Chapter 13: The Sheng Family—Biological Father and Stepmother

After hanging up the phone, Grandpa Sang turned and strode out, his steps noticeably lighter than usual. “I’m going to the station to ask for leave.”

Grandma Sang also hurried into the inner room, muttering to herself, “I need to get ready too…” At the very least, she’d have to prepare more betrothal gifts.

Qingshan County. After finishing the call with his grandparents, Sheng Zexi paid the bill and left without hesitation. As for calling his dad to share the good news? Forget it. He was afraid that one phone call from him would make the old man so angry he’d cough up blood.

Besides, that old man never really cared about him.

But this time, Sheng Zexi was actually mistaken. That old man of his—or rather, his father, Sheng Xinhao—was indeed thinking about him.

In a three-story villa in a Beijing compound, Sheng Xinhao, dressed in casual clothes, was sitting in the living room reading the newspaper.

At work, he always wore his military uniform. Even now, in casual attire, his aura of authority and solemnity was undiminished. He sat with his legs crossed, holding the newspaper. The housekeepers passing by all lightened their steps, not daring to make a sound for fear of disturbing the master.

A beautiful woman in a cheongsam emerged from the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea. She sat down gracefully and placed one cup in front of the man.

“Honey, have some tea,” she said softly, her voice gentle and melodious.

The newspaper was slowly folded down, revealing a man in his forties. His hair was still thick, his features deep-set, his skin a healthy bronze. There were faint lines between his brows, as if he often frowned, giving him a stern look.

If Gu Jianing were here, she’d notice that Sheng Zexi and Sheng Xinhao shared five or six points of resemblance in their features. But while Sheng Zexi’s youth lent him a sharp, rebellious air, Sheng Xinhao—perhaps due to years in a position of power—exuded an imposing, unapproachable presence in both manner and expression.

Even at his age, Sheng Xinhao was still a handsome man. Coupled with his status, it was no wonder that when he considered remarrying, so many young women—some even unmarried—flocked to him.

Fang Wanrong was one of them. Back then, she was the head of a performing arts troupe and a renowned singer.

In the end, the widowed Fang Wanrong used her own means to successfully marry into the Sheng family with her daughter, Fang Manping, becoming the high-and-mighty Mrs. Sheng. A year after the wedding, she gave birth to a son, Sheng Zeyu, who was now nine years old.

Sheng Xinhao set aside the folded newspaper, picked up his tea, and took a sip.

Beside him, Fang Wanrong began talking about their son, who was in elementary school, mentioning that he had once again ranked first in his class.

It was rare for Sheng Xinhao to have a day off, and he was in a good mood. Hearing his wife talk about their youngest son—whom he doted on—he nodded. “Ayu is a smart and sensible boy. You’ve taught him well.”

Fang Wanrong smiled. “Not at all. Our Ayu takes after his father. He got first place this time, and when I asked what reward he wanted, guess what he said?”

Without waiting for her husband’s reply, she continued with a smile, “He said he wanted money. He said your birthday is coming up, and he wants to save up to buy you a gift.”

Sheng Xinhao’s stern features softened, satisfaction shining in his eyes. “Ayu is a filial child.”

Speaking of filial children, naturally, there were also unfilial ones.

Sheng Xinhao’s face darkened. “Has that brat called recently?”

Fang Wanrong knew exactly who he meant. Her eyes flickered, and she replied vaguely, “I haven’t received any calls when I’ve been home, but maybe someone else did.”

Sheng Xinhao snorted coldly and set his teacup down with a bang, startling Fang Manping, who had just walked in.

Fang Manping, confused, looked at her mother.

Fang Wanrong gave her a reassuring look, signaling her to sit.

Fang Manping glanced unobtrusively at her apparently angry stepfather and quietly took a seat.

Sheng Xinhao noticed his stepdaughter but, still angry, ignored her.

“Don’t cover for him. He’s completely out of line, doesn’t care about this family at all. If I’d known, I never should have let him join the army.”

At this, Fang Manping realized they were talking about Sheng Zexi.

“Forget my birthday—soon, he probably won’t even remember who his father is.” Thinking of his always-defiant eldest son, Sheng Xinhao grew even angrier, and started coughing.

Fang Wanrong hurried over to pat his back and handed him his tea. “Don’t get so worked up. It’s not worth harming your health.”

Sheng Xinhao calmed down after drinking some tea and patted his wife’s hand to reassure her.

“By the way, how’s it going with finding a suitable match for that brat, like I asked?”

Fang Manping kept her head down, organizing her bag, but her ears perked up to catch her mother and stepfather’s conversation.

Fang Wanrong hesitated. “I’ve been looking, but you know how Zexi is. He’s offended quite a few people in the compound. It’s not easy to arrange a marriage for him now. But don’t worry, I’ll do my best.”

She added, “But you know my position. Zexi has always had issues with me. I’m afraid he won’t like anyone I find for him.”

Sheng Xinhao knew that ever since his remarriage, his once smart and sensible eldest son had changed.

He’d become rebellious and defiant, transforming from the golden boy everyone in the compound praised into a troublemaking brat who glared even at his own father—let alone his stepmother, whom he resented even more.

Sheng Xinhao didn’t understand why Sheng Zexi had changed so much. Was it because he’d remarried?

But Sang Yuwan had died young, and he was still in his prime and in a high position. Was it wrong for him to remarry? Even if he hadn’t planned to, the organization would have arranged it for him.

Wanrong was a good woman. After marrying him, she’d given him a younger son and always spoke well of that brat, always looked after him. Why couldn’t that brat appreciate it?

They were almost estranged. After joining the army, Sheng Zexi rarely came home, not even for holidays.

By Sheng Xinhao’s count, it had been over half a year since he’d last seen him.

The last time was at Sang Yuwan’s memorial. The boy had come to pay his respects.

But he’d left right after, without even saying goodbye to his father.

Sheng Xinhao placed his hand over Fang Wanrong’s and patted it gently, comforting her. “You’ve had a hard time.”

Fang Wanrong’s eyes reddened and she shook her head. “As long as you understand me, I don’t care what others think.”

Her words made Sheng Xinhao feel even more sorry for her, and even more dissatisfied with Sheng Zexi.

But no matter how dissatisfied he was, Sheng Zexi was still his eldest son. Even now, he still had high hopes for him.

After all, he and Sang Yuwan had truly loved each other once.

Maybe, once the boy got married, his temperament would change."