"Our family traditions never change, huh? Chen or Cheng? Front nasal or back nasal?!"

"Dust for Chen. Orange for Cheng."

I covered my ears while saying this. After twenty-plus years with Xiaoxi, I knew exactly what’d happen next—zero suspense.

But five full seconds passed. No reaction.

*Did I misjudge her?* I wondered, lowering my guard.

The moment my palms left my ears—

"Say that AGAIN?!" Xiaoxi’s shriek pierced from beside the bed.

"Keep it down! Don’t wake Yiyi—"

All that guarding for nothing. I should’ve stuffed cotton in both our ears. Xiaoxi never quits until she wins.

"Look, ‘orange’ is fine—I’ll let that slide. But ‘dust’? Seriously? And stuck with the surname Ye? Are you even his real dad?"

"Perfect. It’ll teach him to stay humble. How many spoiled rich kids do we see these days?"

In Chinese tradition, names carry parents’ deepest hopes.

Some name sons "Pengcheng" for soaring ambitions; daughters "An’an" for peaceful lives. We cherish these blessings—they feel like armor against misfortune.

Take Li Shimin: at four, a fortune-teller told his father, "This child has the bearing of a dragon-phoenix. By adulthood, he’ll bring peace to the people." So his father named him "Shimin"—*to settle the world*.

He grew up beloved by the masses, proved his talent young, then urged his father to overthrow the Sui dynasty and found the Tang.

That’s the legacy I want for my son.

"Yiyi-jie, you agreed to this?"

"Why not? I think your brother’s idea is wonderful~~"

Yiyi sipped congee while her fingers pinched my cheeks—shamelessly flaunting affection, ignoring Xiaoxi’s single-dog trauma.

When I first suggested the name, Yiyi had hesitated. Like Xiaoxi, she’d argued:

"A ‘Ye’ and a ‘dust’? Too lowly for the heir of Rong Sheng. He needs a grander name."

But after I explained, she relented. *Exactly because* his starting point is so high, his name shouldn’t follow the crowd.

She even proposed "Ye Cheng"—honoring our family’s homophone tradition. Meaning matters more than characters.

Originally, she’d wanted "Chen" (morning star) or "Chen" (imperial canopy)—echoing "Xi" and "Xi" but swapping heaven and earth.

Too feminine, though. So we settled on "Cheng" (orange).

As for "grand" names? "Xuan" sounds majestic—grace, nobility, refinement. But what good is elegance without humility?

Yiyi and I have seen one spoiled heir already. Our son won’t repeat his mistakes. Rong Sheng won’t be his crutch.

"Ugh! Yiyi-jie’s been corrupted by you!"

"Brat, you don’t get it. This kid was born with a silver spoon. ‘Dust’ is our greatest hope for him. Understand?"

"Whether *I* understand doesn’t matter. Will the elders get it? Don’t breathe a word before registering his name—they’ll never approve."

Xiaoxi’s easy to reason with—same age, always trailing us like a shadow.

But the elders...

"I rejected *their* suggestions too! Jin Yu, Jia Yi, Xiu Qi, Xu Yao—we vetoed them all!"

Sure, they’d labored over classical texts. But Yiyi and I agreed: simple, uncommon names beat flashy ones. Those tongue-twisters felt hollow.

They kept insisting anyway. Classier than "Zixuan" or "Haoyu," sure—but still no.

"Why didn’t you speak up when they discussed it?"

"Are you kidding? Did you see them? Hauling out the *Book of Songs*, *Chu Ci*, *Analects*—"

If I’d dared, I wouldn’t be hiding this name now.

Until the household registration’s done, I’m keeping silent.

With Yiyi this precious, they won’t hassle her. They’ll just gang up on *me*. Who could survive that?

"You’re playing with fire. They’ll skin you alive when they find out."

"Naïve. By then, his name’s official. ‘Dust’ is humble—easy to raise. Beats ‘Doggy’ any day."

I’m tempering this boy early. Yiyi will handle his education—I trust her completely.

Respect for others is non-negotiable. No looking down on people because of his status. Or he’ll feel my bamboo stick.

"Besides, this name’s humble yet low-key, low-key yet luxurious. Give it time—it’ll grow on you..."

"Little guy, your dad never had a nickname. That’s why he’s saddling you with this. Imagine: we’ll call your sister ‘Orange,’ but you’ll be ‘Rabbit Cub’ forever~~"

Xiaoxi ignored me completely. She slid to the other side of the bed and slipped her hand under Yiyi’s blanket, rubbing her belly.

Our family has tiers for this: Mom only touches over the covers. Xiaoxi gets under the blanket. Me? I’ve touched every inch of Yiyi—no restrictions.

*Hssss—*

"Contractions?!"

Seeing Yiyi’s pained face, I froze, finger hovering over the emergency call button.

Her father’s medical team would arrive in thirty seconds if she nodded.

"No... he kicked me."

"Scared me half to death! Shut up already—you started this ‘stirring trouble’!"

I blamed Xiaoxi unfairly. If she hadn’t provoked the little monster in there, he wouldn’t have kicked.

"How was I supposed to know he could hear? Don’t worry—even if everyone calls you ‘Rabbit Cub,’ I’ll always call you ‘Little Chen.’ Okay?"

Xiaoxi murmured against Yiyi’s belly, stroking gently. She looked up hopefully.

"Yiyi-jie? Calmer now?"

