By the time Yan An returned to the barrier with the giant bags of toys, Yan Mengmeng and Yan Kuku were sitting by the lake, happily munching on candy.

Their chubby hands gripped the sticks tightly as their legs dangled over the edge, swinging back and forth and sending gentle ripples across the water.

It was nearly 8 PM. The sky had gone dark, the moon hung high above, and its silver light shimmered across the lake’s surface.

Not far off, the big rooster stood in front of a dirt pit where four seeds had just been planted. It kept trying to peck at them, but each time, it was blocked by an invisible barrier and bounced back with a frustrated squawk.

Instinctively, Yan An straightened her posture and hid the bags behind her back. She cleared her throat.

The sound made both kids instantly turn around.

Yan Mengmeng lit up and jumped to his feet.
“Mommy! You’re back!”

Yan Kuku stayed seated, muttering a half-hearted,
“Mommy.”

Yan An put on an air of mystery, glancing between the two with a sly, knowing smile.

The kids blinked up at her, clearly confused, but even more curious.

Mengmeng tilted his head.
“Mommy, what’s wrong? What’re you hiding?”

A big grin bloomed on Yan An’s face.
“Ta-da! Toys!”

She ran over, squatted down, and dumped everything out onto the grass, then plopped down beside them.

The kids blinked in disbelief, then scampered over with their short little legs.^[1]This scene really got me. I’m so happy the kids finally have toys, but it’s also heartbreaking that it’s their first time. The fact that something as simple as having toys is new to them says … Continue reading

Remote-controlled race cars, toy guns, planes, building blocks, Transformers, Barbie dolls, a pretend kitchen set, so many different kinds of toys, it made their heads spin.

No one could imagine how hard it had been for Yan An to drag all of that back.

But for her kids? Totally worth it.

These past three years, she hadn’t had a penny to her name. Her body was still healing, so she couldn’t work. The most she could ever afford was a couple of lollipops from the alley shop.

Toys? Out of the question.

Honestly, it had never even crossed her mind to buy toys. In the cultivation world, no one did that, kids just grew up running wild, digging around in the dirt, catching bugs and mantises. That was normal.

It wasn’t until tonight, when Qi Yan brought it up, that the idea even occurred to her.

Since he didn’t want them and was just going to throw them out anyway, she figured, why not bring them home for her kids? Technically speaking… he was their dad.

Of course, there was no way she’d let him take the kids. Even if she had six of them, not a single one would be his. They were hers. All hers. Heh.

As that thought passed through her mind, her hand naturally reached for the Barbie doll set.

She stared at the doll through the clear plastic box, meeting its fixed, painted-on gaze.

The box was fairly large, and the doll inside stood at least twenty centimeters tall. She had long black hair styled in an elegant palace bun, wore white earrings and a necklace, and was dressed in a flowing pink-and-white imperial gown, graceful and noble.

She looked exactly like one of those royal concubines from the emperor’s harem back in the cultivation world.

Besides the main doll, the box had two extra tiers.

The top tier was filled with fancy clothes; qipao, modern dresses, European princess gowns. The intricate embroidery shimmered under the moonlight, absolutely stunning.

The bottom tier held accessories: shoes, earrings, necklaces, and more.

Yan An bit her finger and glanced over at the kids.

Yan Mengmeng sat cross-legged on the grass, completely absorbed in his remote-controlled race car.

Next to him, Yan Kuku held a box of Legos, staring at it in silent, thoughtful confusion.

The big rooster, for some unknown reason, had developed a fascination with the plastic vegetables from the toy kitchen set. It kept pecking at the packaging like it was something real.

Perfect. Everyone had found something they liked.

So the Barbie doll in Yan An’s hands? She was claiming it for herself.

Without hesitation, she tore open the box and pulled out the beautifully dressed doll in palace attire.

The material felt surprisingly solid, the joints moved smoothly. And the dress? Gorgeous.
If they made one in her size, she’d absolutely wear it. QAQ

Yan An held the doll and was completely smitten. The more she looked, the more she adored it.

