After finishing a casual lunch, Nan Qi pulled out her phone and opened WeChat. She scanned the QR code on the table to pay, and once the payment went through, the app automatically switched back to the chat screen. There, in Bo Ranying’s conversation, a red unread message notification had popped up.
The preview showed the first line: something about her having bought cold medicine.
Tapping it open revealed Bo Ranying’s straightforward concern: 【I’m really worried about you.】
Nan Qi stared at the screen, a raw surge of anger flashing in her eyes. Even Ye Sheng jumped at the sudden wave of hostility radiating from her, but Nan Qi had no attention to spare for her right now.
Her lips curved in what might have been a smirk, on the verge of a cold laugh.
What was this supposed to be? Bo Ranying’s usual way of making peace?
Even now, Ranran still didn’t take her anger seriously. She probably thought Nan Qi was just throwing a simple tantrum.
They had known each other for years. Bo Ranying knew her inside out, and Nan Qi knew Bo Ranying just as well. She could read her intentions perfectly.
It was nothing more than Bo Ranying trying to get her attention by stirring up that controversy that morning—playing little games. First, she’d bought medicine and had it rushed to the law firm. When Nan Qi didn’t respond or share any of her usual daily snippets like she used to, Bo Ranying quickly tossed out this olive branch to coax her.
She thought she’d put in the effort and could smooth things over easily.
Otherwise, if she really cared, why would she stop at just one message?
In the end, Bo Ranying just wasn’t invested enough in her.
Nan Qi’s emotions twisted and turned, her expression growing darker by the second. Finally, she fired off a cold, standard reply—the one she used for people she had no interest in dealing with.
As she hit send, she never imagined she’d one day use it on Bo Ranying.
Only after venting the turbulent feelings churning in her chest did she glance back at the message. Her sharp brows furrowed for a moment, but in the end, she didn’t withdraw it.
With the reply sent, she casually pocketed her phone and snapped Ye Sheng out of her eavesdropping trance nearby. “Senior Sister, you done eating? If so, let’s head back.”
“All done, all done,” Ye Sheng said, wiping her mouth and scurrying to catch up with Nan Qi. In a gossipy tone, she probed, “Who were you chatting with just now? You looked so pissed.”
Nan Qi paused mid-step, hesitating for a split second. Then, facing Ye Sheng, she enunciated clearly, “Bo Ranying.”
Her voice was flat and emotionless, as if she were mentioning a total stranger.
No one knew that inside, a rain had started to fall—a pattering downpour that formed accusing words: See? Even Senior Sister could tell how angry you were, but she doesn’t even care…
Ye Sheng froze in place. She held up her index finger and thumb to form a “7,” rubbing her chin as she gazed at Nan Qi’s retreating figure. With a heavy tsk, she sighed.
This must be the power of a crush. A single word, an expression, a subtle gesture—any of it could yank at the admirer’s emotions. Sweet and agonizing, impossible to resist.
That afternoon, Nan Qi threw herself back into work with fierce focus until a sudden phone ring shattered her concentration.
It was her personal phone, locked in the desk drawer.
She fished it out, unlocked it, and swiped to answer. The caller ID read “Hometown.”
Nan Qi understood at once—it was probably her parents calling from back home.
Ringing during work hours meant it had to be something urgent.
A shadow of inscrutable depth crossed her face, her expression conflicted. She let the first round of rings go by, picking up only when it started again.
Before she could say a word, a warm, gentle voice came through from the other end.
It was the voice that often echoed in her midnight dreams—her mother, Nan Mother.
The background noise was chaotic, like a crowd had gathered around her, everyone talking over each other in a noisy clamor.
The racket clashed with Nan Qi’s immersion in her quiet office. She cupped her ear to block it out, easing back in before tuning into her mother’s words again.
“Little Qi, you busy right now?”
“Busy,” Nan Qi replied bluntly, no beating around the bush.
There was a slight pause on the other end before her mother continued. “Mom won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to say, the apricots, mangoes, and plums at home are all ripe. I’ve picked a bunch and made them into suan ye—you and Little Ran love that stuff, right? Mom will ship some over by SF Express tomorrow. If it’s fast, it’ll arrive tomorrow; if not, the day after.”
Her mother spoke in a rapid, affectionate rush, like any doting mom fussing over her daughter working far away, sending a warm bundle of care from home.
