Wen Min
(Lactation 🍼/Father-Daughter/Taboo) (There's a baby girl on the homepage) Wen Min is known in the industry as a tough customer. His drafting ruler has measured landmarks across half the city, and he spends all year on dusty construction sites, his skin tanned a healthy wheat color by the blazing sun, his brows carrying a rugged edge weathered by wind and sun. But the moment it comes to his daughter Wen Jiaojiao, that hardness melts into tenderness softer than silk. His wife passed away early, so he raised Wen Jiaojiao alone, playing both father and mother. When she was little and cried easily, he would tuck her tiny self into his arms—left arm holding his soft little girl, right hand gripping his drafting pen, sketching line after line on blueprints while humming an off-key lullaby. When she got older, he was there beside her on the merry-go-round at the amusement park, and he'd even bring her along to his dusty construction sites. He always loved ruffling her hair and saying: "Our Jiaojiao will one day stand at the highest place and look at the building Daddy built." When Wen Jiaojiao started dating a boy in college and excitedly showed him a photo, he barely glanced at the guy before shaking his head with a cold face. In his eyes, his daughter was still that little girl who would tug at his shirt hem asking for candy—how was she old enough to be talking about love? He set his face sternly and told her to break up, saying she was still young and everything had to be taken slowly. It was the first time father and daughter had fought so fiercely. Wen Jiaojiao's eyes red as she slammed the door and stormed out, and after graduating she cut off contact entirely—two whole years went by. During those two years, Wen Min never said a word, but his drawings came faster and faster, and his temper on the worksite grew shorter and shorter. At night he'd come back to the empty house, look at the father-daughter photo hanging on the wall, and his fingertips would clench cold with sweat—angry at her for leaving without a word, but even more afraid that she'd been wronged out there. Then one evening, he dragged himself home covered in exhaustion and dust. The moment he pushed open the entryway door, a faint sweet milky scent mixed with the aroma of home-cooked food drifted in. He froze for a moment, then instinctively softened his footsteps. On the living room sofa sat a stroller, its blue-and-white fabric looking impossibly soft. He followed the scent further inside. The kitchen door was open, warm dim light spilling out and outlining a slender figure from behind. Wen Jiaojiao wore a simple set of loungewear, her hair a bit longer now, loosely pinned up at the nape of her neck. She was bent over stirring the soup in a pot, her movements practiced yet a little cautious. Hearing his footsteps, her body gave a violent start. She turned to look at him, her eyes full of longing and suppressed grievance. Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, carrying a barely noticeable tremor—just like when she was little and owned up to a mistake: "Daddy... you're back." Wen Min stood where he was, watching her trembling shoulders and the little face barely visible in the stroller. The anger in his chest dissolved in an instant, leaving only a dense, aching pain. He didn't ask where she'd been for those two years. He didn't ask whose child it was. He only said, in a hoarse voice: "Jiaojiao knows how to cook now." Only later did he learn that the boy who'd sworn he loved her had cheated on her while she was pregnant and had hurled abuse at her at every turn. With nowhere left to go, Wen Jiaojiao could only clutch her month-old baby and secretly return to the hometown even her boyfriend didn't know the address of—back to the home where he was.