When Song Fu brought back Ci Ye, who wanted to find his mom, to the downstairs living room, they saw the two adults gazing at each other while wiping away tears.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Ci Ye nervously threw himself into his mother’s arms, holding up a tissue to wipe away those unsettling tears.
The woman smiled gently and replied, “Mom hasn’t seen her friend in so long. She’s just happy, that’s all. Did Little Ye and Fu Fu have fun? Do you like your new friend?”
Ci Ye first glanced at Song Fu nearby but didn’t answer directly. Instead, he leaned close to his mother’s ear and whispered his response.
After hearing it, the woman burst out laughing. “Oh, Little Ye thinks Fu Fu is cute, like a little princess~”
Little Bean hadn’t expected his mom to expose him like that. His face instantly burned red, and he buried his head in her arms, mumbling stuffily, “Don’t laugh at me!”
Song Fu noticed the kid’s ears heating up from the teasing and couldn’t help but chuckle.
The male lead’s words were probably because of the little crown on her head. In her memories, the original character’s parents doted on their only daughter immensely. They provided the best they could in every aspect—clothing, food, housing, and transport. She was dressed up in different styles every day, and she even had a dedicated room just for storing her little skirts.
This was completely opposite to the parents in Song Fu’s original world.
Song Fu’s bright eyes dimmed a bit. After adjusting, she thought of a very important question and asked the System, ‘Where’s the original character?’
While playing with Ci Ye earlier, she’d taken the chance to check a mirror and confirmed it was her own appearance—not a single difference, even down to the tiny mole at the corner of her eye.
[Does not exist.]
The System dutifully answered her question. [The mission Small World is the precursor to a real plane. The process of the host entering the Small World to complete tasks is equivalent to a testing phase. Everything in the mission Small World is fixed in advance. Time only begins to flow properly once the host arrives, and the characters act according to logic.]
[In other words, this Small World was only formally designed for content after the host’s arrival.]
Song Fu could roughly understand. It sounded a lot like playing a game with a fixed plot.
“Why is our Fu Fu spacing out so much today? Are you feeling unwell?” Mother Song’s hand touched Song Fu’s forehead, full of concern. “Can you still take your piano lesson this afternoon?”
Song Fu shook her head to answer the first question, then nodded. “I can do it, Mom.”
“Starting piano at such a young age?” Ci Ye’s mother looked surprised. “Isn’t that too early? They can’t even sit still yet.”
Mother Song shook her head in disagreement. “This isn’t early at all. Some kids can play a full piece at three years old. It’s always good to learn more things. You can’t afford to lose at the starting line.” She ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Our Fu Fu has to be the most outstanding child, right?”
Song Fu nodded like a little adult. “Right!”
Ci Ye’s mother hesitated to speak, her gaze falling back to the little head in her arms. “I just want him to be healthy and happy. I don’t ask for anything else.”
The two mothers’ differences in educational philosophy were vast. Neither could convince the other.
This was one of the main reasons the two kids wouldn’t play together later on.
In terms of character settings, the two mothers became friends due to similar family backgrounds—strict, rigid, and lacking in human touch… But their personalities diverged. Mother Song was a strong, serious woman who wanted her child to be excellent enough to accomplish great things in the future. Ci Ye’s mother was laid-back and gentle, taking a free-range approach to child-rearing—do what you want, as long as it doesn’t harm your health.
Song Fu’s piano lesson was at three in the afternoon.
Before the official class started, she was directed to play a simple “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” for her new friend.
Kids around five or six had probably already formed concepts of beauty and ugliness. Ci Ye thought the girl was prettier than any flower he’d ever seen, like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale illustration.
Her snow-white cheeks, when she smiled, curved softly along with her eyes and mouth. Her light brown eyes, different from his, were as clear as if they’d been washed by water.
The only flaw was that she treated him like an idiot.
When asked for his opinion, Ci Ye stubbornly said, “Not good-looking.”
“I’m asking how your sister played, not about the person.”
Little Bean got poked on the head.
He covered his face with both hands, peeking at Song Fu through his fingers anyway.
Song Fu caught him red-handed and flashed a brilliant smile.
Ci Ye turned his head to the side, his face flushing red.
…
From then on, almost every day, Ci Ye came to the Song Family with his mother. When Mother Song was around, the group sat together for simple afternoon tea. When Mother Song went off to work, Ci Ye’s mother watched the two kids play by herself. But they couldn’t play for too long, because Song Fu had many classes. Besides fixed piano practice, there was also reading, arithmetic drills, and basic English lessons.
“Won’t Fu Fu get tired?” Ci Ye’s mother asked full of pity.
Song Fu paused her pen on the arithmetic problem. “It’s okay.”
Compared to these kids’ lessons, what tired her more was the necessary disguise—like writing letters more like a child. “Auntie, if you’re tired, you can rest for a bit.” The woman sometimes looked dazed, her breathing even growing faint.
Ci Ye’s mother, hiding her illness, smiled. “Fu Fu isn’t tired from studying, so how could Auntie be?”
