Continuous rain chilled straight to the bone even after standing at the door for a moment.
After seeing the person off, Song Fu nestled on the sofa. Mother Song, sitting across from her, sighed one moment and wiped tears the next, lamenting the impermanence of life. “She was still talking to me yesterday about preparing all the gifts for Little Ye up to his eighteenth birthday, and even said she wanted to write letters, but then…”
Mother Song could not continue. Father Song, at her side, hugged his wife and comforted her. “I heard she did it to help a child.”
Mother Song merely sighed. After composing herself, she hugged the red-eyed Song Fu. “Baby, go sleep for a bit.”
The lady of the Ci household passed away the day before Ci Ye’s birthday, so the planned birthday party was naturally canceled. Song Fu’s bedroom window overlooked the Ci family gate next door. She lay there and did not see Ci Ye get out of the car until late at night.
Ci Ye clutched the little umbrella she had given him, head hanging low as he trailed behind the adults. He still looked drenched, a tiny huddled figure.
Song Fu drew a small crying face on the foggy glass with her finger.
…
The next day was Ci Ye’s birthday. At dusk, while Song Fu practiced her writing, visitors arrived home from next door. It was the auntie, who said Ci Ye had locked himself in his room all day, refusing to eat or drink, which worried everyone. She thought another child his age might cheer him up with some talk, so she asked if Song Fu could go over.
Mother Song agreed readily, not forgetting to ask Song Fu’s opinion.
Song Fu nodded. She first went upstairs to fetch the little night light she had prepared in advance, then had her mother carry the ordered little cake too.
Even with such preparations, given her role as the vicious supporting female character, she was probably ninety percent unlikely to see the male lead. Their relationship was only barely maintained through the adults’ arrangements. Song Fu knew this, so three minutes later, when she stood at Ci Ye’s bedroom door and got shut out, she was not surprised. She merely knocked lightly. “I left the cake and gift at the door.”
She hesitated, then added softly, “Happy birthday.” She was unsure if the person inside could hear.
No matter what, Ci Ye’s late mother surely wanted him to hear those words.
The Ci family auntie urged Song Fu to talk more with Ci Ye, and Song Fu wanted to, but she truly had nothing to say. In such a mournful atmosphere, nothing seemed appropriate. She simply asked for a fairy tale book and read from Cinderella who lost her shoe to the sleeping princess. With no effect, she bid farewell helplessly. “Goodbye.”
After two steps out, Song Fu vaguely heard a sob.
She had not seen the person and had not even exchanged a single line of dialogue. Song Fu deemed her consolation an obvious failure, but for some reason, the Ci family did not see it that way. The next day, the day after, and even the fourth day, they came as usual to request Song Fu go read stories. They even thoughtfully prepared snacks, placed on the little table by Ci Ye’s door, saying the two children could share them.
Share?
Song Fu only felt puzzled. She had never managed to see him, until the day of the funeral—
That day brought rare fine weather lately, but the wind was strong, so it was still cold. Before heading out, Song Fu was bundled up layer upon layer like a nesting doll.
Mother Song held her in her arms. In the hall, their eyes met with Ci Ye, who wore only a little black-and-white suit. His dark eyes seemed even blacker than before, reflecting no light, with red-rimmed eyes from who knew how much crying. His small body sat there, curled into an even tinier ball.
Mother Song set Song Fu down and told her to go talk with Ci Ye.
Song Fu walked over and sat beside Ci Ye. After a moment’s thought, she wrapped her scarf around the little boy’s neck without a word.
[Today was the first meeting between the male and female protagonists. The next time they met would be in high school.]
Not long after the system’s cold mechanical voice fell, a plainly dressed woman pulled a short-haired little girl to stand before the black-and-white photo. The woman gently pushed the little girl. “This auntie is your lifesaver. Remember that, okay?”
From those words, the short-haired little girl was the female lead. She looked quite obedient.
Song Fu glanced at Ci Ye beside her and found him staring straight at the female lead, his dark eyes glistening with moisture.
The short-haired girl noticed the undisguised gaze, turned her head, and the male and female leads exchanged their first look—the prologue to this small world’s story. There was no deeper conversation. The attendees remained silent and regretful. Some adults sighed upon seeing Ci Ye. “Your mother did a good deed.”
Good deed.
Ci Ye did not understand. He only felt it annoying.
After the funeral ended and the crowd dispersed, as Song Fu prepared to part from Ci Ye, he sniffled and finally spoke his first words. “I’m so cold.”
Mother Song tenderly rubbed the little boy’s cheeks, took off Song Fu’s outer coat, and crouched down. “If there’s anything, come tell Auntie, okay?”
