04

"Bro Ye, want to play a round?" Xiao Di called out, spotting Bro Ye grinning nonstop as he watched something on his phone.

Curious, Xiao Di leaned over.

"Bro Ye, what kind of funny video are you watching? It must be hilarious if even the cold-as-ice Bro Ye is flashing those pearly whites!"

Zai Ye quickly wiped the smile off his face and covered his phone.

"Nothing, just a video from my family."

No way was he going to show anyone that rare video of Vice President Zhang in a panic. He’d already backed it up for safekeeping. One day, when she remembered it, he’d make sure to watch it with her and relive her current flustered state.

Zhang Qinghe was usually laser-focused in class, but today, she couldn’t concentrate at all. The teacher was droning on about theorems and formulas, but her eyes kept drifting toward the front of her desk.

That creepy little ghost girl who kept spouting terrifying nonsense was hovering right next to her. She was even holding a phone, filming her… Ghosts these days really kept up with the times. Was this some kind of ritual?

Zhang Qinghe used her textbook to block the ghost girl's gaze and buried her head in her book, trying to ignore her.

But as soon as she looked down, the little ghost girl crouched under her desk, tilted her head up, and smiled sweetly.

"Mommy, I’ll just squat here quietly. I won’t disturb your class, okay?"

*Bang!* The desk and chair scraped loudly against the floor.

The teacher and the whole class turned to look at Zhang Qinghe, who had suddenly shot to her feet.

"Zhang Qinghe, what’s the matter?" The math teacher, uncharacteristically, didn’t get angry. His usually sharp face even showed a hint of concern.

"I… I need to go to the restroom."

Qian crawled out from under the desk, raising both hands.

"I’m going with Mommy to the restroom too!"

Zhang Qinghe had just endured the most exhausting day of her life.

That little ghost girl clung to her the entire time, lying on her desk, trying to chat with her. Even without getting a response, she kept humming and muttering.

In her left ear, it was a constant stream of "Mommy, Mommy," while in her right ear, her deskmate was excitedly discussing the latest plot twists in a school romance novel.

Her deskmate had recently gotten hooked on campus love stories, inserting a certain senior into every male lead role. Every "so sweet!" made Zhang Qinghe’s eyelids twitch.

She didn’t even make it to evening study hall. For the first time since starting high school, she left early and skipped class.

She requested leave and went home early, while Qian, looking dejected, shuffled back to her dad’s classroom.

"Where is she? Why isn’t she here?" Zai Ye asked, pointing at the empty seat across the window.

Qian pouted and leaned against him.

"Mommy took leave. She’s sick."

"Daddy, let’s go visit Mommy at her house."

Zai Ye fell silent.

No way… Did Vice President Zhang actually get sick from being scared by Qian? Was she really that easily spooked when she was younger?

A twinge of unease crept into Zai Ye’s heart. He frowned and rubbed his phone.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Let’s go see Mommy!"

As Qian kept pestering him, chatter from nearby classmates drifted into Zai Ye’s ears.

"Hasn’t anyone dealt with that creep yet? It’s terrifying. My friend said she saw him after evening classes last night too!"

Zai Ye suddenly stood up.

"Let’s go. We’re taking your mommy home."

Lately, Zai Ye had been secretly following Zhang Qinghe to and from school. It wasn’t just because Qian kept begging to see her mommy—he’d also heard rumors about a deranged man lurking around the area, wandering the nearby streets and creeping up on students with a sinister giggle. It was seriously disturbing.

Zhang Qinghe always walked alone. Zai Ye knew her family situation and had taken it upon himself to silently watch over her.

Now, having left school early, Zhang Qinghe walked alone down the street, taking deep breaths and debating whether she should head to a temple to pray.

She’d never looked into this kind of thing before and wasn’t sure if last-minute prayers would even help.

She pulled out her phone and started searching for temples nearby.

No Buddhist temples nearby, but there was a Daoist Temple not far off. That should work too, right?

Just then, a disheveled middle-aged man came stumbling toward her, giggling as he veered in her direction.

Zhang Qinghe gave him a glance, raised her umbrella, and used the tip to keep him at bay. Then, with a calm expression, she briskly walked past him, even stealing a glance at the map on her phone.

Zai Ye, carrying Qian, caught up just in time to see the scene unfold.

He shouted angrily, "What the hell are you doing? Stay away from her!"

Zhang Qinghe had already passed the man, but when she looked back and saw Zai Ye, her expression changed—and she bolted.

Zai Ye: "…"

"Wait, I was yelling at him! Why are you running?!" He was speechless, his hurried steps coming to a halt.

