Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 966: Lost (2)

"Mom."

This word carries a heavy meaning—one that naturally corresponds to "child" when addressed to a mother.

No mother could remain indifferent upon seeing her child, especially if it was one she had lost. Yet, the woman being hugged by this boy showed no such reaction.

She merely lowered her head to look at the boy, her lips slightly parted in apparent surprise.

"Is this child yours?" The guard was clearly confused, but like Song Ying, he noticed the striking resemblance between the boy and the foreign young woman.

"This is not my child," the woman finally said, shaking her head. However, as she carefully observed the boy's face, a strange, indescribable feeling stirred in her heart. "But he…"

She turned to the foreign white man standing beside her.

The young man seemed to notice something as well and shook his head in bewilderment.

The woman crouched down, gently holding the boy's hand. "What's your name, little one?"

"Paul," the boy replied in a clear voice.Oh, thank heavens, the child finally spoke! Despite the efforts of the guards and Song Ying, he had remained silent until now.

If she weren’t his real mother, how could the child be so obedient?

"Joan?" Another female guard, seated at a nearby desk, suddenly called out and stood up. "You’re Joan, right? I recognize you! I’m a big fan! The movie you starred in last year was amazing!"

"I… Thank you," the woman hesitated, seemingly intending to deny it, but eventually admitted it, taking off her tinted sunglasses.

Her face was that of a classic, exquisite Oriental beauty. Being young, she wore very little makeup.

"It really is you!" The female guard forgot her surroundings in excitement and rushed to Joan, grabbing her hands. "Could I get a photo with you?"

Joan glanced helplessly at the foreign man beside her. Seeing him nod slightly, she said, "Sure… but shouldn’t we sort out the issue with this child first?"

"Oh, right!" The female guard nodded, then asked, "So, this child really is yours? Then his father must be…"

The female guard subconsciously looked at the foreign man, eyes wide with curiosity. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was implying.

"No, this child truly isn’t mine," Joan shook her head. "I don’t know why he called me that, but please don’t take it seriously."

"I understand, Miss Joan," the first guard quickly reassured her, pulling the female guard aside. "We won’t say anything inappropriate. She’s new and still learning proper conduct, so please don’t take offense."

As airport security staff—not specialized agents—a complaint, especially from a celebrity, would be troublesome.

"In any case, we must get to the bottom of this," the foreign man finally spoke. "Joan can’t be dragged into this; it would affect her. I hope you understand."

He turned politely to Song Ying and Luo Qiu. "I hope you both can understand as well."

Song Ying quickly surmised the situation: the actress was trying to avoid scandals that could harm her career, and the foreign man was protecting her. His attitude was polite enough, though.

As a representative of the Song Dynasty Group, Song Ying had encountered royalty and international figures far more impressive than a local celebrity. This kind of thing didn’t interest her.

"Handle it however you like; it has nothing to do with me," Song Ying said bluntly. "But it’s simple enough to resolve, isn’t it? Since the boy told you his name, make a broadcast. The parents must be frantically looking for him. Once they come, the truth will be clear."

"Right, right! I’ll take care of it immediately!" the guard said, rushing off.

Soon, the airport’s announcement system came to life. Joan and the foreign man sat down while Song Ying prepared to leave, only to see Luo Qiu pouring a cup of warm water for Paul.

On such a cold day, it occurred to her that no one else had thought to offer the boy water. Feeling a bit embarrassed, she glanced at the boy.

Because Joan had denied being Paul’s mother, she kept her distance, leaving the boy alone on a chair.

However, Paul soon slid off the chair, took off his cartoon-themed backpack, and pulled out a sketchbook and crayons. He lay on the chair, coloring in his sketchbook. Meanwhile, the guards continued making announcements.

Seeing Paul seemingly cared for, the guards focused their attention on Joan, chatting enthusiastically.

"Some people…" Song Ying frowned, clearly displeased by their behavior.

Leaning against the wall, she sighed in frustration and glanced at Luo Qiu. He stood quietly beside Paul, watching the boy draw.

Curious, Song Ying peered over at the sketchbook.

It was a simple drawing: a sun, a green field, some oversized flowers, and two figures holding hands—one large and one small.

It seemed like Paul was drawing himself and his mother.

"Why only two people?" Song Ying asked gently, crouching beside him. "Paul, where’s your dad? Why did you only draw your mom?"

She was merely curious, but Paul dropped his crayon, covered his ears, and crouched in fear, trembling.

"I didn’t do anything!" Song Ying panicked, raising her hands defensively. "I just asked a question. What now?"

"Let me handle it," Luo Qiu said softly. He picked up the sketchbook and selected an orange crayon from Paul’s set. Crouching beside the boy, he asked, "Aren’t you going to color the sun?"

Paul didn’t respond, still covering his ears.

"If the sun isn’t colored, it’ll be cold. Then you and your mom on the grass will be cold too. Aren’t you afraid of the cold?" Luo Qiu said gently.

Paul hesitated, then slowly uncovered his ears and looked at Luo Qiu before nodding timidly.

Luo Qiu handed him the sketchbook and crayon. Paul took them and returned to his drawing. Luo Qiu watched silently.

What patience, Song Ying thought. If it were her, she wouldn’t know what to do with a child.

