Chapter 05: The Day He became Nate

In the first month after Ping's birth, the mansion never truly slept.

Crying threaded through the halls at strange hours, small and sharp. Staff hurried. Mrs. Lang moved slower now, exhaustion settling into her bones, yet she still smiled like she'd won the world.

Mr. Lang tried to keep order-quiet voices, warm bottles, endless patience.

But it was Nathan who became the center without anyone naming it.

Ping cried in Mrs. Lang's arms. He cried in the nurse's arms. He cried when Mr. Lang walked the room and whispered reassurances that sounded like business deals made to a newborn.

Then Nathan stepped close-silent, careful-reaching out with the same caution he'd once used for toys in his room.

Mrs. Lang guided the baby into his arms, expecting nothing.

Ping stopped.

Not slowly. Not gradually.

Instantly.

The tiny body softened against Nathan's chest, the crying fading into a fragile quiet. Ping's fist curled into Nathan's shirt as if it had found the only place that felt familiar.

Mrs. Lang stared like she had been personally betrayed.

Mr. Lang laughed under his breath, disbelief turning warm. "He likes you," he murmured.

Nathan didn't answer. He simply stayed still, watching Ping's face with the same focus he used for everything important.

From then on, it became routine.

Ping would fuss-eyes squeezed shut, mouth trembling-until Nathan appeared. Nathan would lift him with careful arms, rocking slightly, not humming, not cooing. Just holding.

Ping would settle.

Sometimes Ping fell asleep with his cheek pressed against Nathan's collarbone, Snowball tucked beside him like a tiny guardian. Sometimes Nathan stood by the window with the baby, letting the morning light touch them both as if it was blessing the new life.

Mrs. Lang began bringing Ping to Nathan without hesitation.

Even at night, when Ping woke crying, she would murmur, half amused and half emotional, "Go to your brother."

And as if he understood, Ping would quiet the moment Nathan's hands reached him-like the world finally made sense when it was Nathan holding it.

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By the time Ping was old enough to sit up on his own, the mansion had changed.

It wasn't just louder. It was warmer. There were toys everywhere now-soft blocks under tables, rattles abandoned on couches, Snowball permanently sitting in the bed as if guarding everything.

Ping had opinions about everything.

He babbled at staff. He squealed at Mrs. Lang. He slapped Mr. Lang's newspaper like it was personally offending him. He had begun to waddle on unsteady legs, always chasing movement, always chasing sound.

But when he got tired-when the world became too much-he crawled toward one person.

Nathan.

That afternoon, Mrs. Lang had gathered everyone in the sitting room like it was a family event.

Mr. Lang sat with tea. Mrs. Lang sat with dramatic pride. Even Grandpa Lang stood near the window, pretending he wasn't watching.

Ping sat on the carpet, chubby legs folded beneath him, cheeks round, eyes bright with mischief. He held Snowball in his lap like the plushie was his closest advisor.

Mrs. Lang clapped her hands once. "Alright," she announced. "Today is the day."

Mr. Lang glanced up calmly. "The day for what?"

"The day our son finally says Mama properly," Mrs. Lang declared, eyes gleaming like she was about to win an award.

Mr. Lang sighed. "He already says Mama."

"Not with feeling," Mrs. Lang argued immediately. "Not with respect."

Grandpa Lang muttered something low that sounded suspiciously like amusement.

Nathan sat slightly apart from them, quiet as always, watching Ping with patient eyes. He didn't look excited. But he didn't look bored either.

Mrs. Lang leaned toward Ping. "Say Mama."

Ping blinked. Then stuck Snowball's arm in his mouth.

Mrs. Lang gasped. "Ping!"

Mr. Lang coughed, hiding a smile.

Mrs. Lang tried again, voice sweeter. "Ping. Mama."

Ping pulled Snowball out with a wet pop and babbled enthusiastically-completely unrelated syllables, full confidence, zero accuracy.

Mrs. Lang stared like she'd been insulted in public.

Mr. Lang finally leaned forward, voice calm. "Ping," he said gently. "Say Papa."

Ping turned and stared at him for a long moment, assessing.

Then Ping slapped the newspaper again.

Mr. Lang accepted the defeat with the serenity of a man who had married into drama.

Mrs. Lang groaned loudly. "Why are you like this?"

Ping laughed at her misery.

Nathan's gaze softened slightly, like he found the chaos oddly familiar.

Mrs. Lang turned toward Nathan like she was about to recruit him. "Okay," she said, pointing dramatically. "You. Make him say it."

Nathan lifted a brow. "Me."

"Yes," Mrs. Lang insisted. "You're his favorite."

Nathan didn't argue. He simply leaned a little closer, his voice low, controlled-like he was negotiating with a tiny dictator.

"Little one," he called.

Ping snapped his head around instantly.

The room froze. Mrs. Lang's mouth fell open.

Mr. Lang's eyes widened slightly, amused. Even Grandpa's gaze sharpened.

Nathan extended his hand slowly. "Come."

Ping crawled toward him immediately, fast and determined, Snowball dragging behind like luggage.

Nathan waited until Ping was close enough, then said quietly, "Say Nathan."

Ping blinked.

"Nathan," Nathan repeated, slow and clear.

Ping's mouth opened. His brows furrowed like he was concentrating on a sacred task.

"Na..." Ping attempted.

Mrs. Lang leaned forward like she might faint.

Ping tried again, louder. "Na... na..."

Nathan stayed still, patient. "Nathan."

Ping huffed, frustrated, like the word was too big for his mouth.

