2023

There was something even Rainbow Sister herself might not have known.

A lot of the private messages she replied to were screenshotted and posted in a community also called “Rainbow Sister.”

Because some people really did need Rainbow Sister, and after getting a reply—or help—they wanted to thank her. And many of the people Rainbow Sister helped were the kind who were too kind for their own good, which also made them easier to hurt.

They lived in the far corners of this round earth, yet they were like little bees, huddled together in this tiny corner, warming one another.

Chen Yue had only searched that name because, on that day, she heard the girl called Zheng Kexin say there was someone named “Rainbow Sister” who was stupid and rich. That search led her to Rainbow Sister’s account, and to the community that had saved all those screenshots.

Then she discovered that some people had been using that method purely to get close to the person they liked; they would make up things that had never happened to them, send them to Rainbow Sister, then screenshot the reply after she answered, post it with an ecstatic tone, and even teach others what sort of message wording would get a reply from Rainbow Sister.

Those people were harshly criticized by the ones who had truly been helped by Rainbow Sister. After that, the account went gray and stopped replying.

Maybe there were other accounts like that later on, doing the same thing.

But Rainbow Sister did not disappear because of it.

She probably knew very well that people would do this, yet she still kept replying, because she didn’t want to miss the real pleas for help.

So Chen Yue looked through those screenshots one by one. She didn’t need anyone else’s guesses, and didn’t need any proof to back them up; from the lines between the words, she could tell completely—

Rainbow Sister was Chi Xiaoman.

And she also understood—

that maybe, back then, Chi Xiaoman really hadn’t met her own Rainbow Sister.

Looking back now, Chen Yue had no way to question the twenty-year-old Chi Xiaoman from back then in a blaming tone, asking why she had told such a serious lie to herself.

But after learning the truth, after searching for the real, living Rainbow Sister and reading every single reply she had ever sent, Chen Yue sat by her bed that night and thought for a long time before she understood—

just like the habitual wording and tone that leaked out through that account, Rainbow Sister really was someone left behind in the winter of 2013.

She had been forgotten alone in that red snowstorm for a very long time. No one had found her. Even Chen Yue—or rather, Chen Tong—had forgotten this later too.

She hadn’t managed to help her.

“Sorry,” Chen Yue said softly.

Chi Xiaoman was probably surprised by that. “Why are you saying that?”

She wasn’t eating cake anymore. Having had a lie from ten years ago exposed by Chen Yue didn’t stir up much emotion in her; instead, she looked more dazed and absent.

She held the fragile paper cake plate and once again clumsily wiped at the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. Only then did she notice the cream spread more and more messily, so she stopped and said slowly, “What do you have to apologize for?”

“It’s me who should apologize to you,” Chi Xiaoman said slowly. “I really shouldn’t have lied to you back then.”

“I don’t blame you,” Chen Yue said.

Chi Xiaoman nodded. “You’re always like this.”

She sighed. “You’ll get bullied if you run into bad people.”

“My attitude depends on what kind of person I’m facing,” Chen Yue replied.

As though she didn’t want that answer, Chi Xiaoman asked back, “Then can Rainbow Sister count as a bad person?”

“That’s true too.” Chi Xiaoman didn’t deny it. She nodded lightly. “Looks like doing more good deeds really isn’t wrong. Seems like I’m a great person now, too.”

Chen Yue looked at her for a while.

She took the paper plate that had been clenched so tightly in Chi Xiaoman’s hand. “So was it tiring? Being Rainbow Sister all these years.”

Chi Xiaoman obediently handed it over. Even she didn’t know why, but the moment Chen Yue reached out, she felt like giving her everything she had.

“Not tiring,” Chi Xiaoman said, shaking her head. Then she narrowed her eyes against the sun and thought for a moment. “Actually, it’s been pretty good.”

“What’s good about it?” Chen Yue asked.

“It’s just... being able to help some people like this makes me happy too,” Chi Xiaoman answered.

“Sometimes, when I run into certain things, I’ll log into that account and think of nothing. Because every time I log in, I only have to think of myself as Rainbow Sister, and then I feel like I’m not that bad after all.”

“So does that mean this isn’t entirely doing good deeds?” she asked suddenly, her voice dropping a lot.

“After all, I’m also doing it so I can feel a little better myself.”

“No.” Chen Yue denied it.

Chi Xiaoman looked up in slight confusion.

Chen Yue looked at her. “Does it have to be perfect?”