She glanced around, then stood the doll upright in the grass. Picking up a small lamp, she shined it on the doll like she was setting up a mini photo shoot.

Then she took out her phone, snapped a bunch of pictures, carefully chose three, and posted them to her Moments feed.

Of course, before hitting “send,” she made sure to block Qi Yan from seeing them.

Inside a luxurious villa, Qi Yan stood with a glass of water in hand, watching surveillance footage on a screen.

Yan An walking out the front door.

Yan An stopping by the garbage bins. 

Yan An muttering to herself. 

Yan An sneaking off with two oversized bags of toys.

He took a slow sip of water, eyes narrowing in thought.

The hospital where she had her exam was top-tier. There was no chance of a mistake. She must’ve gotten pregnant three years ago. Then she vanished without a trace, erased her tracks, and kept insisting there was no child.

Clearly, she was hiding something.

If there was no child, fine.

But if there was…

Then that child was his. And he’d take them back. No matter what. They were his.

He didn’t know how many times he’d replayed that footage before the doorbell finally rang downstairs.

Qi Yan set his glass down and went to answer it.

It was his assistant, Yang Shen.

Back when Qi Yan first stepped into the entertainment industry, he did have a manager, but not for long. Within just a few months, he let the guy go and after that, the man vanished without a trace.

Now he only had one person working by his side: Yang Shen.

Yang Shen handled everything, from managing Qi Yan’s public image as a superstar to running his secret empire behind the scenes.

Most people thought Qi Yan was just a beloved celebrity, and Yang Shen just a regular assistant.

They had no idea what really went on.

Not that Yang Shen cared. Between chasing down Yan An’s runaway rooster and reporting on their mysterious owner, he had enough on his plate.

“Mr. Qi,” Yang Shen said, following him inside, “we lost her.”

Qi Yan frowned. “Where?”

“She’s not in the Changqing Community anymore. We’ve tracked her somewhere near the base of Changqing Mountain, in the old district. Three subway stops away.”

Changqing Mountain was in the oldest part of the city. The buildings were run-down, the infrastructure falling apart. Nothing like the newer, middle-class neighborhoods of the Changqing complex.

“There were too many alleys,” Yang Shen explained. “Once she turned a few corners, we lost sight of her.”

Qi Yan walked to the dining table and began tapping his fingers in a steady, rhythmic pattern.

He’d filmed a movie around Changqing Community a few years ago. That entire area was a maze of tight, twisting streets, packed with regular working-class people. Crowded, noisy, barely livable.

So she wasn’t lying about being broke. Otherwise, why live in a place like that?

But thirty million gone in three years?

That didn’t add up. She’d never seemed careless with money.

Qi Yan looked over. “Leave it for now. Do you know how much the production’s paying her?”

Yang Shen thought back to the contract. “One million. They’ve already paid thirty percent up front.”

“Have them pay the rest tomorrow,” Qi Yan said with a nod.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, one leg stretched out under the table, every movement relaxed and in control. He gestured toward the three cold dishes laid out on the table.

“Try them.”

Yang Shen blinked. “Sir… these are?”

“Just try them.” Qi Yan’s tone was slightly impatient.

Yang Shen didn’t press the issue. He picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of bitter gourd, and popped it into his mouth, completely unprepared for what hit him.

A second later, he clutched his mouth and bolted to the guest bathroom.

Qi Yan’s expression darkened slightly as he watched him go.

Then he picked up the chopsticks and tried the same bitter gourd.

To him, it tasted perfectly normal, slightly sweet, mildly bitter, cool and refreshing.

From the bathroom, Yang Shen could be heard retching miserably.

Qi Yan quietly set the chopsticks down. The wood tapped against the table with a dull thud.

A few minutes later, Yang Shen reappeared with a pale face, breath minty from mouthwash, the bathroom spotless again.

Qi Yan was no longer at the table. He was standing outside, beside the pond.

The pennywort plants, scorched by a day of sun, had perked up surprisingly fast after Yan An tossed them back into the water. In just a few hours, they were looking much better.

