Auntie Niu was the yuesao¹Yuesao (月嫂) is a postpartum confinement nanny in Chinese culture. Lin Yao had hired. She was around forty, still relatively young, but the loss of collagen had left her temples deeply sunken, her cheekbones sharply prominent.

Jin Zhao lowered her head and took two sips of porridge. There was no taste in her mouth at all.

“The balcony is right next to my room. Of course I’d hear it more clearly.”

Lin Yao smiled as she explained, “I didn’t think it through. Yesterday my parents came to see me and brought two chickens with them—said they’d had someone buy free-range chickens from the countryside. I couldn’t bear to kill them, so I thought I’d keep them at home for now, to

eat during my confinement after I give birth. I forgot that you sleep lightly, Lingling, and ended up waking you.”

“Then should the chickens be killed earlier?” Auntie Niu asked, then added, “These are rare, genuine countryside chickens. Eating them during confinement is a huge tonic.”

Since they were such rare countryside chickens, and no one else had heard the noise—only her being woken up—then of course they couldn’t be killed. Otherwise, she would look like she was making a fuss.

Jin Zhao said, “Don’t kill them. Just don’t put the iron basin next to the chickens at night. It’s not really the chickens that are noisy—it’s just that the floor tiles are marble, so when the iron basin rolls on them, the sound is very loud.”

Lin Yao didn’t say anything. Auntie Niu let out an “aiyo” and said, “How can you not give chickens water? If they die of thirst, you might as well kill them.”

So Jin Zhao stopped talking.

No one else spoke either. Lin Yao turned her head, smiling gently as she looked at her husband, Jin Wenhui. Jin Wenhui frowned slightly in displeasure.

Grandma, sitting opposite, glanced at her son and smiled to smooth things over. “Then just change to a different bowl for the water. The balcony’s paved with marble—putting an iron basin there could also disturb the neighbors downstairs.”

Lin Yao nodded and smiled. “Mom’s right.”

“Alright, we’ll listen to Grandma. I’ll change the basin in a bit,” Auntie Niu said, then suddenly turned to look at Jin Zhao, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “But Lingling, you really are too sensitive. Just one chicken and one basin can wake you up. You really need to fix that temperament of yours, or sooner or later you’ll end up with depression.”

-♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི

Jin Zhao felt that making her depressed was probably also one of Auntie Niu’s KPIs.

They probably thought that a girl like her—who had lost her mother at a young age, whose father had remarried a pretty wife and was about to have another child—would no longer be anyone’s priority. No one would truly protect her. And she herself was still far too weak. Becoming depressed or growing crooked was a natural, inevitable outcome, so their words couldn’t help but reveal an eagerness for it.

Jin Zhao didn’t want to let them succeed, but she still couldn’t help feeling wronged.

Who would be willing to be woken up at three or four in the morning, only to be cursed by the culprit with depression first thing at dawn?

Although in the end Auntie Niu completely angered Jin Wenhui with that remark, and Jin Wenhui, his face dark, ordered her to take the chickens to the market to be slaughtered, Jin Zhao didn’t feel much better inside.

She couldn’t help thinking that if her mother were still alive, she would have dismissed Auntie Niu on the spot, not killed the chickens.

This whole day was destined to be low-spirited. In fact, the entire August was.

Under the blazing midsummer sun, she had to struggle very hard to feel the world’s warmth.

She could only study even more desperately. If knowledge truly could change one’s fate, she hoped she could grow a pair of strong, resilient wings. When that time came, even if this small world were rocked by wind and rain, with no one to rely on, she would no longer need to be afraid.

She could fly out.

-♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི

September officially began. The start-of-term mock exam was held, and the results came out quickly. Jin Zhao ranked 26th in the grade.

On the day the results were released, Chen Shu was in a good mood. Holding a stack of test papers, he walked onto the podium. He first talked about the overall situation of the exam—unsurprisingly, Meng Yanxi was still first—then who had improved, who had slipped, and finally, he made a point of praising Jin Zhao.

“The one with the biggest improvement this time is our classmate Jin Zhao. We all know that the higher the ranking, the harder it is to improve. When Jin Zhao transferred into our class, she was ranked 36th in the grade. In just one month, she’s reached 26th—an improvement of a full ten places.”

After Chen Shu finished speaking with a smile, he led the applause, and the classmates immediately followed.

Luo Heng clapped loudly, calling out “woah, woah” behind her. Si Tian also turned around, bringing both hands up in front of her, clapping vigorously right in her face.

Outside the window, there were no clouds. The sky was a clear, deep blue.

The enthusiasm of youth was like the sun hanging overhead—direct and blazing.

Jin Zhao pressed her lips together and smiled. Her milky-white skin flushed with a faint pink, and her eyes sparkled brightly.

After finishing with the grades, Chen Shu announced the parent-teacher meeting. “Also, next Monday, the 21st, at 3 p.m., we’ll be holding a parent-teacher meeting. This meeting concerns your entire study plan for the second year of high school and is very important. I’m notifying you half a month in advance. Please go home and pass this on to your parents. No matter what, be sure to clear the time and come to the school.”

Immediately, a chorus of groans rose up, with Luo Heng’s wail being especially miserable.

