When they were little, kindergarten children always liked to ask Chen An: “Is this your real sister?”

Chen An would reply decisively: “No.”

Cheng Lele would make trouble beside him: “Yes, yes we are. Look, we both have inner double eyelids. If we don’t sleep well at night, this eye becomes a double eyelid.” She pointed at Chen An beside her: “Little brother’s eye changes too. Can any of you do that?”

All the children shook their heads.

Cheng Lele said triumphantly: “So Chen An is my real brother.”

When they started school, on the first day of registration, Grandma Chen went along and asked the homeroom teacher to let Chen An and Cheng Lele sit together.

“Our Lele is still young and can’t sit still in class. Only her little brother can keep her in line.”

If the teacher accommodated every parent’s request, all the students would have to sit in the first row. The homeroom teacher didn’t listen to Grandma Chen and separated them according to height. As a result, Cheng Lele, who looked like such a well-behaved child, kept fidgeting during class, her bottom acting as if it were sitting on the tip of a screw. The homeroom teacher tried using both kindness and authority to guide her to improve, but it was completely useless. Later, the teacher tried a last-ditch effort and had her sit next to Chen An, and she actually sat still and behaved.

The homeroom teacher asked Chen An: “Which side of the family is she your sister from?”

Chen An didn’t understand and said: “From my grandmother’s side.”

The homeroom teacher guessed they were third-generation cousins. In small places, it was common for half the village to be related.

After that, the homeroom teacher had a slip of the tongue. When she couldn’t remember names, she would call out “that whoever, Chen An’s sister,” “Lele, tell your brother to come here,” “Tomorrow it’s you siblings’ turn for early duty.”

With this publicity, the whole class became absolutely certain the two were relatives. No one ever doubted it.

In middle school, half the students came from elementary school. Everyone inherited this misunderstanding and carried it forward.

Later, in high school, people didn’t care much about whether they were related or not, but a while ago when Cheng Lele made such a fuss with great effort, it solidified the misunderstanding again.

Only Zhong Ming asked seriously whether Chen An was actually her real brother.

Since he asked seriously, Cheng Lele answered seriously: “No. He’s my godparents’ son. He lives upstairs from me. We’ve known each other since we were in the womb, and we’ve been sharing a bed since birth.”

Zhong Ming asked: “Hey, then how come you two look quite alike?”

Cheng Lele was rather full of herself at this point: “Haven’t you heard the saying? Beautiful appearances are all the same.”

Zhong Ming nodded: “True.” After pausing for a second, he added: “Lele, your parents and Chen An’s parents couldn’t have—ah, that—ah, have you ever done a blood test to verify kinship?”

Cheng Lele understood and immediately raised her hand to hit him. Zhong Ming ran away with quick steps, Cheng Lele chasing behind: “Stop right there—”

Down below, Chen An had been timing it until the clock was practically embarrassed. His eyes swept over and caught sight of a pair of butterflies fleeing and chasing from one side of the lobby, and his face immediately darkened another three shades.

The vein on Chen An’s forehead twitched. Fine then, Cheng Lele.

Cheng Lele had run too far ahead when she finally noticed that the familiar person she’d glimpsed in her peripheral vision was Chen An. She remembered—little brother was still left hanging on the side.

She braked urgently, saying ruthlessly to Zhong Ming: “Hurry up and get back to your university.” Then, like a Sichuan opera face-changing act, she retreated three steps and said ingratiatingly: “Little brother, sorry for the long wait.”

Chen An said: “Not too bad, only waited an extra eleven minutes and thirty-six seconds.”

Cheng Lele panicked: “Then didn’t we miss the beginning? Oh no, we can’t miss a single second of this film. Little brother, let’s hurry inside.”

As she spoke, she tried to pull Chen An inside.

Chen An didn’t move, his feet seemingly welded to the thick blue-gold carpet.

Cheng Lele knew Chen An was angry. She’d forgotten about time as soon as she went upstairs, but if they kept dragging this out, wouldn’t they waste even more time?

She nudged Chen An’s side, saying perfunctorily: “I’m sorry, I was wrong. Let’s settle accounts after the movie. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Chen An asked coldly: “What were you wrong about?”

Cheng Lele acted humble: “I made you wait a very long time.”

“Just that?” Chen An said, “No rush, think about it more carefully.”

Chen An was like a stern-faced judge, speaking down to her from his superior position. Cheng Lele was getting a bit unhappy too. What was this about? Was it really necessary?

