When Tao Zhi and the others finished eating and headed back, Li Shuangjiang and his group happened to be standing in front of the beef noodle shop, pulling out their phones to call them.

The phone in her pocket vibrated twice. Tao Zhi picked it up and saw Li Shuangjiang not far away, holding his phone up. His voice came through the receiver: “Hey, boss, are you back yet?”

“Back,” Tao Zhi said.

Li Shuangjiang: “Where are you? Is Huai-ge with you?”

Tao Zhi turned her head and glanced at Jiang Qihuai, her expression calm as she said, “No.”

She had just finished speaking when Li Shuangjiang turned his head—and saw them walking over.

Li Shuangjiang: “……”

“Boss, why are you lying?!” Li Shuangjiang said into the receiver. “Why didn’t you two come eat beef noodles together?”

Tao Zhi hung up and walked over. “Too greasy. We ate something lighter.”

Li Shuangjiang let out an “oh,” nodded, and looked her up and down carefully. “Boss, you okay? Did that roller coaster just now make you uncomfortable or something? How come your face looks so…”

So rosy?

His words stopped midway.

Right now, Tao Zhi’s complexion really couldn’t be called bad. In fact, whether it was the afternoon sun being too bright or something else, her cheeks were flushed, even her ears were a little red.

Although she and Jiang Qihuai had come back together, somehow the air between the two of them felt… a little odd. Not quite awkward—more like slightly guilty.

At least on Tao Zhi’s part.

Li Shuangjiang quietly leaned closer to her and whispered, “You made Huai-ge angry again?”

Tao Zhi found his phrasing rather displeasing. “What do you mean I made him angry again? Do I look like I pick fights with him every day?”

Li Shuangjiang immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing and raised both hands. “Absolutely not what I meant.”

Fu Xiling couldn’t stand listening anymore. She squeezed in beside them, holding a bottle of mineral water, and handed it to Tao Zhi. “Drink some water.”

Tao Zhi took it and drank two sips.

Fu Xiling looked up at her. “Feeling unwell? Your stomach? Nausea? Want to throw up now?”

Tao Zhi almost laughed. “No, I just didn’t really feel like eating beef noodles, so I went for something else.”

Fu Xiling nodded, then silently hooked her arm through Tao Zhi’s.

In the afternoon, the amusement park was busier than in the morning. The lines for popular rides were noticeably longer, but while waiting, everyone chatted and took photos, so it wasn’t boring.

After they queued for three or four more rides, the sky began to darken.

The lights in the park came on. Li Shuangjiang took out his phone, glanced at the schedule, and said, “There’s a fireworks show at eight o’clock. Wanna watch?”

“Pick the best spot—high up,” Zhao Mingqi said excitedly. He’d been the most energetic the whole day, running around everywhere, still full of spirit now, as if he’d never get tired.

Tao Zhi was already a bit tired. She sat down on a nearby bench, listening to them discuss where to watch the fireworks later.

Elbows resting on her knees, she swung the water bottle in her hand and saw Jiang Qihuai over there saying something to Li Shuangjiang—then turning to walk away.

Tao Zhi stood up, yawned, and walked over. “Have you decided yet?”

“Ferris wheel!” Li Shuangjiang said. “Zhao Mingqi just calculated the timing. If we line it up right, at eight o’clock when the fireworks start, we’ll be at the top of the Ferris wheel watching.”

Tao Zhi responded with a soft “mm,” wanting to say something but stopping herself.

“Huai-ge has something to do tonight, so he left first,” Li Shuangjiang added.

“……”

Tao Zhi turned her face away and pouted. “I didn’t even ask about him.”

The Ferris wheel at Happy Valley was said to be the largest in the entire capital—nearly a hundred meters in diameter, with over forty glass panoramic cabins, each able to seat six people.

There were many people in line. Zhao Mingqi had been staking out the entrance early, clutching his phone and watching the time.

When the time was almost right, he pointed ahead and gave the order: “Brothers! Charge!!!”

Li Shuangjiang, carrying both Tao Zhi’s and Fu Xiling’s bags—one slung over each shoulder crossing in front of his chest like an X—took the lead. The whole group rushed toward the line like it was a live-action zombie siege from Resident Evil, startling the Ferris wheel attendants into stepping back a few paces.

Under the night sky, the Ferris wheel looked like a massive glowing clock face. The neon lights slowly changed colors, illuminating the open space around it. Tao Zhi followed Fu Xiling into the same cabin; Li Shuangjiang, Zhao Mingqi, and Jiang Zhengxun sat opposite them.

