Work Text:
Yu Tu returned to work the next morning, stepping into the institute with the weight of his responsibilities balanced by the quiet joy blooming in his heart. He had always known that the successful launch on January 27 wasn’t the final step—there were follow-ups, adjustments, and reports to compile before he could close this chapter. But now, his priorities extended beyond space and engineering. His wife, their growing family, and the delicate balance of ensuring Jing Jing’s well-being were just as important.
His first task upon arriving was reviewing his schedule, ensuring that none of his upcoming commitments interfered with the medical appointments he had meticulously pre-arranged. They had discovered Jing JIng was pregnant here in Beijing, and the doctor she had consulted knew far more about their personal life than Yu Tu was comfortable with. He had conveniently arranged for their parents to accompany her to next week’s appointment, sparing himself the embarrassment of facing a doctor who had become privy to details that—frankly—should have remained between husband and wife.
Despite his careful planning, he knew Jing Jing well. Even if she had officially stepped away from work for the time being, she would find ways to remain engaged—whether through small tasks or subtle defiance against his insistence that she rest. Their parents, however, were an entirely different force. Her mother had already laid out a strict regimen, and Jing Jing was unlikely to escape it.
Jing Jing sat in the quiet of her Beijing home, phone clutched in her hand, still reeling from the revelation. Sister Ling—without so much as a warning—had canceled every single one of her assignments. No upcoming endorsements, no script reviews, not even a harmless interview. It was like she had been surgically removed from the entertainment world.
She had suspected Yu Tu’s interference, but this? This was thorough. Too thorough.
And then came the real kicker—the upcoming medical appointment next week. When she learned their parents would be accompanying her instead of her husband, she knew without a doubt that Yu Tu had orchestrated this entire situation. She wasn’t surprised. What surprised her was how utterly trapped she felt by it.
Her in-laws and her own parents had taken their roles with unwavering devotion, fussing over every aspect of her well-being—from meal plans to resting schedules to unsolicited advice on prenatal care. Jing Jing loved them dearly, but she wasn’t one to be coddled.
It had only been five days. And now, she had an appointment looming with a doctor who already knew too much, and instead of her husband beside her, she’d have a quartet of overly concerned elders analyzing every word exchanged in the consultation room.
This would not do.
She needed a plan.
As she absently stirred her bowl of soup—yet another nutrient-packed meal that had been lovingly prepared but not at all requested—an idea began to take shape. It was time for their parents to return to Yixing. She needed space, control over her own life again, and the hovering presence of four overly concerned elders was starting to wear her down. But she couldn’t be reckless. If she wanted them gone, she had to be subtle, convincing, and absolutely firm.
Jing Jing pushed aside the soup bowl with a quiet sigh, crossing her arms as she leaned back into the couch, mind whirring. She had spent hours trying to craft the perfect excuse to send their parents back to Yixing—something urgent, something believable. But every possibility seemed flawed. A family emergency? Too dramatic. A business matter? Useless, since Yu Tu’s parents weren’t involved in any. A close friend in need? No, that would only split the group, leaving the mothers behind to continue their relentless caretaking.
Then, like the strike of lightning, the realization hit her. Why was she the one stressing about how to send them back? This was Yu Tu’s doing.
He was the one who had flown them in under the guise of celebrating the Lantern Festival, only to reveal his true intentions—having them hover over her, ensuring she had no choice but to rest and abandon all work until the baby was born. He had made the arrangements, subtly orchestrating every detail to box her in, to make sure she wouldn’t—couldn’t—fight it. Well, that was about to change.
If Yu Tu had summoned their parents, then Yu Tu could very well be the one to send them home. She’d make sure of it. A slow, mischievous smile curved her lips. She came up with three steps. Jing Jing straightened up, determination glittering in her eyes. Game on.