“Only if a good deed brings absolutely no benefit can it be considered pure. Only if an actor isn’t afraid of the camera can they be called a good actor.”

“Only if there are no bad expressions at all, no vulnerability, no sensitivity, only if they’re worth liking; only if there are no moments when they can’t shoot well, only then can the finished film be called a good movie...”

“Chi Xiaoman.” She called her name. “Do you think that’s how it is?”

Chi Xiaoman stopped talking.

She looked at her. In the sunlight, her eyes had a translucent quality, as if there were a layer of very beautiful, very thin glass between them.

Chen Yue looked at her too; looked at the small, hidden Chi Xiaoman behind that glass.

She watched her expression.

Rarely, Chi Xiaoman wasn’t so tense in front of her. It was as if she had fully taken Chen Yue’s words in, dazed and distracted, and as if she were also gaining a great deal of safety from her.

Chen Yue smiled a little.

She didn’t continue pressing the point, and instead changed the subject. “Then do you know that some people will also lie to you?”

“I know.” Chi Xiaoman nodded slowly, and this next sentence came without hesitation. “Actually, even if they lie to me, it’s fine.”

“Why is that fine?” Chen Yue asked.

“Because them lying and taking up a little of my reply time isn’t a big deal,” Chi Xiaoman said, pressing her lips together. “As for money, I usually verify the specific situation. But if there are still omissions, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Let them cheat a little, then so be it.”

She joked with Chen Yue. “Anyway, liars will go to hell sooner or later.”

That was true enough. After so many years in this circle, Chen Yue didn’t think Chi Xiaoman was that naive. She didn’t believe Chi Xiaoman would really be cheated out of much money.

A long time ago, she had hoped Chi Xiaoman could be loved by many people, and never lose that innocence in her. But now, as she drew closer bit by bit and found that the innocence left in Chi Xiaoman was far more than she had imagined, she only felt even more bitterness.

“What year did this account start?” Chen Yue wanted to know more.

“I don’t remember,” Chi Xiaoman said, shaking her head. “I don’t remember the exact trigger either. I just kept doing it, and then before I knew it, it became what it is now.”

“Then during all that time, did you never think about stopping?” Chen Yue had suddenly become an interviewer, eager to learn every detail she had missed about Chi Xiaoman.

“No.” Chi Xiaoman’s voice was very soft. “After all, this was something I was doing for the people who truly needed Rainbow Sister. If I stopped because of the people who didn’t need it, I’d feel bad too. Wouldn’t that be putting the cart before the horse?”

Chen Yue nodded.

“Enough about me,” Chi Xiaoman said, shifting the topic. “Talk about you. Birthday wishes are so precious; why waste one on something like this?”

“Waste it?” Chen Yue repeated, then answered herself. “I don’t think so.”

Chi Xiaoman’s mouth relaxed slightly.

“It’s not for anything else,” Chen Yue said softly. “And I know that even if I say this to you today, by tomorrow—maybe even before tomorrow—you probably won’t take it to heart, and you probably won’t really look for me. But I still hope that—”

“No matter what you do in the future, no matter what our film runs into, no matter where you are later on, you’ll at least know that there really is a Rainbow Sister in this world.”

“Even if you don’t really go looking for her anytime, anywhere, just thinking of her existence will at least let you feel a little better at times.”

She smiled faintly at Chi Xiaoman. “Isn’t that so?”

And when Chi Xiaoman hesitated, Chen Yue went on. “And this doesn’t put any pressure on me.”

Her tone was soothing. “It’s just a title.”

It really did seem to be that way. Chi Xiaoman felt that Chen Yue’s ability to persuade people had probably grown again; she had almost left no room for her to waver. After thinking it over, Chi Xiaoman figured she probably wouldn’t actually go looking for Chen Yue, so there was no need to refuse.

So she changed the wording. “Then don’t use your birthday wish for this, okay?”

Chen Yue looked at her but didn’t agree right away.

Chi Xiaoman thought for a moment. “Birthday wishes like that should be reserved for yourself.”

Chen Yue seemed persuaded, and said softly, “Okay.”

“Then will you make a new one?” Chi Xiaoman let out a breath. “There are still three wishes left.”

“Mm.” Chen Yue lowered her head and thought for a few seconds.

Staring at their shadows, she said, “Then starting today, keep me company for a few more meals.”

Chi Xiaoman froze. “Something that simple...”

