Chapter 68

The person holding her was a woman whose features were indistinct, and sitting beside the woman was a young man whose face was equally blurred.

She seemed deeply attached to this pair.

An intuition stirred in Nan Qi’s heart: these two were surely her biological parents, the ones who had left no trace in her memories.

She also realized she was dreaming. Her mind was perfectly clear, yet she couldn’t wake up. She could only watch the dream unfold like a bystander.

The infant, sucking contentedly on her pacifier, waved her arms and legs with delight—until she suddenly burst into loud wails, drawing glances from everyone around.

The woman immediately rocked the baby in her arms and turned to the man. “Is our little one hungry? Hurry and mix some formula for her.”

The man prepared a bottle of milk and held it before the infant. Instinctively, the baby clutched it with both hands, latched onto the nipple, and gulped down the milk. Her cries ceased in an instant.

The train rumbled on for a long while before the family of three disembarked at some station.

Then the scene shifted to the entrance of Anxin Welfare Institute, the place where she had lived for years.

It was five or six in the early morning. The streets on either side lay silent and empty, devoid of other souls.

The young man and woman exchanged a glance. The infant, oblivious to what was coming, smiled innocently in the woman’s arms. Her tiny hands and feet were bundled in swaddling cloth, yet she kicked with all her might.

The next moment, she was set down at the welfare institute’s entrance—swaddling cloth and all—in a spot too conspicuous to miss.

Still thinking it was a game with Mom and Dad, the baby beamed up at them unguardedly.

Then her parents rose and walked away, farther and farther, down a long street until they vanished completely from the infant’s view. The familiar scents faded too.

She finally understood. Her mom and dad… they were leaving her behind.

Her mouth quivered, the innocent smile twisting into heartbroken sobs. She cried with every ounce of strength, desperate to chase after them, to call them back—don’t abandon her!

But she was too tiny: unable to speak, unable to walk, unable to do anything but lie there in her swaddling, staring blankly in the direction they’d gone. She waited for a miracle, for them to return.

She waited a long, long time. Nothing changed.

In the end, she had been abandoned.

Nan Qi watched it all with perfect clarity. Soberly, she recalled how she’d dreamed this same scene countless times over the years—even the details were her own invention.

The truth was harsher. At just a few months old, someone had dumped her in a cleaning truck several streets from the welfare institute. The director, out for her morning exercise, heard the cries, followed them, and found the baby amid the trash. She brought Nan Qi back and raised her.

Surveillance back then was spotty at best, especially in the institute’s near-suburban location. No cameras caught the abandoner’s face, and Nan Qi retained no memory of her birth parents.

As she grew and gained understanding, similar dreams came every few years. In them, she gifted her parents elaborate backstories—forces beyond their control compelling them to secure her a safe future before letting go.

Her body was healthy, her mind sharp, no untreatable illnesses.

Raising her, seeing her grow up—it couldn’t have been that burdensome, could it?

By romanticizing the tale and fooling herself, she quieted the hatred and hurt inside, forging a whole, healthy personality.

The dream jumped without logic, yanking Nan Qi to another timeline.

It was a snowy winter night. Home alone, she had eaten spoiled food that had gone bad. By midnight, agony gripped her gut. Simply rolling off the bed drained her completely.

She fumbled to her phone, pain clouding her vision until the screen blurred into nothing.

She tried dialing emergency services several times but failed each one.

In utter despair, the phone rang.

Too weak to check the caller, she answered on instinct and whispered that it hurt before falling silent.

Nan Qi sank to the floor, back against the wall, clutching her stomach. Her eyes rimmed red from the strain, the pain excruciating.

Whoever it was—please, just come save her.

Eventually, even propping herself up failed. She collapsed flat on the tiles, nauseous and miserable.

How long? She lost track. Twenty minutes? Ten? Less?

Before the winter floor’s chill seeped into her skin, frantic pounding at the door jolted her back to awareness.

Impatient, the visitor used a key to let herself in.

Bo Ranying had a key to the Nan Family home.

Zhou Ru had encouraged it, making Bo Ranying’s visits feel as natural as entering her own house.

The girl arrived windswept and disheveled: clothes thrown on haphazardly with no thought to matching, hair a tangled mess over her shoulders, her cherished white snow boots splashed with slush and grime. She looked a little ragged—but still breathtakingly beautiful.

Like a burst of fireworks in the winter dark, brilliant and warm. Just seeing her made Nan Qi’s pain recede for a heartbeat.

Bo Ranying froze at the sight of Nan Qi sprawled on the floor. She’d fretted nonstop since the call, desperate to reach her.

Heavy snow blanketed the streets; no taxis waited at the corner.

In that brutal cold, hailing a ride was near impossible.

No time to waste. She dashed home for her bicycle and pedaled furiously the whole way—no stops—shaving twenty minutes down to ten.

Only now did she grasp how dire Nan Qi’s state truly was, worse than she’d feared.

