Chapter 9
Kai
“Please…” I begged, a sting building behind my skull.
She’d been breaking down every night—quietly, when she thought no one could hear her. Sometimes, she would turn her head toward the window, pretending to be lost in thought, but the reflection on the glass always betrayed her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that being alone made her sad.
And if what the adults said was true, then I was smarter than most children my age. Heck, Dad used to brag that I was smarter than most of his employees.
Though every time I volunteered to “help” at his company, his answer was always the same—One day, son. One day.
“You must go.” My mother mouthed the words, her lips trembling as she tried to smile. “Your dad and I have a business trip.”
There was that pause again.
The familiar hesitation she used when she promised I could have ice cream after dinner—only for me to find out there was none in the freezer.
The identical pause before she’d say, We’ll go to the cinema this weekend, and later realize she was “double-booked.”
By now, I’d collected enough examples—enough data, as Dad would say—to identify a lie before it even finished forming on her tongue.
“But I need to practice for my piano recital,” I lied, trying to sound desperate. There was no recital.
Mom wouldn’t know that—she had never been to one.
Not to my recitals, not to my matches, not to anything I ever did at school.
Unless there were cameras, reporters, or investors’ wives in the audience. Then, and only then, she’d make sure to appear for a photo. But never long enough to watch me play.
Lying was a habit I’d only recently picked up. Auntie Five’s nephew had once told me that adults bent the truth constantly—so much so that even the rule about honesty was a joke. It confused me at first, but then it started to make sense.
Because my parents? They twisted the truth too. Not only that—they were good at it. They manipulated facts to get things done. To get people to do what they wanted. To get me to do this trip.
“You done?” Xiao Wu’s voice came from beside me in the back seat.
My tantrum had delayed everything. Mom made sure I knew she was furious the entire time she got me dressed and forced me through breakfast while the driver fetched Xiao Wu. She’d warned me that if I wasn’t ready by the time the car arrived, she’d never speak to me again.
Another empty promise.
She had used the exact threat a hundred times before.
I turned toward Xiao Wu and nearly burst out in a choke of laughter, though I bit my lip to stop it.
He was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit I’d ever seen—a light gray suit jacket, crisp white shirt, polka-dot bow tie, gray shorts, and socks pulled all the way up to his knees. He looked like a character straight out of an old detective manga.
“My aunt made me wear it,” he said defensively, straightening his bow tie.
“Of course she did.” I nodded with exaggerated seriousness, tracing a figure-eight in the air with my eyes.
“At least it got a reaction out of you.” Xiao Wu grinned, winking.
And that did it. A small breath of amusement slipped out before I could swallow it. He’d always been the class clown, the one who could find humor in the dullest moment. Seeing him now, dressed like an overgrown schoolboy, was… well, hilarious.
“Remind me where we’re going?” I asked.
“I’ll give you a clue.” He tugged on his bow tie and pointed at his outfit.
“Museum?” I guessed.
He nodded, clearly proud that I’d figured it out.
Of course. The adults were never creative when it came to our “fun” days out. Always museums, galleries, or some “educational experience” that made them feel good about themselves.
Never the arcade.
Never the water park.
Xiao Wu had moved to Shanghai not long ago—maybe a year or two? Or was it just a few months? The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last.
For a genius, as Dad liked to call me, I was terrible at keeping track of time.
Because in my world, the hours weren’t mine—they belonged to whoever dictated my schedule.
Time to wake up.
Time for piano.
Time for tennis.
Time for fencing.
Time to smile for the camera.
Time was just another word for obedience.
My caretaker managed my time like a drill sergeant. She was the one who told me when to eat, sleep, and breathe. My week was a map of neatly scheduled activities: piano, French, tennis, swimming, fencing, polo.
Swimming had replaced football—Mom decided it was “barbaric” after some kid tackled me too hard and left a bruise. Then she had Ayi enroll me in polo instead, boasting that I’d be training at the same club as “the non-prince from that faraway country.”
Because apparently, associating with semi-royalty was more important than learning to kick a ball.
“Where’s Ayi?” I asked suddenly, realizing she wasn’t in the front seat like usual.
“Don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”
She usually stayed at our house, unlike most of the other live-in staff who had their quarters in the back wing.
