Chapter 2: Making It Right

Five years later.
A prestigious hospital in M Country.

In a bright, spotless conference room, Dr. Wen Xuxu—dressed in a crisp white lab coat—stood before a group of medical experts, delivering a fluent, confident presentation in English, flipping through a patient case report with practiced ease.

Her short, chin-length hair framed a face of delicate elegance—fine features softly highlighted by subtle makeup, porcelain skin glowing under the overhead lights. Her eyes, dark and clear as polished onyx, sparkled with quiet intensity—two jewels radiating quiet brilliance.

“Excuse me,” said one of the doctors, a woman named Nancy, “so you’re saying this patient doesn’t need surgery? Instead, you’re proposing acupuncture—traditional Chinese medicine?”

“Yes,” Wen Xuxu replied, turning a page with calm certainty. She offered a polite but unwavering smile. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Nancy—yes, that was her name now.

Five years ago, she hadn’t died in that hospital. The obstetrician who’d nearly killed her had, by some miracle, saved her life. But instead of contacting the Huo family, he’d declared her dead.

She’d rather be dead than go back to that house.

And so she came here. In just a few short years, her sharp mind and inherited knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine—passed down from her Wen family—had made her a rising star in the medical world.

The room fell into silence. The doctors exchanged uneasy glances. Doubt flickered across their faces.

But Wen Xuxu wasn’t patient. She glanced at her watch, then quietly gathered her things.

“Dr. Nancy,” a colleague called out as she passed by the door. “Off to pick up your little one again?”

“Yep,” she answered, flashing a warm, sunlit smile.

Downstairs, she hurried past hallways lined with sterile white walls and soft footsteps echoing behind her.

Ten minutes later, a local kindergarten.

“Mama! You finally came! Ruo Ruo’s been waiting forever!”

At the quiet, slightly chilly entrance of the school, a tiny pink bundle in a frilly dress—her hair tied up in two little pigtails—spotted her mother and sprinted forward like a joyful comet.

Wen Xuxu rushed out of the car, crouching down instantly.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” she said, pulling the child into her arms. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never be this late again, okay?”

“It’s fine,” the little girl chirped, snuggling close. “Big brother was here. He brought me *so* many snacks!”

Of course she didn’t blame her mom. After all, her tummy was already full—plump and happy.

Wen Xuxu’s heart melted.

Big brother—the other twin. Yes, that kid really was something. So thoughtful. Always looking out for his sister.

“You’re right,” she smiled. “Let’s go find him, huh?”

“Okay, Mama!”

A few minutes later, she found him.

Only, her jaw nearly dropped.

There he was—again—being fawned over in the teacher’s office like some kind of miniature celebrity. What on earth was he doing this time?

“Oh my gosh!” one teacher gasped. “Look at this new transfer student—he’s *exactly* like our little Mei Bao!”

“Seriously?” another chimed in. “Check it out!”

They held up a photo beside the boy’s face.

Wen Qimo—his sharp, fox-like eyes scanned the image.

“Where? Does he have *your* Mei Bao’s round little cheeks?”

“No…”

“Does he have *your* Mei Bao’s cuteness? Look at this—like a crescent moon. Is *he* shaped like that?”

With a proud flourish, Wen Qimo lifted his own face—adorably round, impossibly cute, and undeniably handsome—right into the teachers’ line of sight.

They burst into laughter.

Honestly? The photo kid looked nothing like him. Serious expression, five years old, but already carrying the weight of a grown man’s solemnity. No way was he anywhere near as sweet as their little star.

“Qimo,” Wen Xuxu stepped inside, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Oh! Mama!” The boy turned instantly, his face lighting up like a switch had flipped. He hopped off the desk in a flash, grinning from ear to ear.

He was definitely a kid who loved to laugh.

His features were unmistakably *his*—the same sharp angles, the same intense gaze—but unlike the cold, distant man he’d inherited them from, this boy was pure warmth. A little sunbeam wrapped in a cool exterior. Even when he was quiet, there was always a hint of a smile tucked beneath his lips.