He hadn’t ended up on the streets nor had he been labeled a ‘problem child’ and sent to a ‘reform school’. While the boiler room might not have been her first choice, it was still far better than the alternatives.

“I’m glad Xixi forgives me. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Mother Song said, cupping her face and planting a big kiss on her cheek. She then took a moment to redo Song Qiaoxi’s twin ponytail.

The braids must have come loose during the scuffle with Wang Junyang, as several strands of hair were now dangling by her ears, tickling her face.

Her mother gently smoothed out her curly hair, tugging slightly as she worked, causing Song Qiaoxi’s head to wobble back and forth. Every now and then, she let out a soft “ow” when it stung.

Comparing this to the last time Chu Jin had tied her hair, she realized he hadn’t pulled on her scalp at all. Not even a little bit.

As her mother worked on the braids, she said, “Chu Jin, we’ll be having dinner soon. Why don’t you stay and play with Xixi for a while? After dinner, I’ll find you a clean bedsheet and take you back to get everything set up.”

“Okay.”

Chu Jin replied softly, nodding at Mother Song.

He watched as Song Qiaoxi’s messy, crooked ponytails were magically transformed back into neat braids under her mother’s skilled hands. They now rested obediently on her shoulders, like the fluffy tails of a little curly-haired lion.

The little girl, however, was anything but obedient. She shook her head playfully, letting her wavy curls brush against her cheeks. With her small, pale hands, she scratched her face and giggled happily.

For a moment, Chu Jin couldn’t help but think: She can’t even tie her own braids properly—it seems like she has no life skills at all.

How could such a soft, stick little glutinous rice dumpling muster the courage to rush recklessly to the boiler room door and speak up for him?

Weren’t Song Qiaoxi and Wang Junyang good friends?

She had such a big argument with her best friend, almost coming to blows all because…

Because of him?

Then would Song Qiaoxi and Wang Junyang ever make up?

With this question lingering in his mind, Chu Jing was somewhat dazedly pulled by Song Qiaoxi into her room.

She gave him the only chair in her small room, then limped back and forth from the bookshelf carrying stacks of books. She spread them out of the desk like a little street vendor displaying them.

“Mickey Mouse, Sun Wukong Battles the White-Bone Demon Three Times, The Thress Brothers Nezha, Pippi Longstocking, Little Baby Grunts, A Little Princess…”

The little girl clasped her hands behind her back and recited the titles one by one.

Her voice grew softer and softer as she went on. Finally, she raised her right hand and nervously scratched her head, accidentally tousling a few strands of hair.

Chu Jin almost reached out to stop her, worried she’d mess up the ponytail she had just tied.

His fingertips twitched, but he held back.

“You like reading, right? But we don’t have The Count of Monte Cristo at home. I told my dad about it, and he said he’d take me to Xinhua Bookstore next weekend to buy it.”

“I asked my dad, and he said The Count of Monte Cristo was written by the French literary giant Alexandre Dumas. He also wrote The Three Musketeers. Dad said we’d buy both this weekend. Are there any other books you’d like? We can get them for you too.”

“For now, could you make do with these? If you don’t feel like reading, we could play checkers, Go, or Monopoly?”

Song Qiaoxi propped her face with both hands, leaning on the table as she tilted her head to look at him.

Her big eyes blinked, brimming with anticipation.

It was clear she had pulled out all the stops, laying everything she had on the table.

To be honest, Chu Jin wasn’t the least bit interested in these books. He had outgrown illustrated children’s books long ago.

When his father was alive, he would have friends send English original editions and cassette tapes from abroad. The Chinese books he read were dense classical masterpieces, thick enough to rival a brick.

Yet, faced with the little girl’s kindness, Chu Jin found it impossible to refuse those starry, sparkling eyes.

“This one.”

He said, casually picking up a yellow-covered copy of Pippi Longstocking.

Truthfully, he was simply drawn to the little girl on the cover with her two braids and a monkey in her arms. Her mischievous expression reminded him a bit of Song Qiaoxi.

As he opened the hardcover, the small space around him was suddenly filled with the sweet scent of milk.

