It took Jiang Mu quite a while to emerge from her room. Her ear-length short hair finally lay neat against her ears, and she wore a soft, long sweater that gave her a gentle, refined appearance.
Everyone else was already at the table waiting for her. She took her seat, with Jin Chao sitting opposite. She glanced up at him, and when he met her gaze, she pretended to adjust her hair and looked away.
Zhao Meijuan said, “Jin Chao mentioned you don’t like dumplings, so he made you two dishes. Go ahead and eat.”
She moved the dishes in front of Jiang Mu and passed the dumplings to Jin Xin. Jiang Mu kept her eyes down as she said, “Thank you.”
When there was no response, she looked up again. Jin Chao, catching her glance, showed a slight smile and replied softly, “You’re welcome.”
It was an ordinary exchange but somehow felt overly polite—so polite that Jiang Mu sensed something else beneath the surface, like hidden meanings and secret undertones that might exist only in her imagination.
After lunch, Jin Qiang and Zhao Meijuan took Jin Xin to their room for a nap. When Jiang Mu came out of her room, she didn’t see Jin Chao, but the front door was ajar. Opening it and stepping into the building hallway, she heard faint clicking sounds and found Jin Chao sitting on the stairs, smoking, idly playing with his slide-cover lighter.
Jiang Mu approached and stepped onto the stairs. Jin Chao moved over slightly, and she sat down beside him.
Jin Chao switched his cigarette from his left hand to his right, asking her, “Is the smoke bothering you?”
Jiang Mu hugged her knees, staring at the burning cigarette between his fingers. The stairwell was so quiet they could hear each other’s breathing. Jin Chao turned to look at her, and suddenly she reached out and snatched the cigarette from his fingers, bringing it to her lips for a drag. The filter still held the warmth of his mouth, and in that moment of contact, Jiang Mu felt she must be crazy.
The next second she was coughing violently, tears streaming from her eyes. Jin Chao forcefully took the cigarette and crushed it out, his voice stern: “Have you lost your mind?”
But Jiang Mu turned to him and said, “How would I know if it bothers me without trying?”
Jin Chao’s face darkened. “There won’t be a next time.”
Jiang Mu raised her eyes casually, “Don’t all those girls who race cars smoke? Wan Qing smokes too.”
“You’re different from them.”
Jiang Mu tilted her head, watching him. “How am I different?”
Jin Chao turned to meet her gaze, a strange magnetism crackling between them as afternoon sunlight streamed in from the other end of the building, weaving threads of light around them.
Jin Chao gave a soft laugh and looked away.
Jiang Mu pressed on, “Then how am I different from Jin Xin?”
Jin Chao couldn’t quite explain. Before Jin Xin was born, he’d thought all little girls were like Mu Mu—loving attention, being playful, silly yet adorably so, and able to melt the whole world with a whimper.
It wasn’t until Jin Qiang had Jin Xin that he realized there was only one Mu Mu in the world. Jin Xin would obey him but wouldn’t cling to him like Mu Mu did as a child. The age gap between him and Jin Xin was significant, and in that unreachable childhood of his, only one girl had ever truly been present—irreplaceable and impossible to turn back time for.
After a moment of silence, Jin Chao said, “You’re more mischievous than her, cry more easily, and are harder to handle. Jin Xin listens when I speak, but when you were little, you’d become unreasonable when stubborn.”
Jiang Mu immediately puffed out her cheeks: “You’re about to lose me as a sister.”
Jin Chao half-smiled, “The biggest difference is that Jin Xin knows to fear me, while you can only be coaxed.”
Though Jin Chao’s words suggested she couldn’t compare to Jin Xin in any way, Jiang Mu’s eyes still curved with happiness. She turned to ask, “By the way, how is Iron Rooster’s father?”
Jin Chao’s expression grew serious: “Not good.”
Iron Rooster’s father had acted as a guarantor for someone—supposedly a friend of twenty years who’d worked at the same factory in their youth. They’d lived and eaten together, found wives, and started families around the same time, and their families had grown closer than relatives. No one expected this friend to create a huge mess and disappear, leaving creditors showing up at Iron Rooster’s father’s door with legal documents, forcing him to sell his house.
Iron Rooster’s family wasn’t well-off, and selling their only house would leave them homeless. During the New Year visit home, they’d hoped to borrow money from relatives, but when his sisters heard about the situation, they just berated their father for being foolish. Already backed into a corner and afraid of burdening his wife and son—Iron Rooster wasn’t even married yet, and selling the house would hurt his chances of finding a wife—he’d gotten drunk and jumped from the roof of their old house, thinking death would end everything and spare his family further trouble. Instead, he survived with severe injuries.
