MCFEM C50

Chapter 50 – Paternity Test

He Ming’an stood in place, watching Gu Yang and Song Yinxing leave.

From inside the car, Gu Qingxu finally couldn’t resist sneering: “They’re gone, and you’re still standing there? What, enjoying playing nanny now?”

He Ming’an turned back to glance at him, his expression tinged with a faint smile. “I grew up with A-Yang since we were kids. I treat him like my own brother. It’s normal if you can’t understand that.”

The one who actually shared blood ties, Gu Qingxu, gave a sharp laugh.

Indeed, he still loathed He Ming’an—ever since their very first meeting.

Back when he had only just entered the Gu family, unfamiliar with everyone and everything.

Whenever he was brought out to appear in public, Gu Yuhui never offered him any special care, letting him fend for himself.

Outsiders speculated, whispered, scrutinized this child who had been suddenly brought back into the family, treating him with rejection and suspicion.

And Gu Yang, who always disliked such occasions, even when forced to attend, would just shrink into a corner in silence.

So at the time, Gu Qingxu had always stayed at Gu Yang’s side, enjoying the quiet.

He had no interest in trying to flatter anyone’s cold face with his warm enthusiasm.

Until that one day.

He remembered it very clearly—that first encounter with He Ming’an.

“A-Yang, who’s that person beside you?”

The boy, leaning against the window in a daze, raised his chin at the sound and pointed toward Gu Yuhui, who stood not far away.

A boy about his age turned his head, let out a casual “oh,” and showed no expression.

Gu Qingxu had been nervous inside, already rehearsing how to introduce himself when the other asked.

But the boy immediately looked away, smiling as he said, “A-Yang, let me show you something,” and pulled him along without sparing him a single word.

What an unpleasant first impression.

Gu Qingxu could still remember every frame of that scene.

Of course, his own performance back then had also been far from satisfactory.

After he gradually adapted to his new identity, never again did he feel so awkward.

Gu Yang continued to skip out on banquets, and even if he attended, he’d stay invisible in the background.

Meanwhile, Gu Qingxu slowly became the one at the center of conversation.

He Ming’an’s reputation among their circle was stellar. Their peers all considered him a reliable, warmhearted friend; the elders praised him as humble, polite, and steady in conduct.

Every time Gu Qingxu heard such remarks, he would sneer.

Not because he was still upset about being ignored back then, but because he found it laughable.

What an act.

“Senior He, instead of wasting time playing at family with someone completely unrelated, maybe you should spare a thought for your real younger brother.” Gu Qingxu dropped the pretense, a faint smile curling his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

He Ming’an’s expression remained unchanged, but Gu Qingxu could feel the sudden chill in his aura.

Smiling wider, Gu Qingxu tossed more fuel onto the fire: “All these years, and you still don’t even know what he looks like. People are already saying—are you just that petty?”

“Next time, why don’t you bring him out and let us all meet him?” After speaking, he signaled Uncle Huang to drive. As the window rolled slowly up, he even gave He Ming’an a smiling wave.

—

Song Yinxing pedaled his slightly old-fashioned bicycle, carrying Gu Yang to the foot of his apartment building.

It was an old, open-style community. After locking up the bike, he led Gu Yang upstairs.

At the door, he fumbled for the key.

Gu Yang stood quietly beside him, his nose reddened from the cold, his skin pale and delicate, looking almost fragile.

A pang of guilt rose in Song Yinxing’s heart. He hurriedly opened the door, ushered him inside, and went to switch on the heater.

It was an outdated model, and they had never once used the heating mode since moving in. Though it powered on, no warm air came out.

After pressing it several times with no success, Song Yinxing set the remote down awkwardly.

Gu Yang hadn’t noticed—his attention was fixed on the surroundings.

The apartment was small. The front door opened into a dining area connected to the kitchen, with two bedrooms off to the side. The whole place could be taken in at a glance.

“My home is a little small,” Song Yinxing murmured. Though he had endured much in life and thought himself steady, facing Gu Yang’s casual gaze, he suddenly lost confidence.

“It’s not too bad,” Gu Yang replied.

And he meant it. Before coming, he had half expected something much worse—bare concrete floors, a flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling, water-stained, cracked walls barely covered with newspaper patches. That was how TV dramas usually portrayed such places. Given how the novel tended to exaggerate, he had braced for even worse. But stepping inside, it looked fairly normal.

