Lu Xiao blinked in disbelief as the little villain collapsed against his chest the moment he heard Mu Xiao's name.
Did I scare him that badly?
He shifted the boy's weight carefully and murmured, "Kiwi, has Wu Zixuan ever even met Mu Xiao before?"
The system's emerald form flickered, data strings dancing across its feline eyes. "Scanning… Analyzing… Done. According to the original timeline, Host, Wu Zixuan and Mu Xiao have never formally interacted. Their gazes crossed once or twice at Old Madam Wu's funeral two years ago, but no conversation occurred."
"Figures," Lu Xiao muttered. "All right—did you call the police?"
"Affirmative. Patrol officers will arrive in approximately one hour."
With that reassurance, Lu Xiao carried the unconscious child downstairs. The grocery aisles were a wreck—broken jars, toppled shelves, the pungent tang of soy sauce mixing with coppery blood. Kneeling, he pressed two fingers to Wu Yiheng's neck.
No pulse.
A quiet sigh escaped him. "Poor man."
Stay until the police arrive, he thought, but Kiwi's voice sliced through.
"Reminder: Mu Xiao dislikes involving himself with law enforcement. Remaining here risks an out-of-character penalty."
Lu Xiao grimaced. So the 'evil uncle' rescues a kid, but hates cops. Contradictory much? Still, he couldn't afford system punishment. He straightened and headed for the back door.
.
.
.
Mu Residence, Thirty Minutes Later
Rows of guards and uniformed butlers snapped to attention as the sleek Maybach rolled into the courtyard. Their expressions froze when Mu Xiao—normally aloof and alone—stepped out cradling a sleeping child.
Gasps fluttered down the line, but no one dared speak; the third master's eccentric temper was legendary.
Lu Xiao lifted his chin. "Steward Zhang."
The head butler hurried forward. "Yes, Master Mu."
"Have Dr. Lin come at once. Prepare a guest room next to mine—quiet floor, soft lighting. The child's name is Wu Zixuan. He is to be treated with… extreme care." A beat of hesitation—then he added, "And new pajamas. Cotton, nothing scratchy."
Steward Zhang's brows shot up at the gentleness but he bowed without comment. "Understood, sir."
Lu Xiao transferred the boy into the butler's arms, brushed a stray hair from the small forehead, and turned away. He needed a shower—and a moment alone to decide how an "evil uncle" was supposed to pamper a future villain without appearing soft.
Behind him, the manor staff scattered into efficient motion, and soft footfalls carried Wu Zixuan toward a room reserved for someone precious.
Lu Xiao exhaled. Act the role, save the kid, earn the points.
Simple on paper. Impossible in practice.
But at least—for tonight—Wu Zixuan was safe.
.
.
.
Dr. Lin's fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the stethoscope, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. He had treated many patients over the years, but never under the watchful silence of the third master of the Mu family.
Behind him, Mu Xiao stood like a statue, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
Unbeknownst to Dr. Lin, Mu Xiao wasn't glaring at him out of impatience—but deep in thought.
"Kiwi… something about this whole situation doesn't add up."
Kiwi's voice responded calmly.
"What part is bothering you, Host?"
"The original Mu Xiao wanted Wu Yiheng's tiny, unprofitable shop so badly he indirectly pushed the villain into darkness. But tonight, he saved both father and son from a gang of armed men. If he truly only wanted the property, wouldn't it have been easier to let them die? He's rich enough to take that land through legal or illegal means."
Kiwi paused. "According to the original data, Wu Yiheng transferred the deed to Wu Zixuan's name shortly after Old Madam Wu's death. If the boy died, the property would have defaulted to a welfare trust. Mu Xiao wouldn't have gained anything. So, he kept Zixuan alive to preserve his claim."
The system added, "Or perhaps—"
But Kiwi was interrupted as Dr. Lin turned around, forcing a respectful smile.
"Master Mu," he said, "the young boy is physically fine. He fainted due to emotional shock. He's also slightly undernourished, which suggests long-term imbalance in his diet. I'll prepare a nutrition chart and send supplements with the next house call."
Lu Xiao nodded, slipping seamlessly into character. "Thank you, Dr. Lin."
Dr. Lin bowed and was escorted out by Steward Zhang. The door closed with a soft click, and silence settled once more.
Lu Xiao walked to the edge of the bed and looked at the small figure lying beneath crisp, white sheets.
He's just a child… and he's already lived through hell.
Just then, Wu Zixuan stirred. His lashes fluttered, then opened, revealing dazed, frightened eyes. He blinked at the unfamiliar room—chandeliers, velvet curtains, and rich furniture unlike anything he'd ever known.
Then his eyes landed on Mu Xiao.
Panic.
He bolted upright, backing against the headboard with the pillow clutched tightly to his chest like a shield.
"P-please… don't hurt me," he whimpered. "Please don't kill me…"
Lu Xiao froze. What...? Why is he reacting like this?
Wu Zixuan's heart pounded. In his young mind, memories raced back—memories of a day drenched in black umbrellas and white chrysanthemums. Old Madam Wu's funeral. He had seen Mu Xiao there from afar, standing alone, untouchable in his cold elegance.
