03

When he reached Zhang Qinghe, Zai Ye slowed his steps.

He opened his mouth, wanting to greet her, but didn’t know what to call her.

Ever since they met, she had been his Chief Assistant Zhang, and later, his Vice President Zhang. Even at home, he was used to calling her Vice President Zhang. Sometimes his tone was serious, sometimes teasing, laced with mischief.

After crossing over, he had followed behind Zhang Qinghe many times, watching her youthful back, but they had never spoken.

To him, she was his future wife. But to this young, innocent version of Zhang Qinghe, he was just a stranger.

How was he supposed to talk to a high school junior version of Zhang Qinghe?

Zai Ye felt… nervous.

The last time he had felt like this was the night before their wedding. His mind had been a mess all night, randomly reflecting on his life. In the early hours, he had wanted to talk to Vice President Zhang, but was afraid she’d think less of him and regret agreeing to marry him.

His thoughts all tangled, Zai Ye approached Zhang Qinghe with a slightly stiff expression and came to a stop in front of her.

“You…” he finally managed to say.

Then he stared at her cheeks and fell into an odd silence.

This tiny version of Chief Assistant Zhang was just… strange. Her eyes were big and round, and there was even a bit of fuzz on her face.

She looked a little dumb.

Zai Ye’s lips twitched into a smile.

Zhang Qinghe was blocked in front by a tall senior, and pressed in close on the side by a little ghost girl—she had nowhere to escape.

She looked up at Zai Ye’s cool, aloof expression, his furrowed brows, and his unfriendly aura… and instantly felt a wave of menace from him. Especially when he suddenly gave a cold laugh—it definitely didn’t seem like he was thinking anything good.

Zhang Qinghe had rarely been afraid of anything growing up, but right now, she felt a flicker of tension.

“Senior, is there something you need?” she greeted him as calmly as she could.

Zai Ye’s expression looked like someone had pinched the top of his head. “What did you call me? Senior?”

Zhang Qinghe replied, “Aren’t you a third-year senior?”

“I am.”

But it was the first time he’d heard Zhang Qinghe call him “senior.”

His own way of addressing his wife had always been a bit corporate, but her way of addressing him had been downright ruthless. She used to call him “Boss,” which at least showed some respect for his paycheck. But later, when she got annoyed, she started copying Tong Jianxu and called him “President Zai,” claiming it was a slip of the tongue.

When she was really fed up, she’d just call him “Zai Ye.”

No emotion. Pure perfunctory.

“I’m Zai Ye,” he said.

Zhang Qinghe not only knew his name was Zai Ye, she also knew he didn’t eat cucumbers—she’d seen him pick out every shred of cucumber from his food in the cafeteria.

He was following her this blatantly, and yet this so-called “Senior Zai Ye” still thought he hadn’t been found out?

And now he was even pretending to introduce himself like a stranger. Either he was an idiot, or he thought she was.

Zhang Qinghe didn’t get it, but she decided to play dumb and not provoke him.

Right now, all she wanted was for Zai Ye to take away the little ghost girl who was inching closer and closer to her.

“If there’s nothing else, Senior, I’ll be going,” Zhang Qinghe said, starting to pack up her things.

Zai Ye was still dazed from hearing his young wife call him “senior” several times in a row. He’d completely forgotten why he came over in the first place.

But Qian was anxious. She started jumping up and down beside him, shouting, “Don’t go! Daddy, don’t let Mommy leave! I want to be with Mommy!”

*Thud.*

Zhang Qinghe’s math workbook fell to the ground.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up, pretending she hadn’t heard that earth-shattering “Mommy.”

“I’m leaving now,” she said, and quickly stepped around Zai Ye.

“Wait,” Zai Ye called.

But Zhang Qinghe didn’t stop. In fact, she sped up, practically breaking into a run. Her movements were nimble and swift—she vanished in the blink of an eye.

Zai Ye called out to her a couple more times, but she didn’t turn back. With a sigh, he walked over and picked up the phone she had left behind.