This guy… he’d probably make a great father someday, wouldn’t he?

Song Ying found herself momentarily distracted by the thought.

…

Meanwhile, Joan had been watching Paul from the corner of her eye. She responded half-heartedly to the guards’ gossip, maintaining a composed demeanor befitting a public figure.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," Joan said suddenly. "I’d like to freshen up."

The foreign man hesitated. Joan had just gone to the restroom after their flight.

Realizing she probably wanted to escape the overly "enthusiastic" guards, he smiled. "I’ll accompany you."

"There’s no need. If the boy’s parents arrive, you can vouch for him," Joan replied.

That made sense, and the man nodded.

The guards didn’t object to Joan leaving, perhaps realizing their over-eagerness had been inappropriate.

With Joan gone, the security office fell silent.

Suddenly, a little tune began to play—a childish, tender voice.

Paul was humming an unknown tune, unconcerned with anyone around him, while continuing to work on his drawing.

It was quite a pleasant tune… at least, that’s how Song Ying felt. The child’s voice was particularly clear, adding another layer of charm.

“This tune…”

But at that moment, the foreign young man, who had been sitting, unexpectedly walked over, his expression a mix of surprise—or perhaps disbelief—and even appeared somewhat agitated.

He ignored everyone else and grabbed the child’s arm, asking urgently, "Where did you hear this tune?"

Perhaps the foreign man’s sudden and intense reaction startled the child, causing him to revert to his earlier fearful state.

“This…” The foreign man seemed to regret his actions.

“This tune… is it that important?” Luo Qiu suddenly asked.

The foreign man’s face flushed with embarrassment.

Luo Qiu didn’t address him further, simply picking up the crayons that had fallen on the floor due to the child’s panic. He then gently picked up the child and said, “Let’s go over there. It’ll be more comfortable to sit.”

Luo Qiu gestured toward the security guards' seats.

Watching Luo Qiu comfort the child, Song Ying frowned and glared at the foreign man, displeased, “What’s wrong with you? Why scare the child like that?”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to,” the foreign man said, looking at Paul with an apologetic expression. He hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right words, “It’s just… the tune the child was humming…”

“What’s wrong with the tune? I thought it was quite nice. What’s the problem?” Song Ying responded.

The foreign man looked around at everyone, realizing that unless he explained himself, the anger would only increase. He sighed, "To be honest, I’m a composer. The tune this child was humming… it’s exactly the same as the one I’ve been working on."

"What's wrong with that tune?" the male security guard asked curiously.

The foreign man gritted his teeth, "I’ve been writing a new piece, but I’ve only managed to write the introduction. No matter what, I couldn’t continue. But the tune this child hummed… the beginning is exactly the same as mine. But the rest... How could that be? I’ve written less than a third of it!"

“Could it be a coincidence?” the female security guard quickly suggested, “Isn’t it common for things to overlap? Like those TV shows, most scripts are quite similar... For songs, many tunes sound similar at the start.”

“Maybe,” the foreign man nodded reluctantly.

He realized that as an adult, if he kept holding onto this, it would become a moral issue. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite the overlap, the similarities between his own work and this child’s humming were uncanny… the style was unmistakably his!

The situation seemed to calm down, but the foreign man likely felt embarrassed, so he quickly said, “I... I’m going to wash my face. Excuse me.”

Once the foreign man left, the female security guard quietly said, “Why did both of them come up with excuses to leave?”

“Who knows…” The male guard shrugged and exchanged a look with her.

His hand was under the table, holding a phone with several photos—pictures of the foreign man and of Paul.

The female guard opened her mouth, but the male guard quickly gestured for silence. “Don’t speak!”

She nodded, acknowledging that as a newcomer, she couldn’t afford to offend him.

"But it’s strange," the female guard continued. "The broadcast has been going on for a while. Why hasn’t anyone come to claim the child? The main desk hasn’t heard anything either. Did no one ask? I wonder, could this child really be Joan’s and the foreign man’s?"

"Yeah… they really do look alike," the male guard said, staring at the photos on his phone.

---

"…Attention, security office 47 has a child named Paul, about seven years old. Please have the child’s parents contact the staff immediately after hearing this broadcast."

Han Bingjiang stopped, looking at Joan beside him. “Paul, that’s your child’s name, right? So he’s in room 47. No wonder we didn’t find him in the other room earlier. Let’s hurry over, Joan?”

“Alright.” Joan seemed to relax, a smile appearing on her face.

However, as they passed the hallway restroom, Joan suddenly said, “Can we wait a moment? I want to touch up my makeup. Now that the child is found, there’s no rush.”

Before Han Bingjiang could respond, Joan walked straight into the ladies' restroom.

Han Bingjiang shook his head privately… She still wants to touch up her makeup at a time like this? Celebrities are something else.

It was late at night, and the area was nearly empty. Han Bingjiang, feeling a craving for a cigarette, decided to sneak into the men's restroom to have one—after all, he had secretly brought in some matches.

Just as he was about to light up, he noticed someone walking toward him from behind the mirror.

Quickly, he stuffed the matches and cigarettes into his pocket and turned around—only to see Joan.

“Joan… What are you…”

Joan was holding a mop and, with the wooden handle, swung it hard toward Han Bingjiang’s head... her face was cold as ice!