Qi Yan stood there, staring at the plants, motionless, lost in thought.

Yang Shen hesitated before stepping closer. “Sir… anything else I can do?”

Qi Yan didn’t turn. Still watching the water, he asked quietly,
“What does bitter gourd taste like to you?”

Yang Shen answered honestly, “Very bitter.”

“Isn’t bitter gourd supposed to be bitter?”

Yang Shen replied carefully, “Yes, but this one… was way more bitter than normal. Even more bitter than huanglian.”^[2]Huang Lian, or Coptis root, is known for its extremely bitter taste. In traditional Chinese medicine, it’s commonly used to reduce internal heat and remove excess moisture from the body.

“…Got it. You can go.”

Yang Shen gave a small bow and left without another word.

At 11 p.m., the lights in Qi Yan’s villa finally went out. The entire house fell into stillness.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Qi Yan pulled back the covers and lay down.

To him, sleep was something to be savored.

It was a drifting state between dreams and waking, where consciousness blurred and the world faded away.

His breath slowed, melting into the quiet night, as if he were becoming one with everything around him.

But tonight, something felt different.

Qi Yan’s mind was suddenly flooded with a scene he had never witnessed before.

A mountain floated among the clouds, wrapped in endless greenery. Birdsong echoed through the trees, distant hoofbeats created a gentle rhythm, and clouds drifted lazily across the sky. A light mist curled through it all, cloaking the world in a dreamlike haze.

At the mountain’s heart stood a cluster of elegant pavilions and towers, arranged with quiet artistry and timeless grace.

The buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, covering a vast expanse. Yet only one person was there. Not another soul in sight.

Dressed in flowing white robes, the man stood in the kitchen, his long hair cascading freely down his back. He moved calmly as he cooked, the smoke rising behind him and blending so perfectly with the clouds and mist that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

One dish after another emerged from the kitchen, each one carefully placed on a table by the lotus pond. The colors were vibrant, the aromas rich and enticing.

Drawn by the scent, a spirit bird flew in and, taking advantage of the man’s distraction, stole a bite from one of the plates.

In the next moment, the bird let out a sharp cry and dropped onto the table, lifeless.

The man stepped out, a bowl of rice in hand. When he saw the fallen bird, he let out a quiet sigh.

“To me, this is food,” he said softly. “To you, it’s poison. How many times will it take for you to understand?”

He shook his head and raised a finger. With a simple flick, the bird’s soul dissolved into nothingness.

Then, with a graceful wave of his sleeve, he sat down at the table and began to eat, perfectly at peace, admiring the blooming lotus flowers beside him.

He seemed to have all the time in the world, to cook, to eat, to simply enjoy the moment. No one could disturb him. And no one would dare to.

But… who was he?

Lying in bed, Qi Yan suddenly furrowed his brow. The unease inside him grew stronger, more intense.

And at the same moment, across the city in another neighborhood.

Wen Yang sat in front of her mirror, having just finished a face mask. She stared at the pimple that had sprouted on her chin, grinding her teeth in frustration.

This was the punishment for failing her latest mission: holding Qi Yan’s hand. The system had warned her. The pimple would stay until she completed the next task.

And if she failed again, another one would appear.

Wen Yang couldn’t even bring herself to imagine it. If she kept failing, if her face kept breaking out, would she one day be covered in acne? What would that mean for her acting career? How could she ever show her face again?

She had been praised for her looks since she was little, always called a little beauty. Compliments had followed her everywhere her whole life. There was no way she could accept this. She absolutely wouldn’t let it happen.

Her hand curled into a tight fist on the vanity as she hissed inwardly:

“System, who the hell is Yan An?! Have you figured it out yet?!”

At first, she’d thought Yan An was just some forgettable background character. But lately, especially watching the way Qi Yan interacted with her, something felt off.

And on the last day of filming, when Qi Yan had dragged Yan An into the car in front of everyone…

There was no way they had no history. Wen Yang didn’t believe it for a second. She’d demanded the system look into Yan An’s identity on the spot.

