The moment Jun Buli said this, Baili Weisheng immediately fell silent, quietly letting out a breath.
Seeing Jun Buli finally willing to speak, Ziqing could no longer hold back. She strode toward him in an instant and, without waiting for his consent, pulled him tightly into her arms, holding him as though she’d never let go again!
Her son!
Her son!
The son she’d carried and raised with such hardship, in the world of poison beasts!
She’d thought they’d only been gone a few months, but it had been ten years—ten years that were exactly the years he’d needed her presence most, and both she and Jun Beiyue had been absent for all of it!
Not only absent—right before leaving, they’d even had a massive fight with him, leaving such a heavy burden on his shoulders.
She never wanted to let go, but Ziqing soon released him anyway, studying him carefully, earnestly.
He really had grown so tall. Now, to touch his head, his face, she found herself having to stand on tiptoe.
Ziqing touched her son’s face, studying him from head to toe, squeezing his now-sturdy shoulders, unable to imagine how, from such a small child, he had grown day by day over these ten years!
What hardships had he endured these ten years, what difficulties had he faced, had there been moments when he’d felt utterly helpless?
As the father, Jun Beiyue wasn’t as visibly emotional as Ziqing. He stood silently to the side, watching, though his eyes too shimmered with the faint trace of tears.
Baili Weisheng was quite taken aback watching this—he’d always assumed Jun Beiyue was incapable of tears!
Ziqing continued studying her son, checking his body for old injuries, seeing how sturdy he’d grown, wondering if he’d ever gone hungry. At this moment, she was simply a mother, an ordinary mother, nothing more.
Jun Buli let her touch him, let her squeeze him, let her look him over, his own eyes rimmed red, yet just like his father, no matter how close he came to tears, he always swallowed them back down into his heart.
“Mommy, did you miss Xiong Bao?” he suddenly asked, his voice clear and pure. At these words, Ziqing’s hands froze mid-motion, and nearby, Hongyi suddenly burst into tears.
Xiong Bao…
Ten years, a full ten years, the young master had forbidden anyone—even her, even Guxi, even his grandfather Jue Mingzi, anyone at all—from calling him Xiong Bao, from even mentioning that name!
Finally… finally, that name was spoken again!
Today, the young master had said it himself!
In an instant, everything seemed to return to ten years ago!
Seeing Ziqing frozen, Jun Buli suddenly reached out and hugged her tightly, just like when he was little, rubbing against her neck, nuzzling affectionately against her cheek. “Mommy, Xiong Xiaobao missed you. Missed Daddy too… has been… has been waiting for you to come back… has been… has always been waiting.”
Ziqing was already in tears. She’d never dared admit it before, but upon seeing her grown son, she’d felt a sense of distance, of unfamiliarity, that even frightened herself, that she couldn’t bear to face—the feeling that she’d already lost her son forever, having missed these ten years.
But those three words, “Xiong Xiaobao,” swept away all her unease, giving her something real, something tangible to hold onto.
“I did, Mommy and Daddy have always missed you!” Ziqing answered quickly, holding Jun Buli even tighter, hurriedly explaining, “We didn’t mean to leave without a word, we had no idea that melody would take us into an illusion realm we couldn’t escape—we truly didn’t mean it!”
Jun Buli didn’t respond. In truth, he had already forgiven them long ago. When he was very, very young, he used to hug the pillows his father and mother had once slept on, praying to the heavens every single night, wishing only that his father and mother would come back—if they came back, he would forgive them, he would definitely forgive them.
He hadn’t dared to hold any resentment, any grudge, terrified that if he did, his father and mother might truly never come back!
As a child, every single night had been filled with such fear, such unease, such childish helplessness.
But even after growing up, he had continued thinking this way, continued waiting this way—as long as they came back, he would forgive them.
Seeing Jun Buli not respond, Ziqing panicked, quickly cupping his face, apologizing with utmost sincerity, “Son, Mommy is sorry, Mommy truly didn’t mean it, Mommy knows… knows that these past ten years, you…”
Ziqing couldn’t even finish her own sentence. Facing her son, she could never manage to stay strong.
Yet seeing Ziqing so flustered, so tearful, Jun Buli couldn’t help but laugh. “Mommy, don’t cry, you look terrible when you cry!”
Ziqing froze for a moment, then couldn’t help the tears anyway.
“Mommy, I don’t blame you, really!” Jun Buli said earnestly. Of course, he would never, ever tell his mother and father—would never tell anyone—how, during all those years, night after night, he had fought his way out of that fear!
“Don’t blame them, as long as they come back.”
That single thought had become the belief that sustained him, every single time he lost control of himself, his eyes flooding with blood-red, his teeth aching unbearably, the urge to bite surging up.
Every single time he grew afraid of himself, not knowing why he was like this, not knowing what he might become, how desperately he’d wished his father and mother were there, how desperately he’d wished his mother could hold him.
He’d thought of his bear-father too, but he’d been afraid he might lose control and bite him.
Every night, always, only him, alone.
This same situation had happened once before, on Liuxian Island, facing Old Meng Five—back then, it had been his mother and father who’d calmed him down.
He’d been so young then, utterly unable to cope. He’d bitten down hard on that pillow, telling himself over and over: don’t resent them, don’t resent them, if I resent them, Daddy and Mommy will never come back!
Countless nights, endured this way, until—he didn’t even know when it started—he’d let go of it, resented them less, grieved less, gradually learned to control himself.
None of this would he ever speak of!
Now, he held his mother tightly, grateful that she and his father had truly returned; grateful that he himself had truly grown up, no longer needing his parents’ protection—instead, he could now protect them.
Ziqing’s feelings were complicated—fearful that her son resented them, yet seeing him so understanding, she almost wished he did resent them instead.
She kept explaining, growing more and more incoherent.
Jun Buli had truly never seen his mother like this before—it made him want to laugh, and it broke his heart at the same time. He said helplessly, “Mommy, if you keep crying, Daddy’s going to stop liking you!”
“Do you really not blame me and your father?” Ziqing asked pitifully.
Jun Buli laughed, so open-hearted, turning to glance at Baili Weisheng. “If he hadn’t come back, maybe I would have blamed him.”
Baili Weisheng froze on the spot—what was happening here?
Ziqing, meanwhile, was startled into laughter—compared to her son’s open-heartedness, she herself now seemed like the pitiful child, clinging to him and refusing to let go.
But Jun Buli said, “Mommy, let go for now, I’ll let you hug me all you want later. Father and I… still have a score to settle.”