05

Zhang Qinghe didn’t entirely believe what Zai Ye had said, but after their conversation, she did find herself a little less afraid of the little ghost girl—Qian.

Aside from being invisible to everyone else, Qian wasn’t all that different from a normal little girl.

She needed to bathe, change clothes, eat, sleep, and play every day.

Ever since they sat together the day before, eating roasted corn and sweet potatoes, Qian seemed to have decided by default that they were now one big happy family.

The next day, she showed up at Zhang Qinghe’s classroom wearing overalls and a duck-print shirt, running straight in and calling out “Mommy” affectionately, asking her to come play.

Zhang Qinghe didn’t play with her, nor did she respond. Qian then leaned on her arm, tugging at her sleeve and whining, “Mommy, didn’t we already make up? Why are you ignoring me?”

Zhang Qinghe: When did I ever admit I was your mom?

Without her “mom’s” attention, Qian wandered around the classroom. Zhang Qinghe kept a straight face, but her eyes subconsciously followed her, observing her every move.

Every time Qian brushed past a classmate, Zhang Qinghe’s eyelids twitched.

The cramped classroom was packed with clumsy high schoolers—someone was bound to bump into Qian eventually, only to look around in confusion at the empty space they’d stumbled into.

Thankfully, no one jumped to supernatural conclusions. Most just assumed they’d tripped over a desk.

But when Qian, bored during class, walked up to the podium and picked up a piece of chalk to mimic the teacher writing on the blackboard, Zhang Qinghe was finally forced to act.

If she didn’t stop her, everyone would see ghostly scribbles suddenly appear on the board—that would definitely freak people out.

Zhang Qinghe coughed loudly twice and fixed her gaze on Qian, signaling her to come over.

Sure enough, the child dropped the chalk and scampered back to her side.

Class was still in session, and the room was quiet. Zhang Qinghe couldn’t speak to her, so she simply grabbed Qian’s arm to keep her from running off again.

Qian shook her hand free, squatted by the desk for a while, scratched at the paint on the desk leg with her fingernails, then stuck her head under Zhang Qinghe’s desk to peek inside.

After inspecting her “mom’s” desk for a bit, she yawned and said, “Mommy, I’m so tired. I want to sit on the chair.”

Before Zhang Qinghe could react, Qian had already wriggled her way between her and the desk and climbed onto her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Zhang Qinghe: …

With no other choice, she leaned back slightly to make room for the child to sit.

Qian rested her chin on the desk, but after a while, finding it too hard, she pulled Zhang Qinghe’s arm over to use as a pillow instead.

Before long, she had dozed off just like that.

Zhang Qinghe stayed frozen in that position for most of the class, her body going stiff. As soon as the bell rang, she stood up and carried the drowsy child straight to the girls’ restroom.

Inside a stall, she whispered, “Go back to Senior Zai Ye.”

“I don’t want to,” Qian replied.

Zhang Qinghe tried reasoning with her. “I have class. If you stay with me, I can’t concentrate.”

Qian looked up at her with big dark eyes, tugging at the buttons on her overalls. “Mommy, I need to pee. I can’t undo the buttons.”

Zhang Qinghe: “…”

She unbuttoned the overalls, waited for her to finish, then helped her get dressed again.

As she struggled with the stubborn buttons, she continued trying to reason with her. “Go back to Senior Zai Ye. If you stay with me all the time, he’ll be worried. Don’t you think so?”

Qian shook her head. “He’s not worried about me.”

Zhang Qinghe: “…What will it take for you to go back to him?”

A short while later, Zhang Qinghe was at the school’s convenience store, buying a bag full of snacks for Qian, and then escorted her back to Zai Ye’s senior class.

Zai Ye, now blissfully child-free, was playing games with a group of high school boys. When Zhang Qinghe showed up, he stepped out amid a chorus of teasing from his classmates.

“It wasn’t me who sent her to you—she wanted to go find you herself,” Zai Ye said, immediately distancing himself from responsibility the moment he saw Vice President Zhang’s expression.

Zhang Qinghe handed over Qian, who was munching on a grilled sausage. The break was nearly over. She said, “Next time, don’t dress her in those overalls. The buttons are a nightmare.”

Then, recalling her earlier trauma, she added, “And no more red dresses either. Please.”

