Most people, after learning about Hu Xiaoyu's dark past, would've tiptoed around the subject—careful not to rub salt in old wounds.
But Yu Tan was not most people.
He believed that pain should be faced, crushed, and conquered.
So he told Hu Xiaoyu everything: that he'd met with Yang Kai, that he knew the truth, and that he would handle it.
He didn't elaborate on how.
He didn't need to. The anger in his eyes said enough—whatever "handling it" meant, it wouldn't end gently.
Hu Xiaoyu blinked. "Oh… I see."
Guilt pricked at him. He lowered his head, resting it against Yu Tan's chest like a child caught in a lie.
"Then… I really don't have to go to school?" he asked softly.
Yu Tan kissed the top of his head. "No."
Hu Xiaoyu nodded, but his heart twisted.
He'd learned how to lie. Even if it was a small one, it still felt wrong.
That afternoon, he walked around the house like a wilted flower—head down when he ate, shoulders drooping when he climbed the stairs.
Even at lunch, when his favorite sweet-and-sour fish was served, he barely touched it.
During his nap, he hid under the blanket, curled into a ball, like a lost animal trying to disappear.
Yu Tan watched him from the doorway, brows drawn tight.
He'd built an empire on strategy and control, but none of that helped him now.
At last, he turned to Uncle Hong. "How do you make someone happy?"
The old man smiled knowingly. "Let him do what he loves, young master. Give him that, and he'll be smiling again in no time."
That night, Yu Tan cooked.
When bedtime came, he didn't send Hu Xiaoyu to his own room.
He let him sleep beside him—and even allowed him to hold onto his arm.
Hu Xiaoyu wanted to curl his invisible tail around it too, but he couldn't.
Still, it felt perfect.
He remembered Yu Tan didn't like heat, so after ten minutes, he released his arm and merely clutched the sleeve of his pajama top instead.
Yu Tan tilted his head toward him. "Why'd you stop holding me?"
"Because you don't like being hot," Hu Xiaoyu mumbled.
Yu Tan was quiet for a moment, then said gently, "It's fine. Not that hot."
Hu Xiaoyu's eyes lit up. He scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Yu Tan's again.
Guilt and joy tangled inside him—and before long, he was asleep.
Yu Tan looked down at the faint smile curling the boy's lips.
Something soft flickered in his eyes, a warmth he hadn't meant to show.
Easily pleased, he thought. And somehow… that's nice.
Days passed peacefully.
Hu Xiaoyu didn't know that the Yu family had made an unspoken decree:
The Yangs would never again do business in Dragon City.
The message spread quickly. It was ruthless, domineering—and terrifyingly effective.
At first, smaller families panicked. But when they learned that the conflict stemmed from a personal matter between Yu Tan and the Yangs—particularly one involving his late grandmother—they relaxed.
After all, Yu Tan was harsh but honorable. He played by the rules—
Unless someone stepped into his line of fire.
And in this case, the Yangs had walked straight into it.
By the end of the month, their downfall was inevitable.
At home, Yang Kai was barely holding together. He told himself, At least Yu Tan wasn't coming after me directly. The company's gone, but I'm fine.
That fragile comfort was all he had left.
Half a month later, Hu Xiaoyu woke with a start.
Something inside him had shifted.
The slow, clogged flow of spiritual energy through his body—dampened since he'd entered the human world—was suddenly clearing.
He was in Yu Tan's private lounge at the company.
Yu Tan must have gone back to work after his nap, leaving him under the blanket.
Hu Xiaoyu sat up, clutching the quilt, his eyes wide.
For the first time in months, he could feel it—his energy moving, refilling the empty channels of his body.
If his power had once crawled like an ox pulling a cart, it now glided like a bicycle downhill—slow, but alive.
The exhaustion vanished. Within an hour, he was radiant again.
When he came out, Yu Tan was in a meeting with a department manager.
The man was stammering apologies, cold sweat rolling down his temple.
"I don't want to see that mistake again," Yu Tan said flatly.
The manager nodded and fled.
Before leaving, he gave Hu Xiaoyu a look of silent gratitude—as if the boy had somehow saved his life.
Yu Tan turned his chair, facing him. "What's got you so happy?"
Hu Xiaoyu smiled, leaned down, and kissed his cheek. "I had a good dream."
Yu Tan raised a brow, then pulled him onto the desk, trapping him between his arms. "What kind of dream?"
Unaware of the danger in that position, Hu Xiaoyu thought for a moment.
"I dreamed I turned into a demon."
Yu Tan's lips brushed the side of his neck. "Oh? What kind?"
"A fox demon," he said, grinning. "You always call me your little fox, don't you?"
"And what did the fox do after it transformed?"
"Came to find you! Isn't that how it goes? Foxes become human to repay their saviors."
"With their bodies?"
"Yeah! That seems to be the common way. If I were really a fox come to repay you like that, would you like it?"
Yu Tan's only answer was silence—followed by carrying the babbling boy back to the lounge.
He spent the next hour asking variations of the same question—
"How about like this?"
"And this?"
"Do you like this?"
To his surprise, the little fox lasted far longer this time.
Meanwhile, online—
The ad starring Hu Xiaoyu had just gone live.
Across social media, a tag climbed the trending list:
#TheAngelBoyInTheDrinkAd
But that wasn't the only headline making noise.
On another page, a familiar name was stirring up chaos.
Under Yang Kai's verified account, thousands of fans flooded the comments.
"Why wasn't our Kai in the ad?"
"He said he'd been cast! Who replaced him?"
"That new kid stole the role, didn't he?"
Their anger boiled.
If Yang Kai had been promised the spot and this newcomer appeared instead, there could only be one explanation—connections, money, dirty deals.
In a matter of hours, Hu Xiaoyu's name was dragged into the fire.
"Plastic surgery!"
"Homewrecker!"
"Uneducated nobody!"
Yang Kai watched from his screen, the corner of his mouth curling.
The comments blurred together—insults, pity, rage—all for him.
Perfect.
Once the momentum built, he quietly turned off his comment section.
Let the fire spread.
After all, he hadn't said a word.
Which meant no one could prove anything.
And his fans—rabid, loyal, and always desperate for someone to blame—would only scream louder in his silence.
Let's see, he thought, eyes gleaming. Let's see how the little fox handles this storm.