Nan Qi blinked her slightly stinging eyes, refusing to melt under her mother’s sugar-coated trap. She wanted to hang up right then.
But her mother had brought up Bo Ranying, softening Nan Qi’s expression a touch. She held back from ending the call.
Truth be told, she hadn’t liked suan ye at first. It was only after becoming friends with Bo Ranying that she learned about her tastes—her love for salty, spicy fruits. Nan Qi had begged her family to make some, then brought it to school to share.
It had worked like a charm. The homemade suan ye earned her Bo Ranying’s delighted smile. Nan Qi stared, mesmerized by those curved lips, a breathtaking flower blooming in her heart.
She loved seeing Bo Ranying accept her gesture and light up with genuine joy.
Back then, Bo Ranying was never without a jar of suan ye, clutching it like a treasure. She’d pluck one out at random and pop it in her mouth. Nan Qi watched endlessly, mentally sketching Bo Ranying’s cheeks bulging round and full, her eyes crinkling happily at the corners—beautiful and adorable. Then, as she chewed, the puffiness faded, her face returning to its normal shape.
Over and over, Nan Qi replayed the image in her mind, never tiring of it.
Finally, the ever-spotlit Bo Ranying couldn’t handle Nan Qi’s intense gaze and grew shy.
She felt awkward devouring her snack under that scrutiny and tried to divert the class president’s attention. Plucking a glistening green plum dusted with red chili powder from the jar—the sight alone was mouthwatering—she held it up to Nan Qi’s lips, swallowing her own surging saliva. “Little Qi, you have one too.”
Nan Qi turned her head away. “You eat it. I don’t like this stuff.”
Bo Ranying stomped her foot, pouting in dissatisfaction. “You’re watching me eat, and I can’t go through with it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know… it just feels weird.” Bo Ranying couldn’t quite explain it. Nan Qi’s gaze wasn’t simple or innocent—it felt like a hook wrapped in fine thread. She couldn’t see where the line led, but instinctively, she sensed it tugged at her.
Something felt off. She had to stop it.
“Ranran, it’s just your imagination,” Nan Qi said softly, catching the flicker of confusion on Bo Ranying’s face.
She lowered her lashes, hiding her contemplation.
It was a rare moment for her to ponder anything outside of studies.
With Nan Qi saying so, Bo Ranying dropped her worry about why she couldn’t eat. But she doubled down on sharing, nudging the fruit back to Nan Qi’s lips with a spoiled lilt. “I don’t care—you have to eat this one, or else—”
Bo Ranying’s mind raced, scrambling for a threat.
Nan Qi fanned the flames, ignoring the fruit as her heart scorched from Bo Ranying’s petulant huff. Her ears burned red as she feigned calm, locking eyes and teasing, “Or else what?”
The playful mischief was too much. Bo Ranying wanted to cover that unfairly pretty face—or stuff something in her mouth to stop those rogue words.
In a daze, her mind flashed to their first kiss, inspiration striking. With a sly, enchanting smile, she declared, “Or else I’ll never kiss you again!”
An angelic, adorable face delivering that devilish ultimatum hit Nan Qi right in her weak spot. Her casual demeanor shattered. Every muscle tensed; she couldn’t even resist. Her body lunged forward, her tongue darting out to snag the fruit from Bo Ranying’s fingertip.
The unique tang of suan ye flooded her mouth—sour, spicy, salty—layers building from her taste buds straight to her brain.
As Nan Qi savored the rare treat, she replayed the brief brush of her tongue against Bo Ranying’s fingertip. Her ears, hidden under her dark fringe, flushed deeper.
Huh, this suan ye actually tasted pretty good this time!
Maybe she could get into it after all.
Influenced by Bo Ranying and after countless feedings and shares over the years, Nan Qi had grown to love suan ye too.
Her whole demeanor softened now, her ears tingling from the voice on the line, her chest going numb. Still, she cut through her mother’s endless fretting. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You child, why so formal with your own mom?”
“We’re family—what’s there to be polite about?” Nan Mother sounded thrilled. Nan Qi faintly heard her step away from the phone, loudly instructing her husband to pack up the daughter’s favorite treat carefully.
“…” Nan Qi gripped her phone and said nothing.
