TFRLTOP Chapter 27 Part 1

Chapter 27 – The CEO’s Little Side Dish

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At nine o’clock that night, the Huo household received a call. Miss Ye Weiran of the Ye family specifically asked to speak with Fifth Master Huo.

Butler Wu had wanted to refuse outright, yet when the caller mentioned Chu Yun, he hesitated and decided to inform Fifth Master.

When Huo Xiao picked up, an anxious voice rushed through the receiver.
“Fifth Master, has Chu Yun gone home yet?”

Her tone made it obvious something had gone wrong.

“What happened?” Huo Xiao’s voice dropped to a deadly calm.

“She ran into Young Master He, and they ended up fighting. She’s badly hurt and left on her own—we couldn’t catch up to her. Once she left, she disappeared. Her bag is still here, so we have no way of contacting her. She hasn’t gone home yet?”

Huo Xiao ended the call without another word. His expression turned to ice as he commanded in a voice colder than frost:
“Find her.”

Mingming wandered down the streets, not even sure where her feet had taken her. The system spoke to her, but she ignored it.

Sensing her mood, the system finally went silent.

Pedestrians kept their distance when they saw her. Now and then, a kindly auntie or older lady approached, asking if she needed help, but Mingming only shook her head and kept moving.

Passing a cake shop, she caught sight of the owner mopping up for closing. The woman looked up and jumped at the shadow pressed against the window. Cautiously, she came closer and saw a disheveled, wounded girl staring bleakly at the cakes in the display case.

“Young lady, are you all right? Do you want me to take you to a hospital?”

Mingming blinked back to herself, shook her head, and whispered, “Sorry, I’ll go now.”

She turned, swaying as she walked away, but the shop owner called out after her, hesitating.

“I’ve got a little cake left over that didn’t sell. If you don’t mind, take it with you.”

Mingming shook her head again, stepping back. The woman pressed on, “If you don’t take it, I’ll just toss it later. Really—it’s fine.” She brought out a lonely little four-inch cake from behind the counter.

“I don’t have my phone with me. Can I pay by card?”

“What card? A small shop like mine doesn’t even have a machine. It’s free, I’m giving it to you.”

Mingming stared at the small cake, then looked up and softly asked, “Could I have a candle too?”

The woman didn’t pry, just slipped her a packet of candles.

Before leaving, Mingming bowed deeply.

No one wants to spend their birthday battered and pitiful, begging for a cake at some bakery.

Thank you, she thought, for not asking questions—and for letting me keep a shred of dignity.

“Remember to head home soon,” the shop owner waved her off.

Carrying the cake, Mingming walked a while longer before realizing—she had no lighter. How would she light the candle?

Her phone was left behind in the booth earlier. She suddenly thought she could withdraw cash at a 24-hour ATM.

She glanced around, but no bank was in sight.

Just then, a young clerk from a convenience store stepped out and asked tentatively, “Do you… want to come inside? We’ve got tables and chairs.”

Seeing the injured girl wandering alone at night with a cake in hand tugged at her heart. She thought she’d do whatever little she could to help.

But Mingming worried she’d dirty the store, so she shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

Then she hesitated and asked, “Could I borrow a lighter?”

The clerk smiled warmly. “Hold on!”

Moments later, she came back carrying a bag, pressing it into Mingming’s hands.

“Anything else you need, I grabbed what I could. Don’t worry, I’ll just pay for it myself.”

“I can use a card—”

“Who still bothers with cards? So troublesome. Just take it. I need to watch the store, but remember—go to the hospital, get home early, and take care of yourself!” With that, she hurried back inside.

Mingming peeked into the bag: bottled water, bread, tissues, and even bandages.

Her eyes burned.

She walked to the roadside, sat down on the curb, opened the cake, stuck in a candle, and lit it.

At that moment, she felt like the little match girl alone in the snow. The flickering flame gave her a fleeting warmth, though it couldn’t hide the illusion of it all.

Before the wind blew the flame out, she closed her eyes and made a silent wish.

Then she exhaled softly—the candle went dark.

Everything returned to the same.

“Woof?”

Something fuzzy brushed against her ankle. Looking down, Mingming found a scrappy little gray puppy.

The puppy caught her gaze and flopped onto its back at her feet, flashing a soft gray-white belly as if begging.

Mingming set the cake on the ground, and the pup instantly leapt up, bouncing around the cake with excited bows and jumps.

She tasted the cake herself. Sweet but not cloying, warmth spread through her chest, dissolving years of regret into that single bite.

The puppy licked the cream, then practically buried its head into the cake, devouring it.

Hugging her knees, Mingming rested her cheek against them and murmured, “Are you tasting life’s bitterness too?”

The words broke through the dam she’d built inside, flooding her with sorrow.

Her vision blurred. She pressed her thumb against the corner of her eye, holding herself back.

She watched the little pup wolfing down cake, pitying it—yet pitying herself even more.

“In the next life, don’t suffer anymore, okay?”

She didn’t know if she was pleading with the dog, with herself, or with fate.

When Huo Xiao finally found her, this was the sight before his eyes.

The girl’s face was mottled with bruises, one cheek swollen high and red, her bloodshot eyes brimming but never shedding tears.

He had seen her cry before—crying from fear, crying from being moved, fake sobbing that produced no tears at all. In those moments, he’d only wanted to hold her close, kiss her, soothe her.

But now, it only hurts.

He wanted to kneel before her, beg her to let the tears fall.

Because what she was holding back wasn’t just sadness—it was her true self, walled away from him.

And he wanted all of her.

Her body, her emotions, her joys and sorrows, her desires and needs—he wanted them all tied to him.

He stepped in front of her, and when she lifted her gaze, for once, Huo Xiao felt unsteady.

Her eyes were calm, utterly so.

No grief, no resentment, no hatred. But neither was there love.

She looked at him as though he were a stranger.

His lips moved, but not a word came out.

He dropped to one knee before her, gently brushing her hair aside, gazing at her wounds with aching tenderness.

Confusion clouded Chu Yun’s eyes. After a pause, she asked, “Why did you want to keep me?”

“Because…”

His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t dare finish. He didn’t dare speak of love.

Because in her calm, detached gaze, he saw disbelief.

Even if he confessed, she’d only look away, as though he’d told her a joke.