Chapter 19: Housewarming

First thing the next morning, Sang Ling rented a large cargo truck. Moving day.

It was Friday, and Little Yao still had school, so Lin Jinxu came home after dropping her daughter at the nursery to pack with Sang Ling.

Moving inevitably meant heavy lifting and clouds of dust, so Lin Jinxu decreed that Sang Ling was forbidden from wearing anything nice or new, lest it get stained or torn.

Thus Sang Ling could only wear an oversized gray T-shirt, a pair of cotton shorts normally reserved for sleeping, and—on her head—a little hat Lin Jinxu had folded for her out of newspaper. Stripped of everything but her height, she had none of an Alpha’s dominance left. She looked like an ordinary Beta, an ordinary girl next door, grudgingly helping her mother with the deep cleaning.

She shook her head; the newspaper rustled against her hair, wolf-tail strands poking out from under the brim.

She frowned. “Does this thing actually do anything? Just put a plastic bag over my head instead.”

“It works.” Lin Jinxu raised her Light Brain and snapped a photo, preserving for posterity what could absolutely be classified as a black mark on any Alpha’s life record.

Sang Ling cheerfully threw up a V sign.

On moving strategy, the two reached their first decision immediately: Little Yao’s winter homework, summer homework, and every craft assignment would go onto the truck first. Not a single page could be left behind.

On the question of the child’s education and future credentials, the two were in perfect agreement.

Even when Little Yao called from school on her children’s Light Brain during break to lodge a fierce protest, they carried on regardless.

In Lin Jinxu’s case it was perhaps housewifely instinct. In Sang Ling’s case, she was honestly deriving a certain enjoyment from Little Yao’s suffering.

She turned on the camera and let Little Yao watch, live, as she carried her homework out to the truck bundle by bundle.

The furious child hung up at once.

Sang Ling shook with laughter from head to toe; the newspaper hat couldn’t stay on and slid sideways off her hair.

Quick as a flash, she scooped it back on, straightened it, and stood. “Anything else heavy? I’ll take it.”

Lin Jinxu: “Nothing yet. See what else needs packing? I’ll put Little Yao’s clothes and toys away first.”

Sang Ling: “Okay. Then I’ll go pack up my sister’s things and bring them over.”

That one offhand sentence made Lin Jinxu’s hands pause.

Sang Ling was already walking toward the master bedroom when Lin Jinxu, standing in the living room, finally spoke.

“Little Ling.” She put on a smile as if nothing were wrong. “We’re taking your sister’s things with us too?”

“Of course.”

As a transmigrator, Sang Ling’s feelings about the original owner—and the original owner’s sister, Sang Chi—were honestly rather complicated.

Take the original owner first. She had been a genuine, unqualified piece-of-trash Alpha. But Sang Ling was now using her body, living under her identity; she could condemn the original’s crimes, but beyond that, she preferred to show the original some respect. After all—using someone’s hand meant owing them.

Then there was the sister, Sang Chi. She had been Lin Jinxu’s legal spouse, Little Yao’s other mother in the eyes of the law, the older sister of the body Sang Ling now wore—and a soldier who had died at the Zerg’s hands protecting humanity. A Combat Medic.

By every measure of sentiment and reason, Sang Ling didn’t think abandoning someone’s belongings in this slum was moral.

Besides—could she really forbid Lin Jinxu from carrying the keepsakes of her beloved late wife?

“Sis, you still love Sang Chi, right? Don’t worry. I’ll never force you to change how you feel. You’ll always be my sister. My sister-in-law.”

By now Sang Ling had gained some understanding of this ABO world.

She knew that with Omegas’ current social standing, so-called inheritance was, at its core, nothing but passing an Omega along as a plaything to another Alpha. In everyone else’s eyes, Lin Jinxu already belonged to her—Sang Ling’s Omega.

She wanted no part of forcing an Omega. Worried even that Lin Jinxu might feel pressured, she said proactively:

“You don’t owe me anything, and you don’t have to force yourself. My sister hasn’t been gone long—it’s only natural that you still have feelings for her. And if someday you fall for another Alpha, don’t feel guilty about it either. Just tell me straight. I’ll be your family, and I’ll stand behind you.”

Her gaze was utterly sincere—clearly something she had thought through carefully, addressing this awkward matter between the two of them with a calm, open hand.

But it was precisely this sentence that named the elephant in the room that Lin Jinxu had been so carefully ignoring: the Alpha called Sang Chi, who even in death cast a ghost that lay squarely between Lin Jinxu and Sang Ling.

Lin Jinxu wanted to explain that she and Sang Chi had been nothing but mutual use. But looking at Sang Ling’s face—so utterly without guile—she could only open her mouth and say nothing at all.

Sang Ling, of course, was being sincere at this moment. She had proven her goodwill twice over—saving her twice, moving house for her.

The young woman possessed a consideration and purity rare in any Alpha. Her world was simply that simple.

In that instant, a vague thought flickered through Lin Jinxu: she wanted to tell this supportive, absurdly patient Alpha all the secrets buried in her heart.

It had nothing to do with liking, nothing to do with romance. She simply wanted to lay those old things, hidden so long, out under the sun.

She had too many secrets. They were about to overflow—so many they seemed ready to spill out through her eyes.

Sang Ling noticed. “What’s wrong?” she asked, puzzled.

Nothing. It’s only that there’s something I still have to do—something so vast I would wager my entire life on it.

The Orchid Mantis’s warning—you humans betray—rang suddenly in her ears like the bell of a church of penance, reminding Lin Jinxu, always.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “Leave your sister’s things to me. You go pack your own things and the kitchen.”

“Okay.”

With her own things packed, Sang Ling walked into the bathroom for one last check for anything important left behind.