The air hung silent for a moment before Nan Mother finished speaking to her husband and turned back to her. “Little Qi, here’s the thing. Your uncle met this really powerful big shot, and they’ve been doing business together. He’s made a ton of money. And you know how kind-hearted your uncle is? Once he got on his feet, he didn’t forget his brothers. He talked it over with the big shot and brought your dad into the deal so we can all get rich together!”
Nan Mother lowered her voice, her words laced with caution. Between the lines, it was clear she wanted her daughter to weigh in and decide.
Nan Qi knew right away it smelled fishy. Her uncle—the guy who’d gone to university but never held down a real job, idling away his days in neatly pressed clothes while sweet-talking the family’s elders out of their cash.
She’d buy it if he said her uncle had stirred up trouble and landed in jail. But him rubbing elbows with some big shot and turning their business into a roaring success? Not a chance in hell.
Still, she didn’t shoot it down outright. Playing along, she asked, “What kind of business?”
“They say it’s growing flowers. Big potential. You know roses? All the young girls love them. They sell like hotcakes in flower shops, and in the big cities, you can’t keep them on the shelves. Your uncle wants to contract some land with us to grow roses. Then we’ll hire workers to build greenhouses, buy equipment, give the roses the perfect environment to thrive. And get this—we’re not growing ordinary roses. He said if we’re doing it, we’re going for the rarest kind. The variety? Oh yeah, Blue Enchantress. A super-rare blue rose. The big shot handles sales. We just nurture them. No worries about channels for us or your dad. We sit back, collect monthly dividends, and a big year-end bonus. It’ll be steady income for the family—a security blanket nobody else can touch.”
Nan Mother recited what she knew of the partnership in full.
Nan Qi was sure of it now. Only her uncle could dream up a half-baked scheme like this. He’d gotten smarter this time, waving the big shot’s flag to reel in her parents.
Nan Mother’s voice dropped even lower. “Little Qi, what do you think? The big shot says it’s easy money, no risk at all. Nobody around here grows flowers, so we’d have the first-mover advantage. He wants your dad and me to invest a million upfront. In two or three years, once the roses are going, we’ll break even and start profiting. Xixi’s grades are top-notch. If he wants to study abroad later, we’ll be set to support him. And that money you’ve stashed with us all these years? It’ll double, ready for whatever you might need down the line. But honestly… I’m just not sure.”
Nan Qi bristled at that last bit. “That money’s yours. I gave it to you, not for safekeeping. You and Dad spend it however you want.”
Nan Mother chided her playfully. “Easy for you to say. You can’t just throw around that kind of cash willy-nilly.”
“It’s yours now. Do with it what you will.”
Nan Qi skipped past the back-and-forth and broke it down simply. “First off, no business in the world is a sure thing with zero risk. If it were that easy, everyone would be an entrepreneur. Anyone guaranteeing no losses is either a fool or a crook. And they’re asking for a million right out of the gate. Mom, do you think your brother or this so-called big shot is the fool… or the crook?”
Nan Mother hesitated, the truth dawning on her as she let out a long sigh. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice the word hovering on her tongue.
“You’ve never grown flowers before, and you’re jumping straight to the rarest breed. What makes them so sure they can pull it off? They haven’t even broken ground, and he’s already talking dividends and security. Blood brothers or not, when money’s on the line, they fill their own pockets first, toss scraps to the rest. Nobody’s that selfless.”
Her words were plain but cut straight to the heart. They snapped both Nan Mother and Nan Father—who was leaning in to eavesdrop—awake. The straightforward Nan Father nearly exploded in curses.
Nan Mother was angry too, but memories of the earlier fiasco made her panic. “But we didn’t think that far ahead at first. We already put down 300,000 as a deposit. What now?” Midway through, remembering her daughter’s line of work steadied her.
Nan Qi: “???”
Had her uncle gotten too cocky? Daring to scam her parents’ money. Did he want to find out what it felt like to get his feet wet the hard way?
“Mom, hand the phone to Uncle. I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Nan Mother agreed three times over and quickly passed it off.
Nan Qi handled the uncle with little effort. As someone with real clout in the Nan Family—practically calling the shots—he’d always been a bit intimidated by her. The big shot was just a paper tiger, good for fooling shortsighted middle-aged folks. He caved immediately and promised to refund the 300,000 deposit.
When the phone returned to Nan Mother, her voice brimmed with joy and pride. “My girl’s amazing! They’ve already sent the money back. I saw the bank transfer notification myself.”
“Once bitten, twice shy. No more financial dealings with Uncle. It’s a one-way street.”
