Chapter 10: Mommy's Gone

When Mo Bao arrived at the Hilton Hotel, it was already an hour later.

He was clever, yes—but still just a kid. Even with his sharp mind, getting here without any trouble took some time.

But luckily, as soon as he stepped into the parking lot, he spotted the car that had brought “Mommy” here earlier—the same one from that day. His heart leapt with excitement. He dashed straight toward the hotel lobby.

"Pretty lady," he said, tiptoeing as high as he could to reach the front desk, "who does that car outside belong to?"

The front-desk girl looked down—and froze.

There, standing on wobbly little legs, was a boy so perfectly adorable he looked like he’d stepped out of a manga panel.

Wait… wasn’t this the little lord living on the top floor of the hotel?

Her eyes widened in shock. "H-Ho… Ho Junior? What are you doing here? You weren’t just heading to the restaurant?"

Hmm?

Ho Junior?

Mo Bao’s brain clicked instantly—something was off.

Without hesitation, he scrambled up onto the tall stool beside him, using both arms and legs like a tiny acrobat, then leaned forward, his round little face beaming up at her.

The girl blushed instantly.

"Yeah, I slipped away for a sec," Mo Bao chirped, grinning. "Hey, uh, do you know who owns that car out there?"

"That’s *yours*, isn’t it?" she replied, confused. "Your dad and the others just drove back in it."

Mo Bao’s smile grew even wider—brighter than a sunrise.

"Thanks, pretty lady! I’ll be off now!"

"Off? Where to? This place is dangerous! Let me take you back to the dining room—your dad will panic if he can’t find you!"

She was genuinely concerned, worried he might wander off and get lost. But Mo Bao? Not a chance.

She thought he was Ho Junior. That meant he *had* to see the real deal—the actual little prince in person.

He remembered: yesterday at kindergarten, the teachers had shown a photo of a new kid joining their class. The boy looked *exactly* like him. His name? Ho Yin.

And last night, after sneaking into the kindergarten principal’s computer, Mo Bao had found the kid’s file. The address listed? The top floor of the Hilton.

Mo Bao didn’t walk—he *zoomed*. Faster than a bunny, he burst through the doors of the fourth-floor Western restaurant.

"Uncle Lin," he asked, voice sweet but urgent, "when are we going home?"

Inside the gilded dining hall, Ho Yin sat stiffly in a tiny suit, a crisp napkin folded neatly over his chest. He hadn’t touched his food. Instead, he scowled at the assistant, Lin, clearly annoyed.

"When are we finally going back to China?"

This kid was nothing like Mo Bao.

Same face—same sharp features, same dark eyes—but the soul behind them? Completely different.

If Mo Bao was sunshine—warm, bright, always smiling and making everyone feel good—then Ho Yin was pure Arctic ice. Cold, distant, and eerily serious. Just like his father, Ho Si Jue.

Sometimes even worse.

He didn’t talk much. Didn’t want to interact. Raised to be proper, disciplined, flawless. But there was no sign of childhood in him—no curiosity, no laughter, no spark.

"Ugh," Mo Bao whispered from behind the door, peeking in. "So this is the real Ho Junior? Looks just like me… but wow, he’s *so* uptight. Like a little old man."

Assistant Lin cleared his throat. "Junior, we can’t go home yet. We’re here to help your dad get better. Don’t you want him to recover?"

Ho Yin stayed silent.

After a long pause, something in his expression softened—just slightly.

"...Then the woman they brought today... she’s the one treating him?"

"...Yeah, I guess so?" Lin mumbled, awkwardly waving it off.

Ho Yin frowned, then slowly picked up his knife and fork.

"If that’s the case," he said flatly, "tell her to treat him kindly. No need to be so harsh."

Lin choked on air. "*Cough cough cough!*"

From across the hall, Mo Bao’s jaw dropped.

**WHAT?!**

Dare she be *rude* to his mom? Did she *want* a punch in the face?!

Without another second, Mo Bao turned on his heel and bolted—straight for the hotel’s top floor.

A few minutes later, at the entrance to the Presidential Suite, the security guards froze.

There, stepping out of the elevator, was a small figure—face stern, fists clenched, eyes blazing with quiet fury.

The guards exchanged glances.

"Junior Master," one stammered, "you’re back?"

"Mm." Mo Bao nodded, trying hard to copy the icy posture he’d seen downstairs. "Where’s Dad?"

"The CEO’s out," one answered quickly. "But he left word—if you returned, you should rest inside. He’ll be back soon."

They didn’t question him. They didn’t suspect a thing. With polite bows, they opened the door wide—giving him full access to the villain’s lair.

Mo Bao stepped inside.

Whoa.

The room was *massive*. It felt like walking into a grand plaza, except every inch was dripping in gold, crystal, and luxury—like a royal palace.

But where was *his* mom?

Where was the woman who’d been treated like trash by this cold little robot?