The child had tugged his mother's sleeve, curious.
"Can I go talk to him?" he had asked, thinking the man looked like someone out of a storybook.
His mother's expression had darkened.
"No," she had said sternly. "You must stay away from him. That's your uncle Mu. He's dangerous. He hurts people."
"But he's family…"
"Exactly," she had said with an edge of bitterness. "And that's what makes him worse. If you value your life, never speak to him. Never trust him."
From that day on, she'd whispered more stories—half-truths, warnings disguised as bedtime lessons.
Uncle Mu doesn't love anyone. Uncle Mu destroys everything he touches. Uncle Mu is why your grandmother died.
So now, in a strange bed, trapped alone with that very man, Wu Zixuan could only tremble and beg.
"Don't hurt me… please…"
And Mu Xiao—who had no idea why this small boy feared him like the devil himself—could only stare in stunned silence.
Mu Xiao drew a steady breath, then let his voice sink to the gentlest register he could manage.
"Calm down, Zixuan. I won't hurt you."
He knelt beside the mattress so their eyes were level. "I'm your Uncle Mu—your family. If I meant you harm, I wouldn't have saved you tonight, would I? And who could ever hurt a child as cute as you?"
The unexpected compliment painted a warm flush across Zixuan's cheeks. He hid behind the pillow again, peeking out a moment later.
"You… you really won't hurt me?" he whispered.
"Never," Mu Xiao said without hesitation. "Good children like Wu Zixuan deserve to be protected."
The boy's shoulders loosened. Still, he puffed out his cheeks in grudging protest. "I'm not a child. I'm seven."
A soft chuckle slipped from Mu Xiao's throat—low, melodic, instantly soothing.
"Of course. Seven is practically a young gentleman."
Zixuan's lips curved into a shy smile. The pillow slid aside, discarded and forgotten.
► System prompt: Villain blackening value decreased by 3 % → 25 %
Lu Xiao's heart skipped, though his expression stayed serene. Only seven years old and already a quarter blackened… What did this kid live through?
He smoothed the blanket. "Then our young gentleman should rest well, so he can grow taller, smarter, and even more handsome."
Zixuan nodded obediently, arranged the pillow, and lay down. "Good night… Uncle Mu." Within moments, his breathing evened into the soft rhythm of sleep.
Lu Xiao tucked the blanket to the boy's chin, whispered, "Good night," and slipped into the hallway.
A weight of unease settled over him. Twenty-five percent blackening at this age—he must have endured far more than neglect.
At the landing he nearly collided with Steward Zhang, returning from escorting Dr. Lin, diet chart in hand.
"Third Master."
Mu Xiao lowered his voice. "Something's wrong with the child—he's insecure, under-confident, and clearly malnourished. Quietly find out what led to his condition. I want every detail."
Steward Zhang bowed. "Yes, Third Master." He departed, efficiency in every step.
Lu Xiao watched him go, resolve hardening. If fate dealt Wu Zixuan tragedy, I'll rewrite the script—one percent at a time.
.
.
.
Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Mu family's dining hall, casting golden rays across the marble floors. Mu Xiao sat alone at the long table, his untouched breakfast growing cold. His gaze was distant, expression heavy with thoughts that refused to fade.
The head butler, Steward Zhang, approached quietly, setting a fresh pot of tea before him.
"Third Master… what did the hospital say about Second Master Wu's condition?"
Mu Xiao didn't respond right away.
Earlier that morning, he'd contacted the hospital where Wu Yiheng had been taken the previous night. Though he hadn't held much hope, a small part of him had still clung to the possibility of a miracle.
But the doctor's voice had been steady and final.
"We tried our best, but... we couldn't save him. I'm sorry."
In his mind, Kiwi's voice broke through the silence.
Kiwi: "Host, according to the original plot, Wu Yiheng was destined to die during last night's attack. Even if you had intervened sooner, the outcome wouldn't have changed."
Lu Xiao closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"I know… but still…"
He sighed and turned to the butler, his voice low.
"Wu Yiheng is gone."
Steward Zhang stiffened, eyes widening. "He's… dead?"
Mu Xiao gave a slow nod.
Shock rippled across the butler's face, quickly followed by sorrow. "He was a good man. Honest. Dignified… despite everything."
"We'll need to arrange a proper funeral," Mu Xiao said firmly, masking his emotions behind a calm mask. "Nothing extravagant, but dignified. As he deserves."
"Yes, Third Master. I'll handle the preparations immediately," Steward Zhang replied. But then hesitated. "But… how are we going to tell the young master? How do we tell a seven-year-old child that his father is never coming back?"
Both men fell into silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. The soft clink of a spoon from across the room was the only sound—until it wasn't.
A small voice broke through.
"...Is my father dead?"
The butler turned sharply.
Mu Xiao's eyes snapped toward the doorway.
There stood Wu Zixuan in his pajamas, barefoot, his tiny fingers clenched at his sides. His hair was mussed from sleep, but his eyes—wide, red-rimmed, and searching—were clearer than ever.
He had heard everything.