Her hand trembled in midair, afraid to touch her. Her voice quavered. “Little Qi, what… what’s wrong?” The words barely left her lips before fat teardrops welled up and spilled down her cheeks, splattering the floor—and piercing Nan Qi’s heart.

Nan Qi ached to wipe them away, but she lacked the strength for even that. “I accidentally ate something spoiled.”

“I’ll get you to the hospital!”

The girl dashed away her own tears and summoned resolve. She eased Nan Qi upright onto the sofa for the moment, then asked about heating pads. Hearing they had some, she fetched a thick, warm coat from Nan Qi’s bedroom and draped it over her shoulders.

She slipped a pad beneath Nan Qi’s base layer for extra warmth.

Then she guided Nan Qi’s arms into sleeves, zipped the coat, and buttoned it tight.

Her care caught Nan Qi off guard. She hadn’t expected a peer like Bo Ranying to be so adept at tending to someone.

Warmth bloomed over Nan Qi’s skin, but her emotions churned in turmoil.

No cabs in this weather—and Nan Qi was in no shape to stand on her own.

Bo Ranying eyed her sole means of transport and weighed her options. A bike seat, front or back, would be too precarious; she couldn’t keep Nan Qi secure.

So—

She turned her back and crouched low, offering it silently.

Nan Qi hesitated until Bo Ranying urged her on. She clambered aboard, looping her arms around the girl’s neck and tucking her face shyly into the crook there.

“All set?”

Bo Ranying’s arms hooked under her thighs for a firm hold, then she broke into a run toward the nearest hospital.

Nan Qi clung in silence, nuzzling her cheek against soft skin. From her chest came a frantic, fervent heartbeat.

Bo Ranying’s shoulders were narrow, her frame petite and yielding—not built for strength. She griped about heavy backpacks on good days. Soon she was huffing plumes of breath into the night, sweat beading on her neck, cheeks, and palms.

Yet this delicate girl didn’t pause once. She carried Nan Qi straight to the emergency room.

She stayed through registration, payment, diagnosis—acute gastroenteritis—and the IV drip that followed…

From that night straight through to morning, until Nan Qi recovered enough for discharge.

In Bo Ranying’s head, two inner voices had bickered endlessly. At last, the first prevailed.

Its advice: Seize this quiet night, no interruptions, to talk things out with Nan Qi. Uncover her true feelings and head off any more reckless moves.

Bo Ranying wavered. She slipped out several times on flimsy pretexts, hoping to broach the subject.

But her mind kept replaying Nan Qi storming from her bedside in a fury, demanding she dress properly at once. That icy anger still riddled her heart with holes, unhealed.

Whenever she mustered an opener, Nan Qi responded coolly, distantly—fiddling with her phone, clearly still fuming and unwilling to engage.

Bo Ranying’s heart fluttered anxiously, teetering on the edge.

Try after try yielded nothing.

As the hour grew late, she gave up and retreated to her room.

When she went to close the door, Bo Ranying hesitated for a moment. She had the strange feeling that once the door shut, she and Nan Qi would be utterly divided into two separate worlds—strangers living under the same roof.

She gave in to her fanciful thoughts.

Instead of closing the door completely, she left a small gap. Natural light from the window filtered into the room, casting a faint glow that seemed like a tenuous bond linking her to Nan Qi.

A pang of regret mingled with a thread of sweetness in Bo Ranying’s heart. She slipped under the covers, still redolent with Nan Qi’s scent, and drifted off to sleep.

She slept fitfully for what felt like ages when suddenly a murmur of uneven whispers, laced with sobs, filtered through the door crack.

It was Nan Qi’s voice!

Nan Qi… was crying?

The realization sent a jolt through Bo Ranying’s soul. Without a second thought, she threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, hurried across the corridor, and arrived at Nan Qi’s side.

She softly called Nan Qi’s name. No response.

Bo Ranying didn’t turn on the light. She stood by the sofa, gazing at Nan Qi’s sleeping face.

From her vantage point, she could see Nan Qi clutching the edge of the blanket tightly in her deep slumber. Whatever dream haunted her had left her cheeks streaked with tears, more still welling up endlessly, her lips trembling with motion.

Bo Ranying couldn’t make out the mutterings. She leaned down, perched on the sofa’s edge, and pressed her ear closer.

She grasped Nan Qi’s hand, which protruded from under the blanket, intending to tuck it back in. But just as she moved to do so, Nan Qi suddenly seized her hand in a tight grip.

Startled, Bo Ranying heard Nan Qi’s voice clearly in her ear.

“Daddy—Mommy—”

“Don’t… leave me. Don’t… abandon me.”

Was this a nightmare from her past?

Bo Ranying froze for a moment, then gently and slowly drew Nan Qi into her arms.

Through the blanket, she enveloped Nan Qi in a warm embrace.

Nan Qi remained asleep, her murmurs unrelenting, her body quivering faintly.

Bo Ranying’s hand stroked Nan Qi’s back in soothing rhythms as she hummed a soft lullaby from her lips. She hoped the warmth would reach her, easing her into peaceful slumber.