“Actually, after thinking it over, I don’t have anything else I especially want,” Chen Yue said, lifting her head. Her gaze in the sunlight was very gentle. “And since there are probably a lot of things I can’t eat right now, if we eat together, you can help me eat a little more too.”

Was that even a birthday wish?

Chi Xiaoman had originally planned to say that.

But just then, the assistant director came over and called out, “Director Xiaoman, someone’s here to see you!”

The birthday-wish topic was cut off there. Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together, glanced at Chen Yue, then turned to look at the person the assistant director had brought over—

“Auntie A-Yun?” Chi Xiaoman was a little surprised. “Why did you come so early? Didn’t I say I’d arrange a car to pick you up?”

Fang A-Yun stood a little awkwardly behind the assistant director. She probably wasn’t used to such a crowded set environment. Seeing Chi Xiaoman turn around, she smiled and waved at her.

Today she had tied a thin purple scarf around her neck; when she waved, it fluttered like a purple cloud.

Chi Xiaoman first waved back at Fang A-Yun, then walked over and stopped in front of her, smiling as she praised how nice the scarf looked.

Fang A-Yun seemed a little embarrassed too, and lowered her head to adjust the scarf.

Chen Yue didn’t follow Chi Xiaoman over. She stayed where she was, looking at the two women’s smiling eyes under the sun, while nearby two crew hands discussed in very low voices—

“Hey, is that Director Xiaoman’s mother?”

“How could that be? That’s her assistant.”

“Assistant? An assistant that old?”

“Hey, hey, hey—watch it. Don’t talk nonsense here! Director Xiaoman takes such good care of that assistant. If she hears that, she’s definitely going to get mad at you, believe it or not?”

“No way? Director Xiaoman has such a good temper normally...”

“Even if she’s got a good temper, don’t go around talking nonsense. Haven’t you heard? Once, when there were too many people at the airport to greet her, someone shoved that auntie assistant. Director Xiaoman’s face went completely white on the spot. When has she ever looked that sharp at anyone?”

“Huh... isn’t that the other way around? If she values her that much, is she still just an assistant?”

“Who knows? But this really is strange. You’re not the only one who thinks that. A lot of people have guessed maybe this assistant is actually Director Xiaoman’s mother, but for some reason they just haven’t recognized each other.”

“Really?”

“Just guessing!”

...

The murmuring gradually drifted away.

Chen Yue stood still.

Her gaze stayed on the two people a few meters away from her—

The sunlight poured down.

Chi Xiaoman obediently leaned closer.

Fang A-Yun very familiarly reached out and tidied the hair by Chi Xiaoman’s ear.

Their features didn’t look especially alike.

But their temperaments were indeed similar; neither of them had any aggression, both soft and gentle.

“Chen Yue!” Chi Xiaoman suddenly called her.

Fang A-Yun also followed her gaze and looked over.

Chen Yue pulled herself out of her thoughts and walked over, smiling at Fang A-Yun.

Fang A-Yun put on her glasses and looked at her face very carefully, as if curious what the lead actress of this film looked like.

“This is one of our film’s investors, Ms. Fang A-Yun,” Chi Xiaoman introduced Chen Yue first.

Then she introduced Chen Yue to Fang A-Yun. “This is one of our film’s leading actresses, Teacher Chen Yue.”

Chen Yue nodded and smiled at Fang A-Yun. “Ms. Fang.”

Fang A-Yun waved a hand, then typed on her phone for Chen Yue to see: “Just call me Auntie A-Yun, like Xiaoman does.”

“Okay.” Chen Yue smiled and nodded. “Hello, Auntie A-Yun.”

Fang A-Yun nodded, then seemed to remember something and typed four large characters on her phone: “Happy birthday.”

There was even a little birthday hat emoji after it.

Chen Yue stared at it, first pausing, then glancing at Chi Xiaoman before smiling at Fang A-Yun. “Thank you, Auntie A-Yun.”

Chi Xiaoman touched her ear. “Then I’ll take Auntie A-Yun to look around the set first?”

Chen Yue nodded. “Mm, go ahead and get busy.”

After saying that, she called out to the two of them again. “Wait a moment.”

“Hm?” Chi Xiaoman and Fang A-Yun both stood there in confusion.

Chen Yue went to get two pieces of cake that had been divided up.

When she turned back,

she saw the two of them wearing almost identical expressions as they looked at her; both were blank, a little dazed.

