Chapter 49
The guards standing outside bowed and pulled the doors open without a word, and the two stepped inside.
The warmth greeted them first.
Then the sight.
Katsuro sat at ease, composed as always—but Yin Fu was in his lap, leaning into him as if the world beyond that moment did not exist. Not far from them, Linghe was no different, Xie Mao Mao comfortably settled in his lap, her presence as natural there as breath itself. Their voices were soft, intertwined in quiet conversation, laughter threading through it like something private, something untouched by the outside world.
Wuming stopped.
For a single moment, his gaze lingered on the scene, his expression unchanged—but within him, a thought surfaced, dry and almost indifferent.
What a waste… coming here.
They're having a romance.
Without a word, he turned.
Xie Zheng mirrored him almost instantly, the same unreadable look settling over his face as both boys began to walk out just as silently as they had entered.
But they did not make it far.
"Kids—wait."
"Wuming!"
"Xie Zheng!"
The voices came together, overlapping, firm yet filled with something that refused to be ignored.
Both boys stopped.
Slowly, they turned.
And the expressions on their faces—sharp, unimpressed, faintly narrowed eyes, the slightest crease of disapproval—mirrored each other so perfectly it was almost unsettling, exactly like the look captured in a still moment of disbelief and judgment.
Before either could react further, the two women had already reached them.
Yin Fu bent first, effortlessly lifting Wuming into her arms, while Xie Mao Mao did the same to Xie Zheng, pulling him close as if reclaiming something that belonged to her. And before resistance could even form—
A kiss.
Then another.
Soft at first, then deliberate, then entirely unrestrained.
Wuming immediately raised his hand and pressed it against Yin Fu's cheek, pushing her face away with a quiet but firm, "Don't."
Yin Fu did not even pause.
Her hand came down lightly, slapping his wrist aside before she leaned in again, pressing kisses to both his cheeks and then his forehead with absolute disregard for his resistance.
Wuming's left eyebrow lifted slightly.
He said nothing.
Not a single word.
Yin Fu smiled, her expression softening as she looked at him, her fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. "Oh, my pretty boy…"
Wuming's hands came to rest on her shoulders, not pushing her away this time—only steadying himself, or perhaps steadying her. His gaze met hers, calm, distant, yet not entirely detached.
"You seem to be working hard," she murmured, her voice lowering slightly, carrying a warmth that did not demand a response.
Beside them, Xie Mao Mao was no gentler.
She had Xie Zheng trapped in an embrace, kissing him repeatedly across his face while he laughed helplessly, half-trying to escape, half-giving up entirely, his earlier composure dissolving into something far more childlike.
Yin Fu leaned in again, pressing another kiss against Wuming—this time firmer, deliberate.
And this time—
Wuming did not stop her.
He let her.
From across the room, both Katsuro and Linghe watched the scene, their expressions unreadable but not entirely unaffected, as if witnessing something both familiar and distant at the same time.
Yin Fu finally pulled back slightly, glancing toward them before saying, "That man sitting over there—"
Wuming followed her gaze. "My uncle?"
A faint smile touched her lips. "So Xie Zheng told you."
"Yup," Xie Zheng said quickly from where he still half-remained in his mother's hold, grinning despite himself. "And he's really like Uncle Katsuro… but a bit different. I thought he'd be more like Aunty Yin Fu."
For a brief moment—
Silence.
Then laughter.
It spread easily between them, light but genuine.
Yin Fu shook her head slightly, amused, before gesturing toward the woman beside Linghe. "And this lady—"
Wuming spoke before she could finish. "Your best friend."
Yin Fu's smile widened. "Yes. Xie Mao Mao."
Both women finally set the boys down, though their presence still lingered close, as if unwilling to fully let go.
Wuming straightened his posture immediately, the earlier moment slipping off him as if it had never happened. He stepped forward slightly, his voice calm, controlled, and respectful.
"Greetings."
He bowed toward Linghe and Xie Mao Mao.
Not deeply.
But properly.
Exactly as expected—
And nothing more.
Linghe's gaze shifted toward Wuming, a faint curve touching his lips as he lifted his hand slightly. "Wuming… come here."
Wuming did not move immediately.
He stood where he was for a brief moment—one second, then another—his eyes flickering toward the board, toward the pieces already locked in quiet warfare. Only after that small pause did he step forward, his pace measured, neither eager nor reluctant.
As he approached, Linghe tilted his head slightly. "Do you know how to play Go?"
"Yes," Wuming replied.
A simple answer.
Nothing more.
Linghe gestured lazily toward the board. "Then why don't you make a move for me?"
Wuming's eyes lowered.
The board lay between Katsuro and Linghe like a battlefield frozen mid-war—clusters of stones forming territories, some stable, some hanging by a thread, influence stretching in silent tension across the grid. It was not a beginner's game. It was layered, calculated… dangerous.
For a brief second, he did nothing.
Then—
He understood.
His fingers moved.
A single stone placed.
Quietly.
Yet the moment it touched the board, the balance shifted.
Katsuro's position tightened—not broken, but constrained, forced into a more complicated shape. It was not an aggressive move. It was worse.
It demanded an answer.
Katsuro's eyes flickered once, then he responded without hesitation, placing his own stone, twisting the formation further, pushing pressure back toward Wuming—not directly attacking, but creating something more suffocating.
Wuming moved again.
