Ji Zhenshi pushed open the door and strode out, calling out loudly. Her voice instantly silenced the chatter in the private room. “Uncles, aunties, brothers, sisters—I’m here! Sorry about that. Traffic was a nightmare on the road, and I ended up late. Hope I didn’t miss anything important?”
“Oh, right—and this must be my brother. You haven’t changed a bit. Still looking sharp as ever. Here you go, Bro. Congrats on your fresh start. These flowers are for you. May you live as pure and clean as these white Shasta daisies from here on out. Thirty’s not too late for a new beginning.”
She stuffed the bouquet of white Shasta daisies straight into the arms of the buzz-cut man amid the crowd. Then, with the easy familiarity of someone right at home, Ji Zhenshi took a step forward. Before anyone could react, she swung her long leg over and climbed onto the private room’s tea table. Adopting the authoritative poise of a leader addressing the masses, she looked down at everyone with a sweeping gaze.
She raised a small cup of baijiu and poured herself a full glass without a second thought. Lifting it toward all the relatives, she declared, “The first cup is to my brother—to his fresh start, turning over a new leaf, and bringing glory back to our Ji family. Reviving our name and honoring our ancestors!”
“The second cup is to my parents for all the hard work they’ve put into raising him these past few years. Look at this towering pillar of a man we’ve got now—he’ll be the backbone of the Ji family. And it all comes down to my mom, Lady Yang Ying, and her tireless efforts.”
“And the final cup—the third one—is my apology for not being there right away to pick up my brother today. Consider it my atonement. It was his big day coming home; I shouldn’t have been absent. That’s three cups in total. I hope the uncles and aunties will go easy on me and not hold it against me. After all, I’m still young. I’m just a kid.”
She knocked back three glasses of baijiu in a row, without the slightest hesitation. It was a performance without precedent.
From the moment Ji Zhenshi stepped through the door, she seized control of the room, leaving everyone staring in stunned silence.
The entire private room fell quiet for several long seconds. Everyone just watched her godlike maneuvers, too dumbfounded to speak.
Especially that line—”I’m still young. I’m just a kid.” Why did it sound so damn familiar?
“Ji Zhenshi? Haven’t seen you in six years, and you’ve grown this much? I remember you as a short, dopey little kid when I went away. Now you’re this tall.” Ji Tingjun was standing closest to her and recovered first.
He tilted his head with a delinquent sneer, casually tossing the bouquet—laden with pointed implications and unlucky connotations—onto the nearby sofa.
Ji Zhenshi had come to crash the party, plain and simple.
“It’s been six years, after all. If you’re not growing, someone has to,” Ji Zhenshi said with a shrug, playing it off casually.
Ji Zhenshi stood nearly five-foot-ten, while Ji Tingjun was just a touch over six feet. Standing side by side, the siblings weren’t so different in height.
That made her earlier crack about a “towering three-foot man” all the more suspicious—a sly dig wrapped in sarcasm.
Even her insults were high-class.
“You sure live up to that rebellious dye job, Yellow. Taking over my spot? What’s this about—not picking me up and then pulling this stunt? Trying to put me in my place?”
Ji Tingjun’s expression, vibe, and posture screamed classic street thug. Though they were blood siblings, he and Ji Zhenshi couldn’t have looked less alike. Standing together, no one would peg them for brother and sister.
It probably came down to their auras. Ji Tingjun blended into a crowd like a drop in the ocean, while Ji Zhenshi stood out even in a sea of people.
Her features were striking—deep, piercing eyes that turned fiercely aggressive when she went cold.
Ji Zhenshi gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. “What are you talking about? Wasn’t it Mom who insisted I come? Am I not obedient enough?”
Yang Ying had probably called her on the sly, desperate not to lose face in front of all these relatives.
“Chrysanthemums? Ji Zhenshi, are you stirring up trouble again? I didn’t tell you to come here and run wild. What do you think you’re doing in front of everyone?” Yang Ying finally caught on. This wasn’t heartfelt well-wishing; Ji Zhenshi had come to throw a wrench in things.
Ji Tingjun snorted a laugh. “Mom, can’t you see? This bratty girl lives up to that rebellious yellow mop of hers.”
Ji Zhenshi made a calming gesture toward the two of them, flashed a smile, hopped down from the table, and patted Ji Tingjun’s shoulder. “Bro, this is gold. Not like your emo phase.”
With that, she faced the room’s mix of expressions and greeted everyone with a cheeky grin. “Third Uncle, Second Uncle, aunties—keep eating! Don’t mind me staring. And don’t worry about me. I just came late to apologize. Oh, and Mom, no need for the suspicion. This is my own brother. The day he turns over a new leaf—how could I possibly do anything?”
Ji Zhenshi acted like nothing had happened. She even took a moment to carefully arrange her own bouquet of little daisies among the others, straightening them just so. Then she grabbed a set of chopsticks and bowls for herself, swallowing hard—she was starving.