Chen Yue smiled and walked over, handing the cake from her left hand to Fang A-Yun. “Please have some of my birthday cake, Auntie A-Yun.”

The one from her right hand she gave to Chi Xiaoman. “Director Xiaoman can have another piece.”

Chi Xiaoman took it with some embarrassment. “I can’t eat that much.”

“It’s fine,” Chen Yue said. “If you can’t finish it, you don’t have to.”

Chi Xiaoman nodded. “I should still finish it.”

Chen Yue smiled. “Then don’t force yourself.”

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together and said nothing.

She was probably still planning to follow that old rule: only when the cake was finished did it count as blessing the birthday person.

Chen Yue thought about it, then reached out as if to take the cake back.

But Chi Xiaoman quickly dodged. “You can’t take it back.”

Chen Yue froze.

“If you take it back, the blessing gets discounted too,” Chi Xiaoman explained.

Chen Yue had no choice but to pull her hand back. “Fine. Then don’t eat too much either.”

“I’ll see,” Chi Xiaoman said perfunctorily.

Chen Yue was about to say more—

when she saw Fang A-Yun beside them, smiling as she watched the two of them.

For a moment, she felt a little apologetic.

After all, Fang A-Yun had only just come by.

“Auntie A-Yun, then I won’t keep you,” Chen Yue said with a smile. “Let Director Xiaoman show you around a little more.”

Saying that, she nodded to Chi Xiaoman and turned to walk toward the actors’ rest tent.

But as she lifted the flap, she caught sight of the two crew members from earlier passing by, so she glanced back again—

and saw that

Fang A-Yun was still looking at her from behind.

Her gaze was very gentle.

Curious, perhaps, or appraising.

But there was clearly no malice in it.

So Chen Yue smiled at Fang A-Yun.

Fang A-Yun smiled back.

Her smile was soft and graceful, her eyes crescent-shaped; she really did look a little like Chi Xiaoman.

The eye contact didn’t last long.

Fang A-Yun soon turned her face away and listened very carefully as Chi Xiaoman spoke to her.

Chen Yue didn’t look any longer either; she lifted the flap and went into the rest tent.

The crew was large.

Fang A-Yun had come to visit the set.

She had brought a lot of sliced braised beef from home; by the afternoon, after a huge rush of young crew members swarmed over it, the whole big pot had been completely cleaned out.

Chen Yue didn’t join the crowd.

After a few scenes were shot,

during the break, she caught Chi Xiaoman dutifully explaining the day’s scenes and shots to Fang A-Yun, so she didn’t disturb them much either.

After wrap, Chi Xiaoman, for the first time, wasn’t the last one to leave. She hurriedly called for a car and got in with Fang A-Yun; they were probably going to send Fang A-Yun home first.

Chen Yue stood at the wrap site and watched the car slowly drive away. She didn’t follow the rest of the group back to the hotel restaurant for dinner; instead, she went upstairs alone, returned to her room, showered, and quietly read the script for a while.

Tonight the wind was cool, and the noise downstairs was clamorously loud.

After reading for a while,

Chen Yue found she couldn’t concentrate, so she set the script down, opened her laptop, and hesitantly typed “Fang A-Yun” into a webpage.

No useful results came up.

There were two entries with the same name.

One was a lawyer; the other was the pseudonym of a victim in a social case.

Chen Yue thought for a moment.

She searched:

Chi Xiaoman assistant.

This result had obviously much more content.

But most of it was speculation too, saying Chi Xiaoman treated this assistant too well, usually didn’t let her follow the crew or pick her up at the airport, afraid of people bumping into her, and afraid she’d be too tired on set;

saying Chi Xiaoman had found herself a mother;

and even saying this was actually Chi Xiaoman’s mother, only because she’d committed a crime in the past and gone to prison, while Chi Xiaoman was obviously a public figure, so the two of them had never recognized each other...

Buzz—

Her phone vibrated.

Chen Yue looked away and saw that Chi Xiaoman had sent her:

[Are you back in your room?]

Chen Yue deleted the webpage and replied to Chi Xiaoman: [Mm.]

Chi Xiaoman didn’t say anything more.

She should already have gone home with Fang A-Yun; they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow’s call time.

Chen Yue set down her phone and searched the name of that bottle of medicine.

The bottle that had fallen out of Chi Xiaoman’s bag.

Actually, the first thing she had done when she got back that day was search it.