The first step was all about making Yu Tu feel the weight of his own plans—turning his well-intended precautions into his personal nightmare. And Jing Jing executed it flawlessly beginning with the never-ending updates by sending him detailed, dramatic reports of every meal, every wellness check, and every overly attentive gesture from their parents. She didn’t just tell him – she SPAMMED him.
- Breakfast: Soup. Again. I swear, I am turning into soup. They watched me drink every last drop like it was a test of endurance.
- Your mother just brought me a blanket. I have no less than four I am not cold. Send help.
- Father has volunteered to monitor my exercise schedule. Yes, exercise schedule. He is currently lecturing me on proper prenatal breathing techniques. I may pass out purely from frustration.
Next, Jing Jing planted tiny disagreements between their parents, stirring up harmless frustration among them.
- My mom insists on making fresh meals. Your mom says pre-prepared is fine. They’re currently debating over which meal is superior-while I pretend to sleep.
- My dad has introduced a strict walking schedule. Your dad says resting is better. I suspect they will argue until you arrive and take the blame.
When Yu Tu showed no sign of unravelling, she turned up the theatrics and made sure he knew exactly what he had put her through – no filter, no mercy and absolutely no escape. She made sure her suffering (however exaggerated) was delivered in excruciating details. Again, she didn’t just update him, she overloaded him. Every hour, a new update. Every inconvenience, a new complaint.
- 7:30 AM: Yu Tu, your parents have taken it upon themselves to monitor my morning. I am now required to drink warm water before breakfast. I don’t like warm water before breakfast. You have done this to me.
- 10:45 AM: I sneezed. My mom panicked and handed me a scarf. I am currently wearing a scarf indoors, in perfectly fine weather, because ‘precaution is key.’ You have done this to me.
- 12:15 PM: Lunch was soup. Again. I am turning into soup. Do you understand? I will soon become soup if this continues. You have done this to me.
- 2:30 PM: Father has given me a lecture on prenatal breathing techniques. I am considering holding my breath for extended periods just to see what happens. You have done this to me.
At this point, Yu Tu was drowning in texts, each one more dramatic than the last. His phone vibrated non-stop and his colleagues noticed. His stress levels rose. Jing Jing started calling him at inconvenient times, always with an exaggerated crisis. She would call him during his team briefing or just before an important presentation.
- “Yu Tu, I just need you to know that your mother has banned all spicy food for the remainder of my pregnancy. I’m devastated. Do you hear me? ”
- “Your father has rearranged my walking schedule. There is now a scheduled 11:00 AM stroll every day, whether I want it or not. I’m being forced to stroll. Yu Tu, I’m not a strolling person.”
With nothing to do and nowhere to go, Jing Jing turned her focus to fetal development videos—and soon, they became her greatest weapon. She didn’t just forward them to Yu Tu. She assigned them. Before he knew it, his phone was flooded with an endless stream of educational clips, covering everything from prenatal nutrition to the science of fetal brainwaves. Medical lectures, overenthusiastic parenting gurus, even animated baby growth journeys narrated by children—he got them all. And there was no escape.
- Watch this one closely. I will be quizzing you later.
- This video explains fetal sleep cycles. Hope you have time to memorize the details—I have a pop quiz planned for 3 PM.
- At what week does the baby develop fingerprints? You have 30 seconds to respond.
Jing Jing also remembered his tough grading system when he was coaching her in Honor of Kings. Now she was giving him a taste of his own medication. Any half-hearted answers were swiftly met with feedback.
- Your explanation lacked depth. Please revise.
- Yu Tu, I expected more scientific reasoning from you.
- This response does not meet expert standards. Would you like to attempt again?
Each notification was a new challenge, a new expectation, and a new disruption in his day. Jing Jing had turned his own logical precision against him, making sure he took this new subject as seriously as he did aerospace engineering. He had survived complex calculations for lunar missions, but this? This was relentless. With nowhere to run, he had no choice but to take this new subject seriously. And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse—she took it live. Lunch calls were now full-fledged exams.