Zai Ye replied, “She picks out her own clothes. If I tell her no, she cries. You know how annoying she gets when she throws a tantrum.”

His familiar tone, laced with a bit of playful complaint, gave Zhang Qinghe goosebumps. She turned and walked away without another word.

Zai Ye held Qian’s hand and called after her retreating figure, “See? Your mom’s sick of you already.”

Qian, her mouth stuffed with sausage, mumbled something. Zai Ye pulled out a tissue and wiped the grease off her shiny lips.

“I can’t understand you. Swallow first.”

Qian shook her snack bag. “I’ll go find Mommy again after I finish eating.”

Zai Ye: “Trying to scam more snacks out of her, huh? Not happening!”

He scooped her up like a little chicken and carried her back into the classroom.

Nearby, Xiao Di leaned in, full of gossip. “Bro Ye, what did that junior girl want just now? Was she confessing to you?”

Zai Ye thought to himself: A confession? Dream on. Vice President Zhang confessing? Not in this lifetime—unless someone’s paying her.

“It wasn’t a confession. Don’t spread nonsense.”

His voice turned cold, and Xiao Di didn’t dare press further, though he still muttered under his breath, “Smells like grilled sausage… smells so good.”

Of course it did—Qian had just been eating one and was now leaning against Zai Ye, rummaging through his desk for yogurt.

Zai Ye quickly pulled her back before anyone noticed.

“I just want to look,” Qian said sweetly.

“We bought two whole boxes at home. You already had two bottles this morning,” Zai Ye said, unfazed by her innocent act.

Qian hugged his arm and said, “I want to bring two bottles for Mommy.”

Zai Ye saw right through her and snorted, “And when she says she doesn’t want them, you’ll drink them yourself, right?”

He hadn’t forgotten a thing. Vice President Zhang might be clueless, but he had plenty of experience dealing with this little scam artist.

He could see through Qian’s tricks the way Sun Wukong saw through shape-shifting demons—clear as day.

Later that period, Zhang Qinghe glanced across to the opposite building and saw Senior Zai Ye leaning against the window, with Qian curled up in his arms, her head resting on his hand—just like how she’d curled up in Zhang Qinghe’s lap earlier.

She watched for a moment, then lowered her head and went back to studying.

The next morning, Zhang Qinghe saw Qian again. This time, she had a little backpack and came running over, pulling out something from inside.

“This one’s yummy. Mommy, you drink it.” The child placed two bottles of yogurt on her desk and looked at her expectantly.

Zhang Qinghe blinked and hesitated. “Uh… thank you?”

She didn’t even like yogurt, but faced with those sparkling eyes, she picked up a bottle, stuck in a straw, and took a sip.

"Is it good?" Qian asked.

Zhang Qinghe looked at her sipping away and silently handed back the other bottle.

She felt a pang of guilt, like she'd just stolen a child’s snack.

Qian came by every day to hang out. Besides yogurt, she’d shared all kinds of snacks with Zhang Qinghe—lollipops, hawthorn sticks, dried sweet potatoes.

She even helped Zai Ye pass her little notes.

Zhang Qinghe unfolded one of Qian’s latest deliveries, a note scrawled in wild, loopy handwriting.

"Qian says she wants to see *Little Pig: The Movie* this weekend. Wanna come?"

Zhang Qinghe picked up a pen and neatly wrote two words beneath it.

"Not going."

Their high school only had Sundays off. Zhang Qinghe spent every weekend at home—cleaning in the morning, cooking for herself, then tutoring a middle schooler from the same apartment complex in the afternoon to earn a little extra cash.

Early Sunday morning, someone knocked on her door.

Peeking through the peephole, she saw Zai Ye and Qian. Zhang Qinghe let out a deep sigh and opened the door.

She was wearing an old pair of cartoon-print pajamas, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and an apron around her waist—the kind that came free with a bottle of cooking oil.

Only after opening the door did she see what Zai Ye was holding—a huge bouquet of pink double-petaled tulips.

She nearly slammed the door shut on instinct.

“Not from me,” Zai Ye said quickly, clearly anticipating her reaction.

Qian chimed in right after, “They’re from me! Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!”

Zhang Qinghe’s pupils contracted in shock.

Mother’s Day… Right, today *was* Mother’s Day…

But what did that have to do with her?! At her age, why was she celebrating Mother’s Day already?