09

Zhang Qinghe stepped off the volleyball court after a round of play and sat down at the edge of the field to rest.

As always during PE class, the moment she sat down, Qian came running over and snuggled up next to her.

She didn’t have any other reason—she just wanted her mom to take her to the snack shop for ice cream.

Because her dad wouldn’t let her have too much and refused to buy it for her.

Zai Ye, who’d been playing basketball, glanced over a few times, then crossed the field toward them. Drenched in sweat, he rinsed his head at a nearby faucet, raked his fingers through his hair, and sat down on Zhang Qinghe’s other side.

Once again, she was caught between this father-daughter duo.

Zhang Qinghe noticed her deskmate Jiemei in the distance, trying to suppress her gossip-loving excitement. Even after getting hit in the head with a volleyball, she refused to look away. Zhang Qinghe sighed inwardly and subtly shifted a little closer to Qian.

No matter how handsome a high school boy might be, sweat still stinks—especially in this heat. He was like a walking furnace, the kind that made you want to stay three feet away.

“Did your brother leave already?” Zai Ye asked while drinking water.

“He left yesterday. He’s really busy with work.”

“So, should I come over to your place this weekend?”

“…”

Zhang Qinghe found the way he said that a little off. If someone overheard, it’d be way too easy to get the wrong idea.

“It’s not really convenient. I think my brother found out,” she declined.

She suspected her brother had discovered the time she hid a male classmate in her room.

He hadn’t brought it up directly, but before leaving on another business trip, he’d reminded her several times to stay safe.

That look of worry, like he wanted to say something but held back—it was hard to miss.

Thinking of Zhang Xihuan gave Zai Ye a headache too.

That brother-in-law of his might look like just a brother-in-law, but in reality, he was as hard to deal with as both a mother-in-law and father-in-law combined.

“Then come to my place,” Zai Ye said, trying to sound casual while watching her reaction.

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyebrows lifted slightly—clearly not thrilled about the idea.

“It’ll just be me and Qian at home. My mom will stop by to cook a couple of meals. You can come in the morning and head back after lunch.”

“We’ll see. I’ll check my schedule,” Zhang Qinghe replied.

There it was—the diplomatic brush-off.

Zai Ye knew that meant she wasn’t planning on it and was trying to find a way to say no.

He didn’t push it on the surface, but during the next class break, Zhang Qinghe received a note from Qian.

Zai Ye’s handwriting was wild and bold, scrawled across the paper: “Teacher Zhang, please tutor me.” Below that, he’d drawn a messy stack of hundred-yuan bills.

Childish.

Zhang Qinghe tore the note up.

The next day, Qian brought her Zai Ye’s recent test papers.

One look—and it was a disaster.

Qian, who delivered both the papers and the note, leaned on her arm like a puppy rubbing against her.

“Please, Mom, pretty please! Just go!”

When rubbing didn’t work, she practically hung off her, swaying back and forth.

This kid was seriously strong.

Her deskmate Jiemei looked at her oddly. “Hehe, why are you swaying like that?”

Zhang Qinghe paused, then replied, “Been sitting too long—just stretching a bit.”

By the third day, worn down by the constant pestering, Zhang Qinghe finally gave in.

“Fine, I’ll go. But tell your dad to stop sending me notes.”

Zai Ye had already escalated from notes to full-on written pledges—terribly written ones, at that.

After school that evening, Zai Ye picked up Qian and headed home, his bag slung over his shoulder. Qian was sucking on a milk candy, bouncing along happily.

“Daddy, let Mommy live with us!”

“Don’t ask for the impossible.”

Qian climbed onto the edge of a flowerbed, and Zai Ye quickly lifted her down.

“Behave. Don’t walk on the edges—you could fall, you know that?”

“I wanna walk on the high places.”

As passersby gave them strange looks, Zai Ye and his little troublemaker of a daughter bickered their way down the street.

They passed a shop, and Zai Ye’s gaze paused at a corner of the glass display.

Qian looked too and excitedly shook the hand her dad was holding. “That looks like Mommy’s cup!”

They went inside. Zai Ye reached out and picked up the yellow Pumpkin Cup.

It looked a lot like the one Vice President Zhang used later on.

The three of them each had their own special cup at home.

His had been in use for years. Qian’s Little Yellow Duck Cup had lasted her a few years too. When he went to buy their wedding rings, he also picked up a new yellow cup.

That cup ended up at home, and naturally, Vice President Zhang started using it.

He’d never told her the cup had any special meaning. It felt a little too sentimental—those things he cared about when he was younger were hard to put into words.

But Vice President Zhang was unusually perceptive. She probably figured it out.

Later, when the handle of his old cup broke, he casually remarked, “Guess we can’t make a matching set anymore.”