And this time—
He sat down beside him.
The game no longer belonged to Linghe.
It had become something else.
Something between father and son.
Move after move, the board grew heavier. Stones surrounded, cut, escaped, reformed. Neither rushed. Neither wasted motion. Each placement carried intent—silent, precise, unforgiving.
Then—
Wuming struck.
A sequence so clean it almost went unnoticed—until Katsuro's formation collapsed inward slightly, one of his important stones falling into capture.
For the first time, Linghe leaned forward.
His body shifted closer to the board, one hand pressing against the ground for support as he bent in, eyes narrowing, a slow smirk forming on his lips. "Hmm… hmm…" he murmured, glancing toward Katsuro. "Now how will you counter him, brother?"
Across from them, the atmosphere had split.
On one side—war.
On the other—ease.
Yin Fu and Xie Mao Mao sat comfortably, sharing mooncakes, their conversation flowing effortlessly, as if the intensity unfolding before them was nothing more than background noise. Xie Zheng had already settled between them on the soft mattress, watching everything at once, though his attention drifted more toward the warmth beside him than the battle on the board.
Yin Fu glanced up briefly, her lips curving with quiet amusement. "Well, well… dear, go on."
Katsuro clicked his tongue softly, though the faintest hint of pride lingered beneath the sound. "He is my son."
Yin Fu's gaze shifted to him.
For a moment, she simply looked.
He sat there in his heavy cyan hanfu, the fabric rich and layered, a darker black cloth draped over it like shadow over sky. His long hair was tied high, falling in a controlled ponytail down his back, his posture composed even in the middle of pressure.
There was no tension in him.
Only focus.
Only control.
And across from him—
Wuming.
Equally still.
Equally unmoved.
But not the same.
The board between them continued to tighten, every move narrowing the space for error, every breath carrying the quiet understanding that this was no longer a simple game.
It was a conversation.
Without words.
And neither of them intended to lose.
The game continued, the quiet tension of black and white stones deepening with every move, when Yin Fu lifted her hand—just slightly, not even turning her head.
It was enough.
A maid stepped forward at once.
She approached with measured steps, then lowered herself gracefully to her knees, bowing her head, her posture curved inward in complete respect, not daring to lift her gaze.
Yin Fu did not look at her.
Her eyes remained on the room, on everything and nothing at once, as she spoke with calm authority. "Bring coats for Wuming and Xie Zheng."
"Yes, madam."
The maid rose and left without another word.
The game did not stop.
Neither Katsuro nor Wuming looked away from the board. Stones continued to fall into place, quiet, deliberate, as if even the air understood not to interrupt.
Moments later, the maid returned.
Two coats draped carefully over her arms.
She knelt again before Yin Fu, presenting them without a sound.
Only then did Yin Fu rise.
The soft rustle of her robes barely disturbed the stillness as she stepped forward, taking the coats herself instead of letting the maid assist further. She walked first toward Wuming, her movements unhurried, natural, as if this act—this care—was something she had done countless times before.
Without asking, she placed the coat over his shoulders.
Her fingers adjusted it lightly, brushing it into place with quiet precision, her touch firm yet gentle. "It's getting cold these days," she said, her voice softer now, carrying a warmth that contrasted the chill outside. "Wear proper clothing."
Her gaze lingered on him for a brief second—just enough to ensure he did not refuse.
Then she moved to Xie Zheng.
He looked up at her, blinking once in surprise before breaking into a small grin, allowing her to settle the coat around him without resistance. She smoothed the fabric over his shoulders as well, adjusting the collar slightly.
"There," she murmured.
Behind them, the fire continued to burn steadily, its glow reflecting faintly off the polished stones of the Go board.
And still—
The game did not pause.
Because between warmth and care—
There remained a battlefield that neither father nor son intended to leave unfinished.
Xie Mao Mao lifted her cup, the faint curl of steam brushing past her lips as she took a slow sip, her eyes half-lidded in quiet amusement. Then, as if the tension across the board was nothing more than a passing curiosity, she spoke lightly, "Hmm… what happened, dear Senior Marquise Wu Zun?"
Katsuro did not look away from the board immediately.
For a moment, his gaze remained fixed on the formation before him, the shifting balance, the silent pressure that had begun to tighten around his position. Only then did his eyes lift toward her, calm yet carrying a faint edge.
"General Xie Mao Mao," he replied evenly, "why don't you take a look at the board yourself?"
There was no challenge in his tone.
But there was no dismissal either.
Xie Mao Mao raised a brow slightly, setting her cup aside before leaning forward, her posture shifting just enough to bring the board into clear view. Her eyes moved once—slowly—across the stones.
Then she smiled.
Not wide.
Not surprised.
Just… knowing.
Without another word, she leaned back into her seat again, as if she had seen everything she needed to see and found it entirely expected.
Beside her, Xie Zheng, who had been half-watching the game and half-lost in his own thoughts, suddenly brightened. Without hesitation, he picked up a small piece of candy from the tray and held it up toward her.
"Here," he said casually.
Xie Mao Mao glanced at him for a second, then leaned slightly forward, allowing him to place the candy into her mouth. She bit down on it with a soft hum, clearly unbothered, her earlier smile still lingering.
The board remained as it was.
Unforgiving.
Unresolved.
And between the quiet amusement of one and the silent focus of the others—
The game only grew deeper.
End of 49