Chapter 27: Love Song (2)

She felt a bit dazed and disoriented just then, standing blankly in front of her parents for a full half minute before she finally snapped back to reality.

She remembered what she had learned in biology class and carefully touched her mother’s belly. “Is there a new little life inside Mommy’s tummy?”

“Yes, it’s all thanks to Little Qi’s good fortune.”

“Little Qi said last week that she wanted to go to the science museum. No time like the present—let’s head over today.”

Without giving her any say in the matter, her parents whisked her off to the science museum she had been looking forward to for so long. But when she actually arrived, she discovered she wasn’t excited in the slightest.

She had an excellent memory and could never forget that her parents had adopted her and given her a home because they didn’t have any biological children of their own. Now that they had one, would they stop liking her? Would they send her back to the orphanage to make room for the brother or sister who was on the way?

Harboring these anxious worries, Nan Qi toured the science museum. An incongruous aura of melancholy emanated from her young body.

Nan Mother was sensitive by nature, and pregnancy hormones had amplified her senses many times over. She easily picked up on what was going through Nan Qi’s mind right then and exchanged a knowing glance with her husband.

They both squatted down, planting loving kisses on Nan Qi’s cheeks and forehead, just as they did every night.

“Silly little fool, even if we have a little brother or sister someday, you’ll still be the child Mommy and Daddy love. We’ll just have to split some of our attention with the new baby. We’ll care for you and pamper you, and Little Qi can care for and pamper the sibling, okay?”

“Mm!” Nan Qi stared intently into her parents’ eyes and nodded vigorously. She reached out her hand, mimicking the pinky promise that was so popular among her classmates. “Let’s pinky swear.” She hoped the future would hold true to that vow.

“Okay~ Pinky swear, one hundred years, no take-backs!”

Her parents reached out and made the solemn promise with her.

But parental love was finite—how could it be evenly divided between two children? Nan Qi thought sadly, full of doubt. Even after the pinky swear, she wasn’t optimistic.

Ten months later, amid the family’s eager anticipation, Nan Mother gave birth to a healthy baby boy. They named him Nan Xi.

Nan Qi adored her fair-skinned, handsome little brother. She would take the initiative to soothe him to sleep, play childish games with him, and the first thing she did every day after school was peek into his crib.

At first, her parents merely diverted a bit more of their attention to her brother. But gradually, the scales tipped out of balance. Nan Qi’s share of attention at home dwindled significantly, with the adults always thinking of the younger child first.

Eventually, her parents’ schedule revolved entirely around Nan Xi’s, and Nan Qi lost her goodnight kisses.

She began having nightmares night after night, her sleep quality plummeting. More than once, she dozed off in the middle of class, forcing the teacher to call her parents.

Exhausted and worn out, her parents told her to be more understanding, but she had no idea what that even meant.

The nightmares continued relentlessly, always the same grim scenario: her parents abandoning her at the gates of the orphanage and driving off with her brother. She chased after them endlessly, calling out until her voice gave way, but she could never catch up. Exhausted and sobbing, she collapsed by the roadside. The final image before her was the speeding car shrinking into a dark silhouette, vanishing into the distant cityscape.

She would wake from the dream in profound sorrow, her body utterly drained, as if she had truly run a marathon—one with no finish line in sight.

It wasn’t until her first year of high school that the nightmare, which had haunted her for so long, finally drew to a close.

That afternoon, she napped in her room without turning on the light. Perhaps her parents thought she wasn’t home, so they spoke more freely than usual.

Half-asleep and half-awake, she vaguely heard her own name and instinctively perked up her ears.

For some reason, wanting to hear more clearly, she slipped out of bed without her slippers. Her footsteps fell lightly as she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, listening to their conversation.

In that instant, she heard words she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Her mother seemed to be rifling through the bankbook, calculating the family’s savings with her father. Raising two children was simply too expensive, she said. They were ordinary workers with modest salaries. Their original plan had been for just one child, but fate had given them two. The burden was too heavy. They discussed sending Nan Qi back to the orphanage.

Nan Qi reeled in shock. In that moment, the very foundation supporting her crumbled entirely. The nightmare that had terrified her day and night had come true. She was going to lose her home.

Tears poured from her eyes uncontrollably. Her ears rang, drowning out her father’s voice. She had no idea how he responded to her mother.

She didn’t want to hear any more. If her mother was saying these things, then the decision must have weighed on her mind for a long time before spilling out one random day.

Liars. Promise-breakers. Oath-breaking cheats!

Her heart ached fiercely, those words swirling endlessly in her chest. She could no longer bear to stay in that room. She flung open the door and rushed past her stunned parents. She shoved her feet into her shoes and bolted out of the house.

She picked a direction at random and walked for what felt like miles.

On the street, she watched the scenery flash by, utterly lost and bewildered.

She had no idea where she could go now that she’d run away from home. She didn’t have any particularly close friends, and she didn’t want to impose on a classmate. All she wanted was somewhere quiet to be alone.

Somehow, she ended up at school.

The campus was eerily silent in the evening, a far cry from the daytime clamor. It was the perfect place to hide and unleash the grief she could scarcely put into words.

Nan Qi made her way familiarly to the grove of trees on the school grounds. She leaned against a sturdy trunk thick with dense branches, squatted down, hugged her knees, buried her face in the crook of her arms, and wept.

She cried long and hard, giving voice to her pain.

She sobbed so deeply and wholeheartedly that she never noticed the footsteps drawing nearer.

Tears soaked the crook of her knees. Nan Qi felt as though she had wept away every tear she would ever shed in her lifetime.

She had no clue what to do next.

But in the depths of her despair, a pair of gentle hands cupped her tear-streaked face. “Class President, don’t cry.”

She looked up.

She recognized Bo Ranying.

The little sun whom everyone adored—the one she longed to get close to but never quite dared.

That day, she had greedily claimed that little sun for herself.

No one else knew.