for you.”
Buoyed by his son’s support, Yang Wenfu was in high spirits, quick to dangle some incentives. He knew full well that, in Ruoxi’s eyes, his son’s standing might even outrank his own right now. This was one pivotal vote.
Would you give me Mom if that’s what I want? Yang Haoran thought bitterly, his mind a whirlwind, but he plastered on a smile and lied through his teeth. “Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t need bribes. You and Mom getting back to normal—that’s the best present I could ask for.
Plus, you already promised that National Day trip.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Yang Wenfu smiled, pleased as punch, marveling at how much more mature his son seemed these days. Ruoxi’s influence was clearly paying off.
…
After seeing his dad out, Yang Haoran collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained, as if those words had sapped every ounce of his strength.
A bolt from the blue! His mind rang hollow, like he’d lost the most vital piece of his heart’s puzzle. Eyes glazed over, he stared at the ceiling, thoughts tumbling in chaos.
What was he supposed to do? Was he really going to lose Mom? The thrill from Aunt Shen evaporated in an instant. If Dad and Mom reconciled, could he ever have her? The odds looked bleak.
A massive boulder seemed to crush his chest, bitter suffocation closing in.
The more Yang Haoran dwelled on it, the more agitated he grew. That helpless sensation—of watching it all unfold without a way to intervene—engulfed him entirely.
He was the son, after all. He had no grounds to oppose their reconciliation, no right to stand against it.
Worse, like Dad said, he’d have to step up at the key moment, hype the mood, and boost Dad’s chances. To him, that stung worse than two knives to the gut.
Mom had always been Dad’s. In a way, he—this defiant, ethics-defying son—was the interloper.
The thoughts spiraled, agony mounting until he even considered stepping aside. Let Dad and Mom reunite; he’d play the dutiful son and nothing more.
But he couldn’t stomach it. The urge to claim Mom had taken root years ago. With Aunt Shen’s help, his lifelong obsession was within reach—just one final push. To yank it away now? The raw, searing pain of even imagining surrender left him breathless.
Beyond the physical cravings, he knew the truth: he craved love. Mom’s affection had been scarce in his childhood, tied up in company affairs, birthing this twisted devotion.
No hatred springs from nowhere. No love does either. No fetish blooms from thin air.
Wei Ming’s Oedipal fixation, Shiwen’s cuckold kink, his own mother-domination drive—they all stemmed from the same warped child-to-mother longing.
Shiwen was hopelessly lost in his green-hat hell; Wei Ming, drowned in maternal obsession. And him? Give up at the first hurdle? Yang Haoran grilled himself over and over. Willing to quit? The answer echoed back clear as day.
So how? How to stop Dad? Head-on? No chance. His frenzied mind drew a blank. Then it hit him: S Girl. His life coach. She’d pulled him into the SM world, even orchestrated his triumph over Xiao Shaowan.
A spark lit his eyes—but it dimmed with doubt. Her help meant spilling it all: confessing this perverse love for his own mother. Could he?
He hesitated, torn.
No pain, no gain. Waffling would only make it worse. If he was stumped, an outsider’s perspective might crack it open. And S Girl? She wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore.
