Doctor Lu Always Wants To Steal My Baby! Chapter 7

Chapter 7 The Big Monster’s First Day of Babysitting

“You told me to ‘put it away’,” He Chen whispered, trying to argue his case outside the door of the mental energy treatment room at Han River Base.

“My mistake,” Xiang Heng replied. “I overestimated the Commander’s comprehension skills.”

He Chen glanced at him and fell silent.

“Shouldn’t you go in for a treatment too?” Xiang Heng asked, sounding somewhat serious. “Have you been having trouble controlling your mental entity lately?”

“No,” He Chen said. “I have excellent control, absolutely excellent.”

Xiang Heng looked at him, about to say something, but He Chen had already taken a long stride—the treatment room door opened.

The refined and gentle therapist, Shao Ying, stood by the door. “Commander, he’s calmed down and is asleep.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” He Chen nodded solemnly at him, then walked to the examination bed and looked at the small figure sleeping soundly on it.

This appearance matched his memories. Except back then, the cub was smaller, didn’t sleep so peacefully, and would still suck on his little fist with his eyes closed.

“Commander, you can take him back now,” Shao Ying said. “If he wakes up and cries again, you can try talking to him first. If it’s just crying, there’s actually… no need for mental soothing.”

“He was hiccuping too,” He Chen looked up.

His deadpan tone left Shao Ying momentarily speechless.

“Dr. Shao, we understand,” Xiang Heng stepped in to ease Shao Ying’s awkwardness, then motioned for Ning Tian to come forward and carry He Leyan back.

But the moment Ning Tian reached out, He Chen shot him a glare.

What’s wrong? Ning Tian looked innocent.

I don’t need you. He Chen’s eyes conveyed.

Then he extended his arms, paused mid-air, finally found the right angle, and stiffly scooped the child up, like handling a package of explosives.

*

He Leyan had a familiar dream.

In the dream, there was that familiar embrace, the familiar heartbeat and breathing rhythm, and, hmm, a very comforting scent.

He couldn’t help but turn over, snuggling closer to the embrace, and slept soundly.

He Chen stood by the bed like a statue for a long time, until Logistics Officer Deng Tie spoke up, “Commander, he’s fast asleep, you can put him down now.”

“It’s fine, I can hold him a little longer,” He Chen lowered his voice, and as he spoke, he tightened his hold on the well-behaved and warm He Leyan in his arms.

“…You might not be tired, but I worry the child will be uncomfortable sleeping like that,” Deng Tie said.

“Is that so?” He Chen looked at him, hesitant. “Have you really raised a child?”

“I have,” Deng Tie said, frustrated. “The pinwheel incident was my mistake.”

A box of toys had just arrived, and he had casually grabbed a brightly colored one, honestly not thinking much about it.

“Minor issue, but don’t let it happen again,” He Chen said, bending down and carefully transferring He Leyan from his arms onto the bed.

Deng Tie stood ready nearby, immediately covering the child with a blanket and patting him through the covers.

After a few pats, seeing He Chen watching him, Deng Tie explained in a low voice, “Children are easily startled when they sleep, you need to pat them.”

Not really, He Chen thought, half-skeptical: The cub used to sleep soundly on his chest, completely undisturbed.

But maybe things were different now that he was a bit older.

“I’ll do it.” He Chen motioned for Deng Tie to let go, took over the patting for a few moments, and only hesitantly withdrew his hand when He Leyan showed no signs of waking up.

Success. He Chen burned the bridge after crossing it, signaling Deng Tie to leave. Then he quietly sat down by the bed and did what he had wanted to do but hadn’t dared for the past two days:

He reached out and touched the cub’s soft hair.

So, so soft.

That soft texture was truly addictive. He Chen, like an “addict,” stroked it several times before… shifting his target and touching the cub’s soft cheek.

Even, even softer…

Like tender egg white, soft and delicate, which made… the semi-mechanical palm touching him seem even more ugly and frightening.

He Chen pursed his lips and suddenly pulled his hand back.

“I should have spent more money on a realistic skin cover,” he muttered to himself.

“But this one is cheap and cool,” he raised his right hand, admiringly flexing and extending his fingers. Suddenly remembering something, his expression froze as he looked toward a corner of the room—

“Cut the surveillance feed now!”

“Yes.” The duty officer in the monitoring room stifled a laugh and cut the signal.

“Get out of the way.” He Chen lowered his head again.

Beside him, the large wolf had appeared again at some point. The wolf was lying by the bed, and despite He Chen waving it away, its large head kept shifting back and forth, stubbornly and aggrievedly staring at the cub.

“What are you doing out? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” He Chen snapped.

The large wolf didn’t make a sound, its expression growing even more wronged.

Aside from the difference between a wolf’s face and a human’s, its demeanor was exactly like He Chen’s at certain moments.