One person’s sudden departure did not upend the lives of those around. Adults all had their own lives and no time to wallow in grief. The only one bound by depressive emotions was the still young child. Ci Ye’s once vibrant and passionate personality turned listless unnoticed. He was obedient, but that compliance seemed like a puppet without a self.
During lessons, he stared blankly beside her.
Winter passed and spring came. Flowers bloomed across the entire courtyard wall. Song Fu occasionally heard her parents discuss sending her to some kindergarten, but smiles rarely appeared on Ci Ye’s face. He grew even more silent.
“Am I air?”
Song Fu, practicing her writing, heard Ci Ye suddenly speak.
But his voice was too soft, and she did not catch it. “What?”
The child shook his head, refusing to repeat. He jumped down from the slightly higher stool and wandered out dazedly. Song Fu followed behind and suddenly heard an “ouch.” The cleaning auntie coming from the study did not notice Ci Ye and tripped. Seeing the shattered porcelain plate on the floor, her face paled.
“W-what do I do?” The auntie’s expression was awful. “I was walking fine, but then he…”
Song Fu’s eyes widened. “Ci Ye, you’re hurt!” The child had somehow cut his hand. “Mommy!” she called first. “Ci Ye is bleeding.”
The chatting adults downstairs soon appeared on the second floor, with Mother Song in the lead. She grabbed Ci Ye’s little hand. “How did you get hurt? Hurry and bandage it first.”
The cleaning auntie panicked like a headless fly, unsure where to start. Song Fu explained. “Auntie and Ci Ye bumped into each other by accident. The plate broke, and Ci Ye accidentally pressed on it.”
Chaos ensued until Ci Ye’s wound was treated. Then the adults from both families began apologizing to each other. Father Song and Mother Song were sorry for the child’s injury, while Father Ci regretted the value of the antique plate. Once responsibilities were assigned, each bore their share. The cleaning auntie sighed in relief and, after repeated apologies, returned upstairs to clean the shards.
A strange woman still sat on the sofa, looking both gentle and beautiful. Noticing Song Fu’s gaze, she smiled and nodded.
[Male lead’s stepmother.] The information panel helpfully displayed the woman’s identity.
“Ci Ye, be more careful when walking in the future, understand?” Father Ci lectured his son sternly.
Mother Song intervened. “Little Ye is already hurt.”
Song Fu and Ci Ye sat together. She saw him blink, as if pondering something.
She soon learned what Ci Ye was thinking.
…
“What happened?” Mother Song gasped at Ci Ye, whose knees and palms were all scraped. “Falling like this.”
From that day on, not only did Ci Ye get injured frequently, but his personality underwent subtle changes too. He deliberately opposed people, like throwing his dad’s shoes and clothes he was supposed to wear into the backyard pool yesterday. Even after scolding, he showed no fear, utterly shameless.
Hearing Mother Song’s question, Ci Ye shook his scooter and replied nonchalantly. “I was practicing this.” Then he looked at Song Fu. “Want to try?”
Song Fu politely declined.
She frowned and asked, “Why didn’t you wear protective gear?”
Ci Ye pursed his lips. “Then what’s the point?”
Mother Song took the now willful and naughty Ci Ye to bandage him.
Song Fu, entering a step behind, saw Ci Ye’s stepmother just heading out next door.
The woman smiled faintly at her and beckoned. “You’re so cute. Want to model for Auntie in an ad? Lots of people would like you then.”
Song Fu shook her head solemnly. “I need to study and get first in the whole school.”
The woman laughed, found it a pity but did not press. She picked a flower from the bouquet and pinned it in Song Fu’s hair. “Good luck, pretty baby.”
The woman got in the car and left. Song Fu touched the new flower in her hair and recalled the woman’s character in the plot.
First off, she was far from vicious. She and the male lead’s father shared little affection—just a simple marriage of mutual benefit, without even a wedding. So she felt even less for this stepson. She did not mistreat the child but simply ignored him. After all, if the biological father did not care much, why would she, the stepmother, bother?
Meddling was not her style.
“Where’d the flower in your hair come from?” Ci Ye ran up to Song Fu with quick steps, expression serious.
Song Fu pointed toward the Ci house and answered honestly. “Auntie gave it to me.”
“That’s… that’s the flower my mom loved!” The child’s voice rose instantly, tears welling in his eyes. He reached out to grab the flower in Song Fu’s hair.
Song Fu’s hair was yanked. “Ow,” she winced in pain. Ci Ye froze, hesitated, then clutched the flower he had snatched and ran off. Song Fu stomped her foot. “Ci Ye!”
If talked to nicely, would she not have given up the flower?
Fine, not holding grudges against kids was her final mercy!
“What’s wrong? Did you two fight?” Mother Song had just made some snacks. Coming out, she saw Song Fu with puffed cheeks, her little mouth pouting as if it could hang an oil pot.