And she found that it really was, just as Chi Xiaoman had said, a common medicine used to control anxiety symptoms.

But over these last few days,

whenever she thought of it, she would still search it again, as if by finding some case on the webpage describing her own condition, by seeing someone describe their pain in video or text, either nakedly or vaguely, she could truly experience the pain Chi Xiaoman felt when she needed to take medicine.

And thus feel even more at ease.

Maybe that was also an advantage of being an actor. Even if a very long time had truly passed, at least she could still use this method to imagine that Chi Xiaoman had always been beside her and had never left. To imagine herself truly returning to so many moments she had no way of knowing about, and holding Chi Xiaoman’s trembling back.

Even if that might not be what Chi Xiaoman wanted.

She closed the laptop.

Chen Yue sat for a while.

She felt like she wasn’t hungry, and didn’t need to go downstairs for dinner either, so she put her glasses back on and continued reading the script.

Then someone knocked on the door—

just once.

Like a little rabbit trapped inside her heart, its ears twitching upward with a tiny movement.

Chen Yue went to open the door.

Chi Xiaoman was standing there. Maybe she hadn’t expected the door to open so quickly, and still held her hand up stiffly, as if hesitating over whether to knock again.

The corridor light was full and yellow.

She stood in front of her.

She looked nothing like those people in the videos who needed medicine and hid so much pain, who wouldn’t let themselves have a happy second without suddenly waking up and thinking they didn’t deserve happiness, then forcing themselves to chew on pain.

She also didn’t look like the glamorous big star described in those texts speculating about her and Fang A-Yun, the kind who would hide an embarrassing mother and make her an assistant.

These days she had made herself look much more energetic, much more optimistic; there was a little more flesh on her face, and because she kept running around on set, her skin wasn’t as pale as before. She looked completely like a healthy person who didn’t spend every moment chewing over pain.

When she saw Chen Yue open the door,

she froze for a moment, then slowly curved her eyes and smiled at her very softly.

“Chen Yue, have you been eating properly?”

So Chen Yue suddenly reached out.

She imagined her arms curving around Chi Xiaoman’s pliant shoulders like clouds, so she wouldn’t have to be wrapped in pain at every moment. She also imagined her body heat melting away the last remnants of snow on Chi Xiaoman the way summer does.

She hugged her.

-

It was a sudden embrace, one that far exceeded Chi Xiaoman’s expectations.

There wasn’t much intimacy to it.

Because once Chen Yue held her, she didn’t move again.

Her embrace was very soft, like clouds wrapping around her. Her scent was faint and warm, like a large, forgiving tree. Her hair fell against Chi Xiaoman’s neck, like a single sway of leaves.

Chi Xiaoman almost froze in place.

Her mind couldn’t react.

She drew her shoulders in stiffly.

She straightened her back and spent a very long time figuring out that she was being hugged.

Then she felt confused.

“Chen Yue?”

And then, urgently: “What’s wrong?”

Then, slowly, the urgency turned into careful caution. “Did something happen? Did something happen?”

A long time passed.

Chen Yue slowly shook her head against her shoulder. “No.”

“Nothing happened.”

But she still held her, not letting go of her shoulders. Just like one day a long time ago, when nothing major had happened and Chen Yue had suddenly resigned; and like that summer, when nothing had happened that night either, but she had suddenly kissed Chi Xiaoman’s lips.

Actually, Chen Yue was a strange enough person.

Whenever she did something, she never gave the real reason in her heart.

She didn’t explain to Chen Xiaoping that she quit because she’d had enough of those words and felt sick of them; she also didn’t explain to Chi Xiaoman that she suddenly kissed her lips because she’d been bewitched and fallen in love with her.

But just like the result that day,

on this day too,

Chi Xiaoman was suddenly hugged by her. After a moment of silence, maybe she had already found an explanation for her in her heart, or maybe she hadn’t, and had simply decided to comfort her first.

“Then that’s good.”

She patted Chen Yue’s back. Her whole body was still a little stiff; she didn’t come over to hug her back intimately, nor did she curl into her arms the way someone in a real embrace would to act spoiled.

She was just like a snowman about to melt, patting her back and trying to give her warmth with all she had. “It’s good if nothing happened.”

So Chen Yue greedily wanted to keep the hug going. Even if Chi Xiaoman couldn’t get much comfort from it, even if this was only Chen Yue’s own desire.

They hugged for only a little while.