He had placed near the bottom this time—bottom even within Class A. Chen Shu had already talked about him earlier, and if nothing unexpected happened, he would still be a key focus of discussion at the parent-teacher meeting.

Jin Zhao looked at the score slip in front of her, yet there was a faint sense of anticipation in her heart.

During the break, her deskmate went out to get water. Taking the opportunity, Luo Heng shifted over a seat, leaned across the aisle, and asked Meng Yanxi, who sat in a single column, “Brother Yan, will Uncle Meng come to the parent-teacher meeting?”

Meng Yanxi had brought his phone to school again. At the moment, he was hiding it in his desk, sending messages. Hearing this, he didn’t even lift his head. “Yeah.”

Luo Heng’s search for an ally failed. He let out an “ah” of disappointment on the spot, and complained indignantly, “Your family’s such a big operation, raking in money every day—how does Uncle Meng have so much free time? Every single parent-teacher meeting, he comes. Isn’t he afraid of delaying his money-making? Can’t he ever take a break?”

Luo Heng irritably raked his fingers through his hair.

Actually, whether Meng Yanxi’s father came or not didn’t really have anything to do with him. The main issue was that their fathers knew each other, and they were in the same class. Once the Meng family showed up for a parent-teacher meeting, word would immediately reach Luo Heng’s father. This pushed Luo Heng into a dead end, making it impossible for him to hire a random actor to pretend to be his parent.

After finishing his message, Meng Yanxi tossed the phone into his desk, turned to look at Luo Heng, and asked unhurriedly, “Have you ever seen someone take leave from an awards ceremony?”

Luo Heng froze for a moment, then reacted, and immediately cursed, “…Get lost!”

The surrounding classmates all burst out laughing.

Jin Zhao couldn’t help laughing too.

It really did seem that way—when it came to Meng Yanxi, wasn’t the parent-teacher meeting basically his awards ceremony?

She couldn’t help but turn back to look.

Separated by one seat and an aisle, the boy sat lazily in his chair at a diagonal behind her, his back against the chair, a pen spinning between his fingers. His long legs were stretched out carelessly, splayed apart without restraint. He was smiling too— the coolness in his peach-blossom eyes gone, his high spirits on full display.

-♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི

On the day of the parent-teacher meeting, Jin Wenhui broke his appointment at the last minute.

It wasn’t really his fault. He had indeed set aside the time, but that morning, Lin Yao’s water broke, and the whole family rushed her to the hospital.

Naturally, they couldn’t make the afternoon meeting.

Other parents arrived one after another. Jin Zhao left the classroom through the back door and went to Chen Shu’s office.

“Taking leave?” Chen Shu was a little surprised. “Didn’t you tell your dad ahead of time?”

Chen Shu knew about her family situation—knew that her mother was gone and that her father was busy with work. She assumed it was because her father hadn’t arranged his schedule in advance.

Jin Zhao stood in front of Chen Shu like a child who had done something wrong, explaining in a soft, careful voice, “I did tell him ahead of time. Something came up suddenly.”

“If it was something sudden, your grandparents could have come instead.”

Jin Zhao lowered her head and stared at the floor. Her eyes burned and swelled with soreness.

After a few seconds of silence, she said softly, “Grandpa and Grandma couldn’t come either. Auntie is having her baby today—they’re at the hospital.”

As she spoke, she was on the verge of crying, not daring to look at Chen Shu at all.

Yet it seemed she had no standing to cry. After all, the arrival of a new family member was a great, conventional joy. Ask a hundred people, and a hundred and one would offer their congratulations.

Everyone was happy—only she wasn’t.

She even began to doubt herself, wondering if she was being too petty.

Chen Shu hadn’t expected this answer. She suddenly felt a little annoyed at her own careless mouth.

Jin Zhao wasn’t Luo Heng—was it possible she could lie to two sides at once? What was she even pressing her about?

Chen Shu let out an “ah,” stood up in a flurry, and said, “Okay, okay, it’s fine, it’s fine. Actually, today isn’t anything major—just casually talking about the last exam results. Your grades are very good. Later tonight—no, tomorrow. Tomorrow the teacher will call your dad and talk to him separately.”

The snow-white marble floor began to blur. Jin Zhao stared at the ground and nodded lightly.

Chen Shu couldn’t bear to make her stand there any longer.

At this moment, Jin Zhao was like someone being cruelly put to execution.

“Go on,” Chen Shu said, patting her shoulder, her voice exceedingly gentle.

Even knowing she couldn’t heal her—at least not now. But at least in this moment, she wanted to give the girl in front of her as much gentleness as possible.

The instant Jin Zhao turned away, tears still fell uncontrollably.

Knowing Chen Shu was still watching, she didn’t dare raise her hand to wipe them away, only hurried toward the back door.

At the moment she pulled open the half-closed door, she froze, caught completely off guard. She nearly collided with the person in front of her and, startled, lifted her gaze.

Meng Yanxi stood by the doorway. No one knew when he had arrived.

The classroom corridor during break was chaotic and noisy, waves of sound rolling in from behind him. The boy stood there quietly, lean and upright. His dark peach-blossom eyes were lowered, his gaze resting on her upturned face.

Almond-shaped eyes brimming with tears, rims reddened, clear tear tracks on her cheeks.

Footnotes

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  Yuesao (月嫂) is a postpartum confinement nanny in Chinese culture.