- Explain how prenatal sound exposure influences cognitive development. Cite at least two sources.
- Based on current studies, is talking to the baby beneficial? Provide statistical evidence.
- Describe the correlation between fetal movement and motor skill development. Please keep your answer concise.
Yu Tu quickly realized that keeping her bored and trapped had unintended consequences. He was getting exhausted and tried to ignore the calls. However, Jing Jing made sure her suffering was heard. Then she would dramatically sigh every time they video chat. She would pause for effect before delivering her punch line.
- I miss my life before I became an incubator under parental surveillance.
- Yu Tu … if I suddenly disappear, know that I have run away to regain my freedom. Please don’t look for me.
- If I ever agree to another pregnancy, slap me.
A week later, Jing Jing noticed Yu Tu looking haunted every time they spoke. It was obvious his careful arranged plan was backfiring spectacularly. Her melodramatic suffering was breaking him down. Jing Jing was certain he would soon be desperate for a solution. Now it was time to bring in the grand finale. She had laid the groundwork, executed her suffering in full detail, and now, all that was left was to watch him surrender.
Yu Tu was about to reach his breaking point. The endless complaints, the relentless educational videos and the constant chaos between their parents. It was too much. Yu Tu, once so confident in his carefully laid-out plan, found himself mentally and emotionally exhausted. He started dreading checking his phone. His colleagues noticed he looked more fatigue than usual and his stress levels skyrocketed every time his wife texted or called him. Finally, in a moment of pure desperation, he muttered the words no one ever expected.
“We need to send them home.”
Dinner was a carefully orchestrated affair—as it had been every evening since their parents arrived. Jing Jing eyed the steaming dishes arranged before her, suspecting that at least half had been meticulously selected for optimal prenatal nourishment. She had resigned herself to her fate. For now.
Yu Tu sat beside her, his usual composed demeanor intact, but she could see the cracks forming. The fatigue in his eyes, the slight hesitation in his movements. His carefully laid-out plan was starting to unravel, and she was relishing every second of it. As his mother refilled his tea, he cleared his throat.
"Mom, Dad…” He turned to Jing Jing’s parents. “Mom, Dad… I’ve been thinking."
Their parents paused, chopsticks mid-air, eyes shifting toward him in silent expectation. Yu Tu continued.
"You’ve done so much for us already. We’re incredibly grateful—but I think Jing Jing has adjusted well enough that … maybe it’s time for you to return home."
Jing Jing did not react. She took a slow sip of soup, savoring the moment. Yu Tu’s father set his chopsticks down deliberately. His mother pursed her lips.
"Are you saying we’re no longer needed?"
Jing Jing’s parents exchanged glances. Yu Tu hesitated, very aware that his wife was enjoying this far too much.
"It’s not that… it’s just that Jing Jing is adapting well. She’s feeling stronger, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay longer than necessary."
Yu Tu was struggling and Jing Jing decided it was time to deliver the final strike. She became the perfect daughter-in-law. Placing a hand over Yu Tu’s, she turned toward their parents, eyes warm with gratitude and showered them with exaggerated reassurances.
"You’ve taught me so much! I truly feel like I can handle things on my own now. Yu Tu is taking great care of me. He makes sure I have everything I need. I wouldn’t want you to neglect anything back home because of me…"
There was a long pause. Yu Tu saw it happen in real time—the moment their parents weighed her words, the moment guilt started to settle. Yu Tu sat stiffly, waiting for the verdict as their parents exchanged glances across the dining table. His father tapped his chopsticks against the edge of his bowl, deep in thought. His mother frowned, clearly unconvinced. Jing Jing’s mother pressed her lips together, thoughtful. Her father cleared his throat.
The silence stretched. Too long. Jing Jing kept her expression carefully neutral, but Yu Tu could feel her enjoying every second. Finally, his mother spoke.
