Rename

Yu Mao could guess Nan Changgeng’s purpose.

She wanted her gaze to stop lingering on her alone. She had to come into contact with the outside world in order to grow.

Even if Yu Mao was unwilling, she still had to listen.

The mess had only just ended, and after so many emotional ups and downs, fatigue was inevitable. Though they had come to the practice room, neither of them really felt like singing. They sat together in silence for quite a while.

Nan Changgeng felt as if a meteor had crashed inside her chest. The impact was already over, but dust still drifted softly through the air, filling her rib cage and making it hard to breathe normally.

She couldn’t deny that Yu Mao’s company gave her tremendous support.

It was like a strap tied around her waist, keeping her suspended above the whirlpool of emotion in relative safety. As long as that person was still here, she wouldn’t fall.

Just thinking that someone could feel pain over even a trace of her sorrow made half of that grief seem to lift from her shoulders.

Her breathing gradually steadied. The back of her neck warmed in the sunlight from the window, and a lazy sense of calm rose in her heart. Her eyes half-closed; her body tipped slightly, and she rested her head on Yu Mao’s shoulder.

It wasn’t a comfortable position, and it wasn’t a comfortable pillow either, but it gave her a grounded feeling. Very reassuring.

“Eat properly and put on some weight. Your shoulders are too bony.”

Yu Mao straightened up in alarm, as if startled. Nan Changgeng was jolted a little, but she didn’t move.

Yu Mao was full of regret, looking as if she’d only just figured out the answer to a blank essay question after turning in her paper. Frowning, she droned on in the stiff tone of a tiny robot: “I know now. So eating is actually that important. I really regret...”

Nan Changgeng couldn’t help laughing out loud. She could never predict Yu Mao’s reactions, and yet afterward she also found them completely unsurprising.

“So cute.” She couldn’t help reaching out to touch the side of Yu Mao’s face, her affection plain and heartfelt.

Yu Mao rolled her eyes, unable to see Nan Changgeng’s face, but she only needed those three short words to understand her mood.

She straightened her back even more and suddenly blurted, “Good cat!”

“Hm?” Nan Changgeng sat up and looked at her, not understanding what she meant.

Only then did Yu Mao turn her head. Her expression looked like she was waiting for praise. “Right?”

Nan Changgeng finally understood and couldn’t stop smiling. Yet there was a faint note of sadness in it; she said gently, “Good cat? Yes, you’re the best cat.”

“Have you heard anyone praise another cat like that? Was it your mother?”

Yu Mao nodded. “Yes. She liked praising the cats she raised like that. She made me call her sister.”

“...”

Nan Changgeng felt she shouldn’t be shocked by this, but she couldn’t stop the seriousness that flashed across her face.

To raise her into a cat, that woman had really gone to extremes.

“Then did you call her that?”

“I did.” She looked completely unfazed. “Only when she wanted to hear it. Cats don’t understand; they’re stupid. I’m smarter than them.”

Comparing herself to a cat was a little silly, even adorable, but Nan Changgeng somehow understood her logic very clearly: she was a cat smarter than the others.

After a brief silence, her thoughts suddenly veered in another direction.

“You don’t seem to have ever called me sister? We have such a big age gap, and you still just call me Changgeng. So rude.”

It had sounded so natural when Yu Mao said it, and her own oddness had overshadowed the weight of the title, so Nan Changgeng had never paid much attention to it.

“Changgeng is Changgeng; anyone can be a sister.” Yu Mao blinked, perfectly matter-of-fact, then asked again, “Does Changgeng mind?”

She did ask, but it was obvious she didn’t think Nan Changgeng would mind.

Nan Changgeng really did shake her head, a smile at the corner of her lips. “It’s fine. Keep calling me that. That’s the name that belongs to me.”

Not even the surname had been added.

She toyed with a lock of the girl’s hair, her gaze suddenly flickering. “When the show ends, how about I take you to change your name? You’re no longer the cat of the extra one.”

“Okay.” Yu Mao didn’t hesitate at all. “What should it be?”

“Change it back to your original name, then. Yu Chang’an; may your remaining years be at peace.” She paused slightly, then smiled. “As for this one now, treat it as a pet name. I’ll call you Mao Mao.”

She wasn’t overly insistent that Yu Mao give up seeing herself as a cat. A belief formed in childhood was too hard to change.

“Chang’an, Changgeng; we share one character!” Her eyes shone with startling brightness. Even if she couldn’t smile, that happiness was obvious to anyone.

A name personally chosen by Nan Changgeng, carrying such a beautiful meaning, made her feel as if she had grown a little more again, as if she were a little more human.

By now the barrage had quieted a lot after the two of them spent so long spacing out. Passerby comments decreased, and the fans took back the high ground.

Unfortunately, even though the passersby were gone, the solo stans were still being pinned down by the ship fans.

[Whoa, couple names]

[Wuwuwu, so touching. She was stripped of the human name given by her mother, then given back her original name by the person she chose to love]

[How did it become “the person she chose to love”... I don’t remember them ever admitting they were dating. Saying it so confidently; making stuff up?]

[Click to see a wf meltdown]

[Even if they aren’t dating now, they’ll date sooner or later]

[Personally, I think if they really do date, the initiative would still be in my Nan jie’s hands. But with her personality, would she even look twice at a kid so much younger and so mentally abnormal?]