Of course, He Chen didn’t see it that way. With an expression that said, “Your pathetic look is unbearable,” he explained, “He doesn’t remember you. He’s very afraid of you right now. We need to take it slow.”

The large wolf remained silent, lying down next to He Leyan’s small bed.

Its body was massive; even lying down, its back was level with the bed. Once settled, it extended a front paw and firmly covered its mouth, which might have looked intimidating.

As if that would make it less scary.

He Chen opened his mouth, then closed it.

Their minds connected, and in an instant, he received the message transmitted by the mental entity: He might fall off the bed, I need to guard him.

“I don’t need you to guard him,” He Chen scoffed, but ultimately said no more. The large wolf guarded one side, and he guarded the other. He didn’t seem to mind the cold or hard floor at all, as if he were accustomed to such conditions, and simply lay down on the spot.

“Do you think he looks like Han Jin?” Lying down, he asked the large wolf on the other side of the bed, speaking across the space beneath it.

The large wolf didn’t answer, merely sweeping its snowy white tail.

“He’s definitely much cuter than Han Jin.”

He Chen straightened his head, his eyes fixed on the starry ceiling, yet seemingly looking through the stars to a place farther and deeper.

Nothing could be farther than the stars, except for the past that could not be returned to, and the dead who could not be seen.

“Jin-ge, I will take good care of Leyan. I promised you, and I will keep my word…”

*

As soon as Wen Yi returned to the Medical Academy’s office area, colleagues noticed him and gathered around.

“How are you back so quickly? I heard Leyan was crying terribly after you left him.”

“How did you know?” Wen Yi asked.

“The live stream! It’s all over the internet. Leyan almost cried himself unconscious.”

“Also, is his dad really that unreliable? Why are people online saying he found Leyan’s crying annoying and just dislocated the kid’s jaw?”

“Dislocated? No, he closed it! He closed the kid’s jaw!”

“And is he really scary-looking? I heard his hand was blown up, what about his face…”

What nonsense is this? Wen Yi frowned. “His face is fine.”

His face was more than fine.

Wen Yi paused for a moment, then pulled his thoughts back. “Commander He shouldn’t be that kind of person. What happened? Do you have a video?”

Wen Yi asked his colleagues.

“No, you know they don’t allow screen recording of the live stream. At most, there are some fragmented clips online. But Elder Fang is an expert, and he watched the stream. We were just about to ask him.”

His colleagues said, looking expectantly at Wen Yi, clearly urging him to ask—after all, as Leyan’s attending physician, it was reasonable for him to inquire.

There were no fools among the therapists. Wen Yi understood their intention and played along. “It’s not good for so many people to bother Elder Fang. I’ll go ask. You all divide these up.”

Wen Yi placed a square, camouflage-colored briefcase on the table.

“What is this?”

“A gift from Leyan’s father, a thank you,” Wen Yi said, opening the case.

“The unreliable one—” his colleagues began, but upon seeing the contents of the case, they paused in unison. “This, isn’t this too valuable?”

Inside the case were neat rows of Indigo Butterfly Incense.

This incense, produced on the Indigo Butterfly Star, had the remarkable effect of calming the mind, stabilizing the mental domain, and was especially useful for therapists. Due to its low yield, it was more valuable than gold and extremely hard to acquire.

“Take it. Everyone who has cared for or treated Leyan gets a share. Leyan’s father said that Leyan has deep affection for the Medical Academy, which shows that everyone genuinely cares for him. This is a small token of his appreciation as a father.”

“We genuinely like Leyan.”

“He’s thoughtful now, but why didn’t he visit Leyan once in three years? The gifts aren’t necessary; treating Leyan well is more important than anything. We don’t lack these things.”

None of the colleagues reached out, at most craning their necks to look at the case, and some even sniffed the air.

Wen Yi twitched his mouth. “The Dean has already approved it. If you don’t need it—”

“Who says we don’t need it!”

“Why didn’t you say the Dean approved it earlier?”

Everyone scrambled, and the case was emptied in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, Wen Yi was quick enough to save two boxes for himself.

Carrying the two boxes of Indigo Butterfly Incense, Wen Yi took the elevator downstairs to the floor of the Psychology Department to find Elder Fang, a senior expert in child psychological development. He presented the two boxes of incense and asked about the live stream.

“Live stream? I was busy and didn’t watch it. Go ask Dean Lu; he also got an expert account.”

The old man said, opening the box of incense and sniffing it, a look of intoxication on his face. But after a moment of pleasure, he firmly pushed the box back to Wen Yi. “I don’t do treatments anymore. It would be a waste for me to use it. Take it back; you can use it in the treatment rooms.”