"Are you certain, Yu Tu? A first pregnancy is difficult, and you won’t always be available. Who will remind her to rest? To eat properly?"
"She’s been doing well," he insisted. "She’s adjusted. She’s resting plenty."
Jing Jing picked up her chopsticks with deliberate calm, swirling soup as though she wasn’t listening. Her mother folded her arms.
"She says that, but have you seen how she tries to sneak work? Just yesterday, I caught her attempting to check emails."
Jing Jing almost choked on her soup. That was supposed to go unnoticed!
Yu Tu took a deep breath. "I’ll keep an eye on that."
His father sighed, shaking his head. "I’m not sure. It seems premature to leave."
Jing Jing’s father cleared his throat again, stepping in with unexpected reason.
"We do have some things to attend to back home."
Eyes turned to him.
"A few matters that need sorting," he added. "And it’s not like we’d be gone forever."
Jing Jing instantly latched onto this lifeline, setting her chopsticks down and leaning forward. "Exactly! You all have responsibilities, and I wouldn’t want you to neglect them just because of me. I promise I’ll take care of myself."
Yu Tu’s mother was still reluctant, studying Jing Jing carefully. "And if you feel unwell? If you need something?"
Jing Jing turned, flashing a sweet smile at her husband. "I have Yu Tu."
There was no escape now. Yu Tu clenched his jaw as realization dawned. He was trapped. His mother hesitated a moment longer before finally sighing.
"Fine. But you’ll keep us updated daily."
His father gave a reluctant nod. "Yes. And we’ll come right back if we hear anything concerning."
Jing Jing beamed. Victory. Yu Tu stared at her, realization dawning in slow, painful clarity. He fell for it. Completely. Yu Tu exhaled slowly.
"I should have never underestimated you."
Jing Jing smiled in triumph, satisfied beyond words.
With their parents safely back in Yixing, Jing Jing anticipated peace, freedom, and the glorious return of her independence. Boy was she ever mistaken. Yu Tu had anticipated her next move. This time, he was ready. He had activated his surveillance system, ensuring it was fully operational.
First up was the Work Prevention Protocol.
She was searching for something—determined, slightly frustrated. Yu Tu leaned casually against the doorframe, watching with quiet amusement.
“What are you looking for, my love?” His voice was gentle, almost teasing.
Jing Jing shot him a suspicious glare but said nothing.
Yu Tu tilted his head slightly. “Your charger? Hmm … strange. It was here before.”
She froze. Jing Jing was unto him.
Not only had her charger vanished under mysterious circumstances, but her emails had also become inexplicably unreadable, thanks to sudden, well-timed Wi-Fi issues. Every time she tried to take a call about potential work, she was conveniently interrupted—a gentle touch on her arm, an offer of tea, a soft kiss on her temple. Affectionate distractions. Perfectly executed. Jing Jing narrowed her eyes.
Yu Tu? He simply smiled—calm, composed, victorious.
Then there was the Mandatory Rest Enforcement. If she so much as sat up for too long, Yu Tu was there, gently but firmly guiding her back into relaxation. Pillows? Fluffed. Blanket? Perfectly placed. If she tried to move, he would notice immediately. Escape? Impossible. Even when he was working, she wasn’t free. His temporary Work-from-Home setup meant his watchful presence never left.
“Are you comfortable?” His voice was impossibly sweet. “You should rest more.”
Jing Jing narrowed her eyes. She did not like this.
Then there was the Nutritional Compliance Initiative. Every meal was strategically planned for maximum prenatal health. All her snacks were reviewed and approved by him before consumption. Whatever attempted rebellion were all countered with his calm insistence. And the greatest battle of all? The Soup War. Yu Tu made sure she continued losing.
“Jing Jing, my love, I made you something special,” he announced, placing yet another bowl in front of her.
Her glare was immediate. “I’m not eating more soup.”
“Oh, but this one is different.”
It’s not different. Jing Jing scowled, defeated.