The cement-plastered walls had rough, porous surfaces; in the over-damp corners, green mold could grow in a single day.

The rubber washer under the sink faucet—even with Lin Jinxu cleaning regularly—had yellowed and gone brittle with time, and nothing could stop it.

The shower was hidden behind a simple pull-rod curtain, its little yellow duck pattern long faded, though the whole curtain had been steeped in the scent of body wash.

Finding nothing left behind, she walked back out to the living room, where the low ceiling reminded her all over again of the day she’d first transmigrated.

She was moving out of this shabby place. Out of this slum.

Sang Ling felt an odd, unaccountable pride. Outsiders wouldn’t see it, but deep down, she was someone who genuinely liked the business of living.

She liked working hard to make her life stable, to make it better—and in the process, she’d made Lin Jinxu’s and Little Yao’s lives better too.

That made her even happier. Like a little dog easily contented.

Lin Jinxu was already waiting in the truck’s passenger seat, and apparently found her too slow—she leaned over to the driver’s side and tapped the horn.

“Coming!”

Sang Ling held the yellowed rubber washer she’d pried off the sink—a keepsake of her old life—and took the high chassis of the truck in two easy strides.

“Onward to a beautiful new life!”

Little Yao walked out of the kindergarten gates amid a crowd of little sprouts, backpack on, sorrowfully.

Her blockheaded deskmate was still asking her, “Why aren’t you happy?”

Little Yao shook her head with inscrutable wisdom. You immature little fools have no idea what it feels like to come within one step of throwing away your homework—and fail.

Her complicated experiences made Little Yao relatively precocious compared to children her age.

“Little Yao! Little Yao!”

A clear, bright girl’s voice rang out.

Little Yao looked up and saw her aunt waving at her excitedly, one hand holding up an ice cream.

Afraid Little Yao couldn’t see her, Sang Ling waved wider and wider, standing out conspicuously among the crowd of parents.

Little Yao mused again, with unfathomable depth: Hmph. Not only was she more mature than her classmates—she was more mature than this aunt of hers, too.

But her deskmate understood none of Little Yao’s inner world. Staring at Sang Ling, she grabbed Little Yao’s arm in excitement. “Wow, Little Yao! An Alpha came to pick you up!”

“I heard Alphas are all superheroes!”

“Wow, a superhero came to pick up Little Yao!”

The little sprouts passed it along, rumor compounding rumor, and an entire wave of envy erupted on the spot.

However precocious Little Yao was, even she couldn’t hold it in now. Her cheeks slowly went red, and she declared at the top of her lungs, “She’s my aunt!”

“Wow, Little Yao’s aunt is a superhero!”

Little Yao ran swiftly to Sang Ling’s side. Sang Ling handed over the ice cream, having long since heard the children’s envious chorus, and at this moment her tail was all but wagging up into the sky.

“Well? Did I earn you some face or what?”

“Meh. Passable.” Little Yao licked her ice cream, deliberately deflating her.

Sang Ling’s face fell at once. “You don’t even like me, and you’re still eating my ice cream? Give it back.”

Little Yao took one enormous bite, devouring the entire scoop, brain freeze stabbing through her skull—but she was triumphant. “Not giving it back, not giving it back, never ever!”

“Oh, right.” Sang Ling looked at her solemnly. “Your mom said I’m not allowed to buy you ice cream. So this is our little secret, just the two of us.”

She held out her hand. “Pinky promise, sealed for a hundred years!”

“So lame.” Little Yao complained—but held out her pinky all the same.

By the time Sang Ling brought Little Yao home, Lin Jinxu had already finished cleaning the new apartment.

The moment the apartment door swung open—the spacious living room, the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows, the new sofa and new coffee table that came with the unit—Little Yao’s eyes went impossibly wide.

On the living room wall hung a few decorative velvet flowers. It had been Sang Ling’s idea; she took moving into a new home seriously, so she’d deliberately arranged a few decorations for the sake of ceremony.

“So pretty,” Little Yao murmured.

Lin Jinxu had finished cooking and was waiting for them on the sofa. She rose to her feet. “You’re back! Wash your hands and eat!”

Sang Ling had bought a little fruit wine and poured a splash for herself and for Lin Jinxu, celebrating the housewarming.

The minimalist pendant light above the dining table shifted its glow as they clinked glasses, setting the wine in the glasses shimmering.

Today was a good day.

Tomorrow would be a good day too.

Sang Ling looked at Lin Jinxu’s faintly smiling face, and at Little Yao trying to sneak sips of fruit wine when the grown-ups weren’t looking, and realized her impression of that beautiful, tragic, world-ending great villain from the original story was slowly fading.

She hoped that from now on, every single day for the three of them would be a simple, good day.

The wine had gone to her head.

Lin Jinxu came out to the balcony for some air. Behind her, in the living room, Sang Ling hadn’t let Little Yao sneak any fruit wine—she’d drunk most of the child’s cola herself instead, and was now under attack from a barrage of kitty punches.

For the first time in a long while, Lin Jinxu felt happy. And she found she couldn’t help feeling happy.

The wind lifted her long curls.

And the wind carried a voice to her ear.

“Miss Lin. How enviable you are.”

The Orchid Mantis hung upside down from the balcony above, revealing that terrifyingly slender waist, and her head.

“Last time I told you you’d acquired a rare Alpha, and that you should enjoy life. It seems you took my advice.”

“But as every amusement park knows—happy times are always short.”

Her mouth split into a smile. Human lips, in an instant, split apart into the mouthparts of a Zerg.

“You have a new task.”

The smile on Lin Jinxu’s face faded, slowly, slowly, until it vanished without a trace—like snow melting away.