Pettiness: Wolfie was mad, but Wolfie still had to come home.
The dining table held four dishes and a soup—simple home-cooked fare.
Ji Dad was constantly away on business trips, rarely coming home more than a few times a month. Usually, it was just Lady Ou and her daughter eating together, and today was no exception.
Lady Ou kept piling food onto Ji Yingran’s plate. “Eat more.”
Ji Yingran’s bowl was already heaped like a mountain by the time she finally caught on. “Mom, why are you keep serving me like this?”
Their family had no habit of serving each other food; everyone just ate their own, and the atmosphere at the table stayed relaxed.
Lady Ou said nothing, only giving her a worried glance before adding another piece of meat to her bowl. “This dish is good for your brain. You need to eat more of it.”
Good for the brain?
Ji Yingran was still puzzling over that when Lady Ou swiftly changed the subject. “I have a friend—I’m thinking of inviting her over this weekend. How about you meet her? You two could chat a bit.”
Ji Yingran frowned. “Mom, I’ve told you many times, I’m not looking to date. Please stop trying to set me up.”
Lady Ou set down her chopsticks. “No, no, it’s not like that. She’s just a friend. You’d get to know her, talk a little—that’s all.”
This friend was a psychologist Lady Ou had just learned about through an acquaintance.
Given Ji Yingran’s current mental state, Lady Ou didn’t dare suggest therapy outright. She had to beat around the bush.
Ji Yingran kept her head down, eating. “We’ll see.”
Lady Ou’s lips parted as if to press further, but she held back, fearing it might upset her. She let it drop for now.
Lady Ou sighed inwardly. This child… She’d impulsively run off to Snow Mountain for fun and nearly died. Now the bakery setback had left her psychologically scarred…
“What’s this soup?” Ji Yingran suddenly asked. “It tastes pretty good.”
“Walnut longan lotus seed soup.” She’d heard it was excellent brain food—perfect for Ji Yingran right now.
Lady Ou was thinking about brain-boosting benefits, but as Ji Yingran gazed into her bowl, her mind wandered to… That Wolf would probably love this.
Ji Yingran shook her head. She’d run away from home, so why share the good stuff? It’d be better to pour it out than give her any.
That was what she thought, but what came out of her mouth was: “Is there more of this in the kitchen?”
Lady Ou nodded. “Plenty. I made a big pot. Drink as much as you like—you need it now, to nourish your brain.”
Ji Yingran looked puzzled. “Mom, why do you keep going on about brain food?”
Lady Ou fell silent.
Ji Yingran was utterly baffled.
After dinner, Ji Yingran washed up and retreated to her room.
Ever since opening the bakery, her days had been a whirlwind of activity. Now that it was closed, she finally had some downtime—but somehow, she felt more exhausted than during those grueling early-morning-to-late-night shifts.
All because That Wolf kept stirring up trouble, tormenting her in every way imaginable. How could she not be worn out?
Ji Yingran even wondered if running away—or heading back to Snow Mountain—might be for the best. Life without That Wolf would be peaceful, serene.
She’d taken the blanket with her, so it probably wasn’t a simple tantrum. Maybe she really had gone back to Snow Mountain.
Ji Yingran let out a soft sigh, pushed open her door, and sat on the edge of the bed.
As her hand brushed the bedspread, she felt something fuzzy.
Her spirits lifted. She yanked back the covers to reveal a familiar blanket—one that didn’t belong in this room.
Ji Yingran stared, frozen for a moment.
How had the wolf’s blanket ended up here?
Then it hit her. Last night, the wolf had shown up uninvited, and she’d brought the blanket along by chomping it in her jaws.
Right—she’d forgotten. Mu Ci had dragged the blanket here; it hadn’t stayed in Building 9.
So when Ji Yingran had torn Building 9 apart searching for it earlier that day, of course she hadn’t found it!
The wolf had never taken the blanket away. She’d just stormed off alone, leaving it behind.
Ji Yingran reached out, stroking the fluffy mass. The texture felt just like Wolfie’s fur.
Was this blanket made from wolf fur?
Ji Yingran shook her head, banishing the silly thought. Now wasn’t the time for that. The important thing was…
The blanket was still here, so Mu Ci probably hadn’t gone back to Snow Mountain. She might still return.
If the wolf had truly meant to leave, she never would have left her precious blanket behind. She slept on it every night.
That realization eased the tension Ji Yingran had carried all day.
She pulled the blanket into her arms. It still carried the faint scent of cold pine that was uniquely Mu Ci’s.
Good… she’ll come back.
