Song Qiaoxi quickly caught up with Chu Jin, her mood soaring. He had actually agreed to play military chess with her in the afternoon!

Clinging to Chu Jin’s wrist like a sticky rice cake, she swung his arm so much it looked like it might fly into the air.

Chu Jin didn’t get annoyed. He kept his head down, silent, not looking at her, and let her swing his arm as she pleased.

When the two kids arrived home, they found Song’s dad pulling the dining table out into the living room.

There were more people than usual for lunch today, and the spot by the window was too cramped. So, Dad decided to move the table to the center of the living room.

Three kids and two adults sat down together, instantly filling the small, ten-square-meter living room to the brim.

Apart from the clattering of the oscillating fan, the room was lively with the sound of slurping noodles—loud and cheerful.

After lunch, the Song family had their usual midday rest. Chu Jin offered to do the dishes, but Song’s dad beat him to it.

Patting Chu Jin on the shoulder, Dad grinned and said, “Washing dishes? As long as I’m here, no one else gets the chance. In this house, your aunt only trusts me to do the dishes.”

Chu Jin nodded thoughtfully, then quietly wiped down the table, grabbed the kitchen waste, and headed downstairs to the boiler room.

“Aunt Qiao’s zhajiangmian is absolutely top-notch! One bowl could sell for a thousand bucks at a fancy hotel!” Wang Junyang sprawled on the sofa, patting his round belly. His sweet little mouth seemed coated with honey as he showered Song’s mom with praise. Then, with a wistful sigh, he added, “Auntie, my mom is so mean, and her cooking is terrible. I wish I could be your kid…”

“Pfft, that won’t do. If your mom heard that, she’d be heartbroken. If you’re hungry, just come over to Auntie’s house, but you can’t swap moms.”

Song’s mom emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, and playfully flicked Wang Junyang’s forehead. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she smiled.

Song’s dad, having just finished washing the dishes, was busy moving the dining table back to its original spot. He also looked up at the clock and said, “Wife, the sun is strong today. Let’s leave the bedsheets and covers out a bit longer to disinfect them. I’ll bring them in after our nap.”

Song Qiaoxi, overly full from lunch, was drowsy and slumped in her chair. She yawned, her tiny hand wiping away the tears that welled up from the stretch, her mind drifting into a blank state.

Through her haze, she vaguely heard Wang Junyang ask out of nowhere, “Which one’s yellower: Jianlibao or Xurisheng?”

“Huh?”

She turned her head in confusion, only to see him standing in front of the fridge, stroking his chin as if hatching another mischievous idea.

“Xurisheng, of course!”

Wang Junyang answered his own question, pulling open the fridge door, which was covered with stickers of little Wang Wang mascots. He grabbed a blue pull-tab can, then turned back to Song Qiaoxi with a cheeky grin.

Before she could ask, Wang Junyang tossed out a quick, “I’m off to find Ding Yi. You take a nap,” and slipped away like a greased eel.

Shaking her head in resignation, Song Qiaoxi yawned and shuffled back to her small room.

She flopped onto her bed, pressing her flushed face against the cool bamboo mat to soothe the heat.

In the hazy state between wakefulness and sleep, she vaguely felt that something was off with Wang Junyang. But her stomach was too full, and her eyelids felt as heavy as lead. Sprawled on the bed, she let out another lazy yawn.

Her instincts told her Wang Junyang was up to something, but she was too sleepy to care. She decided to deal with it after her nap and find him and Ding Yi then.

Her consciousness gradually blurred, and soon, she drifted off.

Some time later, a soft knocking on the door stirred her awake.

She opened her eyes to glance at the little bunny clock hugging a carrot on her bedside table. She figured she’d been asleep for just over an hour.

It was about time to get up anyway. Stretching her soft, sleepy limbs, she prepared to crawl out of bed.

Her small room was closest to the front door, and her door was ajar, not fully closed. Just as she was about to get up and answer, she heard the sound of slippers slap-slap-slap against the floor.

The security door creaked open with a faint squeak.

“Old Wang? Ha, I knew it! Your wife’s family shows up, and you’d sneak out. Feeling stifled, huh? Wait, let me grab a jacket. Are we playing Gouji or Bao Huang at Old Ding’s place?”

Dad’s voice was laced with laughter, low and conspiratorial.

It was as if he’d been expecting Uncle Wang to make his “escape.”

Uncle Wang clicked his tongue, speaking in a deliberately hushed tone. “Keep it down. My ‘daughter-in-law’ is still napping. And did your ‘son-in-law’ come over for lunch again today? That rascal—who knows where he’s run off to now. Hurry up! If we’ve got enough people, it’s Gouji. If not, Bao Huang.”

“Listen to you, calling it so affectionately. What century are we in? Arranged marriages by parents? My daughter’s such a treasure, there’s no way I’m letting just any brat near her… Fine, fine, let’s go. Old Ding’s probably waiting impatiently. I still need to help my wife bring in the bedsheets later—she’s prepping lessons this afternoon.”

The sound of big slippers flapping on the floor echoed a few times before fading away.

Dad must have finished changing his shoes.

“See? Mention a childhood betrothal, and you get all riled up. I’m just fond of Qiaoxi! If nothing else, let me be her godfather. Haven’t I been generous with red envelopes every year?” Uncle Wang’s voice grew a bit louder as he let out a cheeky laugh. “By the way, is your wife’s vocational high school opening soon?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. Better start planning that dowry for your daughter, then…”

After the crisp jingle of keys, the door clicked shut, and Dad and Uncle Wang’s conversation faded from earshot.

On weekends when Dad had a break from work, he often went to Uncle Ding’s house with Uncle Wang to play cards with a few familiar friends. They played games like Gouji and Bao Huang.

She didn’t know how to play either game—they seemed complicated, and there were far too many cards.

With her little hands, Song Qiaoxi could barely hold a handful of cards, let alone play those games. At most, she joined her cousins during Chinese New Year for simple games like Train Tracks or Draw the Turtle.

Last time Uncle Ding came over for drinks, he had bragged that both Ding Yi and Ding Miao could already play cards. Especially Ding Miao, who had apparently learned how to count cards.

But Ding Miao was a quiet, serious girl—or perhaps a bit aloof. She never played with them.

Sitting up in bed, Song Qiaoxi stretched out her hands and rubbed her scalp.

She had forgotten to take out her hair tie before sleeping. Her hair was naturally wavy, and her mom always tied her braids tightly to keep them neat. Now, her scalp felt uncomfortably pulled.

She glanced at the time. It was still a bit early to go ask Chu Jin to come over and play military chess. He might still be napping or studying.

Chu Jin’s big schoolbag was always stuffed full of books, including advanced math textbooks. She had once flipped through one out of curiosity, but even with all the knowledge her ten-year-old brain could muster, she couldn’t make sense of the problems.

^_^