Necromancer saves the day [BL]

Chapter 50: Chapter 27 - Under His Own Roof

The discharge papers were signed before noon.

Ying Rui had made the decision quietly, without consulting anyone. The doctor had been hesitant at first—Ying Mao’s condition had stabilized, but he still needed rest and monitoring. In the end, Ying Rui simply said he would hire a private physician to check on the boy daily.

That settled it.

Jua Gu stood beside the hospital bed, helping Ying Mao into a soft jacket. The boy’s movements were slow, his small body still weak, but his eyes were brighter than they had been in days. He was only ten, thin and small for his age, and the hospital gown hung off his shoulders like a borrowed costume.

”Are we going home?” Mao Mao asked.

”Yes,” Jua said, zipping the jacket carefully. ”But you have to promise to rest.”

Mao Mao nodded seriously.

”I promise.”

Ying Rui watched from the doorway.

The boy hadn’t looked at him once since waking up.

Not when Ying Rui entered the room. Not when the discharge papers were explained. Not even now, as they prepared to leave.

It was as though Ying Rui were a stranger standing in the corner.

He told himself it didn’t bother him.

It did.

---

The drive home was quiet.

Ying Rui sat in the front passenger seat while Jua sat in the back with Mao Mao, the boy’s head resting against the young man’s shoulder. Every few minutes, Jua would glance down at him, checking that he was still comfortable, that the seatbelt wasn’t digging into his chest, that his breathing was even.

Ying Di was already at home—the driver had taken him back the night before.

When they arrived, the house staff lined up at the entrance.

Ying Rui stepped out first.

The butler bowed.

”Welcome home, Master Ying. Young Master Mao.”

Mao Mao climbed out of the car slowly. Jua held his hand, steadying him.

The moment the boy’s feet touched the ground, something strange happened.

The servants—all of them—immediately turned their attention to the car behind them.

Ying Di had appeared at the top of the entrance steps.

He was eighteen now, tall and lean, with the kind of quiet composure that made him seem older than his years. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and dark trousers. His hair was neatly combed back. He walked down the steps with unhurried confidence, the afternoon light catching the sharp lines of his jaw.

And the moment he appeared, the staff moved.

”Young Master Di, careful on the steps.”

”Let me take your bag.”

”Are you hungry? We prepared your favorite snacks.”

”Young Master Di, shall I bring your afternoon tea?”

”Did you sleep well last night? You were up so late studying.”

Mao Mao stood beside Jua, still holding his hand.

Nobody looked at him.

Ying Rui watched.

The butler himself walked forward and adjusted Ying Di’s collar with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times.

”Young Master Di, you shouldn’t have waited outside. The wind is cold today.”

Ying Di inclined his head slightly.

”I wanted to greet Father.”

His voice was calm, measured. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. There was a quiet gravity to him that made the servants orbit around him like planets around a sun.

Ying Rui nodded at him.

”Go inside. You’ll catch a cold.”

Ying Di walked inside, surrounded by three servants.

Mao Mao followed behind them.

Alone.

Jua’s hand tightened around the boy’s small fingers.

Ying Rui saw it.

He saw everything.

---

Lunch was served in the main dining room.

Ying Rui sat at the head of the table. Ying Di sat to his right. Mao Mao sat to his left.

Jua sat beside Mao Mao.

The servants brought out the dishes.

For Ying Di, they placed a small bowl of clear soup, a plate of steamed fish, a bowl of fragrant rice, and a side dish of seasonal greens. They carefully removed the bones from the fish before setting it down, arranging the meat into neat flakes.

For Mao Mao, they placed a bowl of rice and a small plate of plain vegetables.

That was all.

Ying Rui’s chopsticks paused mid-air.

”Where is the fish for Mao Mao?”

The servant blinked.

”Oh. Young Master Mao doesn’t eat fish.”

Ying Rui glanced at his son.

Mao Mao was eating his rice quietly, not complaining. His small fingers gripped the chopsticks awkwardly—he was still learning—and he took slow, careful bites.

”Is that true?” Ying Rui asked.

The boy nodded.

”Mm.”

Ying Rui’s gaze shifted toward the kitchen door.

