After Cheng Lele finished showering and came out, she saw Chen An sitting in the living room reading a book. She glanced at the title—”Poor Economics.”

Cheng Lele thought, even when being poor, little brother has to be so elegant about it.

“The dirty clothes are by the washing machine. It’s not convenient for me to wash them for you.” Chen An didn’t look up.

“Oh.”

Cheng Lele walked over and dumped all three basins of clothes into the machine in one go.

“…” He had forgotten that when it came to taking care of herself, Cheng Lele had always been utterly incompetent.

After dumping the clothes, Cheng Lele pressed the button. Only then did she notice the washing machine was imported from America—one unit alone would cost ten to twenty thousand. Adding the dryer placed on top, the whole set would cost quite a bit. She looked around again. Although the arrangement of things hadn’t changed much, seven years would definitely be enough for appliances and furniture to be updated once. Little brother used expensive brands for everything. To sum it up in one phrase: “once wealthy.”

The key point wasn’t “wealthy,” but “once.”

Now he couldn’t even afford to buy drinks for employees and had to study “Poor Economics” to research why he was so poor.

Recalling Chen An’s mid-event departure, Cheng Lele wanted to please him. Wearing the plastic men’s bathroom slippers, she waddled over like a penguin: “Little brother, are you hungry?”

She was planning to make Chen An a late-night snack.

Chen An thought Cheng Lele was hungry. He hadn’t been back much recently, either on business trips or at meetings in the provincial capital. Closing the book, he said, “There’s only instant noodles at home. Make them yourself if you want to eat.”

With that, Chen An stood up, glanced at her dripping wet hair, his lips moved but he said nothing. Taking the book, he went to his room. This book was recommended to him by a director of the charity foundation that partnered with Ping’an Xile. He had scheduled golf with him the day after tomorrow and planned to finish reading it today.

Entering the room, after flipping through a few pages about how Indian children were such and such, he temporarily couldn’t continue reading. He was now more concerned about the local child outside.

That certain child had a cold and still wasn’t blow-drying her hair. If he didn’t intervene, she’d end up bedridden. There was no boss in this world who looked after a sick subordinate—he couldn’t let things develop to that point.

He heard sounds from outside, opened the door, and pretended to run to the kitchen. Going in, he shouted, “What are you fumbling around for? Can’t find the hairdryer?”

Cheng Lele stood with the refrigerator door open, her expression like a sloth, slowly producing an: “Huh?”

Chen An said evasively, “The hairdryer is under the sink. How would it be in the refrigerator?”

Cheng Lele looked at the empty Hitachi refrigerator, thinking of something else entirely.

Before, when she came upstairs, the refrigerator would be fully stocked with all her favorite supplies. When the air raid siren sounded, she wouldn’t have to worry about running out of food for a week. But now it was all empty. She didn’t know if it was because of poverty or being troubled by love, but little brother no longer took good care of himself.

Seeing her still standing with the refrigerator open, not even afraid of being blown by the cold air, Chen An irritably closed it for her: “Go change your slippers. They’re so wet, leaving water stains everywhere you walk. The floor is going to get ruined.”

Cheng Lele walked to the shoe cabinet in a dispirited mood and took out a pair of cotton slippers.

“Your hair, your hair—your hair is dripping water too.”

Cheng Lele pulled out the Dyson hairdryer, thinking as she blow-dried: Little brother has really become so prickly.

Sigh, he must still be angry at her. Angry from unrequited love. Angry from being hurt seven years ago. Angry from being on the verge of bankruptcy.

Anyway, a thousand wrongs and ten thousand wrongs were all her fault.

As she blow-dried her hair, she took out her phone and searched for “how scumbags make women happy.” She now felt she was quite like a scumbag—couldn’t give him a proper status, but couldn’t bear for him to be angry either.

Seven years ago when she left little brother, it was out of this same concern. She had originally hoped that little brother wouldn’t be burdened by her, and under godfather’s protection, could achieve the brilliant life that belonged to him. Unfortunately, nothing went as hoped. Little brother’s family fortunes declined, his career was obstructed, his mind was clouded by love, he took out a six million loan to buy a worthless property, and was so deep in debt that even a team-building event had him strapped for cash.

That person who had been so dazzling and outstanding back then was now just like her, only able to huddle in this old, run-down, small house. How heartbreaking!