[Don’t act like you know Nan Changgeng so well. She can’t accept other people’s love, yet she’s this close to Yu Mao, that crazy fan; isn’t that enough to show how special she is?]

As expected, the barrage started fighting again.

And Nan Changgeng had already begun the next round of question-and-answer practice. She randomly picked a contestant in the practice room, pointing to Wei Zhiyu, who was singing while playing the electronic keyboard, and asked Yu Mao:

“Say something about your impression of her.”

Yu Mao’s eyes moved twice. Her gaze followed the direction of Nan Changgeng’s finger and settled on the other girl’s back. After a long, blank pause, she said, “Wei... Zhiyu.” Then after another pause, she forced out two more words: “Female.”

Then she turned her head and stared at Nan Changgeng.

Nan Changgeng: “...That’s it?”

Yu Mao blinked her innocent big eyes, with a faint trace of guilt hidden underneath, and nodded. “Mm.”

Nan Changgeng was speechless. She took a long breath.

After a moment, she said, “You haven’t even left this show yet, and you’re already forgetting her this thoroughly?”

“The others aren’t needed.” Yu Mao curled her fingers into her mouth and blinked. Seeing her look so blankly stupid, Nan Changgeng pulled her claw away at once and barely kept a straight face.

“Which of these contestants do you know a little more about?”

She thought briefly. “Yirui An. She used to like bothering me. She doesn’t seem very bright.”

Nan Changgeng froze, instinctively glancing at the camera before lowering her voice. “Mm... we’ll talk about that tonight.”

Yu Mao’s mouth really had no filter. Nan Changgeng didn’t dare ask questions so casually anymore. Noticing that Lin Baiyu had just gone off-key while practicing, she immediately changed the subject: “What word did she just mess up?”

This time Yu Mao didn’t hesitate. “For you.”

Because she had to be ready for questions that might be thrown at her at any moment, she was forced to divert a thread of attention to the outside world. Lin Baiyu’s huge slip naturally fell within that range.

“Good. Keep it up.” Nan Changgeng was very good at this kind of praise; concise, calm, and carrying a hint of superiority.

If she wanted to be a little warmer, she would add a pat on the head.

She had inherited that entirely from the way her long-dead father had treated her.

She felt the temperaments of both parents coexisted perfectly inside her, each occupying half without interfering with the other. When her mother was alive, the way she looked at the world leaned toward gentleness and innocence. After her mother died, that softer half was gradually forced back, and the colder side inside her gained the upper hand.

She could almost no longer remember how, years ago, she had managed to speak to children in such a soft, coaxing voice.

Fortunately, none of that affected anything. Even a perfunctory smile was enough for Yu Mao. It was as if she could see past the surface and sense Nan Changgeng through some deeper, subtler layer.

So Yu Mao kept that up until night.

She felt her brain overload. The once clear, quiet space that had held only one person was suddenly flooded with all kinds of noisy information: irritability, discomfort.

That meant even more emotional information to process. The more uncomfortable she felt, the more unhappy she became; then she felt even less comfortable, rolling forward like a snowball.

Her gaze grew increasingly vacant, and she looked even more stupid than before.

“If robot manufacturing technology ever matures, it’ll probably look just like you.”

It was mealtime. The two of them had gone to the cafeteria, gotten food, and found a seat. Seeing her sit so stiffly and upright, Nan Changgeng couldn’t help saying this.

Yu Mao blinked in confusion; it took her two seconds to respond.

“If it’s like me now, then the robot would be a failed product. I still haven’t managed to make myself handle information in multiple threads.”

Nan Changgeng raised her brows in surprise, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I need categorization. You go in one item, other things go in another item, then priorities get sorted. That way I won’t be late receiving your information, and I won’t ignore other things either.”

Yu Mao was tense and restless, like she was cleaning up her own brain the way one might sort out the C drive. It was a little difficult, but once done, it would be permanent.

Nan Changgeng opened her mouth, her expression growing serious, though she still didn’t really understand.

“That’s good. Keep it up.”

“Do you mind if I add another thread?” She smiled slightly, pinched up a thin slice of beef with her fingers, and put it into Yu Mao’s mouth along with her fingers.

After the lesson from last time, she was much more restrained this time, and under the camera it wasn’t appropriate to use her mouth anyway.

She didn’t know that the barrage had already exploded because of this tiny gesture.

Her fingertip pressed lightly through the beef against Yu Mao’s tongue, barely noticeable; then she withdrew her hand. “Eat.”

After that, she took out a napkin and wiped her fingertips, the motion as brisk as her tone.

Yu Mao was stuck again for two seconds. Staring at her actions, she very slowly closed her mouth, chewing as if grinding her teeth.

It felt as though a heavy weight still remained on her tongue, pressing the saltiness of the beef deeper into her taste buds.

“How is it?” Nan Changgeng didn’t explain further, because she felt Yu Mao would understand.

Yu Mao indeed nodded. “Salty.”

Then Nan Changgeng moved the plate of steak she had cut toward her. “Eat this yourself. You need more protein; put on some sturdiness.”

“Changgeng isn’t sturdy either; you should eat more too.”

Yu Mao obediently ate on her own, chewing meat without interrupting her speech.

“You’ve gotten thinner than before.”

She knew it was because of insomnia and a reduced appetite. So she was used to wearing loose clothes to bulk up her figure, disguising herself as taller.

She was a proud person; after her once easy, composed life had slid downward into a more fragile state, she would instinctively conceal the obvious signs of that decline in reality.