Chu Jin looked up and met Song Qiaoxi’s glistening eyes. When she blinked, her thick lashes fluttered like tiny fans.

She was so close that her soft breath gently brushed against his face.

Seeing that Chu Jin had chosen this book, Song Qiaoxi was thrilled. She absolutely adored Pippi Longstocking.

The protagonist, Pippi, was her favorite!

She immediately leaned closer to Chu Jin and began gushing enthusiastically, “Wow! You have such great taste. This book is amazing!”

Noticing the hesitation in Chu Jin’s eyes, she thought he didn’t believe her.

The little glutinous rice ball grew anxious, placing both hands on the table, she leaned even closer to him. “You’ve got to believe me! Pippi is such a cool little girl. Her dad is the king of an island and she lives all by herself in a little house. She’s as rich as a god of wealth, and she’s so strong she can list a horse…”

When she was at the orphanage, Song Qiaoxi had been somewhat of a leader among the children, and everyone loved playing with her.

However, she has a fatal flaw: whether she’s reading a book or watching a show, she absolutely loves to spoil the plot, and she doesn’t even realize it.

Every time, she’s particularly puzzled as to why the kids at the orphanage’s library don’t want to sit with her, and why no one wants to sit next to her when they watch TV on weekends.

Chu Jin tilted his head back slightly, staring at Song Qiao Xi’s little mouth as it opened and closed. She had been talking non-stop for at least ten minutes.

Ahem, not to mention, the little girl has quite a knack for summarizing.

After listening to her, he didn’t need to read the book anymore…

For the rest of the time until dinner, whenever Chu Jin picked a book, the little glutinous rice ball would act like a dedicated ‘tour guide’ who had memorized every word of the scenic spot’s script.

Her little mouth would chatter away, succinctly summarizing the entire plot without missing a beat.

She was so precise that she didn’t miss a single exciting moment…

It made the book completely lose its appeal.

Chu Jin endured it for a long time, several times wanting to interrupt Song Qiao Xi, but the words stopped at the tip of his tongue.

Gazing into the round, sparkling eyes of the glutinous rice ball especially when she got excited, her small delicate hands would wave in the air as if holding an invisible paintbrush vividly bringing the stories from the books to life before his eyes.

He felt as though he had personally witnessed Pippi Longstocking with her read hair and freckled face making pancake for her friends and accidentally cracking an egg on her own head, or saw Sun Wukong riding his cloud to protect his master, Tang Sanzang, and battling the White Bone Demon three times, or saw the piglet eating watermelon without spitting out the seeds and dreaming that watermelons would grow out of his belly.

These naive, “childish” fairy tales were something Chu Jin had stopped believing in after his parents passed away.

But today, a cute and silly little girl unreservedly unveiled the most beautiful fairy tale world she held in her heart right in front of him.

It wasn’t until Father Song called them to wash their hands for dinner that Song Qiaoxi finally ‘released’ him.

Upon hearing ‘sweet and sour pork’, the little glutinous rice ball dashed off faster than anyone else.

She hopped into the bathroom like a little white rabbit with a limp, washing her hands in just a few seconds.

Her speed was so fast that it seemed she only turned on the tap to wet her fingers, without even touching the soap…

Was eating really that important to Song Qiaoxi?

Chu Jin’s mother had always taught him that illness enters through the mouth.

He washed his hands meticulously, ensuring every single finger was clean, as he had a bit of a cleanliness obsession when it came to personal hygiene.

As the little girl passed by him, Chu Jin took a step forward.

On the sink sat a red panda Panpan soap dish, and the Safeguard soap inside was dry…

An inexplicable stubbornness surged within him, and he turned around in dissatisfaction, grabbing the glutinous rice ball’s damp writs as she muttered. “Sweet and sour pork is good, sweet and sour pork is great.”

He asked in a low voice, “Did you use soap?”

Song Qiao Xi, whose mind was entirely occupied by the sweet and sour pork, was startled. She hadn’t clearly heard what Chu Jin said and turned her head with a puzzled look, blinking, “What did you say?”

“Did you use soap when you washed your hands?”

^_^