She’d recently been brainwashed by Chen Xiaomei, and her self-awareness had awakened. Besides, the teenage years were naturally prone to rebellion—who likes having someone speak to them with passive-aggressive sarcasm?

“Just say it directly. I can’t figure it out.” Cheng Lele said with her neck stiff.

“On the evening of the 29th last month, did you come to watch a movie with him?”

Cheng Lele had to think hard even about what she did last night, so being asked this so suddenly left her a bit confused.

Chen An continued unhurriedly: “Let me help you remember. I wasn’t in Taixi that day, and I couldn’t get through at seven o’clock. Later you told me you had a stomachache and fell asleep.”

Cheng Lele immediately remembered, her heart jumping. How did little brother know everything? He could calculate and predict like a fortune teller—he’d definitely win a prize at next week’s competition.

Chen An had only been guessing, speaking this way purely to trick Cheng Lele. He hadn’t expected her expression to be so telling—he’d actually guessed right.

The towering rage he’d barely suppressed was fanned back to life. His lungs were about to burst through. Chen An questioned: “You actually lied to me about being unwell for his sake?!” When he saw that text that day, he’d wanted to come back immediately to be with her. He’d worried about her all night, and it turned out he’d been jointly fitted with a green hat.

Cheng Lele wilted, standing dejectedly with her head hanging, looking like she was ready to accept any scolding.

Chen An was bursting with anger, but he couldn’t explode in public. He suppressed his voice, which came out cracked: “Tell me why.”

Cheng Lele lowered her head and let slip: “I was afraid you’d be angry like you are now.”

“Then tell me why I’m angry?”

“Because I forgot about the seven o’clock phone call.”

“You think I’m angry because I didn’t get the seven o’clock phone call?” Chen An was so angry he reached to grab Cheng Lele’s arm, but she cleverly dodged.

“Why are you dodging?”

“Oh, conditioned reflex.”

“You used to say that watching the news broadcast would be a conditioned reflex to call me.”

“That day I didn’t watch the news broadcast, I came to watch a movie.” After saying this, Cheng Lele realized she’d added fuel to the fire.

“Fine, just fine. So last time when you said there wouldn’t be a next time, you were just talking out of your ass?”

Cheng Lele stopped making a sound. Silence is golden, speaking more is making mistakes. She used these eight characters as her golden rule even in front of Director Ji.

But Chen An wanted “leniency for confession, severity for resistance.” Seeing Cheng Lele acting like a dead pig that doesn’t fear boiling water, his anger rolled like boiling oil: “Your mind has been very wild lately, hasn’t it? You’ve been led astray by that mohawk-headed little punk, haven’t you?”

Cheng Lele didn’t like her friend being talked about this way, so she protested: “Brother Zhong isn’t a punk.”

“Brother Zhong? Where did you get a brother from?!”

This sentence came out a few decibels higher than Chen An intended. There was no help for it—his anger had reached his throat. It was just when the next showing was letting people in. They were standing near the entrance, and the audience was queuing up to enter. Their outstanding appearances and strange atmosphere had already drawn frequent glances from those around them. This outburst attracted even more attention.

Under everyone’s gaze, Cheng Lele also felt embarrassed. Why should she be talked to like this? She’d only told one lie. Did they have to skip the movie and stand outside for her to be criticized? What was wrong with her making friends? The person had kindly treated them to a movie, so why was he repaying kindness with enmity by badmouthing others?

Little brother was just petty-minded.

Seeing her stubbornly defending that little punk to the death, Chen An, riding his anger, repeated: “Tell me, which brother is he to you?”

Cheng Lele raised her head, her ink-black eyes staring directly and brightly at Chen An’s face. She questioned back, word by word: “And which brother are you?”

Having said that, she turned and went downstairs.

Chen An was confronted by Cheng Lele for the first time. He didn’t react, standing in place in a daze for several seconds before chasing after her.

He chased down to the first floor and was just about to call her back. But he saw Cheng Lele push out a bicycle, sit on it with a swagger, push off with her foot, and as if in provocation, ride away at high speed right before his eyes.

Chen An was completely dumbfounded.

Not only could Cheng Lele talk back now, she could also ride a bike?!

What else had she been hiding from him?

Chen An, who had planned out his future life so perfectly and had everything under control, suddenly felt uncertain and confused. Cheng Lele was like a Greek letter in mathematics—you thought it was a constant, but with the slightest change in conditions, it became a variable, impossible to grasp, impossible to calculate.