By the end of March, Shanghai greeted them with a soft spring breeze—a stark contrast to the crisp winter chill of Beijing. Jing Jing sighed as she stepped inside their apartment, taking in the familiar surroundings. Finally. Freedom. Except … was it? Because while their parents were safely back in Yixing, her husband had not relented. The moment she sat down, Yu Tu was already moving.
"I’ll unpack for you. You should rest."
She narrowed her eyes. "I am perfectly capable of unpacking."
"But you shouldn’t. Rest is important."
"Yu Tu—"
Before she could argue further, her phone buzzed. A notification from the prenatal app. She frowned.
"Your daily health log has been updated!" Wait… I hadn’t updated anything. She turned slowly to Yu Tu. "...Did you—?"
He met her gaze with perfect innocence. She grabbed her phone. He had logged her hydration levels. Recorded her step count from earlier. Made a note about her recent food intake. This was worse than parental surveillance. This was a husband-led data operation. She exhaled sharply, dropping onto the couch. Shanghai was home. But peace? It was nowhere in sight.
By week 10, Jing Jing had accepted that her pregnancy would be heavily monitored—not just by their parents from afar, but now by her own husband, who had taken prenatal care to a whole new level. She expected the first doctor’s visit in Shanghai to be routine. She was wrong.
From the moment they stepped into the office, Yu Tu was ready—armed with an array of detailed, precise scientific inquiries. It quickly became clear that he wasn’t just asking questions for reassurance; this was simply his nature.
"Doctor," Yu Tu began, "I have a question about the gravitational impact on Jing Jing’s spine as the baby grows. Specifically, how will her center of mass shift, and at what rate can we calculate the pressure exerted on her lumbar region based on fetal development projections?"
The doctor blinked. Jing Jing groaned internally.
"Uh… well," the doctor started, "there will be increased strain on the lower back, but it’s a gradual process—"
"Would it be possible to calculate the precise increase in torque force applied to her spine each week?"
The doctor hesitated. But before the doctor could recover, Yu Tu moved on.
"I also want to discuss blood volume expansion. At what exact point does the increase in blood plasma result in a measurable impact on cardiac output? Would you say there is a specific threshold at which Jing Jing’s heart has to compensate, and how might that affect oxygenation efficiency?"
Jing Jing slowly turned to him. "Are you trying to conduct a research paper on me, or am I actually your wife?"
Yu Tu did not answer. The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Cardiac output does increase gradually…"
"Could we map out the exact trajectory? I’d like to model the progression."
The doctor stared. And then came the final blow.
"Doctor, based on existing studies regarding hormonal fluctuations, what’s the probability curve of Jing Jing experiencing emotional volatility in relation to the surge of progesterone and estrogen?"
Jing Jing gasped. "Did you just ask for a probability curve of my mood swings?"
Yu Tu remained completely unfazed. The doctor sat back in his chair, folded his hands, and realized something important.
"Mr. Yu, are you attempting a scientific breakthrough in prenatal monitoring?"
Yu Tu did not deny it. Jing Jing? She was fuming.
Weeks passed, and Yu Tu had accepted that his life had changed. Marriage, impending fatherhood, endless prenatal monitoring—his world had shifted, and he had adapted accordingly.
But what he had not accounted for was his wife's secret agenda—her mission to use him as a practice model for their future child.
It started small. Jing Jing decided she needed to test her ability to dress a wriggling toddler, so naturally, Yu Tu became her test subject.
Suddenly, his shirts were being buttoned all the way up to the neck for him. His sleeves were adjusted with painstaking precision, like he was a fidgety child. She even attempted to pull socks onto his feet, tucking them neatly over his pants like a mother preparing a stubborn baby for the day.
He didn’t notice. Not even the socks—because he was mostly working from home.
Then, the cooking phase began.
Determined to master child-friendly meals, Jing Jing took to the kitchen with newfound enthusiasm. Simple dishes, nutritious bakes, soft-textured meals—all became part of her training regime. And who better to test them on than Yu Tu?
