Ping’an Alley went in so deep that standing at the mouth of it and actually walking in were two completely different experiences.

I had originally thought Zhou Haiyan was, as everyone said, some hoodlum who collected protection money.

That’s why I’d gone looking for him.

But after actually getting to know him, I realized it wasn’t like that at all.

He was a good person. So was his mother.

They were both very, very good people.

The reckless resolve that had brought me here deflated all at once, like a punctured ball.

Tang Shiguo’s blood ran in my veins.

I couldn’t escape it in life, and I wouldn’t be free of it in death—doomed to be worn down by it forever.

On the way back, Aunt Zhou held my hand tightly, and Zhou Haiyan walked behind us, carrying the medicine the doctor had prescribed.

It felt warm and cozy, as if we were a real family.

I wished so much that this road had no end, that we could just keep walking forever.

But I knew that was impossible.

Once we reached the alley, the fantasy would have to end—I had no reason to stay any longer.

There was a sadness I couldn’t quite put into words.

I planned to grab my bag from the doorway and go home.

As for what would be waiting for me once I got home, I didn’t know—just thinking about it made it hard to breathe.

Strangely, I searched around the doorway three times and couldn’t find my bag.

“Not coming in? Looking for your soul out there?”

Probably because I’d delayed his work, Zhou Haiyan started sketching the moment we got home.

His long legs propped against the edge of the stool, one after the other.

I said quietly, “I’m looking for a bag, the woven kind.”

He pointed his pen upward without looking. “It’s in the south-facing room. My mom put it away for you.”

“Huh?”

Before I could ask what that meant—

Aunt Zhou came out of the kitchen.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Qingqing, the soup’s just gone on to simmer. I fixed up a room for you upstairs—come on, let’s see if you like it.”

Once I understood what she meant, I quickly waved my hands.

“No need, no need, Auntie, I’ll be heading home soon.”

“Home for what? Looking to get hit again?”

Zhou Haiyan didn’t even look up.

“You’re staying until you’re properly recovered, whenever that is. Don’t go out and collapse again—I don’t need people pointing fingers at me, saying Zhou Haiyan even bullies kids.”

“……”

Aunt Zhou chimed in, “Right, right, right, stay a couple days first, build your strength back up.”

I stood there dazed, as if a giant pie had fallen from the sky and knocked me silly.

Half-pushed, half-willing, I was led upstairs just like that.

The room was neat and refined, with its own wardrobe and desk, the bed made up with a brand-new floral-print four-piece set.

A round, plump little succulent sat on the windowsill, basking leisurely in the sun.

Maybe it was the atmosphere, but even the earth-yellow woven bag on the sofa seemed to look brighter here.

I stood dumbly in the doorway.

“Still a bit plain, though. Given the time crunch—a girl’s room ought to have some thought put into it. Once you settle in, Auntie will slowly fix it up.”

No—it was already so good. Good enough that it didn’t feel quite real.

I had never lived in such a beautiful room before; in my memory, there was only that dark, lightless storage room.

Maybe I should have refused. But somehow, I couldn’t bear to.

At dinner, Aunt Zhou set down the last dish—winter melon, corn, and rib soup—in the middle of the table.

Three dishes and a soup, each one looking clean and refreshing.

Not just one messy pot of everything thrown together.

The bowls and plates matched, white porcelain with black rims.

No cracks, no chips.

I once read a line in a book, something to the effect that food is the foundation of the people, and you can tell exactly what kind of atmosphere and attitude a household has just by looking at its dinner table.

Now, this simple, plain thing was the home I longed for and yet felt so out of reach.

Aunt Zhou told me not to be shy, to take whatever I liked, to treat it like my own home.

I nodded silently.

Secretly, I tried to slow the pace of my eating as much as possible, but the food Auntie had put in my bowl still ran out. The mushroom steamed chicken dish nearby sat less than thirty centimeters from my chopsticks, yet I didn’t dare move toward it.

Once the food in the bowl was gone, you couldn’t take more—otherwise you were selfish, ill-mannered.

Not the kind of person people liked.

That was the lesson my parents had taught me since I was small.

Plenty of people didn’t like me, but I didn’t want Aunt Zhou and the others to dislike me too.

I kept scooping at the last bits of white rice in my bowl, one spoonful after another, putting on a show of being very busy. I didn’t dare stop, afraid they’d notice how awkward and rude I felt. I silently blamed myself, thinking if only I’d eaten a little slower earlier.

In the end, even the very last grain of rice in my bowl was gone.

I slowly set my chopsticks down along the edge of the bowl.

Aunt Zhou said, “Qingqing, is that all you’re eating? Why so little, that’s not enough.”

I nodded. “I’m full, Auntie.”

“Really full?” She looked worried.

“Really, really.”

To make it more convincing, I even faked a small burp.

Feeling a deep gaze land on me, I looked up and met Zhou Haiyan’s eyes.

His dark eyes were fixed and steady.

“As long as you’re staying here, this is your home for however long that is. You don’t need to hold back.”

I didn’t dwell on the meaning behind his words, and quickly nodded, insisting I really was full.

Then I made an excuse about going upstairs to do homework.

Behind me, the two of them looked at each other for a long moment before Aunt Zhou finally sighed.