The creditors, afraid they’d never get their money if he died, had brought people to cause trouble at the hospital. That’s why Jin Chao and San Lai had spent two days guarding the hospital, protecting Iron Rooster and his mother.
They’d finally negotiated a fifty thousand yuan initial payment, with further discussion to follow after his father’s discharge.
Though they’d pulled his father back from death’s door, the hospitalization had been expensive, and even the fifty thousand was fronted by San Lai and Jin Chao.
The New Year’s crisis left Jiang Mu feeling troubled—every family had their struggles. Compared to Iron Rooster’s situation, the sale of her own family’s house seemed trivial.
In the following days, Jin Chao brought Lightning back to the auto shop to care for it himself. Before Lightning’s accident, though it lived at the shop, Jin Chao had only provided food and shelter. But after its discharge, he handled everything—medicine, feeding, care, and grooming.
The incident had changed Lightning’s personality. Though its leg gradually healed enough to stand and walk, it had become fearful of people. Except for Jin Chao and Jiang Mu, it would only wag its tail at others like San Lai and Little Yang but wouldn’t approach them. Instead of its former wandering ways, it now stayed in the repair shop, mostly following Jin Chao around. Unless Jin Chao took it out, it would hold itself all day rather than go out alone.
Lightning’s changes often left Jiang Mu melancholic. Physical wounds could heal, but they couldn’t erase their psychological trauma. They could only provide extra careful attention, hoping time would fade both its shadows from the incident and its wariness of people.
Before returning to Australia, Jiang Yinghan contacted Jiang Mu to tell her the Suzhou property had been dealt with, and to focus on her college entrance exam—they’d see each other again in a few months.
School resumed, with the final semester’s coursework becoming more intense. The auto shop wouldn’t reopen until after the Little New Year, so Jin Chao used this time to help Jiang Mu with her studies. Though she told him her grades had improved to the top thirty in her grade—her best performance ever—Jin Chao just smiled silently, meticulously helping her create review outlines and mind maps, assigning every necessary practice problem. She strongly suspected he harbored hopes of her achieving greatness, and while she couldn’t say she was particularly enthusiastic about studying, she enjoyed being with Jin Chao. Even just sitting together, him reading while she worked on problems, never felt tedious.
After the Wuyin Temple incident, they seemed the same as always, yet something had undeniably changed.
Sometimes Jiang Mu would look up from her work and stare at Jin Chao, lost in thought. He would tap the table to remind her: “Focus.”
But sometimes he would also get lost watching her, and she would wave her hand in front of him saying, “I’m pretty, aren’t I?”
Jin Chao would just smile and walk away, never admitting she was pretty.
Jin Chao still went out frequently, though mostly at night when Jiang Mu didn’t know. When absences stretched beyond two days and couldn’t be hidden, she would repeatedly urge him to be safe, safe, absolutely safe.
Then she’d wait anxiously until he called her afterward.
Iron Rooster returned after the Little New Year, noticeably thinner even to Jiang Mu’s eyes. Feeling helpless to assist, she thought perhaps she could at least cook everyone a meal. She’d always been on the receiving end of meals, so it was time to contribute.
San Lai was deeply skeptical of her cooking abilities and specifically requested “squirrel-style mandarin fish.” So Jiang Mu dragged Jin Chao to the market. At the crowded fish stall, she stood bewildered for a while before turning to ask him, “Do you know what mandarin fish looks like?”
Jin Chao smiled and selected a plump fish, asking the vendor to weigh it. Jiang Mu smiled sweetly at the vendor and said, “Could you clean it, please?”
The vendor seemed familiar with Jin Chao and glanced at him. Jin Chao’s mouth twitched slightly: “No need, carry on.”
After paying and carrying the fish away, Jiang Mu pestered him with questions: “Don’t they clean fish here? How do we prepare it uncleaned? It needs scaling too—I’m afraid I can’t do it properly. I’ve never gutted a fish before, and most importantly, I’m scared to kill it.”
Jin Chao glanced at her, “Didn’t you see the long queue?”
Jiang Mu looked back—business was indeed brisk. She turned back to ask, “But you can clean fish, right?”
Jin Chao replied casually, “I can even kill people.”