He had only wanted to remind her she forgot her phone—why did she run off like that?

“Daddy, Mommy hates you,” Qian suddenly said.

“No way!” Zai Ye shot back.

“But I sat next to Mommy for so long and she didn’t leave. You showed up and she ran!” Qian nodded vigorously, convinced of her conclusion.

Zai Ye frowned. “Why would she hate me? I didn’t do anything.”

He picked up the phone, and his finger accidentally tapped the screen. Suddenly, a Buddhist chant for the departed began to play.

Then the next track—another Buddhist sutra. And then… a famous Venerable Master’s electronic rap version.

After years with Vice President Zhang, Zai Ye knew full well that she had zero interest in Buddhist chants.

He glanced at his daughter, who was still confidently insisting that Vice President Zhang hated him, and suddenly, the chaos in his mind caused by the time travel began to clear.

It all clicked.

He pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Qian, earlier you said Mommy could see you and touch you, just like me, right?”

“Yeah, but now Mommy can’t see me.”

“Is it possible… she *can* see you, but she’s pretending not to?”

The more Zai Ye thought about it, the more convinced he became.

Vice President Zhang was a master of keeping up appearances. When she first joined the company, she acted like a cold, emotionless office drone. Zai Ye could never tell when she was lying—because even her lies were convincing.

He had thought it was years of professional training that made her that way. Who would’ve thought she already had such stellar emotional and facial control back in high school?

“Why would she pretend not to see me?” Qian tilted her head.

Zai Ye placed both hands on the little troublemaker’s head and gave it a good rub, making her sway side to side. Then he said, half amused, half exasperated, “Because your mom probably thinks you’re a ghost.”

“She doesn’t hate you—she’s scared of you,” Zai Ye said.

“No way!” Qian declared.

She turned to run, wanting to go ask her mom directly.

After all, she was the most spoiled one at home, her mom’s favorite. Her status in the family was way above her dad’s. Her dad only got called “Zai Ye,” while she had always been “Baby”!

Zai Ye grabbed her by the collar and hauled her back. “Nope. If you run over there again, you’ll just scare her more…”

He suddenly paused.

Come to think of it, he’d never seen Vice President Zhang afraid of anything. Even back when she witnessed Qian vanish before her eyes, she had quickly composed herself, and even helped him pull through the guilt and grief.

So… was Vice President Zhang actually scared just now? Did she just run off in a panic?

The more he thought about it, the harder it was for Zai Ye to keep a straight face.

A young wife who’d flee in terror.

He crouched down in front of Qian. “Go find Mommy and give her back her phone.”

He tapped the little phone hanging around her neck. “Go to her and record a video of her teaching. Send it to me, okay?”

Qian asked, “Can I talk to Mommy?”

Zai Ye replied, “Sure. Try it and see if she’ll respond.”

With permission granted, the child happily ran off to find her mother.

PE class had ended, and Zhang Qinghe was already back in the classroom. Her expression was grim as she flipped open her small notebook and found the page labeled “Raising Ghost Children.”

She frowned and added a new line:

“Suspect that the person raising the ghost child will seek out a suitable candidate to be the ‘mother’.”

Yes, she must be the one chosen to be that “mother.”

Based on her logical deductions, the “mother” would have to raise the ghost child. But with what? Flesh and blood?

The situation was dire. She probably couldn’t handle it alone. Should she inform her brother?

“Mommy, here’s your phone.”

Lost in thought, Zhang Qinghe felt a tug on her sleeve. She looked down instinctively and locked eyes with Qian.

The little girl’s round, adorable face was resting on her desk as she pushed the phone toward her, wearing a sweet and obedient expression.

Crap.

Zhang Qinghe’s heart pounded wildly.

Stay calm, she told herself.

“Mommy, you can see me, right?”

“…”

“Mommy, Mommy, I picked you myself! Daddy and I both picked you. I like you!”

“…”

Zhang Qinghe’s face turned ghostly pale.