Wen Yi couldn’t refuse. He took the boxes and went downstairs again to find Dean Lu Changqing.

The Imperial Medical Academy’s circular building was tall and straight, resembling an ancient priest’s scepter.

Lu Changqing’s treatment room and office area occupied the bottom floor, the inner circle of the ring. It was shielded from light from all angles, and surrounded by naturally growing greenery, almost like a small forest. Every time Wen Yi entered Dean Lu’s personal area, he felt like he was entering a secluded, deep mountain ravine.

In fact, the top floor of the building, the “gem” of the scepter, was Lu Changqing’s designated office area. But as the only SS-rank therapist, Lu Changqing had too many dangerous patients. For safety, these patients stayed long-term in specialized wards hidden by the greenery on the bottom floor, and Lu Changqing had long been stationed here to oversee them.

Sometimes Wen Yi had the illusion that these prison-like wards were not confining any patient, but rather their favored son of heaven, the Dean.

The “favored son of heaven” was currently sitting behind his desk, his gaze focused on a screen, seemingly reviewing some important document.

But the lively sound clearly wasn’t coming from a document.

When Wen Yi explained his purpose, Lu Changqing turned the virtual screen toward him. “See for yourself.”

On his screen, the “Love Sprouts” live stream featuring He Leyan from this morning was being replayed.

Wen Yi paused, his expression complicated. “Dean, wasn’t screen recording prohibited?”

“Official copy,” Lu Changqing said calmly. “The Child Rights Division asked me to assess Leyan’s health and safety.”

…Privilege exists everywhere. Wen Yi clicked on the video, his mouth twitching again: this was an HD version, without blurring, showing everyone’s faces and expressions clearly.

Wen Yi watched it once at high speed, then replayed the scene where He Leyan’s jaw was closed, leaving him looking bewildered. He found it both amusing and heartbreaking. “Dean, do you think Leyan will be safe there?”

“Safe,” Lu Changqing replied. Without a hint of hesitation.

Wen Yi couldn’t help but look up.

“The space lane guarded by Han River Base had two major pirate forces, Fire Fox and Glorious Dragon. Both were annihilated by He Chen. The remaining forces are insignificant and lack the power to breach the base’s defenses,” Lu Changqing explained, which was entirely consistent with what Wen Yi had heard at Han River Base.

“What about his health, then?” Wen Yi asked again.

Lu Changqing glanced at him. “Worried?”

Wen Yi was silent for a moment. He was a little worried, but more than that, he felt guilty for leaving the cub, and a deep, nagging concern.

“You saw He Chen in person. Tell me your intuition,” Lu Changqing said unhurriedly.

“A bit reckless, but his heart is in the right place.” Wen Yi thought for a moment and answered truthfully—and intuitively.

As he said this, he realized it himself: he couldn’t let his own reluctance hinder the reunion of father and son. With him around, He Leyan would always rely on him and be unwilling to open up to He Chen.

“I understand. There needs to be a period of adjustment,” Wen Yi said.

Lu Changqing nodded.

“Then I won’t keep you, Dean.” Wen Yi knew Lu Changqing was busy—at least theoretically—and didn’t dare to bother him further, turning to leave.

“What are you holding?” Lu Changqing asked.

“Indigo Butterfly Incense. A gift from Commander He. I gave it to Elder Fang, but he refused, saying it should be used in the treatment rooms,” Wen Yi stopped to explain.

Lu Changqing gave an “Mhm.”

“Dean, should I leave it for you? Commander He specifically mentioned thanking you,” Wen Yi suggested after some thought.

“No need,” Lu Changqing said. “I don’t use incense.”

That was true. It was common for therapists to use incense, but Lu Changqing never did and never participated in related discussions with colleagues, which was why Wen Yi hadn’t initially thought to “share” the thank-you gift with him. However, his unusual question made Wen Yi think a little more…

Wen Yi was about to leave again when he heard Lu Changqing speak once more. “Did he really say that?”

Huh? Who said what?

Before Wen Yi could react, he heard Lu Changqing slowly say, “Since you accepted his gift, you should offer him some guidance.”

“Pinching the jaw is wrong. If Leyan bites his tongue, he’ll get hurt and misunderstand him even more, and public opinion won’t let him off the hook either.”

“Yes.” Wen Yi agreed wholeheartedly. He also felt that He Chen had a long way to go to become a good father.

“Also, help clarify the online rumors. Since you escorted Leyan, your words carry weight.”

“Yes.”

Wen Yi agreed again and retreated from Lu Changqing’s office, carrying a faint sense of incongruity as he rode the elevator.

The elevator ascended, rising into the secular world. As the light changed, Wen Yi suddenly pierced through a layer of confusion and realized what felt incongruous: every single word the Dean spoke seemed to be out of concern for his former schoolmate who had blocked him…