Jiang Mu laughed and followed him, stopping him at the green onion stall. She picked one small onion and offered it to the vendor, who didn’t take it but just stared at her. Confused, Jiang Mu kept holding it out, asking, “Don’t you need to weigh it?” They stood there staring at each other for a while.
Finally, another customer came and tossed over a whole bundle. Only then did the vendor accept it, saying dismissively to Jiang Mu, “Just take it, don’t insult my scale.”
Jiang Mu got a free onion and felt both guilty and touched by the vendor’s generosity. She showed it to Jin Chao proudly: “Look, the vendor gave it to me for free!”
Jin Chao’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that in their area, buying a single green onion was usually seen as mocking the vendor. If he hadn’t been standing behind her, the woman would have started scolding.
Later, Jin Chao took her to buy pork ribs. Since Jiang Mu couldn’t tell good cuts from bad, she just stood there swinging her prized green onion while Jin Chao selected the meat.
As she turned her head, she noticed a man in a stand-collar jacket buying pork belly four stalls away. His nose caught her attention—a hooked bridge with a slightly curved tip. She felt she’d seen him before, and quickly searched her memory before nudging Jin Chao: “Isn’t that someone who’s had his car serviced at Flying Speed?”
Jin Chao glanced in that direction. The man had just paid and turned, meeting their gaze briefly before Jin Chao looked away, saying flatly, “Don’t know him.”
The man passed behind them with his purchases, and Jiang Mu kept watching him, insisting, “Are you sure? He came to inflate his tires once, and you didn’t charge him.”
Jin Chao tossed his chosen ribs to the vendor and turned to her: “Do you know how many cars stop by for air in a year? It’s a simple favor—I usually don’t charge locals, hoping they’ll return. Should I memorize everyone’s face too?”
Jiang Mu fell silent. Jin Chao paid for the ribs and asked, “Anything else you want?”
She shook her head, and he pointed to a fruit shop by the market entrance: “Go pick some fruit then. I’ll have a smoke by the door.”
Jiang Mu selected some oranges and lingered over the strawberries. Being early in the season, they were expensive, beautifully boxed, and sold by the piece. After a moment’s hesitation, she resisted. Turning around, she saw Jin Chao on the phone by the door. As she looked over, he was just hanging up and turning back.
While the vendor was weighing her oranges, Jin Chao casually picked up a box of strawberries, paid, and walked out.
Jiang Mu followed, reminding him, “You know, strawberries will be much cheaper in a month.”
Jin Chao glanced at her: “In a month, you might not want them anymore.”
Jiang Mu laughed, “I never said I wanted them.”
“Mm, I did.”
Back at the shop, while Jiang Mu was seriously studying screenshots of squirrel-style mandarin fish cooking steps, Jin Chao washed the strawberries and placed them beside her. She alternated between taking notes and popping strawberries into her mouth.
Perhaps because they were so expensive, they tasted especially good. Before she knew it, she’d eaten most of them and hurriedly ran to find Jin Chao, saying, “Didn’t you want the strawberries? If I leave them there, I’ll eat them all.”
Jin Chao’s expression softened: “Leave them.”
Jiang Mu set down the strawberries and realized that while she’d been preparing, Jin Chao had already cleaned the fish and cut it properly.
He’d even heated the oil, but when it came time to fry the fish, Jiang Mu was intimidated by the hot oil. She turned to ask Jin Chao, “Can we turn off the heat first, then put in the fish and turn it back on?”
Jin Chao popped a strawberry into her mouth and dropped the fish into the oil. The sizzling oil made Jiang Mu jump behind him.
So she did participate in the process—opening the ketchup bottle, adding some oil, and final plating.
Throughout, Jin Chao kept feeding her strawberries. When the fish was done, so were the strawberries. She asked him puzzled, “Did you eat any strawberries?”
Jin Chao carried the fish inside, saying, “I did.”
“Did you? Or did they all go into my mouth?”
“Thank you for your service.”
“…”
At dinner, San Lai, Little Yang, and Iron Rooster praised her impressive squirrel-style mandarin fish, calling her a Chinese culinary prodigy.
Jiang Mu blushed, glancing at Jin Chao, feeling like a student who’d used a ghostwriter to ace an exam—especially awkward with the ghostwriter, examiner, and student all at the same table.
Jin Chao just kept his head down, wearing a faint smile, refusing to expose her—truly demonstrating the professional integrity of an expert ghostwriter.