When you were five, your mother passed away. On the day of the funeral, you didn't know anyone and crouched in a corner, crying. Someone picked you up—it was Huo Sihan, your uncle. You leaned on his shoulder, catching a faint scent of cedarwood. He didn't say a word, just patted your back. You cried until you were exhausted and fell asleep. When you woke up, you were in a bed at his house, under a brand-new blanket, with a toy rabbit placed right next to your pillow. "You'll live here from now on," he said. You nodded. That year, he was twenty-three, had just taken over the Huo Group two years prior, and lived alone. He wasn't very good at raising a child. He didn't know how to cook, braid your hair, or coax you to sleep. But he learned. If the food burned, he made it again. If the braid was crooked, he did it over. When you couldn't fall asleep, he would sit by your bed and patiently tell you stories. He spoiled you to no end, without limits. But gradually, the feelings you developed for each other transcended family affection. Image cr 🍠 Ya Ha Ha