As autumn arrived and the weather gradually turned cool, though Mother Wen had bought clothes for Ah Heng several times, the old man noticed she had never worn them once, and he couldn’t help but mind.

“Ah Heng, why are you still wearing your school uniform?” The old man examined his granddaughter with furrowed brows.

“School just issued new ones, they’re good,” Ah Heng stammered, her voice small.

“You’re in the Wen family now, not the Yuan family.” The old man’s brows knitted tighter, slowly growing angry.

This child, was she resisting them in this way? When had a Wen daughter, bearing the Wen name, ever been mistreated? Why did she insist on debasing herself?

Ah Heng clutched her clothing hem, lowering her head slightly: “I understand.”

Hearing the girl’s still-obvious Jiangnan accent, the old man realized he had spoken harshly. Thinking of past events, guilt arose in his heart: “If you like the school uniform, so be it.” He sighed lightly, “But, does it fit well?”

“It’s very warm,” Ah Heng quickly answered in Wushui dialect, then embarrassedly repeated in her non-standard Mandarin, gently turning over the coat’s lining to show its thick, sturdy appearance.

“As long as it’s warm,” the old man’s brows relaxed, his typically hawk-like sharp eyes softening with warmth, “I can understand Wushui dialect, you don’t need to change your speech.”

Ah Heng was surprised, then smiled, her eyes bright with a gentle, serene glow.

“When I was eighteen or nineteen, I led troops in Wushui Town for several months.” The old man’s voice lost its usual severity, becoming somewhat tender as he looked at Ah Heng, his serious expression carrying a misty gentleness like smoke in rain.

“Ah Heng, your eyes look very much like your grandmother’s.”

Gradually, Ah Heng learned the way to school and grew accustomed to walking or taking the bus alone to and from classes.

Coincidentally, though they were family, Ah Heng rarely encountered Si Wan, only seeing him at dinner time.

Though she wanted to speak with Si Wan, remembering her awkwardness with words, she gave up the idea. As for Mother Wen, she was constantly busy with piano concert matters and was rarely seen.

In class, Ah Heng’s good-natured temperament meant she never grew angry even when facing direct mockery, always just smiling. Her tormentors gradually found it boring and slowly stopped teasing her.

As time passed, everyone instead discovered that Ah Heng’s temperament brought many benefits. When someone didn’t want to do classroom duty, they only needed to call out to Wen Heng, and the answer was always “I understand,” after which the entire classroom would be cleaned spotlessly and arranged perfectly.

In this world, the most fearsome thing is habit, and the most habitual thing is convenience.

Ah Heng became that surprising convenience under the habit. Where others would have exploded in frustration even if they were as patient as a mud Buddha, Ah Heng felt that sometimes losing out was a blessing—as long as nothing major went wrong, small matters could be overlooked.

One day, after finishing cleaning the classroom, it was already dark. The last bus wouldn’t come for half an hour, so Ah Heng chose to walk.

She was used to walking through that narrow alley, where the orange streetlights were dim yet strangely peaceful and warm. The path was paved with small stones, giving a subtle grinding sensation underfoot.

Ah Heng stopped when she reached deep into the alley. She saw two figures clearly and intimately intertwined.

Light and dark, passionate and intense, burning hot.

That youth wore a purple-red low-necked coarse knit sweater, his left shoulder decorated with black thread-embroidered flower clusters that flowed past his finely carved shoulder line, smoothly twisting to his back, dark beauty blooming wildly amid the brilliance.

He stood in the lamplight, his spine thin and weak yet carrying an untameable, stubborn pride. His neck was slightly bent, arms tightly embracing a long-haired girl whose face was unclear in the light, their lips entangled. The ink-black hair that swept past his ears slowly, unconsciously brushed against his fair neck, that jade-like complexion soaked in light and shadow, concealing fragrance, richness, stirring hearts.

Given Ah Heng’s usual manner, seeing such a scene would certainly have made her feel awkward and embarrassed. But at this moment, she even forgot to hide, standing with her backpack, openly and carefully watching that youth.

Yan Xi.

Ah Heng’s lips curved slightly, silently mouthing the name, certain in her heart, finding herself absurd.