But her system, as always, was slow, clunky, and unhelpful at the worst possible moments. Even checking someone’s background took forever. What a useless piece of junk!

System: [Beep—Scanning world database… 50 seconds remaining… 30… 10… 1…]

System: [Beep—Scan complete. Yan An is Qi Yan’s ex-wife. They were married three years ago and divorced one month after the wedding.]

The moment the result came through, both Wen Yang and the system fell silent.

She slowly lifted her head, staring at her reflection, flawless aside from that one annoying pimple and blurted out in disbelief:

“What?! She’s Qi Yan’s ex-wife?!”

The system paused, then replied in its usual monotone. Though this time, it almost sounded confused:

System: [Correct, Host.]

Wen Yang exploded. “That’s a huge NEWS! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You had to wait for me to ask before you could say anything?!”

System: [According to the main program’s initial parameters, the target—Qi Yan—was not supposed to have any prior relationships, including an ex-wife.]

Wen Yang snapped, “Then why does he?! And from three years ago, no less. That’s when I first entered this world! In all the web novels I’ve read, the systems are powerful and omniscient. So why are you so damn useless?!”

The system paused.

System: [Host, I informed you when we first connected three years ago that this system functions solely as a support tool. The target, Qi Yan, is classified as a special-case character. All system functions are significantly weakened in his presence.]

Wen Yang was about to lash out again when suddenly…

Beep-beep-beep-beep!

A sharp, blaring alarm went off in her mind, shrill and nonstop. Her heart jumped. The sound triggered a wave of anxiety so strong she froze in place.

“What’s going on? System? System?!”

No response. Only the relentless alarm, echoing in her ears.

Ten full minutes passed before the sound finally cut off.

Pale and shaken, Wen Yang immediately asked, “System? What was that?”

For all its flaws, this system was what had brought her into this world. It was the reason she’d made it into the entertainment industry. Her current life was a huge upgrade from the one she left behind.

If the system broke down… would she disappear too?

System: [Beep—A critical glitch was detected in the main program. Emergency maintenance complete. System has been restored. No need to worry, Host.]

Wen Yang finally exhaled, letting herself relax.

Meanwhile, back in the villa, Qi Yan’s restlessness faded. He sank into deep sleep once more.

The strange vision slipped quietly from his memory, vanishing without a trace.

The next morning, 10 a.m.

The sun was already high in the sky, blazing hot and strong enough to fry your backside, but Yan An and the kids were still fast asleep.

Out in the yard, the rooster paced restlessly, eager to crow them awake, but it couldn’t make a sound. Yan An had tied its beak shut with a strand of Copper Coin grass.

Why?

It had started crowing at five in the morning, and Yan An had simply had enough.

After all, she and the kids had stayed up late last night, playing with their new toys.

Ding-dong. A text notification chimed from her phone.

Still half-asleep, Yan An drifted in from the lake, reached out, and grabbed her phone from the shore. She glanced at the screen without much interest.

【9xxxx: Your account 2333 received a deposit on August 12th at 10:02 AM. Current balance: [hidden]. Note: Disbursement Talent Fee.】

Yan An lazily rolled her head to the side, squinting at her screen. Then she tossed the phone aside and continued floating in the lake.

But just three seconds later, her eyes flew open. She let out a sharp scream, scrambled out of the water, and crouched on the shore, clutching her phone as she reread the message over and over.

What the heck?! The production team already sent her payment?! But didn’t they say the payments would be issued after the entire show was finished?

They’d only filmed one episode so far!

Was this a mistake? Or had the show suddenly decided to be generous and pay everyone early?

Without hesitation, Yan An messaged Liang Baiyu to double-check.

AnAn Wants Money: Pigeon! Did A Taste of Everyday Life send you the rest of your appearance fee?

She waited a while before the reply came in.

GuGu: No way. That’s still a long way off. You short on cash? I don’t have anything to lend you. I just paid a breach-of-contract fine.

AnAn Wants Money: Who said I was asking for money? Wait, seriously? They didn’t pay you?