In truth, Song Yinxing had rushed home earlier to tidy up, though there had hardly been a need. He usually kept the place in order. He had only straightened his younger brother’s messy quilt and taken out the trash.

Though this was meant to be a tutoring session, Gu Yang hadn’t brought a single book. Clearly, he had no such intention—just came on a whim out of boredom.

It had been the same at the Gu residence. Most of the time, Song Yinxing worked on his own assignments while Gu Yang sat idly by.

The whole arrangement was little more than formality, earning him an easy wage.

Though he knew Gu Yang meant well, he still couldn’t accept it easily. That was why he had tried to refuse, only to make things more complicated.

Seeing no sign of disdain on Gu Yang’s face, Song Yinxing quietly exhaled in relief—just in time to watch him unwind his scarf and shrug out of his coat, revealing only a thin, low-neck cashmere sweater underneath.

The apartment was drafty and cold. Instinctively, Song Yinxing wanted to stop him, but Gu Yang said, “I don’t like wearing coats indoors. Too restrictive.”

Recalling the Gu family’s constant floor heating, Song Yinxing hurried into his brother’s room, fetched a space heater, and set it beside a chair for Gu Yang.

Gu Yang seemed to have never seen such a thing. Reaching curiously toward it, he was quickly stopped by Song Yinxing, who slapped his hand away. “It’s hot nearby—you’ll burn yourself.”

“Oh,” Gu Yang replied, withdrawing his hand, though still eyeing it eagerly.

The steady warmth seeped into him. Gu Yang closed his eyes halfway, leaning lazily against the chair.

His pale face gradually gained a faint flush. With night fallen outside, alternating shadows painted across his delicate, alluring features.

Song Yinxing stared, forgetting what he had meant to say.

Instead, Gu Yang broke the silence, pointing to the stack of bundled cardboard boxes near the door. “What’s that for?”

“I… collect them to sell later.” A hint of discomfort flickered across his cool, handsome face, but he told the truth.

“Oh.”

At that moment, the loudspeaker of a passing recycler blared outside:

“Old appliances, old refrigerators, old TVs—cardboard collected at your door…”

Gu Yang pointed out.

“No.” The refusal leapt from Song Yinxing’s mouth before he could think. “Door-to-door is forty cents a kilo. If I take it myself, it’s sixty.”

Only after speaking did he realize what he had said.

Song Yinxing: “…”

So this was what it felt like for his mouth to outrun his brain.

The heater’s glow must have been warming him too—his ears burned faintly red.

Gu Yang tilted his head, puzzled by his expression, trying to parse the significance of those decimals. But such small sums were beyond his frame of reference. When shopping, he ignored any number below the thousands.

After a long silence, Song Yinxing managed a stiff change of subject. “Are you hungry?”

Gu Yang usually didn’t care much about dinner, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.

Song Yinxing hurried to open the fridge.

Empty—save for half a bag of greens and three eggs left over from last weekend.

He usually ate in the school canteen during the week. No wonder.

Closing it silently, he told Gu Yang to sit tight, then slipped out to the nearest market.

As he picked vegetables, he realized he hadn’t asked what Gu Yang wanted to eat.

All he remembered was Uncle Huang’s gentle words: “The young master doesn’t like anything.”

Breathing deeply, Song Yinxing bought what he could and hurried home.

Leaving Gu Yang alone felt unsafe.

When he returned, struggling with grocery bags, he heard Gu Yang let out a small “ah.”

Still in his shoes, he rushed over. “What’s wrong?”

Gu Yang had been staring at his hand. After a pause, he showed the back of it.

A bright red welt stood out against his pale skin.

Song Yinxing froze. Clearly, Gu Yang had ignored his warning and touched the heater.

“I told you not to touch it,” he said helplessly.

“Just curious,” Gu Yang answered with a careless smile. “No big deal.”

He pulled his hand back, studying it as though it might reveal something fascinating.

The warm glow lit his face, highlighting both indulgence and weariness in his eyes. And in that moment, Song Yinxing caught something he couldn’t name.

Though Gu Yang dismissed it, Song Yinxing felt unsettled.

He guided Gu Yang to run his hand under cool water, then, once satisfied it wasn’t serious, set about cooking.

Gu Yang lingered, watching.