Truth be told, she was famished. The people might turn her stomach, but the food smelled and looked amazing.
Waste not, want not. She hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
“Zhenshi, you act like you’re here to wreck the place. Who starts fresh with chrysanthemums? That’s bad luck. Your brother’s not holding it against his little sister, but you need to know when to stop.” The speaker was one of Ji Zhenshi’s uncles.
At those words, Ji Zhenshi glanced up at the familiar yet distant faces around her—and at Yang Ying’s ashen expression. Memories flooded her mind of Yang Ying whispering in her ear about Li Yunli being a mute, how Li Yunli had corrupted her, and worse.
Ji Zhenshi had heard it all countless times herself. How much worse must it have been for the speechless Li Yunli? Yang Ying ran her mouth freely—who knew what poison she’d spewed behind her back.
Li Yunli just took it, never badmouthing Yang Ying to Ji Zhenshi’s face. In the end, it was Li Yunli who knew better, who chose not to stoop. Yang Ying never had the high ground.
Ji Zhenshi’s eyes held no warmth as she smiled faintly. “Don’t say that about me, Second Uncle. It’s white—I want my brother to start clean and pure. My intentions are good. If he accepts the gesture, that’s enough.”
Ji Zhenshi’s antics were pure disruption, bent on ruining everyone’s meal.
And it had worked. The cheerful buzz in the room had died the moment she walked in. Now relatives exchanged uneasy glances, no doubt mentally replaying her antics a hundred times over.
Was this girl’s rebellious phase dragging on a bit long? Twenty-two and still at it?
Ji Tingjun watched her stir the pot and then calmly dig in. He licked the back of his molars and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, you little punk—you’ve got some guts. Enough, Mom. Ji Zhenshi’s never been the sensible type; don’t hold it against her. Third Uncle, Second Uncle—sit down, keep drinking.”
“Twenty-two and still clueless! How’s she ever gonna get married? Who could handle that attitude?”
“Exactly! Second Brother, you need to set her straight when you get home. And that hair—what color is that? Too flashy.”
“Girls should be ladylike. That performance earlier—what was that?”
Ji Zhenshi had become the center of attention, the talk swirling around her.
It was all the usual: how obedient she’d been as a kid, how rebellious she’d turned after hitting puberty—unbearable now.
Obedient? Letting everyone boss her around—that was “obedient”?
She’d long since realized her life was hers alone to steer. When things went smooth, they all acted like experts with endless advice. When it hit the fan, she was the one left holding the bag.
Ji Tingjun held down Yang Ying before she could flip the table, then slid into the seat next to Ji Zhenshi. With obvious distaste, he flicked her hair and tsked. “Ji Zhenshi, it’s been years. Grown some spine, huh? Look at you, all smug. Twenty-two and still stuck in your teen angst?”
Ji Zhenshi didn’t even bother opening her eyes. Those three shots of baijiu had hit hard; the buzz was settling in, her head swimming.
Propping her elbow on the table edge, she murmured with her eyes shut, “You’re pushing thirty and still full of yourself.”
Ji Tingjun was the poster boy for ex-emo thugs—didn’t care for school, spoiled rotten as the family golden boy. No surprise that in his early twenties, young and hotheaded, a split-second impulse had landed him six years inside.
“Whoa, bratty girl’s got bite. You, pulling a violin out of that? Guess the bar’s not high—who couldn’t learn? But with those skinny arms and legs, you sure you can even hold the thing steady?” Ji Tingjun didn’t rise to her jabs. Big-picture guy like him wouldn’t stoop to squabbling with his clueless little sister. Deep down, though, he looked down on her.
In his eyes, violin had no real prospects. Better pick something practical. Street performing for coins?
Ji Zhenshi clenched her fingers under the table, forcing composure as she turned to him with a slight smile. “Bro, you sure know how to talk ugly. If I can handle my chopsticks, why not a violin? As for whether anyone’s cut out for it—wanna give it a shot, Bro? Try it and see if just anyone can ace the provincial exams and get into the Music Academy top spot. Oh, wait—I think you didn’t even finish junior high. Wanna try?”
Try her resolve with that violin.
No matter how stellar her achievements, if it involved violin, they shut it down. Ji Zhenshi used to think great results would win approval. But after endless letdowns, she had zero expectations left.
She pushed herself for love of it, to go further—not for validation from these outsiders. It was meaningless.
“Enough with the brother-bashing. We’re real blood, you and me—you’ll need me plenty down the line. Violin’s too fancy for a guy like me. Go ahead and mess around with it while you’re young. Everyone takes a few detours in their youth.” Ji Tingjun poured himself a drink, drawling lazily as he sipped.
Ji Zhenshi snorted coldly, tuning out the surrounding chatter. She’d made her point, vented her steam. Now she’d play invisible until the meal wrapped.
Play deaf and dumb—that was her go-to passive skill. Let them trash her all they wanted, just as long as they left Li Yunli out of it and everyone could finish in peace.