Ayi’s room was right next door to mine—in case of emergencies, she always said.
Though lately, I hadn’t needed her much.
There was a time when she’d read to me every single night until I fell asleep, her voice soft like a lullaby, the faint scent of jasmine tea always clinging to her clothes.
But as I got older, she stopped. Said I was too big for bedtime stories.
“So, does that mean…” Xiao Wu wiggled his eyebrows dramatically, his mouth curling into a mischievous grin as he wrinkled his nose like a rabbit.
I sighed. “No,” I said firmly, trying not to smile. “You must behave—even without her watching.”
He rolled his eyes, exaggerated way. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She never really liked Xiao Wu, and I never understood why. She thought he was a bad influence, that he’d fill my head with nonsense. But I liked him—he was the only person who treated me like a kid, not like the future heir of something I didn’t even want.
Sure, he had a bit of a reputation at school. They called him Little Bad Egg, always up to trouble, never sorry about it. But to me, he wasn’t bad. I knew that the day he punched that tall boy who called me a fatherless brat. The teachers were furious, of course. But I wasn’t.
Maybe that was why she wasn’t here today. Maybe she was angry that I’d chosen to spend time with him again.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the museum. A building of gray stone, towering columns, and polished floors that reflected the morning light like glass.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of aged paper and dust—the kind that settled deep into your nose and made you want to sneeze.
We were greeted by the museum’s director himself, a man in a black suit who dipped into a low, exaggerated greeting and smiled a little too wide. He personally gave us a private tour, his voice echoing slightly in the vast hallway as he showed us the “most valuable collections.”
There were old clothes sealed in glass boxes, cases painted with dragons, faded calligraphy scrolls so delicate they looked like they’d crumble if I breathed too hard. He said they were once used by important people in history—emperors, nobles, people whose names I’d already forgotten.
Apparently, without my family’s funding, the museum wouldn’t have been able to acquire such treasures. The way he said it made me uncomfortable, like I was supposed to feel proud. But all I felt was bored.
People stared at us sometimes—at me. Probably because it must have seemed strange: a gray-haired man bowing so deeply to a child. We weren’t living in the Qing dynasty anymore; there were no servants, no nu cai, not in modern China.
All I wanted was for the tour to end. Xiao Wu wanted the same thing—he made that clear by trying to step on my shoes every few minutes, giggling whenever I nearly tripped.
By the end, I thanked the director politely, just like Ayi had taught me to. Manners were important, especially when you didn’t mean them. “Always be gracious,” she used to say, “because words travel faster than truth.”
Except I couldn’t remember his name. I smiled and nodded anyway, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“What a waste of time,” Xiao Wu exhaled, loud and dramatic the second we slid back into the car. He leaned his head against the window, watching the city blur past.
He was right, of course, but I’d never say that aloud.
My parents wanted me cultured, educated.
That was why they hired her—British-born Chinese, Oxford something—I forgot.
She wasn’t just any nanny; she was supposed to make me a gentleman, one who walked straight, spoke politely, and never forgot to thank the servants.
I glanced at Xiao Wu. Part of me wished I could be like him—loud, careless, unapologetically alive. He said what he wanted, did what he wanted, and didn’t care about consequences.
“It wasn’t,” I said softly, trying to sound optimistic like I always did when he complained.
He snorted. “Did you see how Mr. Xia kissed your ass?”
Ah, Mr. Xia. That was his name. I repeated it silently five times in my head so it would stick.
“How so?” I asked.
“He kept bending over like he was paying tribute. He might as well have kowtowed.”
“Did he?”
“Yes! So f—”
“Ahem,” came the warning cough from the driver. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it felt like thunder.
Xiao Wu bit back a grin. “Anyway, dude, you know adults don’t do that, right?”
“They don’t greet like that?”
“Oh, they do. But only to elders, or like, someone really high-status…” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as if studying me under a microscope. “Are you, like, super important?”
I blinked. “I don’t know. Am I?”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe not that big a deal,” he said, grinning. “But you’re, like, super mega gigantic rich.”
I wasn’t that oblivious. I had some idea that my family had money—you couldn’t not notice when your mother wore diamonds like they were buttons, or when your father’s office had its own elevator. But I never really knew how much. No one ever told me, and honestly, I never asked.