Chapter 421: Micah: 90% Stress, 10% Snoring
Darcy’s steps were slow, careful, his shoes sinking into the sand with each stride as he carried Micah on his back. The boy’s arms had instinctively wrapped around his neck, cheek resting limply against his shoulder, his soft breath tickling Darcy’s neck. At first, he had panicked, thinking he should take Micah straight to a hospital. But then he heard it, a little snore, and Darcy knew Micah had just fallen asleep.
The source of his stress, Darcy, the real young master, had suddenly appeared in front of Micah’s eyes, not angry, not hurt. Of course, he would relax. His body had been pushed until he gave way.
Darcy adjusted his grip, hooking his arms more securely under Micah’s legs. A faint smile had spread across his face.
He stepped slowly toward the villa, remembering the first time he had met Micah. The boy had fainted in the same way. A stab wound on his arm, blood dripping, his body frail as he had carried him on his back.
But now, the boy felt much lighter at that time. Showing how much he had withered under the pressure in just the past two weeks.
Darcy’s chest warmed as he realised how much Micah cared about him. Even that small realisation lifted his mood.
By the time they reached the villa, sweat beaded across Darcy’s brow, but he didn’t complain. His arms tightened protectively as he stepped through the gate and into the courtyard.
An elderly man rushed out from the entrance, his steps surprisingly swift for his age. His voice trembled with concern. "Young master!"
Darcy instinctively pressed his finger to his mouth. "He is asleep," he whispered. His tone left little room for argument. "Where is his room?"
Butler Sunny froze, caught between duty and hesitation. He wanted to grab Micah, but the way the young man gave the order made him waver. He turned his head to the figure standing in the doorway. "Madam!" he called softly, bowing slightly. "What should I do?"
"Do what he says." Zhou Ruyan’s voice cut in, calm and unyielding.
Darcy’s dark eyes met hers across the courtyard. For a moment, they measured one another. Then Darcy gave a small nod as a greeting.
"Welcome home," Zhou Ruyan said simply, smiling faintly, though his gaze lingered meaningfully. Then she moved aside, letting them pass through the wide doors.
Darcy didn’t look back. He carried Micah inside carefully.
When they disappeared around the corner, Zhou Ruyan’s attention shifted. She turned her head and looked at the villa opposite them. On the second floor, behind sheer curtains, something shifted. A quick flicker, fabric moving as though someone had just pulled away. Her eyes narrowed.
But she didn’t linger. She tore her gaze away and, with a composed grace, she turned and stepped inside, closing the door behind herself.
Butler Sunny walked briskly, glancing over his shoulder now and then at the young man carrying Micah as if he weighed nothing at all. There was something about the boy, his dark hair with his eyes sharp and steady, that tugged at his memory. He seemed familiar.
"This way," Sunny said finally, pushing open the door to a quiet, sunlit bedroom.
Darcy stepped inside, lowering himself carefully to the bed. His movements were gentle and precise, as though setting down the most fragile porcelain. Micah stirred faintly when his back met the sheets, but didn’t wake. His chest rose and fell with even breaths.
Darcy straightened, turned to the butler. "Could you bring warm water and fresh dry clothes?"
Butler Sunny’s eyes lingered on Micah’s sand-crusted clothes, his damp hair clinging to his temples. He nodded silently and left the room.
Darcy exhaled slowly. After the butler gave him the basin filled with warm water, he moved with quiet purpose. He dipped a cloth into it, wringing it until water dropped back into the bowl. With gentle strokes, he wiped the sand from Micah’s arms, brushed it from his neck and shoulders, and cleaned the streaks clinging to his legs. His fingers moved carefully, respectfully, yet filled with tenderness.
When Micah was clean, Darcy dressed him in fresh clothes laid out by the butler. When it was done, he tucked the blanket lightly over him, watching for a moment as Micah shifted into the warmth of the bed.
Only when satisfied did Darcy finally leave the room.
Butler Sunny led him to a guest room. A fresh set of clothes was waiting.
Darcy took a shower, washing away the sand and mud from his body.
He wore a loose t-shirt and baggy shorts and went downstairs.
He found Zhou Ruyan sitting by the wide window, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She heard the footsteps and turned her head, seeing Darcy, she smiled. "Come," she said, gesturing to the seat beside her. "Sit down."
Darcy obeyed without hesitation. He sank into the chair, posture relaxed.
"Thank you for carrying him inside," she said, tone gentle.
Darcy’s gaze flicked toward her. "That is what I should do," he replied.
She studied him quietly for a moment, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. "Aren’t you angry? Or resentful?"
Darcy’s fingers flexed slightly against his knee. "At first I was," he admitted. His eyes dropped briefly, shadowed. "I thought I was being played...that everything was just another trick. But after seeing Micah like this." His gaze softened. "... no. He could never do that."
"Mm," She hummed softly. "He is too pure. Too gentle. And not ambitious at all." Her eyes drifted toward the garden. "Anyone else in his place would have fought tooth and nail with his sisters for succession, but he did the opposite; he pushed for his older sister to take that role. And now with you here, his ambition will be lessened further."
"I know," Darcy said. "You don’t have to tell me this."
Zhou Ruyan nodded. She didn’t press anymore.
Silence stretched between them. Neither of them was ready to talk about the unspoken matter. Both watched the steady rhythm of wave after wave.