Ji Tingjun waved off Yang Ying as she tried to speak, signaling to hold off. Not in front of relatives—family laundry stayed in-house.
Whatever it was, they’d hash it out behind closed doors.
Ji Tingjun crossed his legs leisurely and steered the conversation. “Heard Li Yunli went to your school today instead of picking me up? With me gone these years, looks like you and your sister-in-law get along great? Already like family?”
At Li Yunli’s name, Ji Zhenshi’s closed eyes snapped open. She fixed Ji Tingjun with a death glare.
Her dark, brooding stare landed on him, chilling without a word.
Even through the haze of alcohol, she suddenly seemed walled off, impenetrable.
“What’re you staring at? Overreacting much? I’m not blaming Li Yunli or anything; I’m not petty. Just heard from Mom you two get along swell—like besties now?” Ji Tingjun slouched back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling with that thuggish nonchalance.
Ji Zhenshi gripped her chopsticks tighter, veins bulging on her hands. Some emotion bubbled, ready to erupt.
She tuned out Yang Ying and the aunties and uncles, zeroing in on Ji Tingjun.
“What, gone mute? Hanging with a mute rubbed off on you? Your mouth was golden when you barged in—silver-tongued, no room for a word edgewise.” Ji Tingjun saw her head down, silent, and chuckled, legs still crossed.
Her little sister had changed worlds since the obedient kid from six years back. Just like Yang Ying said—rebel phase dragging on.
Ji Zhenshi looked up with a fleshless smile, eyes wary. “Yeah, we get along fine. Got a problem?”
Ji Tingjun, puzzled by her intensity, dug in his ear. “Nah, no problem. Kinda bummed I didn’t see my wife today, though. I’ll swing by after catching up with the boys.”
In his mind, papers or not, Li Yunli had been his wife since her dad took their family money.
His sister playing nice with his wife? No skin off his back. Even if they clashed, he wouldn’t bother mediating.
No impact either way.
“Heard from Mom you’re pretty obedient to Li Yunli. Didn’t expect a mute to rein in our rebel brat. Guess that mute’s got a knack for handling kids. Come in handy when we have our own—after all, who could out-rebel you, Ji Zhenshi?”
Ji Tingjun might’ve meant it or not, but every word salted her wounds, stabbing deep.
The alcohol should’ve dulled it all, but the numbness failed her. The ache throbbed clear as day.
“Calling her a mute over and over—you don’t find that gross?” Ji Zhenshi slammed down her bowl and chopsticks.
Ji Tingjun assumed she meant Li Yunli and jumped in smugly. “I don’t mind her being mute. Housewife at home’s fine; outside’s for thrills. Ji Zhenshi, take a page from your bro—don’t be arrogant all the time.”
Ji Zhenshi let out a cold scoff. “I’m talking about you.”
Ji Tingjun had never respected Li Yunli—or even his own sister, for that matter. If they shared one trait, it was that unwitting arrogance.
His was scorning everyone, lording supreme. Hers was never bending to the crowd—staying true amid the finger-pointing, owning her choices and consequences.
Worlds apart. Ji Zhenshi never saw herself above others, nor did she sell herself short.
“Ruined my appetite.” Ji Zhenshi had no patience left for their pointless games. She shouldered her backpack and bolted.
She’d swept in like a gale, upending the meal. Now she was gone just as fast—untouchable, free as the wind.
“Hey! What’s with that kid? No manners!”
“Yeah, totally out of control!”
“Those drinks must’ve gone to her head. Spoiled rotten.”
“Tingjun, now that you’re out, rein in your sister. Don’t want her paying the price like you did.”
Ji Zhenshi ignored the voices behind her, her long legs carrying her away fast—as if she couldn’t stand another second there.
She couldn’t tell which disgusted her more: Ji Tingjun calling Li Yunli a mute, or saying she’d be good with kids someday. A sudden chill swept her, her whole body running cold.
She wanted to hurl. Her stomach churned; she felt wretched all over.
A few steps from the restaurant, Ji Zhenshi dropped to one knee by the roadside. She’d barely eaten, then chugged all that baijiu—even iron would buckle.
So it was no surprise when she lost it all.
Kneeling there in misery, tears welled in her eyes. It felt like everything she’d barely grasped had shattered the instant Ji Tingjun walked free.
She couldn’t bear it—couldn’t bear losing Li Yunli, losing those peaceful afternoons at her coffee shop.
“If you hate that she’s mute, why not just let her go?”
Ji Zhenshi had no answer. She knew she couldn’t join their kind. So even terrified, even insignificant, she’d clutch tight to what was hers.
Face flushed crimson, she gasped for air.
She longed to run to Li Yunli but didn’t want her seeing her like this—didn’t want to worry her. Instead, Ji Zhenshi curled up on a roadside bench, arms wrapped around her knees, counting stars the whole night.
The moon was still better. There was only one.