Song Fu glanced at Ci Ye, who was swinging his little legs.
Ci Ye immediately set down his building blocks, eyes sparkling. “Time to play together now?”
“Still need to wait a bit. Three minutes.” Song Fu needed to finish the remaining problems at a smart kid’s normal pace.
Ci Ye said “oh” and stopped playing with the blocks. He just waited eagerly, reminding Song Fu of the little mongrel dog she used to keep, always waiting by the dinner table. His face couldn’t hide a thing.
[Host, your adaptability is pretty good.] The System suddenly chimed in.
Song Fu wasn’t startled and seriously replied, ‘Others have said the same.’
When the time was up, Song Fu had just put down her pen when Ci Ye eagerly scooted over. He said they should go to the yard to play on the swing and that his birthday was coming up soon—Song Fu had to come.
Song Fu agreed and patted the kid’s head like a little adult. “What’s your birthday wish?”
“Saying it out loud makes it not come true.” Ci Ye covered his mouth, spouting some conclusion he’d picked up somewhere.
Ci Ye’s mother, breaking out in a cold sweat nearby, chimed in to persuade him. “If you say it, Mom can help make it happen.” And it might be the last chance.
Ci Ye noticed his mother’s fleeting sadness. “…W-want Mom not to get sick anymore, or go to the hospital.” The kid drooped his head, fidgeting with his fingers, and gave his quiet answer.
Ci Ye’s mother’s hand on his shoulder stiffened into a smile. She tugged at her lips, forcing a smile uglier than crying. “Mom’s already better. She won’t go anymore. Does Little Ye want anything?”
Ci Ye blinked in surprise. “You’re better? Mom won’t feel bad anymore?”
Under further questioning, Ci Ye’s mother nodded. “What gift does Little Ye want for his birthday?”
A big weight lifted from Ci Ye’s heart, but he never lacked for anything usually. If he had to think of something… He casually picked up the remote-control car from the table that they’d just been playing with. “This. I like it!”
Song Fu could fulfill it right now, but she thought it was better for Ci Ye’s mother to handle this little wish. Otherwise, if Ci Ye asked for something impossible next, it couldn’t be helped. After all, Ci Ye’s mother’s death node was supposed to be the day before Ci Ye’s birthday.
The gift would probably be prepared in advance anyway… so it could still happen.
Song Fu recalled and said, “Auntie, this is something my mom bought online. I’ll have her send you the link.”
The day before the car accident, Song Fu tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. She pulled back the curtains— the sky was overcast, without a trace of light.
A downpour was imminent.
“Fu Fu, have you thought about what birthday gift to give your big brother?” Mother Song deftly braided her daughter’s hair into a little plait and tied a bow, asking curiously. “Tell Mom. Mom can help you prepare it.”
Song Fu looked at herself in the mirror and pursed her lips. “I want to make him a cake.”
Mother Song didn’t want to dampen her precious daughter’s enthusiasm, but cakes were a birthday staple—the Ci family would surely prepare one themselves. She explained the reasoning carefully. “Big brother won’t be short on cake that day.”
Song Fu tilted up her little face and gestured with her hands. “This big, and add a little night light.”
Mother Song couldn’t resist. The adults would prepare more expensive, proper gifts anyway—what kids exchanged didn’t matter. “Okay, want to pick it out with Mom later?”
Song Fu nodded vigorously. “Thank you, Mom.”
Mother Song kissed her daughter’s little cheek.
At noon, only Little Bean Ci Ye came over. He said his mom had something to do and went out—she wouldn’t be back until afternoon. “It’s not that I wanted to come. Mom made me. I don’t really want to play with you that much.”
He also asked why Song Fu never called him big brother, not even once.
Ci Ye had been hung up on this for a long time.
Song Fu said, “You’re not that much older than me.”
Little Bean wasn’t satisfied. “Even if it’s just one day older, I’m still big brother.”
“Okay, big brother. Let’s play blocks.” Song Fu really had no choice.
Ci Ye’s eyes curved happily—he was satisfied. “Okay, little sister.” Then, while Song Fu practiced writing, he sprawled by the window, staring at the raindrops on the glass, and muttered, “I don’t like rainy days.”
Song Fu didn’t like them either.
This was a rare heavy winter rain in their area. It had poured last night, stopped, frozen into a layer of ice, and started again at noon.
An hour and a half later, slightly panicked footsteps approached. Mother Song appeared at the door, panting. She hurried over anxiously, but when she stood before the children and met those bewildered eyes, she didn’t know how to speak.
After a moment of silence, she sighed heavily. “Little Ye, your mom, she…”
“Passed away.”
What did “passed away” mean? Ci Ye didn’t understand. An inexplicable panic enveloped him, but no one explained. The assistant who followed tried to pick him up, mentioning “cremation” and “see her one last time.”
Ci Ye clutched Song Fu’s hand tightly, tears smearing his face.
Song Fu also started shedding tears unconsciously, sobbing. Even with mental preparation, one person departing like this still felt heavy. At the door, she handed over her own little umbrella. “Ci Ye, you… don’t get wet.”