Song Yinxing had assumed he’d never set foot in a kitchen before, but his curiosity was intense—so sudden and sharp it felt almost performative.

“Want me to chop something?” Gu Yang offered, pulling a knife from the rack.

Recalling his infamous apple-peeling attempt, Song Yinxing politely declined, sending him back to idle.

As quickly as it had come, Gu Yang’s interest waned. He slouched back into the chair by the heater.

Song Yinxing, used to the work, finished swiftly—beef, shrimp, greens, soup.

He plated everything neatly and watched Gu Yang’s reaction.

No words of praise, but he sampled each dish, eating politely, unhurriedly.

Afterward, when Song Yinxing cleared the table, Gu Yang reached to help, pinching at a greasy dish with just his fingertips.

Crash.

Song Yinxing turned sharply.

Shards of a broken plate scattered across the floor. Gu Yang stared back at him, wide-eyed, all innocence.

Song Yinxing: “…”

“Just leave them. I’ll handle it.”

After cleaning up, it was late.

Gu Yang sat a while longer before standing to leave. Song Yinxing wanted to escort him home, but Gu Yang said Uncle Huang was already waiting.

Still, he insisted on walking him downstairs.

Their building had three floors, with only one working light. He switched on his phone flashlight, casting a glow on Gu Yang’s thin frame ahead.

He still didn’t understand why Gu Yang had wanted to come. What was there to see in this small, old place?

Maybe it was just his way.

But having visited each other’s homes, didn’t that mean they were closer now?

A hollow ache opened in Song Yinxing’s chest.

Gu Yang was too special.

Wrapped in mystery, shrouded in fog—raising questions, curiosity, and an impossible urge to save him.

He was about to speak when a harsh male voice cut through the night.

“Well, you ungrateful brat—hiding out here living easy while your old man suffers out in the cold.”

Song Yinxing froze. The spark in his heart snuffed out.

From the shadows stepped a man—his biological father.

Song Yinxing remembered clearly. Even in his darkest hours, even at his mother’s funeral, this man had never appeared.

But how had he found this place? Who had told him?

Before he could shield Gu Yang, the man’s eyes lit up. Spotting him, he barked, “Well, well, look at you! Made friends with a rich young master, have you?”

“Doing well for yourself at that fancy school, aren’t you?” He chuckled, then turned to Gu Yang. “And you, classmate, you’re friends with my boy?”

Song Yinxing’s fists clenched tight.

If this man dared involve Gu Yang, he wouldn’t forgive it.

But Gu Yang only gave him a cool glance and smiled thinly. “I’m here to collect a debt.”

The man’s grin vanished.

Even Song Yinxing was stunned.

“He owes me money. I came to take it back.” Gu Yang lifted his chin toward Song Yinxing. “You’re his father? Then can you pay it for him?”

Never had Song Yinxing seen Gu Yang like this.

In just a few words, the man who had strutted so brazenly shrank like a turtle, too scared to speak.

At that moment, a sleek black car pulled up. The driver’s window lowered, revealing a man in his fifties. Respectfully, he asked: “Young master, are you finished here?”

It was the perfect assist.

The man’s face paled further. When Gu Yang’s gaze fell on him again, he stammered: “No money. I’ve got no money. Don’t come to me—”

And he bolted.

Uncle Huang smiled faintly, asking no questions. He stepped out to open the car door.

Gu Yang waved goodbye to Song Yinxing and climbed in.

Watching him leave, Song Yinxing’s feelings were tangled. He had nearly dragged Gu Yang into trouble—but the ease with which he had handled it shook him.

Did Gu Yang really need saving?

On the ride back, Gu Yang closed his eyes to rest.

Uncle Huang smiled fondly at him in the mirror. “Did you have fun today?”

“Not bad,” Gu Yang replied. His tone was mild, but Uncle Huang’s smile only grew softer.

After so many years, it was rare to see the young master willingly visit someone’s home.

A small thing, but it filled him with joy.

Back home, Gu Yang headed straight for his room, only to run into Gu Qingxu in the living room.

This time, Gu Qingxu didn’t greet him with barbs or sarcasm.

He was holding a document, his expression unreadable.

When their eyes met, he subtly angled it away.

Inside was a paternity test.

Between Gu Yang and Gu Yuhui.

The result: they were not father and son.