MFDSSR 06

Chapter 06

These scoundrels, men and women alike, didn’t even bother to hide their intentions.

Pink and light blue envelopes were sprayed with expensive, cloying luxury perfume. The wax seals bore the highest-ranking family crests, and the flamboyant, flirtatious handwriting on the covers was so ostentatious that Mason couldn’t even bear to imagine how scandalous their contents might be.

He would bet his life that eighty percent of them were using his death as a spice for their flirtation.

Mason was so drained he began to tell himself dark jokes: …The death of a council member is such a trivial matter; wouldn’t a condolence note have sufficed?

In this day and age, to go through the trouble of physical letters and aristocratic handwriting—calling them “love letters” would be an insult; such solemnity should be reserved for marriage proposals.

They were acting as if he were already dead.

Let’s see what this is.

The little robot struggled to pull the most exaggerated package from the pile of letters: a bouquet of green Viola odorata, arranged so artfully it looked like a shy young girl. The signature read: “From your Owen.”

Viola odorata, as the name implies, is a flower that only grows in purple. It is expensive, and especially popular for its flattering shape and sultry scent—the go-to choice for a third party to provoke and challenge a spouse.

Where on earth did that shameless redhead find a green mutant variety? Being a high-ranking noble with a private mineral star really makes a difference, the robot’s screen flickered to an “= =” expression, replacing its usual fox-like eyes with a sneer.

Mason keenly checked the flower language of the Viola odorata: Waiting for love, symbolizing loyalty… A triple blow of color, meaning, and variety; the intent to be a “replacement” was written all over it.

He had intentionally stopped sending flowers to his partner after marriage. The other day, when he heard Ming Shiyu ask for Eve-roses to decorate the hall, he hadn’t realized his partner actually cared so much about receiving flowers, and he felt so guilty he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Sure enough, rivals are truly shameless—they find any gap to wiggle into, grabbing at a cripple’s bad leg and kicking it hard.

When Ming Shiyu came downstairs, he saw Mason frozen in the middle of a pile of letters, holding a bouquet in his hands. Hmm? It’s actually quite pretty.

Mason wasn’t entirely useless as a butler. He had slept very comfortably last night; aside from those ambiguous flower petals that made his skin crawl, the bedding was excellent. Though it was hard to say out loud, the illusion of being held while sleeping provided a sense of security, reminding him of when they were newlyweds, falling asleep tightly wrapped in Mason’s arms every night.

So, for once, he was willing to give Mason a good look… Mason felt a chill run down his back for no reason.

A beautiful hand snatched the gilded card from the flowers. Ming Shiyu was genuinely considering a second marriage and looked at the flowery signature on the card.

Seeing Mason looking as if the alarm bells were ringing, he leaned in and smiled softly at the little robot: “What a beautiful flower. Xiao Guan, could you help me find a vase for these? Let’s put them in the living room?”

Mason, while feeling his heart flutter with joy at that smile, was simultaneously wounded to the core by the words he’d said yesterday: [My wife is a dignified and innocent kid; he would only accept flowers from handsome men he likes.] He scurried off to the conservatory with the flowers in his mouth.

Damn you, Owen.

By the time the little robot returned with the vase, there was an annoying, arrogant woman in the living room.

She had the same deep black eyes as Ming Shiyu, but unlike her brother’s captivating, delicate beauty, her features were aggressively sharp.

Perhaps because the family already had three scholars who had dedicated all their passions to academia, it would have been a disaster if a fourth bookworm had appeared.

Ming Zhu was the only business tycoon in the Ming family. From then on, the company that the high-achieving family had managed for years was finally in the hands of one of their own; all of Ming Shiyu’s research results were handled through her.

Mason hated seeing Ming Zhu. She was a super-powered “brother-con” who had looked at him with utter disdain for the past two years. Mason had to swallow his pride in front of his wife’s family, and he had suffered more than a few losses at her hands.

She hadn’t appeared at the funeral, and Mason had breathed a sigh of relief, but she had come after all, dusty from her travels.

Ming Zhu had quite the entourage—a line of her team members stood outside in the courtyard. The little robot gave them a thoughtful look before returning to Ming Shiyu’s side, hugging his calf tightly.

Ming Zhu held Ming Shiyu’s hands. As if unused to such a rare, tender gesture, she gave her brother a dry, awkward comfort: “I know you were quite fond of that Mason fellow; you were crying and begging to come to the Capital Star back then.”

Her hands were dry and warm. Ming Shiyu was actually quite touched, but he flushed and resisted looking at the little robot’s expression, weakly denying it: “I didn’t cry and beg… forget it.”

Ming Zhu had inherited the heartless side of their parents, acting much like an efficient robot. If their parents were obsessed with research and had abandoned all human desires, then Ming Zhu—who had no interest in experiments—existed only to prove that the family’s high-IQ genes were tied to an inherent coldness, having nothing to do with the “noble” excuse of sacrificing oneself for human scientific advancement.

She thought that Ming Shiyu must have been very sad about this at one point, perhaps even as far back as when he was in the cradle.