Nan Mother murmured her agreement, then asked tentatively at the end, “Little Qi, have you been down lately? We’re so far apart, and you always share the good news but hide the bad. I have no idea how you’re holding up in Linxi. If something’s bothering you, tell your mom and dad. Or I could come stay with you for a bit? No need to ship that Suan Ye anymore. I can bring any hometown specialties you want.”
“I’m fine. You… don’t need to come.”
Nan Mother paused, then added, “On second thought, with Little Ran by your side, I feel better. She’s your personal recharger, your happy pill.” It was a teasing metaphor—Bo Ranying was the only one who could truly lift Nan Qi’s spirits.
Hanging up left Nan Qi utterly drained.
They’d lived together for years, these family members of hers, yet their interactions never carried that natural warmth. Awkwardness always crept in. She craved their concern even as it terrified her. With age, the rift only widened.
She slumped back in her chair. The wheels rolled with the momentum, carrying her across the floor from her desk to the sunlit windowsill.
It was a gloriously bright day—the best Linxi had seen in October—dazzling enough to sting the eyes.
Her own eyes burned. She hit the button by the sill. With a soft whir, the blinds on the office’s three glass walls snapped shut. The warm, brilliant light dimmed sharply. In that sudden hazy gloom, Nan Qi felt a weary bird’s comfort in returning to the nest.
A faint, wordless smile touched her lips.
She and her parents weren’t without happy family moments. She’d known joyful childhood days.
Nan Qi had grown up in an orphanage until age ten, when the childless Nan couple adopted her.
Life there had been tough for her. Shy and a bit reclusive as a kid, she wasn’t the bubbly type like the others. She’d play alone with the puzzles and sudoku the director gave her.
To prospective parents, she seemed antisocial, untamable. Despite her striking looks—the most eye-catching among the kids—no one chose her.
One by one, kids her age found homes. She was overlooked, growing wild in the orphanage until ten.
One ordinary afternoon, the director gathered everyone to meet new adopters.
Nan Qi knew it was just a formality. She kept at her puzzle, unhurried.
No performances, no smiles or polite hellos for the adults.
Then came the surprise.
She still remembered that stroke of luck, like the goddess of fortune smiling down.
The young, loving couple—dressed casually and warmly—suddenly pointed at her. They asked the director her age, if she’d been adopted, what she was doing.
The director must have felt like fireworks had exploded in her heart.
The details blurred now, but soon the director was leading her by the hand to the couple, gushing about her smarts, her beauty, her manners. The director’s favorite, just a bit older. Were they sure?
The couple was firm. Married for years, unable to have kids of their own, but they adored children. They’d adopt one who clicked with them—age no matter. Once home, she’d be their own flesh and blood, cherished as such.
They kept their word. Nan Qi’s life became a fairy tale, soaked in sweetness.
She gained parents, a proper name and identity. They’d hold her hand for shopping trips, toys, pretty clothes, new experiences she’d never dreamed of.
Her own room: pink walls, an elaborately adorned princess bed, surrounded by plush dolls. She wasn’t crazy about them, but their joy made her happy.
It all felt like a dream. Every day, she feared waking to her old, unwanted self in the orphanage.
Every night before bed, she would bounce over to her mom and dad, asking, “Are you still my mom and dad tomorrow?”
They would always respond with gentle strokes, their smiles warm and kind as they assured her, “Of course we are. No matter what, we’ll always be Little Qi’s mom and dad.”
Noticing that she was still uneasy, her mom and dad would each plant a goodnight kiss on her forehead and cheek.
Secure in her heart after those goodnight kisses, she would grin like a little fool, cover her face, and scamper back to her room to sleep soundly and sweetly.
Even her dreams were sweet.
Unfortunately, good times never last forever. This blissful life, reminiscent of a dream, reached a turning point two years later.
Her mom and dad took her to the hospital for a checkup. Little Qi had no idea what kind of examination her mom was undergoing. She simply stood to one side, listening as her parents chatted at length with the doctor.
When they emerged, her mom and dad’s smiles were dazzlingly bright. They happily told her, showering her with praise: “Little Qi, you really are our family’s Little Lucky Star! Soon you’ll have a little brother or sister, and Big Sister will have to help take care of them, okay!”
“What does Little Qi want to eat today? What do you want to play? Mom and Dad will make sure you get it all.”