The Ferris wheel began to rise—so slowly it was almost impossible to feel it moving. Tao Zhi leaned her forehead against the cool glass window, staring blankly outside.

At one moment when they reached a certain height, faint sounds came from the small square to the left of the amusement park. Fireworks shot up into the night sky, bursting in midair—splitting the clouds and lighting up the darkness.

The people inside the cabin cheered, pressing up against the windows to take pictures with their phones.

Tao Zhi heard someone call her name.

She turned her head. Fu Xiling was holding up her phone toward her. The white flash went off before her eyes, followed by the crisp click of the shutter.

Tao Zhi was still dazed, not realizing she was the subject of that photo.

Until Li Shuangjiang leaned over, rubbed his chin as he looked at the picture on Fu Xiling’s phone, and commented, “Our boss, as long as she doesn’t open her mouth, she’s goddess-level—like a lab muse.”

Fu Xiling didn’t like that comment much and said seriously, “She looks even better when she does talk.”

“Yes, yes,” Li Shuangjiang nodded quickly and pointed at her phone. “Send me that photo, I’ll sort through everything we took today and make a post—nine-grid collage.”

Fu Xiling refused outright. “No. I’m keeping it.”

Li Shuangjiang protested, “Classmate Fu Xiling, that’s stingy. Everyone has the right to appreciate beauty.”

Fu Xiling continued snapping photos of the fireworks outside. “No.”

“Hey, even your fireworks shots look better than mine. How about you just send me the whole batch?”

“No.”

Listening to the two of them bicker endlessly, Tao Zhi turned her head away and went back to watching the night view.

In the end, Fu Xiling couldn’t withstand Li Shuangjiang’s relentless pestering and sent all the photos they’d taken that day to the group chat.

When Tao Zhi got home that night, Ji Fan was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through the photos in the group.

Tao Zhi went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and walked over. Standing behind the sofa, she leaned forward to take a look.

In a few of the daytime photos, Jiang Qihuai appeared. Ji Fan pointed at him in the picture. “He went too.”

Tao Zhi answered with a muffled sound, her mouth still full of water.

Ji Fan swiped through a few photos of the fireworks taken inside the Ferris wheel and stopped at one of her pictures. “This one of you is kind of misleading.”

Tao Zhi couldn’t speak while drinking. She reached out and slapped him on the head.

Ji Fan yelped, clutching his head. Just as he was about to speak, the bathroom door beside the first-floor hallway opened.

“Xiao Fan, where did you put the tissues? Mom will change them for you.”

Tao Zhi froze and turned her head.

The woman was wearing a dark blue long dress, with delicate makeup and skin so flawless it seemed time had never left a mark on her. She looked almost exactly the same as Tao Zhi remembered her from years ago—so familiar it felt strange.

Two pairs of similar dark eyes met. The woman looked at her, stunned for a moment, then smiled. “Zhizhi’s back?”

Tao Zhi stood there with the glass of water in her hand, unable to speak.

Ji Jin slowly walked over and stopped in front of her. “Our Zhizhi’s grown up. You’re as tall as Mom now.”

Tao Zhi’s lips moved. Though she had just drunk water, her voice came out hoarse. “…Mom.”

Time is the sharpest weapon—it can shave a relationship down to paper-thin pale fragility, and it can wear a once-natural address into something awkward and rough.

Even if the person standing before her shared her blood, once the one she had been closest to.

Tao Zhi stood there, unsure for a moment how she should react in such a situation.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Ji Jin leaned slightly forward, took her hand, and led her two steps ahead. “And prettier too. I almost didn’t recognize you at first glance.”

Ji Fan was lazily leaning over the back of the sofa, patting the cushion twice. “Why are you two standing and talking?”

Ji Jin shot him a glare, then led Tao Zhi around the sofa to sit beside him.

Tao Zhi sat down stiffly, set her glass of water on the coffee table, and turned her head.

“I came to deliver the transfer documents for Xiao Fan’s school. He told me you went out with classmates, so I thought I’d wait and see you,” Ji Jin said with a gentle smile. “See if our little Zhizhi’s changed.”

“Changed? More like evolved,” Ji Fan said, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “She’s gotten even better at bullying people.”

Ji Jin turned to him and lightly tapped the back of his hand. “Act like a man, will you? You’re not a little boy anymore—always bickering. Once you’re in the same class as Zhizhi, learn from your sister, study hard, stop thinking only about playing all day.”

Ji Fan protested in grievance. “But isn’t this the age to play? How can I waste my golden youth buried in textbooks? Besides, Zhizhi’s finally seen the light—she’s realized the true meaning of youth and started enjoying life. Her exam score wasn’t even much higher than mine last time.”

