She casually picked up the latest issue of Mickey Mouse from her small desk and flipped through it absentmindedly. Midway through, she suddenly remembered what had happened before her nap with Wang Junyang. Uncle Wang had mentioned just now that he still hadn’t returned home.

What could that kid be up to this time?

He was probably off looking for Ding Yi…

Still, she couldn’t shake a bit of unease, worried he might be causing trouble again.

Closing the magazine, Song Qiaoxi tiptoed out of her room and opened the refrigerator door to grab two bottles of Xile yogurt drink.

Today, her mom had dressed her in a bean-green dress with two big red apple-embroidered pockets on the front. She slipped a bottle of Xile into each pocket.

Trying her best not to make any noise, she quietly made her way to the front door, slipped on her crystal sandals, and glanced at the set of keys hanging on the wall. With a soft sigh, she paused.

She really wished she had a red string lanyard with the house key hanging around her neck, just like Chu Jin did.

It felt like that key string was a symbol of independence and freedom. Wearing it on his chest seemed to transform him into a “big kid” instantly.

But she was just a six-year-old little dumpling, unworthy of holding the responsibility of the house key.

She pulled the iron door open and closed it behind her, hopping down the stairs with a spring in her step.

It was a quiet weekend afternoon at 2 o’clock in the courtyard.

The lush old pagoda tree cast a large patch of shade. Walking from her apartment building to Ding Yi’s house, a nearby single-story unit, would take less than five minutes.

Her plan was to check at Ding Yi’s place first to see what Wang Junyang was up to, and then ask Chu Jin if he wanted to come over and play military chess.

But after patting the yogurt drinks in her pockets, she decided it would be better to go to Chu Jin first—she could drop the drinks off with him and then head over to find Ding Yi and the others.

So, she took a slightly longer route toward the boiler room.

In the open space outside the boiler room, several drying racks had been set up, hung with household bedding, including Chu Jin’s blue-and-white checkered sheets and the yellow-striped towels issued by Mother Ding’s textile factory.

The stillness of the summer afternoon created an almost motionless curtain of vibrant colors around the boiler room entrance.

She lingered at the door for a few minutes, hesitating. Finally, she knocked on the iron door.

A few steady footsteps sounded from inside, followed by a boy’s low voice. “Who is it?”

“It’s me… Xi, Song Qiaoxi.”

Chu Jin never called her by her nickname. The soft little dumpling of a girl awkwardly swallowed the “Xi” part of her name.

Wang Junyang and the others, on the other hand, had been calling her “Xixi” in playful, drawn-out tones since they were little. Even the adults in the courtyard loved using her nickname because it sounded cheerful, almost like laughter.

Her parents had chosen the name “Xi” for its meaning—light.

She was born in the morning, and her father had said that when they first heard her cry, the hospital corridor windows were illuminated by the first rays of dawn.

Chu Jin stopped and opened the door.

There she was, a little girl with twin ponytails, her dark brown curls falling softly over her shoulders. Her large almond-shaped eyes sparkled like scattered ice crystals, and her shy smile lifted the corners of her lips ever so slightly.

In her eyes, he saw a gentle light, as warm as the morning sun.

The soft little dumpling looked a bit nervous as she gazed up at him, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. From the red apple-stitched pockets of her dress, she pulled out two bottles of Xile yogurt drinks, holding one in each hand as she offered them to him.

The small, milky-white bottles glistened with condensation, clearly just taken from the fridge. Her pale little hands lifted them high as she spoke with an eager, earnest tone. “Here, these are for you. Mom says drinking one Xile a day helps with digestion and makes you grow taller. You didn’t have one yesterday, did you? Xile is sweet and so yummy! If you don’t drink it, you won’t grow tall…”

Still with the ‘you won’t grow tall’?

Why didn’t she worry more about herself? She was clearly a whole head shorter than him.

Chu Jin stared at her quietly. The little girl was standing so close he could distinctly catch the faint, milky sweetness of her scent.

He had already guessed it was her from the hesitant knocks on the door.

Her voice always carried a sugary tone, and when she said her name, the “Xi” at the end rose up like a laugh.

And right now, she was indeed smiling at him, her expression as sweet and soft as her voice.

Song Qiaoxi’s small hands looked damp, likely from holding the chilled bottles. The condensation made the bottles slippery, and her fingertips were slightly flushed from the cold.

Pulling his gaze away, Chu Jin quickly took the two bottles of Xile from her hands and placed them on the windowsill. With a brief nod at the small dumpling, he turned and went back inside.

He didn’t like sugary drinks like these—he preferred plain water.

Chu Jin knew she’d come to invite him to play Stratego, but he still hadn’t finished his study tasks. When it came to learning and reading, he had a bit of a perfectionist streak.

If his study tasks weren’t complete, he wouldn’t allow himself to slack off and play.

Seeing that Chu Jin had accepted the drinks, Song Qiaoxi let out a small sigh of relief, rubbing her damp hands against her dress to dry them.

The boiler room door was still wide open, and Chu Jin made no move to close it. Her gaze couldn’t help but wander inside.

Since Chu Jin had moved in, she’d never actually stepped into the boiler room. Every time she came to call for him, she would just shout from the door, and the boy would come out.

If someone didn’t invite her in, Song Qiaoxi wasn’t the type to force her way through.

But honestly? She’d been curious for ages. What did the inside of the boiler room look like now?

And yet, with the door left open and no indication from Chu Jin to close it, did that mean… it was okay for her to go in?

In the end, her curiosity got the better of her shyness.

She picked up the bottles of Xile from the windowsill again, her little head leaning cautiously into the doorway.
“Uh… so, my mom says these are best drunk cold, um, before they warm up. Too hot, and they might spoil,” she mumbled, using the excuse to peer further inside.

Finally, she got her first look at the fully renovated boiler room.

The room, about 20 square meters in size, had walls painted with green trim and bright white surfaces.

Against the wall stood a single wooden bed, with a small desk next to it. On the desk, there was an olive green desk lamp, a stack of textbooks wrapped in calendar paper, and a thick pile of books that she couldn’t understand at all, including a worn-out copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

Next to the desk was a bookshelf and an old five-drawer chest. In the corner of the room, neatly arranged were a washbasin stand, a kettle, an enamel basin, and a soap dish—various everyday items.

Chu Jin sat upright at the desk, holding a pencil, carefully writing something with precise strokes.

With a “legitimate” excuse, Song Qiaoxi mustered up the courage to move closer to the desk, placing the drinks next to the base of the desk lamp. She noticed that Chu Jin was practicing calligraphy in the grid boxes.

His handwriting was beautiful—strong and forceful—nothing like her own, which her teachers used to joke looked like a dog had written it.

Without realizing it, her head moved closer and closer.

“Snap!” The pencil lead broke.

Chu Jin took a deep breath and set his pencil down.

Was… was he upset?

^_^