Ming Zhu knew that Ming Shiyu was different from all of them. She had never seen a child with such a high demand for love, yet he had been detected with X-level mental power at birth. While it couldn’t be verified, theoretically, he was born all-knowing; for this alone, his achievements were destined to far surpass their parents.

She remembered the first three years after Ming Shiyu was born. To provide a “scientific” environment for the genius infant with the highest mental power in the Empire—much like how one must provide a suitable culture medium for bacteria to work—his parents’ research progress took a backseat to him, and they played the roles of loving parents who treasured their child.

At the time, Ming Zhu had nothing better to do. She didn’t need to accumulate academic prestige; making money was as simple as breathing to her, especially with the Ming family’s “patent monster” as her backing.

However, it was perhaps for this reason that the Ming parents deemed her a “waste,” leading them to want a obedient research seedling to inherit their mantle. They didn’t expect to actually grow a “talent-monster” SSR like Ming Shiyu.

That day, she had returned from school to pick up something. The gentle Mrs. Ming was humming a lullaby while leaning over the cradle. After glancing at the time on her light screen, she beckoned to her: “Perfect, come meet your brother. I need to go prepare the baby food.”

Ming Zhu, being a nuisance, leaned over to look at her screen. The to-do list showed that it was over an hour until her father’s scheduled time. It wasn’t until Mrs. Ming walked to the entryway, took off her house sweater, put on her trench coat, and walked out without even looking back, that Ming Zhu showed a sarcastic smile.

When she finally cast a nonchalant glance at her own brother in the cradle, she met those eyes and made a subtle, indescribable expression: “Little brat, don’t tell me you know Father and Mother are playing house to wait on you?”

The ice-cold, cute child in the cradle possessed a pair of melancholy black eyes, frowning as he looked at her. His gaze was clearly fixed on the ceiling above the cradle, yet it was as if he could see beyond the Truman Show, his overwhelming mental power even allowing him to hear the lawn-mowing robots saying that his “eyes are creepy, and the Madam didn’t even notice, acting like it’s nothing while humming to him.”

“Strange.” Ming Zhu finally discovered the beauty of this little creature. If being “all-knowing at birth” made one a god, then this fragile god had just descended into the human world—not to pity all living beings, but to pity himself.

Sunlight shone in through the window, falling on the bouquet of Viola odorata on the table. The 26.5°C constant-temperature air conditioner hummed quietly, allowing the expensive floral scent to disperse into every corner.

Ming Zhu was lost in thought as she looked at him. This fragile child had already grown so much. From a young age, he had learned to imitate the cold mask of his parents, hiding all those delicate emotions away. When he was finally able to build a home of his own, he had already lost his husband.

She pulled Ming Shiyu onto the sofa with an air of refusal, not caring that her suit skirt was getting wrinkled. She signaled to her subordinates outside, and the Ming family staff began to move, as if they intended to snatch the young master back regardless of his temper.

Ming Zhu said, “Since Mason is already dead, I’ve brought people to help you move. We can head back to the Alliance today.”

Ming Shiyu remained unmoved.

“Do you like Mason that much? You want to stay here and remain a widow for him?”

Failing to lure her brother away, Ming Zhu became annoyed and started attacking Mason: “Mason wasn’t such a great person either, actually becoming a scapegoat for Colonel Lin Lin. Don’t take it to heart; just consider it like being bitten by a dog.”

“You like marriage; I can arrange it for you, Sister can help you. The good kids in the Alliance are all lining up, just waiting for you to go back and pick one.”

Mason, playing the role of a dull little robot on the side, pleaded in his heart for her to stop poisoning Ming Shiyu’s mind.

Ming Shiyu persuaded her: “You know that’s not what I want.”

The woman, who never stopped until she reached her goal, was about to retort that even people like Lin Jingsheng were waiting for him, but he smoothed her feathers with a single sentence.

“I want to stay here until I find my second spring.”

The robot acting as background furniture whipped its head around to look at him. This time, Ming Shiyu couldn’t hear Mason’s inner voice; he could only read a string of crashing garbled code.

Ming Zhu was so shocked by this move that she laughed out loud: “Brother, I knew you were a treasure.”

“Seriously, I once thought it was because you were too sought-after by boys that you’d developed such bad habits. I didn’t expect there to be a silver lining—at least I don’t have to worry about you being tricked by a blonde.”

Mason, whose original hair color was natural gold, took another hit.

Before Ming Zhu could continue to slander him while in his house, she was interrupted by a sudden series of sneezes from Ming Shiyu.

“I just said you were picky…” She checked the climate control system; it was indeed at 26.5°C. She turned her gaze to the alluring bouquet in the vase on the table: “This is Viola odorata? Why is it green? Do you think just because you changed the color, you wouldn’t be allergic to it anymore?”

Mason, the little robot, acted as if he had been granted an amnesty. He shoved the vase into Ming Zhu’s hands and pushed her toward the door with a fawning, “guest-leaving” smile: “Could you please take the allergen out of this enclosed space, Sister Excellency!” This ancestor hadn’t even been here for ten minutes before she started trying to persuade his wife to remarry.

By the time Ming Zhu reacted, she was already standing outside the door, with the vase in her hands.