He soon found himself being fed like a toddler, complete with taste tests and overly enthusiastic feedback demands.
- Does this porridge have the right consistency?
- Would our baby find this broccoli puree offensive?
- I read toddlers love sweet potato—confirm or deny.
Yu Tu, ever the logical scientist, accepted his fate with quiet resignation—offering detailed assessments like it was a formal research project.
- Texture is smooth. Acceptable for early stages of introduction.
- Slightly over salted. Adjust for developing taste buds.
- Nutritional value adequate. Can be implemented into rotation.
Jing Jing, of course, took his critiques very seriously—because practice made perfect, and she was going to be perfect.
Yu Tu, once so confident in his carefully laid-out plan, now found himself caught in a relentless cycle of preparation, molded into the model baby before their real one arrived. But strangely enough—he didn’t mind.
Until the feeding training. She insisted on holding chopsticks for him at dinner. She ‘helpfully’ blew on his soup, testing how much patience she would need for their baby. One-evening, she attempted to spoon-feed him. He finally protested.
“I can feed myself.”
Jing Jing smiled sweetly. “So can a toddler.”
She also experimented with bedtime routines by having lights out earlier than usual. She began playing soft background music that mimicked lullabies. And worst of all, she tried patting his back like a mother soothing her child. Yu Tu frowned, confused.
“Why are you doing that?”
Jing Jing barely contained her laughter. “Just practicing, my love.”
And then came the ultimate test, the haircut. One night, as Yu Tu sat at his desk reading, Jing Jing approached with calculated precision.
“You know, I should get some practice in,” she said smoothly.
He glanced up. Distracted. “Practice?”
“For our child, of course.” Jing Jing’s voice was soft, smooth, and deliberate. “I should get used to cutting hair. Wouldn’t it be better if I practiced on you first?”
It sounded logical. It felt reasonable. Yu Tu considered it. Then Jing Jing lowered her voice, leaning closer—a deliberate, delicate move.
“And if you agree, my love …” She let the words linger, her voice soft, coaxing.
Yu Tu paused.
She saw it—the subtle shift in his posture, the silent calculation flickering behind his eyes. He wasn’t just thinking. He was weighing, measuring, deciding. And then, with a quiet nod, the choice was made.
Yu Tu tightened his hold on her, shifting slightly before effortlessly lifting her into his arms. Jing Jing barely had time to react before she found herself princess-carried, cradled against his chest. She blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
“This wasn’t part of the negotiation,” she murmured, though she made no attempt to resist.
Yu Tu’s lips curved slightly—his version of a quiet victory. “You should rest more,” he said smoothly, carrying her toward their bedroom.
And just like that, she let herself relax against him, allowing the moment to unfold exactly as he intended.
And so Yu Tu sat patiently the next morning, completely trusting his wife. The scissors snipped. Jing Jing worked with precision. She did not give him the sharp, practical trim he expected.
Nope.
She had given him the kind of tragic, textbook haircut that no child should ever suffer—crooked, uneven, and unmistakably a product of misplaced confidence. When he looked into the mirror, it hit him. Yu Tu had a déjà vu so sharp it sent him reeling back to his early days of training Jing Jing in Honor of Kings. A time when she had once—with absolute certainty—declared: ‘I feel sorry for your future child.’
Back then, he had ignored her. But now? Now, he understood. He understood completely. His child would be at her mercy. Just like him.
Yu Tu stared at his reflection, the reality settling in with painful clarity. It wasn’t just his fate. It was his child’s fate. He exhaled slowly, turning to Jing Jing with a look of pure, quiet realization.
“So this is what you meant back then.”
“Huh?”
“When you said you felt sorry for my child.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have to protect our child.”
“From what?” Jing Jing asked sweetly.
His eyes flickered to his reflection once more. “From your haircuts.”
