Chapter 52 This is a gift from my wife.

He Cong lowered his stern and indifferent brows, and when he took the child from Madam He's hands, the back of his hand that was against the side of the swaddling clothes was still stained with blood, and the veins in his arm were faintly bulging, and he held the soft little baby in his arms.

Before this, He Cong had imagined the scene of him holding a child for the first time countless times, but he had never thought that it would be at this moment when he had lost his beloved wife and decided to commit suicide.

The cold rain flowed down He Cong's face, and He Cong's expression was numb and cold, as if he had lost his warmth long ago.

He held such a soft and small baby in one hand, and the other hand was still holding the gun hanging at his side. The knuckles of his fingers pressing on the trigger seemed to be frozen, motionless.

The little creature in He Cong's arms had been sobbing uncontrollably, but when He Cong took it, its tightly clenched hands opened, its red, tear-stained eyes widening as it looked up at the impassive He Cong overhead. Its

pink, white hands frantically clawed at He Cong's collar, as if seeking solace from its relatives, but they remained motionless, offering no soothing words.

The baby pursed its tender lips, clumsily tilting its head back, sobbing and scrambling upwards.

Finally, its tiny hands grasped the cold, black Buddha amulet beneath He Cong's neck, and with a clasp, its warm, soft face nestled pitifully into the crook of his neck. Its

red, tear-stained nostrils quivered slightly, as if inhaling an unknown, yet deeply comforting, familiar scent. The little creature clung tightly to him, its once resounding cries gradually becoming fainter.

"Fuying... before she went to see your father, she probably anticipated your father's ill intentions, so she entrusted her newborn child to me... asking me to wait until you woke up before giving it to you."

Old Madam He held her umbrella high, looking at He Cong, who still held the child expressionlessly, with a mixture of heartache and fear.

Her attention was almost entirely focused on the pistol still tightly grasped in He Cong's other hand, a cautious and anxious feeling.

Seeing that He Cong remained silent, fearing that He Cong would have suicidal thoughts again, she continued to persuade him.

"A Cong, could you bear to leave your child with Fuying behind and abandon him?"

"Fuying went through so much trouble to give birth to this child. She must have hoped you would raise him well... Think about it. The He family is in turmoil right now. If you really followed Fuying, what would happen to the child? Could you bear to see the child lose both its father and mother at birth?"

As Madam He spoke, she saw He Cong's numb, lowered eyes finally tremble slightly. She suppressed her panic and cautiously reached out. Just as she was about to take the gun from He Cong, He Cong moved his hand away.

Madam He looked up, terrified, only to hear He Cong speak in a calm, hoarse voice.

"This is a gift from my wife,"

He Cong said, replacing the gun and getting into the car with the child in his arms.

Madam He shivered, wiped the tears from her face, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

…

Not long after He Zhimo was born, he had a persistent high fever. At the most serious time, he was almost sent to the emergency room.

The doctor said that the little guy was born weak, and there was no better way except to spend more time and energy to take care of him.

So, He Cong, who was violent and decisive in dealing with all the internal and external troubles outside, tried his best to suppress his murderous aura as soon as he returned to Yanyuan, and never showed any bad emotions in front of the child.

In addition, there were so many servants in Yanyuan who could help take care of the child, but the young master He only recognized He Cong, especially when he was sick, he had to be held and coaxed by He Cong all night before he would behave.

The little crybaby really cried a lot, and after being held in He Cong's arms and coaxed until late at night, the high fever finally subsided. The little guy was finally tired of crying, or rather, he didn't have the strength to cry anymore.

So, with his limp little hands, he clung to the hem of He Cong's shirt, sobbing and nuzzling against his father's chest, sucking his lips, instinctively seeking milk.

The sick little one couldn't leave his father's presence even for a moment, so He Cong could only hold the baby in one hand while, with the other, he expertly and meticulously mixed the formula. Using the perfect holding position, he supported the baby's round head with his arm and placed the nipple to the baby's lips.

The bottle was still too heavy for the little one to hold, so he simply clung to He Cong's large hand holding the bottle until he was full and no longer hot. Then, he played with He Cong's fingers, uttering a few soft, milky noises.

He Cong let the little one play in his arms while he changed the baby, whose fever had subsided, into clean, soft clothes. The little one finally nestled comfortably into his father's broad chest and fell asleep.

Even at this moment, He Cong couldn't put the little one back in his crib.

The little guy needed him to hold him and coax him to sleep every night. If he was coaxed to sleep normally and put in his crib, he would be willing to sleep well.

But if he was sick, whether he was asleep or not, he had to sleep in his father's arms, otherwise he would cry all night long.

Therefore, even in the middle of the night, He Cong could only hold the little one sleeping soundly on his chest and return to the study to deal with some accumulated work.

Butler Chen knew that the young master would always make a fuss for a long time when he was sick, but the young master just wanted Mr. He to hold him, and no one else would do.

Every time, Mr. He personally fed the young master, gave him medicine, and changed his clothes. After finally coaxing the little one to sleep, he would carry the child to the study to deal with some things.

Butler Chen saw this and felt really distressed. He asked the kitchen to make some soup and personally brought it to the study.

Sure enough, the light in the study was still on. He Cong sat at his desk, cradling a small baby in one hand and typing away at his computer with the other.

The baby lay on He Cong's chest, its soft, pouty mouth opening and closing unconsciously as if sucking milk.

Occasionally, when its sleep became restless, its fluffy head nodding and its throat quivering, He Cong would immediately pause, lower his head slightly, and gently pat the baby with the back of his hand until the baby in his arms regained a steady, deep sleep.

Housekeeper Chen, not daring to disturb the young master's sleep, gently placed the bowl of soup on the edge of the table and whispered, "Sir, remember to drink some soup before

you get back to work." He Cong raised his hand and gently brushed the baby's messy hair, saying, "Well, go and rest first."

Housekeeper Chen sighed silently inwardly, could only respond, and retreated from the study with light steps.

Until the sky gradually brightened, He Cong finally turned off the computer and returned to the room with the baby.