Ji Jin paused, instinctively glancing at Tao Zhi, slightly surprised.

Ji Fan hadn’t thought before speaking. When he realized what he’d said, he pressed his lips together and fell silent.

The living room went quiet. No one spoke again.

Tao Zhi lowered her eyes. Her fingers curled tightly, nails digging into her palms.

She suddenly felt deeply humiliated.

She didn’t know if it was because of the difference in Ji Jin’s tone—so natural and affectionate with Ji Fan, yet cautious and unfamiliar with her—or because Ji Fan had mentioned her grades in front of Ji Jin.

Her poor grades had never embarrassed her before—not during parent meetings, not when she was reprimanded by the school for causing trouble, not even when classmates whispered that she’d gotten into the advanced class through connections.

But at that moment, she felt that if there were a crack in the ground before her, she would surely crawl into it—taking with her the little bit of shattered pride she still had.

Ji Jin was surprised. After all, in the past, at every parent-teacher meeting she’d attended and on every report card she’d seen, Tao Zhi had always been first in her class.

And in the years since she had left, she had never once taken part in or learned anything about Tao Zhi’s growth—or her changes.

Realizing he had said something wrong, Ji Fan sprang up from the sofa just as Ji Jin reached out to pinch him, claiming he had to pee, and fled the scene of the crime—wanting to leave the two of them some time alone.

Only Tao Zhi and Ji Jin remained in the living room.

Ji Jin didn’t stay long. The two sat on the sofa and talked for a while. Then she answered a phone call, hung up, and turned her head. “It’s getting late. Mom should go now.”

Tao Zhi nodded and stood up.

Ji Jin put on her coat. Tao Zhi handed her the bag from the sofa, walked to the entryway to open the door, and accompanied her all the way to the courtyard gate.

Following behind the woman, Tao Zhi hadn’t noticed earlier—but now, from the back, Ji Jin looked thinner than she remembered.

They stopped by the gate. Ji Jin turned to her, her gaze gentle. “Don’t take what Xiao Fan said to heart. Grades aren’t the most important thing for you kids. Mom just wants Zhizhi to be happy. If you feel that things are lighter this way, that’s fine too.”

Tao Zhi lowered her head. “Mm.”

Ji Jin’s tone remained warm and soft. “Zhizhi should eat well, don’t be picky like when you were little.”

Tao Zhi nodded again and said quietly, “You should eat well too.”

Ji Jin looked at her.

Tao Zhi still didn’t raise her head. She bit her lip and said softly, “You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Ji Jin’s fingers moved slightly.

She seemed to want to reach out and hug her, but in the end, she didn’t—only smiled and said, “Our Zhizhi has learned to care about people now.”

Only after Ji Jin turned and left did Tao Zhi lift her head.

The night fog was thick. She stood at the iron gate, watching the woman’s figure fade into the darkness, unmoving.

Tree shadows swayed; the autumn night wind blew cold, sweeping fallen leaves across the ground. Tao Zhi hadn’t worn a coat when she came out—just a thin sweater. She stood there, instinctively hunching her shoulders and shivering, yet strangely, she didn’t feel that cold.

It wasn’t as though she had never thought about it before. Even if Ji Jin and Ji Xiuping separated, perhaps for her, nothing much would change.

She would still be her mother. She could still talk to her, still see her, still tell her about what happened at school. The only difference might be fewer meetings, less frequent conversations.

But in truth, things did change.

From once-a-week phone calls—when she would chatter endlessly to Ji Jin, asking when she’d come visit—to once every few months. And later still, apart from brief calls or text messages during holidays, there was no other contact.

Tao Zhi had never asked why. Adults’ worlds were full of reasons children couldn’t understand.

Even though, deep down, she understood very well that Ji Jin probably just didn’t miss her enough.

Just like back then—when the one Ji Jin chose was Ji Fan, not her.

She folded her arms and leaned against the iron gate, slowly squatting down. Wrinkling her nose, she took a deep breath, then rubbed her eyes hard against her sleeve—the fabric of the sweater scraping her eyelids until they stung.

Until the sound of footsteps came from afar, drew closer, and then stopped—silently, right before her.

Someone was standing in front of her. Just as Tao Zhi was about to lift her head, she heard a familiar voice, carried by the wind, sounding very close.

“Whose little groundhog is this?”

Tao Zhi looked up.

Jiang Qihuai was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he left that afternoon. He crouched down before her, his gaze level with hers, his tone cool and clear, carrying a trace of barely perceptible teasing.

“Out here in the middle of the night, not back in your burrow sleeping—what are you doing out here in the wind?”