"Mhm!"

I saw Yiyi’s brow was still furrowed—but she lied to spare Xiaoxi worry.

Normally, Xiaoxi would’ve scolded me for dumping blame. But now? It was like talking to a pet.

Whether the twins understood didn’t matter. What mattered was Xiaoxi’s heart.

"Rabbit Cub. Won’t even stay still in the womb. Just wait till you’re born—I’ll tan your hide!"

*Whack!*

"Then tan yours first..."

A sharp slap landed on my head.

Few people my age dare hit me. Fewer still get away with it.

"Mom, Dad—you’re here? Why didn’t you make noise? Go rest. I’ve got this."

I’d faced away from the door—fair enough. But Xiaoxi saw them and didn’t warn me? Treacherous!

"Had we not come, we’d have missed your little speech. Bold move, son."

"Just joking! Don’t take it seriously..."

Even tigers don’t eat their young. As a soon-to-be father, I’d never hurt him.

*Unless he upsets his mom and sister.*

"Glad it’s a joke. I suffered way more carrying *you* than carrying Xiaoxi. If anyone’s getting spanked today, it’s you."

I rubbed my head awkwardly. Of course carrying me was harder—she’d had no practice. If Xiaoxi were older... things might be different.

"How’s eating today? Finished your meals?"

Mom sat beside the bed. Yiyi tensed, pinching my hand under the covers.

"Mhm. When has Yiyi ever worried you?"

I stirred the congee bowl—mostly broth, barely any rice.

Truthfully, since Mom met Yiyi, she’s never given her a moment’s trouble. The most effortless daughter-in-law in the world.

As Yiyi’s belly grew, her appetite shrank. The rice grains had vanished—just enough to satisfy Mom’s rules.

"Your due date’s passed. Labor could start any minute. Stay vigilant."

"Okay..."

Yiyi sighed. The elders’ nagging was inevitable before the twins came. After? More chaos awaited.

How surreal—this bright-eyed girl who once knocked on my door was now learning to be a mother.

We’d sworn a "no dating" pact. Ended up married. Two big liars.

"Xiaoxi, did you bring the red sugar water?"

"Right here!"

Yiyi’s face fell instantly. This wasn’t the first time. We both knew what came next.

"Kiddo, go nap. Your dad and I will take over—"

I’m about to be a father myself, yet still called "kiddo." Humiliating.

Under the covers, Yiyi dug her nails into my palm. Her eyes screamed one word: *No.*

"No! My wife, my duty."

Heaven and earth bow to Yiyi. I snatched the red sugar water bowl from Mom, refusing to budge.

"Fine!"

"Still protective, huh? Fine, you feed her. She needs to eat more to build strength..."

We all know the stomach can stretch. But during pregnancy, there’s less room inside. So, Fang Yiyi eating little isn’t her fault. To regain energy, she just needs small, frequent meals.

Mom didn’t see it that way. Having given birth herself, she knew labor was exhausting—like running a marathon.

In the first few months, I could still help her dad with company work sometimes. Now, I couldn’t leave her side for a moment.

Fang Yiyi was too scared to complain to Mom. Whenever I was out, she’d pout and tell me what Mom had forced her to eat that day.

But I’d just promised Fang Yiyi only ten spoonfuls of porridge. A man’s word is his bond. The brown sugar water could wait an hour.

"Husband~~ I can’t drink any more~~"

"Don’t worry. Just pretend. I’ll drink it for you later!"

After silent lip-reading, I lifted the bowl to hide Fang Yiyi’s mouth. The brown sugar water lingered at her lips while I frantically signaled to Xiaoxi.

We’d pulled this "deceit" before. Xiaoxi knew exactly what to do!

"Oh, Mom! The doctor just asked for you. Something about the baby..."

"Why didn’t you say sooner?"

Heaven and earth are my witnesses—it was Xiaoxi who said it. But Mom glared at me anyway. She didn’t know we were in cahoots.

For Yiyi’s stomach, I endured.

"I forgot in the rush. Xiaoxi, go with them!"

"Got it!"

I watched Xiaoxi hop up cheerfully. Then I saw the three off. Only then did Fang Yiyi let out a long sigh.

"Drink fast. Mom might be back..."

"We’ve got time!"

I downed the brown sugar water in one gulp. With the last sip left, a mischievous thought struck me. Pinching Fang Yiyi’s cheeks as her eyes widened, I slowly poured the rest into her mouth.

"Sharing the sweetness and bitterness?"

After swallowing, Fang Yiyi looked even more wronged. Men are strange creatures. Seeing a girl’s aggrieved face makes us want to protect her—and tease her. I was the latter.

"Yeah. Not bad, right?"

"Why didn’t you feed me like this before?"

"Just had an epiphany..."

I didn’t know why I hadn’t done this earlier. But once you start, it’s hard to stop. Next time, the position might not be so simple.

"More?"

Fang Yiyi slightly closed her eyes, pressing her lips to mine. They moved gently, sometimes lightly biting, sometimes her tongue tracing my lips.

Then, she softly parted my lips, slipping her tongue inside. Just as I wanted to deepen it, Fang Yiyi gently pushed me away.

"No more? Fine. Mom’ll be back soon..."

"(#`⌂´)/ Damn! Who gets me all fired up and runs away?!"

Ignoring her resistance, I forced my tongue into her mouth, creating wet, squelching sounds.