She had never truly seen this youth’s face, had never spoken a word to him, yet her heart bore such a clear imprint.

Suddenly, the youth seemed to sense the gaze behind him. He released his hand from the girl’s waist, turned around, and quietly looked at the unintentional voyeur.

Ah Heng realized her rudeness, staring dazedly into the youth’s eyes.

But suddenly, her ears roared, leaving only one sound, so familiar, exactly like that moment in childhood when she had carelessly fallen into the water at night while playing, the sound of breathing heard when everything else disappeared.

That feeling of fear, despair, unwillingness yet discovering oneself and moving toward another kind of release—it all came rushing back.

Ah Heng looked at him once more. The ink-black in the youth’s eyes, rolling with flying peach blossom crimson, added with scattered cold stars laid out in watery colors, reflected directly in her pupils—indifferent, proud, and casual.

Lowering her head, her long braid hitting her cheek, she fled in confusion.

When she returned home in a daze, the sky was completely dark, and Zhang Sao had been waiting for her.

She had run the whole way, her mind scattered, feeling only an extreme thirst. She grabbed the tea from the table and gulped it down, but it went up her nose, making her cough violently.

Si Wan happened to come downstairs, saw Ah Heng’s flushed face and uncontrollable coughing, and helped pat her back to ease her breathing. After a while, Ah Heng caught her breath and turned to see Si Wan.

“Choked on it?” Si Wan asked gently, smiling faintly.

Ah Heng nodded. When facing the Wen family members, she was always poor at speaking, and even when she had to speak, she used only the simplest sounds she could pronounce clearly.

Si Wan knew Ah Heng felt uncomfortable around him and didn’t mind, exchanging a few polite words before preparing to leave.

“Wait…” Ah Heng had been holding something in her heart these past few days, and despite the awkwardness, she called out to Si Wan.

“Hmm?” Si Wan turned around, somewhat confused.

Ah Heng nodded, went upstairs, and soon came down dragging a suitcase.

“What’s this?” Si Wan wondered.

“Her clothes… here.” Ah Heng pointed at the suitcase, explaining softly.

“Her?” Si Wan’s slight smile slowly faded, his expression growing cold.

“Clothes, need wearing.” Ah Heng knew he had misunderstood her meaning, but being poor with words, she didn’t know how to explain.

“You don’t need to do this.” Si Wan knew Ah Heng was talking about Er’er, and his expression grew complex.

Though he and Ah Heng were blood siblings, because of Er’er, he still harbored suspicions toward her. But seeing she had never mentioned Er’er, he had gradually put his mind at ease.

Yet now, she had brought Er’er into the open and was discussing Er’er’s clothes in front of him. To Si Wan, it seemed like a malicious mockery of Er’er and another humiliating expulsion.

Ah Heng brought the suitcase before him, looking gently at Si Wan, gesturing for him to open it.

But Si Wan grew angry, his face freezing over as he knocked away her hand, sending the suitcase tumbling to the ground.

Zhang Sao had been heating porridge in the kitchen, and hearing the loud noise, hurried to the living room wearing her apron, seeing clothes scattered all over the floor, most of them still unopened autumn wear.

“What’s happening? Ah Heng, why did you bring down all the new clothes your mother bought you?” Zhang Sao was confused, looking at the clothes Yun Yi had bought for Ah Heng some days ago. Though the child hadn’t said anything at the time, she had seemed very happy, but strangely, she had never worn them once.

Si Wan was surprised, frozen in place. After a moment, he gently picked up a piece of clothing from the ground, turned to the size tag, and sure enough, it was Er’er’s size. Looking up at Ah Heng’s overly calm face, he felt extremely awkward.

“Mother, she…” Si Wan tried to say something, but seeing Ah Heng’s overly simple, slightly frayed school uniform sleeves, he couldn’t speak.

Mother, wouldn’t not know that Ah Heng was much taller than Er’er.

She had done it deliberately, venting her dissatisfaction with her grandfather in this way.

For the first time, Si Wan realized his and his mother’s unfairness.

Mother had intentionally or unintentionally returned her pain to Ah Heng.

And he had smiled, adding fuel to the fire.

This girl had seen it all, yet accepted it calmly with a smile.