WMSR – QT Chapter 31

 

WMSR – QT Chapter 31

By

siofra

(Chapter 31 from Raw)

Chapter 16: The Blind Date

Today’s gathering wrapped up with unexpected swiftness. The two men, who normally dragged their feet and lingered until dark, scrambled to invent excuses and took their leave well before evening settled in.

Though Bai Yichen found their uncharacteristically early departure a bit peculiar, he didn’t dwell on it. Seeing that it was still early after Song Junchi and Su Yuanhang had gone, and realizing he hadn’t crossed paths with a certain little resident all day, he sought out his mother Qin Yi and asked, “Mom, where’s Minghao?”

“Him? Playing video games in the playroom again, of course,” Qin Yi replied, her tone carrying a blend of helpless resignation and deep maternal indulgence when it came to her youngest son.

Hearing that his younger brother was holed up in the playroom yet again, Bai Yichen knitted his brows slightly and pressed further, “Did he finish the assignments his tutor left for today?”

“Well…”

The moment Bai Yichen caught his mother’s hesitant, evasive look, he instantly knew the answer. Frowning, he turned on his heel and said, “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Wait…” Qin Yi seemed on the verge of calling her eldest son back, but hesitating for a beat, she ultimately sighed and settled back down. Never mind. Yichen is only doing this for Minghao’s own good. While she personally felt that a younger boy blessed with such a brilliant, high-achieving older brother didn’t need to be squeezed so strictly—that as long as he grew up happy and stayed out of major trouble, it was more than enough—since Yichen pinned such towering expectations on his little brother, she would let him handle it. With Yichen being so exceptionally capable, perhaps he really could sculpt another star pupil out of her youngest.

Upstairs, the moment Bai Yichen pushed open the heavy, soundproofed door, a flurry of sharp, explosive blasts spilled out into the hallway. Across a massive, wall-sized projection screen, various models of spacecraft and fighter jets screamed past, only to be systematically blasted out of the sky by a barrage of precise targeting fire. The spawning frequency of the incoming ships was relentless, featuring plenty of wildly erratic, high-angle trajectories, yet not a single projectile missed its mark, turning every target into a dazzling cascade of fireworks. It was immediately apparent that while this was ostensibly a simple arcade game, the person operating it possessed formidable reflexes and elite skill.

Crouched inside a leather sofa directly facing the giant screen sat a single, deeply engrossed tiny figure, wearing a VR headset and frantically executing lightning-fast inputs on a handheld controller.

Stepping into the room, Bai Yichen stood quietly beside the sofa until the round concluded before speaking up: “Minghao.”

Bai Yichen’s voice carried plenty of volume and cutting resonance; there was zero doubt the headset wearer had caught every syllable. Yet the boy didn’t even twitch in response, seamlessly launching straight into the next round as the chaotic battlefield graphics flooded the screen anew.

Bai Yichen narrowed his eyes, his tone dropping a full octave: “Bai! Ming! Hao!”

Still, the gamer remained intensely focused, behaving as though the person breathing down his neck literally did not exist.

Finally pushed past his breaking point, Bai Yichen reached out and physically yanked the VR headset off Bai Yichen’s head. The moment the gear was stripped away, the little guy—still sitting cross-legged on the sofa—refused to glance back so much as an inch. His handsome, remarkably Yichen-esque little face remained locked in a glare at the giant display, hands still twitching over the controls.

Without missing a beat, Bai Yichen wrestled the game controller right out of his grip, reached over, and shut down the system. The sprawling game room, moments ago vibrating with high-intensity audio effects, plunged into dead silence. Finally, the little rebel who had stonewalled Bai Yichen the entire time pivoted around to face him.

Tossing the confiscated controller onto the cushions, Bai Yichen looked down into that pale, sharp-featured little face and demanded, “Why haven’t you finished the assignments your teacher gave you?”

Bai Yichen stared fixedly at his older brother’s stern, entirely unsmiling countenance for a long beat before aggressively snapping his head away, spitting out, “Don’t wanna.”

Bai Yichen choked back an inward gasp. Listen to that unshakeable, righteous defiance. Any parent with a short fuse would have detonated on the spot. Fortunately, Bai Yichen lacked a volatile temper; he merely dragged in a deep, stabilizing lungful of air and pressed on: “Why don’t you want to do them? Are you stuck on the material? Did the teacher not explain it clearly enough? Did you not understand?”

Once again, Bai Yichen slammed the door shut on communication, retreating into stubborn silence. Bai Yichen pinched the bridge of his nose, an incoming migraine throbbing behind his temples. He had lost track of when the once-docile, endlessly clinging little brother of his had morphed into this uncooperative creature. Was it early-onset teenage rebellion? But did kids these days even hit rebellion phase at seven years old?

Looking down at his seven-year-old sibling, Bai Yichen conceded he couldn’t decode the psychology at play. Yet, stubborn rebellion or not, academic discipline couldn’t be left to rot. Even though Bai Yichen knew full well that within the Bai household, he was practically the sole guardian carrying any genuine emotional investment in this kid’s education—with both mother Qin Yi and father Bai Jinchuan leaning heavily into a laissez-faire philosophy born of the belief that with an overachieving pillar like Yichen securing the family, Minghao didn’t need to sweat ambition—the reality remained locked inside his own head. His personal countdown clock was ticking down fast. The future of the Bai empire ultimately needed a pair of shoulders broad enough to bear the weight, and that burden would eventually fall to Minghao.

Therefore, right now—at a historical juncture where every other adult figure in the household was slackening the reins on Minghao’s upbringing—he had to anchor the responsibility. He needed to force Minghao to build an unshakeable foundation now, sparing him from being crushed into the dirt under the terrifying weight of executive inheritance down the road.

Inhaling deeply once more, Bai Yichen locked eyes with the boy: “Come with me. I’m sitting right beside you while you knock this out. You don’t touch a single game until it’s done.”

Dropping that final decree, Bai Yichen turned and strode toward the door. Surprisingly, this time Minghao complied, sliding off the sofa with a sullen pattering of footsteps trailing in his wake. Hearing the sluggish movement behind him, Bai Yichen felt a faint flicker of relief wash over his chest.

Guiding Minghao into his private study, Bai Yichen retrieved the day’s syllabus and homework logs, parking the boy at a designated desk while he settled at his own workspace to churn through a stack of corporate backlog files. Every few minutes, he would break rhythm, pacing over to check on Minghao’s physical progress.

As the room settled into a serene, productive rhythm broken only by the steady scratching of pen nibs across paper, a sharp alert chime pierced the quiet. Glancing at the incoming connection ID, Bai Yichen swiped directly to accept, instantly populating the study’s remote-conferencing display with a crisp, high-definition video feed of a deeply handsome face.

“Junxhi,” Bai Yichen greeted him with an easy, welcoming smile.

Minghao, hunched over his workbook across the room, lifted his head at the sound, fixing a sharp stare at the figure materializing on screen.

“Yichen, there’s something I need to tell you.” On the other side of the feed, Song Junchi drew in a heavy, shuddering breath, his expression as grave as if he were stepping onto a battlefield.

Before Bai Yichen could voice the wave of confusion bubbling up at Song Junchi’s funereal expression—wondering if a corporate fire had broken out—a crisp, high-pitched young voice cut right across the room: “Gege, I don’t get this problem.”