"Daddy! Don’t forget me!" Qian called from behind.

Zai Ye had no choice but to turn back, scoop up the kid, and chase after the suddenly fleeing Zhang Qinghe.

The two of them dashed past the dazed, grinning man. Passersby turned to stare.

"What’s going on? Are they chasing a thief?"

Zai Ye had never known Vice President Zhang could run so fast—he was actually struggling to keep up.

"Hey! Stop running!" he shouted.

"Mommy, don’t run! You can’t escape!" Qian yelled too.

Zhang Qinghe seemed to pick up even more speed.

Zai Ye pinched Qian’s cheeks. "If you don’t know how to talk, then don’t say anything!"

Finally, Zhang Qinghe came to a stop. She stepped into the small Daoist Temple, bent over, and gasped for breath, one hand on her waist.

Zai Ye, still holding Qian, eyed the narrow doorway of the Daoist Temple and looked at the visibly tense young Vice President Zhang inside. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

He stopped just outside the temple and said, "Zhang Qinghe, you’ve got it all wrong."

"Don’t be nervous. Don’t be scared."

"I need to explain. Her name is Qian. Due to some special circumstances, no one else can see her—only we can. She’s not a ghost."

Zhang Qinghe finally caught her breath. "And you think I’m going to believe that?"

Zai Ye figured she wouldn’t. Vice President Zhang only believed what she deduced herself.

And every time she made a deduction, the logic seemed sound—but the conclusion was always way off.

Suddenly, he grabbed Qian by the armpits, stepped forward, and placed her inside the Daoist Temple.

"Look. If she were a ghost, how could she enter this place?"

Zhang Qinghe looked at the statues flanking the temple entrance, then at Qian. Her face went blank.

"You’re thinking, ‘Wow, what a powerful ghost,’ aren’t you?" Zai Ye said, arms crossed.

Zhang Qinghe froze. He hit the nail on the head.

A moment later, the three of them—Zhang Qinghe, Zai Ye, and Qian—were sitting together on a stone bench inside the small Daoist Temple.

“…So you’re saying Qian is our daughter, she can use magic, and she sent us back to the past—but you don’t know why I forgot everything.”

Zhang Qinghe had just heard a story from the perverted upperclassman that was even more fantastical than raising ghosts.

“So, you’re telling me that you’re my future boss, my fiancé, and she’s my daughter?” Zhang Qinghe asked after a long silence.

“Yes.”

“And you think I’m going to believe that?”

“…” Zai Ye could tell she didn’t believe a word of it.

“What would it take for you to believe me?”

“Nothing you say will make me believe it.”

If this were true, it would be scarier than any ghost story.

Qian sat between them, turning her head to whoever was speaking, her little head swiveling nonstop. When they both fell silent, she assumed they’d finished talking and started swinging her legs, peering out of the Daoist Temple. Suddenly, she said, “I want grilled corn!”

Outside, a small cart selling roasted sweet potatoes and grilled corn was slowly trundling by.

Resigned, Zai Ye got up to go buy some.

Once he was out of sight, Zhang Qinghe let out a long, deep breath.

She didn’t believe Zai Ye’s story, but if he said they were a family in the future, then he must know her well.

And if he knew her well, then he should…

Zai Ye returned quickly, handing Qian a grilled corn and giving Zhang Qinghe a roasted sweet potato. He sat back down empty-handed, rubbing his temples in frustration.

Qian took the corn and started munching away like a pro. Zhang Qinghe held the warm sweet potato in her hands, momentarily stunned.

He really bought it.

She had just been thinking—if they had really lived together before, then he should know she liked roasted sweet potatoes.

Zhang Qinghe broke the sweet potato in half and thought: No, doesn’t count. This was just a lucky guess.

Zai Ye glanced over at the two of them eating, his brows gradually relaxing. He reached over to ruffle Qian’s head and reminded her, “Use your magic to wrap the corn, don’t let anyone see it.”

Zhang Qinghe paused mid-bite and looked at them. Zai Ye immediately caught her unspoken question and explained:

“Her clothes, shoes, and hair clips are always in contact with her, so they’re automatically wrapped in magic and invisible to others. But anything she holds in her hands—if she doesn’t consciously use magic to cover it—people can see it.”

“I have to keep reminding her to wrap things with magic. If I don’t, she forgets. Right now, to anyone else, it looks like a floating corn cob in midair.”

As he spoke, Zai Ye gave Qian’s head a rough rub. “Half-baked magic skills, all she knows how to do is mess with her dad!”

Qian pouted and scooted away from him, snuggling into Zhang Qinghe’s arms.