Wait, I glanced around.

Could there really be another man hiding in my house?

If not, what did the little girl mean by saying, “Dad is the worst”?

Had her father sent her to assassinate me? If so—what a terrible father. No, a criminal.

Hmm. I must bring him to justice.

How could the world hold someone as kind, respectful, and virtuous as me?

Satisfied with my reasoning, I offered a gentle smile.

“Drink up before the black tea gets cold,” I said, looking down at her. Bound and kneeling on the floor, she seemed utterly small and fragile.

“Dad… I was wrong…” Her glaring eyes suddenly dropped. A choked sob followed, as if she were crumbling.

My steps halted… completely.

I couldn’t ignore this anymore.

A sinking feeling told me I’d stepped into serious trouble.

This was my house—no one knew it better. No one else should be here. The girl was the exception. How she got in? No clue. Which meant…

The “father” she called out to could only be—

A ghost!

Yeah, right. Stop fooling yourself. I turned, crouched beside her, and lifted her chin with my index finger—a gesture that felt uncomfortably like harassment.

Tears pooled in her crimson eyes. She looked up, pitiful: red-rimmed eyes, pressed lips, cheeks flushed like sunset clouds.

Even I felt a pang of pity.

But her words… too strange. Hesitant, I asked suspiciously,

“The ‘father’… you meant me?”

She blinked. Two clear tears rolled down. *Tsk.* A ploy to seem weak? Yet I pulled a tissue from my pocket and gently wiped them away.

Always carrying tissues—to wipe a girl’s tears—is a gentleman’s habit.

(Though tissues have far more uses than that.)

Fear faded from her face. She sniffled and let out a choked “Mm.”

“Dad…” she whimpered.

*Ahem.* Hearing a sniffling little girl call you “Dad”… why did it feel good? Wait—no! I’m a successor to socialism, a kind and virtuous young man!

Don’t fall for this little minx’s act!

This “Dad” probably isn’t literal. Girls these days call older guys “Dad” all the time—even Fang Liancheng does.

But if she’s just using “Dad” to play pitiful? I’ll have to teach her a lesson for her real dad.

“‘Dad’ isn’t a word to toss around lightly,” I said, pinching her cheek. Shock and shyness flickered across her face.

She looked seven or eight—exquisitely delicate, like porcelain. I’d rarely seen such beauty. Her eyes, her features… oddly familiar? I shook my head.

Impossible. I’m a high schooler. Single. No way I have a daughter this age.

“Promise to behave. And explain what just happened.” I pinch a little harder—kids act up if you’re too soft.

“Ow! I won’t do it again…”

QAQ