Zhang Ning lay face down on the bed, a pillow under his stomach, playing with his phone. He heard the doorknob turn, quickly shoved the phone under the pillow, stuck his butt up, and groaned, "Hiss, ah hiss."

"You won? Stop faking. I know exactly how hard I hit you," his father said, amused and exasperated by Zhang Ning’s antics.

"Ouch, my own dad! You really are my pops. I barely used any force, and my butt’s already bruised," Zhang Ning said, turning to see his father. He stopped groaning, yanked down his shorts and underwear slightly, revealing a dark bruise.

"Enough. You’re grown—act like it. Put them back on," Zhang’s father said. In his forties, he worked in import-export, with a medium build, a slight paunch, and a gentle face.

"You saw how furious Mom was. If I hadn’t taken the spanking duty, you’d be keeping Zhuo Yang company tomorrow." Father and son got along well—different hobbies, endless chats. Every family parents differently.

"Perfect. I’d be bored anyway for a week," Zhang Ning grinned cheekily.

"Stop messing around. Mom’s not here. Why did you fight?" His father sat on the bed, propping a hand beside him.

"What else? Those outsiders were harassing Tang Yuan. As her brothers, we had to step in."

"Tang Yuan... still, no need to fight. Just scare them off. Isn’t that what students do? Leave room for others—you’ll meet again." He spoke like a friend, no parental stiffness.

"We planned that, but they played dirty. That guy Guyen broke his arm? Foul-mouthed bastard. Started it, insulted Tang Yuan, disrespected her mom. You know Guyen—he treasures Aunt Gu most." Zhang Ning’s face tightened with resentment.

"You know Tang Yuan’s mom’s temper, Dad. Guyen couldn’t say that in the principal’s office. If she hears, who knows when she’ll return to school?"

"Good point. Truly my son. Your heart was right, but the method wrong," his father said, patting his shoulder.

"Never use violence like this. Win or lose, it solves nothing. When Mom heard you fought and someone was hospitalized, she cried right in the car."

"I know. But it was unavoidable then. I’m sorry to Mom," Zhang Ning mumbled, head buried in the pillow.

"Next time, tell me. You remember your old dad for shoes and watches, but forget me in trouble?" His father ruffled Zhang Ning’s hair.

"Don’t mess my hair! Ruined my style. Okay, okay—I know. Stop nagging. Get out," Zhang Ning said, pushing the hand away without looking up.

"Brat. Stay home these two days. Read quietly. Wait for Mom to calm down," his father smiled, rising from the bed.

"Got it, got it."

The door clicked shut. Zhang Ning lifted his head, eyes slightly red. "Grown man, still crying. I’m fine," he muttered. He pulled out his phone, staring at his WeChat chat with Guyen, grinning smugly. "No replies all this time. Fight’s not over yet."

Zhang’s father walked downstairs, spotting his wife nearby. He smiled and approached.

Zhang’s mother had the fair skin and gentle features of a southern girl, her nature soft and graceful.

"Done talking?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Hmm. Zhang Ning was wrong, but he had reasons. Our boy means no harm."

"Just you two are family. I’m the outsider. I carried him ten months—how could I not ache for him? You play the good guy; I’m stuck being the nag." Her voice softened, eyes rabbit-red.

He hugged her tightly, patting her back gently. "I know. I know everything."