Ji Yingran glanced at the clock: 8 p.m. already. She’d been gone all day—a whole day and night of running away—and now night had fallen without her returning. Who knew where she was curled up.
Out there, a stray wolf.
But with Mu Ci’s sharp-tongued, domineering personality, she’d thrive anywhere. Even as a stray, she’d never go hungry or suffer—no one could bully her. She was always the one dishing out the scoldings.
Ji Yingran picked up the crumpled diary from beside her.
She flipped it open, chuckling at the pages smeared with inky blobs.
Wolfie was usually so image-conscious, always playing the aloof High-Cold Wolf. Yet her diary looked like this. Wasn’t that a total character collapse?
She carried around that idol persona, determined to be the epitome of cool detachment.
Ji Yingran set the diary aside and picked up the old phone, mulling over buying Wolfie a smartwatch with GPS once she returned—something to strap on her wrist.
She unlocked the screen absentmindedly—and froze.
The lock screen wallpaper was a selfie of Ji Yingran.
She blinked, stunned. She’d never set a selfie as her wallpaper. If it wasn’t her doing…
Ji Yingran smiled. Had she gone through the photo album? And not just looked—set one of the few selfies as the wallpaper.
She really likes me, doesn’t she?
But that didn’t need proving anymore. If she didn’t, she never would have saved her on Snow Mountain—or followed her down after she left.
Wolfie likes me—a lot.
Ji Yingran set the phone down, hugged the wolf’s blanket tight, and lay down to sleep.
She was bone-tired, but once the lights were off, sleep wouldn’t come.
She tossed and turned, sighing now and then.
Unable to sleep, she got up, opened the window, and peered into the neighboring yard.
As long as the wolf wasn’t home, Ji Yingran’s heart stayed in her throat. No chance of rest.
It was 11 p.m. now, and still no sign of her.
Outside was pitch black, save for the dim yellow glow of streetlights on the nearby road.
Ji Yingran was about to turn away when a White Shadow flashed in the yard next door.
It vanished in an instant—like an optical illusion. But Ji Yingran was certain: no mistake, no hallucination.
That Wolf was back!
After waiting a full day and night, relief flooded her at the sight. Her heart skipped a beat.
Excitement and joy surged—then ebbed, leaving pure anger.
This dumb wolf! She finally remembered to come home!
Ji Yingran gritted her teeth, instinctively starting toward her—but anger halted her steps.
No way was she going to her now. She’d vanished for a day and a night without reason. Why should Ji Yingran chase after her the moment she showed up?
She deserved to be ignored. Mu Ci had gone too far—way too far.
Even clay figures have a temper, and Ji Yingran was furious. She wasn’t going to deal with her.
Yet mere minutes later, softer than clay, she gave in and headed next door.
What could she do? She couldn’t really ignore her. If Ji Yingran had that kind of resolve, she wouldn’t have spent a day and night in agony.
She must owe this wolf from a past life.
And truthfully, she did. The wolf had saved her life—how could she not?
She slipped out quietly, not wanting to wake Lady Ou. Fortunately, it was late; Lady Ou was long asleep.
Ji Yingran pushed open the gate to Building 9 and stepped inside, then eased open the house door. The room was pitch dark, nothing visible.
Click.
She flicked the switch by the door.
Bright light flooded the living room from overhead. There lay the wolf, curled into a ball beneath the window, head tucked under her tail.
The wolf had heard it all: the gate opening, the door, the light. But she ignored everything, staying balled up.
Ears shut to the world outside.
In short, she was sulking—and kept sulking even after coming home.
Ji Yingran stood in the doorway, watching her for a long moment.
Such a massive wolf, taking up so much space on the floor. Yet her heart was as tiny as a pinhole.
So petty. And Ji Yingran still had no clue why she was mad.
They’d had a fight; someone had to break the ice first. Expecting this wolf to bow? They’d be at odds forever.
Ji Yingran took the initiative, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re back. Where’d you wander off to all day? Coming home this late.”
The curled-up wolf showed no reaction whatsoever.
Normally, if one person yielded first and offered a way down, the other would take it.
But was Mu Ci normal? She wouldn’t step down even with stairs handed to her…
Ji Yingran wasn’t surprised by this at all. She walked over and squatted down beside her.
“Is she asleep? Why won’t she even acknowledge me?”
The wolf didn’t move an inch.
Ji Yingran reached out and poked her. She was a fluffy ball, soft and squishy to the touch.
The wolf still didn’t budge.
Ji Yingran poked her a couple more times and sighed. “Come on now, how long are you going to keep sulking? Are you really planning to ignore me forever?”
The wolf answered with her actions: no movement, no response. She was fully committed to giving her the silent treatment.