Not long after that, the two of them went on a business trip to J Town. Vice President Zhang, usually known among colleagues as a workaholic, took him to a pottery studio after the conference to make cups by hand.

Zai Ye still remembered her in a suit, hands covered in clay, seriously shaping a cup.

She looked up and asked, “What kind do you want?”

At the time, Zai Ye wasn’t thinking about cups. He couldn’t remember what went through his mind, and he didn’t answer.

He was also in a suit, sitting beside her, trying to help.

Vice President Zhang said to him, “Can you go sit somewhere else and stop getting in the way?”

Zai Ye hadn’t meant to get in the way—he just wasn’t good at this sort of thing. Just like how the crafts he made for Qian’s school projects always turned out awful.

In the end, he could only sit there, watching the mud splatter onto his leather shoes and dress pants, patiently waiting for Vice President Zhang to finish.

She made herself a Pumpkin Cup—because she liked eating pumpkin.

She made Qian a Little Yellow Duck Cup—because ever since she was little, she loved that game where you feed the little yellow ducks.

Zai Ye looked at the cup she made for him, painted with a lemon, and asked, “Why’d you make me a Lemon Cup? I don’t even like lemons.”

Vice President Zhang replied, “Because you’re so sour.”

“How am I sour?” Boss Zai frowned deeply, refusing to admit it.

Vice President Zhang gave an example: “You get all sour about Film Emperor Tong. Every time someone mentions him, you get that way.”

“When have I ever been sour about him? And why are you bringing him up now? Don’t tell me you’re planning to make him a cup too?” Zai Ye looked at her suspiciously.

Vice President Zhang gave him a wordless stare, then drew another lemon on the back of the cup.

Thinking back to the look on her face that day, Zai Ye couldn’t help but smile.

“This Pumpkin Cup looks way better than the one your mom made,” Zai Ye said to Qian, holding the cup in his hand.

Qian’s eyes rolled mischievously. “I’m gonna tell Mom.”

Zai Ye replied, “…Go ahead, tell her. You think I’m scared of her?”

When they went to pay for the pumpkin cup, Zai Ye grabbed an ice cream bar and handed it to Qian as they stepped outside.

The kid took the ice cream with a grin, mumbling through a mouthful, “I won’t tell Mom anymore.”

Zai Ye said, “I only bought it because you looked like you wanted it so badly. Just this one.”

On Sunday, Zhang Qinghe came over to Zai Ye’s place.

It was a high-rise in an upscale neighborhood, right next to a subway station and a massive supermarket.

Zai Ye was waiting downstairs with a bag of fruit when Zhang Qinghe arrived.

“I came down to buy fruit, figured I’d pick you up while I was at it,” he said.

“Thanks,” Zhang Qinghe replied.

No explanation was better.

As soon as they walked in, Qian came running over and expertly pulled out a brand-new pair of orange slippers from the shoe cabinet.

“Mommy, your slippers!”

They sat down on a colorful sofa, feet resting on a cartoon-themed rug, surrounded by plush toys and even an indoor slide—it looked more like a kids’ playroom than a living room.

“All new stuff after we moved. She insisted on buying them. We had even more at the old place,” Zai Ye said, placing a pumpkin-yellow cup in front of her, filled with lemon water.

Zhang Qinghe looked at the cup, stuffed to the brim with lemon slices, and wondered if he was trying to sour her to death.

“Mommy, come quick!” Qian tugged at her hand and pulled her toward the enclosed balcony.

To her surprise, there were two claw machines set up there.

“Mommy, let’s play the claw machines!”

Unable to refuse, Zhang Qinghe ended up spending an hour playing claw machines.

She suddenly remembered she was supposed to be tutoring Zai Ye. Meanwhile, the completely unrepentant student had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Zhang Qinghe stood over him, watching his closed eyes in silence, then glanced at Qian.

The ever-thoughtful little “cotton-padded jacket” immediately dashed over and plopped herself down on her dad’s stomach.

“…!” Zai Ye let out a muffled grunt, sat up with a crunch, and reached out to grab her.

Qian tumbled off the sofa, scrambling toward Zhang Qinghe and clinging to her leg. “Mommy told me to do it!”

Zhang Qinghe said, “Can we study now?”

They sat at the little table and opened the workbook. Zai Ye, pen in hand, grumbled, “You used to cover me with a blanket when I fell asleep.”

Zhang Qinghe sighed. “I really don’t get what the future me was thinking. Did work grind all the edges off?”

Zai Ye: “?”

What did that mean?

“Come on, do this problem first,” Zhang Qinghe said.

Zai Ye frowned and started working through the exercises, constantly asking, “How do I do this one?”

While he suffered, Qian played mini games, watched cartoons, cuddled plushies, slid down the slide, and munched on snacks.

Zai Ye couldn’t take it anymore and asked Zhang Qinghe, “Why don’t you give Qian some problems to solve too?”