Chapter 11: Not Going to Argue with a Kid

On the way back, Xu Zhiqiao clutched her taro milk tea tightly, shrinking into the corner of the front passenger seat, pretending all was right with the world as she gazed out the window.

There was shaved ice mixed into the taro paste; as it melted, a cool mist formed on the outer wall of the paper cup.

Her palm felt increasingly uncomfortable, but there wasn’t even a pack of tissues in Zhou Cong’s car. Apart from the three stuffed toys he’d given her, the car was utterly bare.

Just as Sister Li had said—

Obsessively clean.

Xu Zhiqiao discreetly wiped her damp hand on her dress.

Truthfully, ever since she brought the milk tea into the car, she hadn’t dared to drink a sip. Still, a faint, sweet milky aroma lingered in the air.

While waiting at a red light, Zhou Cong glanced over and couldn’t help but click his tongue. “Seriously? You’re wiping it on your dress? Gross.”

“…” Xu Zhiqiao had no intention of replying to him in the first place. “It’s not like I touched your car.”

Zhou Cong patted the center console. “There are tissues inside. Get one.”

“No need.” She didn’t dare touch anything in his car with her sticky hand. “I’ll wash up when I get home.”

Zhou Cong asked, “Have I ever mistreated you?”

What was she being so cautious for?

Xu Zhiqiao instinctively bit the straw, her voice muffled. “Really, it’s fine.”

“…” Zhou Cong was speechless. This girl was always so tense around him—hard when she should be soft, and soft when she should be firm—so infuriating it gave him a headache.

After a pause, he sighed. “Relax. Big Brother’s not gonna eat you.”

Xu Zhiqiao remained silent.

Surrounded by the sweet scent drifting through the car, Zhou Cong couldn’t help but chuckle. “After all, people like us don’t stoop to bickering with kids.”

“…”

—

The car stopped outside the Ji Courtyard. Xu Zhiqiao held the anime merchandise she’d collected at the convention and spoke with polite distance: “Thank you, Big Brother Zhou Cong. Goodbye, Big Brother.”

“Take the dolls,” Zhou Cong said, not getting out of the car as he looked toward the passenger side. “You don’t actually think I’d play with those, do you?”

Xu Zhiqiao hesitated for a moment, then only picked up the Patrick Star and the pea pod plushie she had originally wanted.

Zhou Cong frowned. “Why Leave Cinnamoroll?”

“I didn’t ask for that one.”

“Take it,” he said coolly. “Unless you want me to make a fuss?”

“…”

Xu Zhiqiao wasn’t the kind of person to fuss over things. But to her, Zhou Cong was still an unfamiliar outsider, and she couldn’t accept his gifts so easily.

Not wanting to stir up trouble, she fished a hundred-yuan bill from her pocket, flattened it, and carefully placed it on the passenger seat.

Only then did she scoop up all three plushies into her arms.

Zhou Cong: “…”

Seeing his expression darken, Xu Zhiqiao glanced at him cautiously, then placed an extra twenty on the seat as well.

“…” Zhou Cong let out a sudden, exasperated laugh. “You gave too much.”

Xu Zhiqiao explained, “The twenty is for the ride.”

“…”

“Goodbye, Big Brother!”

The girl darted into the house, leaving Zhou Cong staring straight at the two bills under the car’s dome light.

The sound of the Ji Courtyard door opening echoed faintly in his ears. Zhou Cong slowly reached over and pinched the bills between his fingers.

Both were crumpled—one more than the other.

It had been ages since he’d even seen cash. Opportunities for him to pay for things himself were rare.

Even when people tried to curry favor or flatter him, no one ever just threw money at him.

Even flattery had to be subtle, measured—depending on his mood, and whether he was willing to entertain it.

Inside the almost hermetically sealed car, Zhou Cong let out a quiet, unreadable laugh. “What a character.”

—

The lights were still on at the Ji Courtyard. Sister Li had been waiting for her return.

Xu Zhiqiao greeted her politely and handed her the pea pod plushie with a cheerful smile before heading upstairs.

Sister Li followed behind with a reminder: “Your Big Brother is back. Try to get along, don’t start any fights, alright?”

“Okay.”

The lights on the second floor were off, with only the faint glow from downstairs illuminating the outlines of the hallway.

Xu Zhiqiao treaded lightly, careful not to wake Er De—and more importantly, to keep him from disturbing Ji Huailuo and causing unnecessary trouble.

As she passed the second-floor sitting area, a tall, slender figure suddenly appeared at the corner.

Startled, Xu Zhiqiao gasped and took a step back.

The figure moved a little closer, then came the familiar cold voice: “Do you know what time it is?”

“…” Recognizing Ji Huailuo’s voice, her heart thudded wildly. “Big Brother… why are you standing there?”

Still in the dark.

Still speaking out of nowhere.

A beat later, there was a sharp click, and the track lighting on the second floor flicked on.

Ji Huailuo was dressed in loose loungewear, clearly having already washed up and ready for bed.

Xu Zhiqiao, still shaken, said, “Why would you jump out and scare someone like that?”

“I scared you?” Ji Huailuo’s expression was unreadable. “Did I scare you, or did you scare me?”

“…”

He pointed at the ornate Western-style clock on the wall. “What time is it?”

“…Eleven,” Xu Zhiqiao muttered.

Ji Huailuo’s tone turned mocking. “Didn’t your Mother ever set a curfew for you?”

Xu Zhiqiao didn’t want to hear him mention Xu Shu’s name. It triggered something in her.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Big Brother.”

Ji Huailuo extended his arm, blocking her path with a straight line.

His gaze drifted to the plushies in her arms. “Who were you out with? Didn’t Zhou Cong bring you back?”

“…” Xu Zhiqiao blinked. “Why don’t you assume it was Zhou Cong I went out with?”

Ji Huailuo said dismissively, “He’s not interested in you.”

“…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ji Huailuo continued. “Maybe he humored you a couple of times for my sake. But he despises mistresses—and their children—most of all.”

Xu Zhiqiao abruptly looked up. “My Mother is not a mistress.”

Ji Huailuo met her gaze. “I filed the application for Er De.”

Xu Zhiqiao stared stubbornly, unsure why he brought that up.

“With Zhou Cong’s personality, if he actually cared about you,” Ji Huailuo said, “he would never have let that dog end up with me, knowing you’re allergic.”

“…”

“Xu Zhiqiao,” his voice turned cold, a sharp contrast to his usual indifference, “don’t dream about things—or people—that don’t belong to you.”

Xu Zhiqiao stood silently, her frail shadow cast onto the polished wooden railing, fragmented and shapeless.

She didn’t know much about interpersonal games, but she knew that real affection was usually careful and restrained.

She knew, deep down, Zhou Cong treated her like a pet—teasing her on a whim, a brief amusement in the decadent life of a Young Master.

But Ji Huailuo’s tone—was as if she were shamelessly trying to cling to the rich and powerful.

“Don’t worry,” Xu Zhiqiao said softly. “I won’t take a single cent from your family. I won’t touch a single one of your people.”

Her eyes turned red as she added, “But my Mother was not a mistress. And I am not the child of a mistress.”

Ji Huailuo frowned. “Talk if you want to talk, but don’t you dare cry. Your Mother better not have taught you—”

Before he could finish, something in Xu Zhiqiao snapped.

She lost control and flung the plushies at him. “What, your Father’s some kind of prize? Old, ugly, and raised a son no one can stand. If he hadn’t chased after my Mother like a dog, even the dirt under her feet would’ve been better than him!”