Then, suddenly, Ping's eyes lit up as if he'd solved the problem.

"Nate!"

The word rang out bright and sharp.

The sitting room went silent.

Mrs. Lang's hand flew to her chest. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Lang turned his face away, shoulders shaking.

Grandpa Lang's lips twitched-barely-but it was the closest thing to a smile.

Nathan stared at Ping.

Ping grinned proudly, pleased with himself, and crawled fully into Nathan's lap as if claiming his victory.

"Nate!" Ping repeated, louder now, delighted.

Mrs. Lang sputtered. "I carried you for nine months and this is what you do to me?"

Mr. Lang finally laughed openly, warmth filling the room.

Ping ignored them all, patting Nathan's chest like it belonged to him. "Nate! Nate!"

Nathan's expression didn't change much.

But his eyes did.

Something softened there-quiet, private, like a door opening inside him.

He didn't correct Ping.

He didn't insist on his full name.

He only rested a hand on Ping's back, steady and protective, and let the name settle into the air like it had always belonged.

From that day on, Nathan was never "Nathan" to Ping again.

He was "Nate".

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It happened so fast that no one had time to breathe.

Ping couldn't walk yet.

But that didn't stop him from trying to chase the world.

He was on the carpet in the sitting room, crawling with furious determination, Snowball clenched in his fist like a trophy. His legs kicked behind him, his little body wobbling as he aimed for the low table like it was an enemy to conquer.

Mrs. Lang was nearby, distracted for only a moment-talking to staff, laughing softly at something. Mr. Lang was pouring tea.

Ping reached the table first.

Tiny fingers grabbed the edge.

He pulled himself up clumsily, knees slipping on the rug. For one dangerous second, his weight tipped forward.

Snowball fell.

Ping leaned after it.

And the world almost tilted with him.

Nathan moved before the sound of falling even existed.

One moment he was seated across the room-still, silent.

The next, he was there.

He caught Ping under the arms with both hands, steadying the baby's entire body against his chest. Ping startled, mouth open in shock, but no cry came-because Nathan had already made the danger disappear.

Nathan's grip tightened slightly, protective without hesitation. His jaw clenched.

Ping blinked up at him, then-safe again-immediately began babbling angrily as if complaining about being interrupted.

Nathan didn't smile.

He only checked him quickly-head, arms, ribs-then held him closer, shielding him with his body.

Mrs. Lang rushed over, breath caught, but stopped when she saw Nathan's hold.

Because it wasn't just comfort.

It was possession.

Protection.

Like Nathan's body had already decided-

if the world ever tried to hurt Ping, it would have to go through him first.

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By the time Ping could stand without wobbling like a newborn deer, the whole mansion treated it like a war mission.

Mrs. Lang hovered like an overdramatic general. Mr. Lang remained calm, but his eyes never left Ping for long. Even the staff stood at a respectful distance, smiling as if they were witnessing history.

Ping stood in the middle of the sitting room, chubby hands gripping the edge of the sofa. His knees shook with effort. His cheeks were puffed with determination, eyes bright and stubborn.

Nathan sat on the carpet a few steps away-quiet, composed, watching.

"Alright," Mrs. Lang whispered dramatically, hands clasped in front of her chest. "My baby. My miracle. My-"

Mr. Lang murmured, "Eleanor."

She hissed, "Don't ruin the moment."

Ping made an angry little sound, like the adults were wasting his time. He let go of the sofa abruptly.

The room froze.

Ping swayed.

Mrs. Lang's hand flew up to her mouth.

Mr. Lang took a step forward instinctively.

But Nathan didn't move.

Not because he didn't care.

Because he understood something the others didn't: Ping didn't want to be rescued. Ping wanted to win.

Ping took one shaky step.

Then another.

His arms were out, balancing clumsily in the air like he was trying to hold the whole world steady.

"Ping," Mrs. Lang whispered, voice trembling. "Come to Mama-"

Mr. Lang opened his arms gently. "Come here, son."

Ping stared at them both as if considering. Then his eyes slid past them.

Straight to Nathan.

And suddenly his face lit up like he'd found his destination.

"Nate!" Ping squealed-half joy, half battle cry.

Nathan's gaze softened, but he didn't open his arms wide. He simply held his hands out-steady, quiet, certain.

Ping waddled forward again, faster now. It wasn't graceful. It was clumsy and determined and fearless. Every step looked like it might collapse into a fall.

He didn't care.

He wanted Nate.

Mrs. Lang was already tearing up. "Harold," she whispered, "look-"

Mr. Lang smiled softly, pride warming his eyes.

Ping took one last step, then his knees buckled.

Nathan caught him effortlessly.

Ping collided into Nathan's chest with a triumphant giggle, arms wrapping around Nathan's neck like he'd just climbed a mountain and claimed the peak.

Nathan's hands closed around him, secure and automatic, as if his body had been waiting for this moment.

Ping snuggled closer, laughing.

Nathan exhaled, calm as always, but his hold tightened just slightly.

Mrs. Lang pressed both hands to her mouth, fully emotional now. "He went to Nathan first," she whispered, voice breaking with happiness.

Mr. Lang nodded, smiling. "Of course he did."

Ping lifted his head, grinning proudly.

"Nate," he declared again, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Nathan looked down at him, eyes quiet but warm.

And for Ping, the world was complete-because he had walked into the only arms that ever felt like home.

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Next in The First Ray of Sunshine

The mansion was loud with laughter.

But somewhere in the quiet between heartbeats...

Something forgotten was stirring again.

Next Stop: Before We Knew Its Name

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