GuGu: Nope. Why? Don’t tell me you got yours?

AnAn Wants Money: Yup. Just now. 700,000. It came through!

GuGu: WTF?! What’s going on? Why didn’t I get mine?

AnAn Wants Money: How should I know? I’ll ask the director.

GuGu: Please do, and let me know what he says. I’m totally broke too.

AnAn Wants Money: That’s what you get for bailing. You had it coming.

GuGu: What’s the point of life if I can’t flake every now and then?

Yan An snorted at her phone and sent over a sticker of someone beating up a pigeon. After a moment’s thought, she rewrote her message with a more polite tone before sending it to the director.

AnAn Wants Money: Director Zhang, I just received the remaining 700,000 of my talent fee. Was that a mistake?

The director replied quickly.

Zhang Ming: No mistake. It was meant for you.

AnAn Wants Money: Wow, does that mean everyone’s getting paid early?

Zhang Ming: Nope. Just you.

AnAn Wants Money: Huh? Why? [Confused.jpg]

Zhang Ming: I only passed on the notice. Not sure of the details. Ask Mr. Qi. [Smiley.jpg]

Yan An paused before replying with a simple “Okay.”

Why did it always come back to Qi Yan? Even if he was a big deal in the industry, he could only influence his own payments, right? How did he manage to get hers released early too?

Biting her fingertip, she opened up her chat with Qi Yan.

AnAn Wants Money: Good morning, Mr. Qi! Are you up?

This time, the reply took a little while.

Y: Been up. Working. What is it?

AnAn Wants Money: I just got the rest of my payment from the show. I asked Director Zhang about it, and he said to ask you. Did… you make that happen?

Y: Yeah. Weren’t you short on cash?

Yan An blinked, running her fingers through her hair. She didn’t even know how to respond to that.

Yes, she was short on money, but he made that call just because of that? That kind of influence… was insane.

Once again, Yan An couldn’t help but think she’d made a great choice back then. Her ex-husband was clearly going places, and even she could bask in a bit of that reflected glow.

AnAn Wants Money: Wow, thank you so much! I owe you a meal sometime!

Y: Sure.

Feeling a little guilty now, Yan An thought she should show some concern in return. After all, he’d gone out of his way for her.

AnAn Wants Money: By the way, Mr. Qi… did you ever go to the hospital about your taste issue? What did the doctor say?

It took a while before he responded.

Y: I haven’t gone yet.

AnAn Wants Money: Ah, you really should! Don’t forget!

Y: Anything else?

AnAn Wants Her Money: Nope. [Blank stare.jpg]

Y: I’m getting back to work, then.

AnAn Wants Money: Oh, okay!

AnAn Wants Money: And don’t ignore your symptoms, okay?

Y: …

And with that, the conversation ended. Yan An sighed. It felt like Qi Yan was avoiding the issue, and shutting down any chance of further discussion.

She shook her head with another sigh.

As she sighed, she reopened the message from her bank and stared at her balance.

Before this, she’d barely had a few hundred in her account. Now, it had shot up to 990,000!

Still… compared to a full ten million, it felt like a long, long road ahead.

She glanced at the four barren holes in the ground outside and felt a sudden wave of melancholy.

Unable to hold it in, she posted to her social feed:

【When will I ever hit ten million? [Sigh.jpg]】

After that, she didn’t feel like going back to sleep. She stood up, untied the Copper Coin Grass leaf that had been binding the rooster’s beak, then yanked the still-sleeping Lemon and Bitter Gourd to their feet and gave them a good shake.

“Up! Time to wake up!”

Once the kids were up and busy with lunch, which, for them, mostly meant drinking water and sunbathing. Yan An took out her phone and started browsing for side gigs.

There were still a few days until filming resumed. She figured she might as well pick up a part-time job and make a little extra cash.

Just as she was narrowing down her options after half an hour of scrolling, a new message popped up.

【9xxxx: Your account *2333 received a deposit on August 12th at 12:02 PM. Current balance: [hidden]. Note: Transfer.】