The head cook appeared a moment later, bowing.

”Master Ying, Young Master Mao has always had a simple diet. He doesn’t like strong flavors.”

Ying Rui looked down at the small bowl of plain rice.

”And Ying Di?”

”Young Master Di has always had a delicate palate. We prepare his meals carefully.”

Ying Rui nodded slowly.

He didn’t say anything else.

But he remembered the way Jua’s jaw had tightened when the fish was placed only in front of Ying Di.

---

The afternoon passed slowly.

Ying Rui sat in his study, going through emails on his laptop. He had cancelled every meeting, but that didn’t mean the work disappeared. His secretary had sent him a list of things that needed his attention.

He answered them mechanically.

His mind wasn’t on the work.

It was on the house.

On the way the servants moved.

On the way they spoke.

On the way they looked at one child and then looked past the other.

He had never noticed before.

He had been away too long.

---

At four in the afternoon, Ying Rui heard a small thud from the hallway.

He stepped out of his study.

Ying Di had tripped on the rug near the staircase. He hadn’t fallen—he was too graceful for that—but he had stumbled, one hand catching the railing.

Immediately, two servants rushed over.

”Young Master Di! Are you alright?”

”Did you hurt yourself?”

”Should I bring a cushion?”

”Shall I call the doctor?”

Ying Di waved them off.

”I’m fine.”

His voice was calm, almost bored.

But the fuss continued.

Meanwhile, Ying Mao had been walking behind him.

He had also stumbled on the same rug.

He hadn’t caught himself.

He had fallen on his hands and knees, landing hard on the wooden floor.

Jua had been in the kitchen, but he appeared in the hallway within seconds. He knelt down beside the boy immediately.

”Mao Mao.”

Mao Mao’s lower lip trembled slightly, but he didn’t cry.

”I’m okay.”

Jua helped him up, brushing dust off his knees.

”Does it hurt?”

”A little.”

Jua checked his palms. They were slightly red.

”Let’s get some ointment.”

The two of them walked away toward the bathroom.

The servants were still fussing over Ying Di.

Nobody had noticed that the younger boy had fallen.

Ying Rui stood in the doorway of his study, watching.

His chest felt heavy.

---

That evening, Jua put Mao Mao to bed.

The boy’s room was small—smaller than Ying Di’s, Ying Rui noticed. It was on the far end of the second floor, away from the main hallway. The furniture was old but clean. The walls were bare. There were no toys on the shelves except for a few worn stuffed animals, their fur matted from years of use.

Ying Di’s room, by contrast, was near the master suite. It had been renovated two years ago—new furniture, new curtains, a desk, a bookshelf, everything a growing young man could want.

Jua tucked Mao Mao in carefully.

”Sleep well.”

Mao Mao’s hand caught his sleeve.

”Don’t go yet.”

Jua sat down on the edge of the bed.

”I’m here.”

The boy closed his eyes.

Ying Rui watched from the doorway.

He didn’t enter.

He simply stood there, watching the young man hold his son’s hand until the boy’s breathing slowed into sleep.

Then Jua stood up quietly and walked toward the door.

He saw Ying Rui.

Neither of them spoke.

Jua walked past him and headed toward his own room.

that night Ying Rui couldn’t sleep.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

The house was quiet.

He had spent years sleeping in hotels, in airport lounges, in offices. The silence of his own home felt foreign.

At two in the morning, he got up.

His throat was dry.

He walked downstairs to the kitchen.

The house was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon through the windows. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly.

Then he heard something.

A soft sound.

Bare feet on the floor.

He turned.

A small figure was creeping down the hallway.

Ying Mao.

The young boy was holding a pillow against his chest.

He was walking toward the guest room at the end of the hall.

Jua’s room.

Ying Rui stayed still, watching from the shadows of the kitchen doorway.

Ying Mao reached the door.

He hesitated.

Then he knocked, very softly.

The door opened.

Jua’s voice was sleepy.

”Mao?”

”Can I sleep here?”

There was a pause.

”Of course.”

Ying Mao walked inside.

The door didn’t close all the way. A thin sliver of light spilled into the hallway.

He stood outside the door and listened.