Then Chi Xiaoman whispered, “Chen Yue, I think maybe we should go inside first.”

She held her neck somewhat stiffly, saying, “If someone comes later, it won’t be good.”

Only then did Chen Yue realize that they were no longer at the age where they could keep hugging just because they wanted to.

And they weren’t in a place where they could keep hugging just because they wanted to either.

Chen Yue paused, then said, “Okay.”

“Mm.” Chi Xiaoman answered.

For some reason, her nose sounded a little blocked. “Let’s go inside first.”

Chen Yue let her go, opened the door, and quietly let her in.

Chi Xiaoman walked in slowly. She first looked around a little stiffly, then saw Chen Yue lowering her head to close the door. After hesitating for a moment, she set the two insulated food containers she was carrying onto the bar.

Both of her hands were empty now.

Her fingers were clutching at nothing, a little flustered.

After a while,

Chi Xiaoman looked at her face and, after some hesitation, still said, “Chen Yue, do you... do you want another hug?”

As if if Chen Yue wanted one, she would give it.

Even though the hug just now hadn’t made her feel much better.

Chen Yue curled her fingers a little, feeling as if Chi Xiaoman’s scent was still lingering in her chest.

She shook her head. “No need.”

Chi Xiaoman was stunned for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

She didn’t rush to ask Chen Yue what had happened just now. Instead, she pressed her lips together and asked, “Then can I sit down first?”

“Of course.” Chen Yue walked over. “Sit wherever you want.”

She wanted to say “sorry,” but didn’t really want to.

She wasn’t as mature as Chi Xiaoman imagined; she simply didn’t want to define that hug as something that needed an apology, and couldn’t yet offer any reasonable explanation that fit the current situation.

Chen Yue didn’t speak.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t ask either. She sat down and opened both insulated containers.

These were multi-tiered containers, looking rather high-end, and their insulation was probably excellent too; when she opened them, steam was still rising.

The steam drifted between their eyes.

Chi Xiaoman arranged all the dishes that had been divided into sections.

There were shrimp with broccoli, stir-fried shredded potatoes, a small bowl of pork rib and corn soup, the braised beef Chen Yue hadn’t gotten to eat this afternoon, and a portion of candied sweet potatoes that looked like only three or four pieces, gleaming gold.

After setting everything out, she even placed the chopsticks on top of the small bowl of rice for her.

Then she looked up.

Through the rising haze, she looked at Chen Yue.

Under the light, she smiled at her, seemingly trying to comfort her so she wouldn’t take that hug too seriously; and perhaps because she was trying too hard to be sincere, she ended up looking somewhat restrained, yet still spared no effort in telling her:

“Chen Yue, let’s eat.”

It was as if she were only very seriously fulfilling her birthday wish.

All at once, Chen Yue couldn’t help thinking of many things—why, after the blank period following her resignation, had she so impulsively decided to live in the same basement as Chi Xiaoman? Why had she suddenly kissed Chi Xiaoman’s lips that night? Why had she suddenly hugged Chi Xiaoman tonight?

Ten years ago; ten years later.

Chen Yue had never explained herself to anyone, and in the end had never even explained the reason to Chi Xiaoman.

But the reason seemed to be the same every time.

It was never because Chi Xiaoman was beautiful; never because Chi Xiaoman was energetic, brave, smiling, carefree, full of vitality overflowing from her body and making her feel warm. Not because Chi Xiaoman was like the sun, able to bring her many good things.

It was because perhaps Chi Xiaoman wasn’t the only person who would do everything she could to support Chen Yue when Chen Yue wanted to do something. But she was probably the only one who, when Chen Yue didn’t want to do something, didn’t want to say something, would equally generously give her a hug.

“Teacher Chen Tong, don’t worry.” Chi Xiaoman suddenly called her, pulling her out of that sticky summer, then carefully picked up a piece of golden candied sweet potato and put it over to her. “If you only eat a few pieces, it’s fine.”

Chen Yue came back to herself and smiled at Chi Xiaoman very slowly. “Okay.”

Chi Xiaoman was stunned for a moment, then curved her eyes at her too. “Then let’s eat.”

She made a wish, and she would make it come true.

She didn’t say anything, and Chi Xiaoman would put candied sweet potato on her plate for her.

Because Chi Xiaoman really was just that simple of a person.

[Author’s Note]

On time for Little Neon’s fifty-first day update [sunglasses]