Painful days stretch on endlessly, while happy ones vanish in the blink of an eye.

The closer school drew, the more anxious and uneasy I became.

Living here was happiness.

But it was happiness I had stolen—my body had healed better than I could have hoped.

Going back to school felt like a signal of ending, ready to shatter the fragile, makeshift comfort zone these past days had built.

I desperately wanted to do something to deepen the bond between myself and this family.

I turned it over and over in my mind, and finally decided to get up at five in the morning and quietly do all the housework myself.

By the time Zhou Haiyan came downstairs, I had breakfast already set on the table.

He looked around, then looked at me.

“You did my job—what am I supposed to do now?”

I pointed at the egg fried rice in front of him, beaming.

“You eat breakfast.”

He clicked his tongue, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

After two bites, his chewing slowed down more and more.

He looked up, his tone testing. “You really think this tastes good?”

I glanced down at my own half-eaten bowl of egg fried rice, confused by the question.

“It’s good.”

I wasn’t a picky eater—in my eyes, as long as food was cooked, it tasted fine no matter how it was made.

Across from me, the hand holding the chopsticks trembled slightly. “You’re being serious?”

“It really is good—I’m actually the best cook in our family.”

My mother’s cooking was one big chaotic stew of everything thrown together; my father couldn’t cook at all.

I could safely say I was the best cook out of the three of us.

Even when my father was drunk and cursing me, listing every fault under the sun, he’d never once complained that my cooking was bad.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Then your family’s sense of taste must have run away from home together.”

“Calling it delicious would be an insult to my own tongue. Calling it terrible might crush your confidence a little too much. Let’s just say—this cooking would be perfect for a famine.”

“Huh?”

He said meaningfully, “Great for suppressing appetite.”

“…”

If Zhou Haiyan’s words counted as somewhat tactful, then Auntie went straight for the throat.

She took a bite, brows furrowing deeply.

“Son, this egg fried rice of yours is no good. Don’t make it again.”

Zhou Haiyan said nothing.

I quietly chimed in. “It’s really not bad, actually—I think it tastes pretty good.”

She said, “Qingqing, you don’t need to cover for him. This has given up entirely on color, aroma, and taste—a pig would run ten miles after one bite of this.”

“…”

I rubbed my nose.

My father had always loved my egg fried rice most of all, and he never once ran ten miles after eating it—no wonder he was worse than a pig.

For the first time, I truly realized my cooking wasn’t actually good.

So I gave up on the whole cooking business entirely.

That afternoon, I sat with Auntie for the nth rewatch of some spy drama.

When she grew tense with worry for the protagonist, I comforted her using what I remembered from her own complaints before. “It’s fine, someone’s about to save him.”

When she got righteously indignant watching the villain succeed, I patted her shoulder and delivered another blow. “It’s fine, he dies next episode.”

She: “…”

Seeing that one more word from me would have her wiping away tears, I quickly retreated to another front.

In the studio.

Zhou Haiyan sketched, I handed him pens, poured water when he was thirsty, rubbed his back when he was tired.

The tenth time I went to refill his cup, he caught my hand.

“I really can’t drink any more.”

I set down the water pitcher and turned to pick up a cloth to wipe the table.

“You’re wiping the finish right off the wood.”

He picked me up and carried me over to the tatami mat nearby, pulled a blanket over me.

Patted my head.

“Be good. Sleep.”

…

At dinner that night.

Auntie asked whether I’d be going back to school tomorrow.

I hung my head low and nodded.

Zhou Haiyan asked, “Want me to walk you there?”

Fighting back the sting in my nose, I said slowly, “No… no need, the school’s close by.”

Only when the moment of parting actually arrived did I realize how much I didn’t want to leave.

But no matter how hard I racked my brain, I couldn’t come up with a reason to justify staying that wouldn’t leave me feeling guilty.

After a long pause, Auntie spoke softly.

“So what would Qingqing like for lunch tomorrow?”

I sniffled, and lowered my head to eat.

Mother and son exchanged a quiet, knowing glance.

Zhou Haiyan said, almost idly, “A little kid can’t just go off to school and never come home again, can she?”

Hearing that, Auntie sighed.

“Sigh, then no one’s going to want to dance with me or go to the market with this old woman anymore. Such a pity.”

“Ugh, and I wouldn’t even know where to find another little assistant like this—so obedient, so smart, always keeping the tools perfectly tidy. Such a pity.”

Hearing that, I shot my left hand straight up over my head, as high as it would go, gulping down the mouthful of rice all at once.

“I—I’m willing!”

I would have said yes to anything.

Maybe I lost control of my emotions a bit, because a bubble popped out of my nose. I sucked in a breath, and the bubble only grew bigger.

Zhou Haiyan, struggling to hold back laughter, grabbed a tissue and wiped my face for me.

“You eat too little and think too much. Stop worrying about whether you’re leaving or not—just settle in. The Zhou household can more than manage feeding one more kid.”

Auntie Zhou said that from the day I’d moved in, she’d never once considered letting me leave again.

I stood there in a daze, listening to every single word.

That day, kindness struck me like nothing I’d ever felt before, and my whole body went soft with it.