Lin Xiaoxiao recalled Zhou Xiaoling mentioning she had other errands to run—perhaps that was what had delayed her.

Not seeing the children in the living room, she asked, “Mom, where are Zhou Huai’an and the kids?”

Li Yunlan gestured upstairs. “They’re in the bedroom. All three of them clung to their father like little shadows. Huai’an said he had some materials to write, but the kids cried until he let them follow. So they’re all up there now.”

Smiling, Lin Xiaoxiao went up and pushed open the bedroom door. Inside, Zhou Huai’an sat in the middle of the bed, with the three children sitting neatly in a row opposite him.

He was holding a small picture book—the palm-sized kind, filled with illustrations and just a line or two of text per page—telling them a story.

Lin Xiaoxiao was curious. Since when did Zhou Huai’an tell stories? She moved closer and was surprised to see it was a story about the Tunnel Warfare. “Do they even understand this?” she asked.

Besides, she found it hard to believe Zhou Huai’an could narrate with any real emotion. Whenever she told stories to the kids, she used lively expressions and voices, yet not one of them ever sat still—they’d poke her eyes, tug her lips, or play recklessly with her hair.

They certainly never sat this quietly, so absorbed.

Zhou Huai’an didn’t seem to think it was difficult. “I’m already halfway through. They’ve been sitting like this the whole time, and they seem happy.”

Lin Xiaoxiao took another look at the children. Sure enough, they were clapping their hands and giggling, or staring intently at their father with their little heads tilted.

Then she understood—it wasn’t the story they were interested in. It was enough for them just to be looking at their dad.

She laughed, took off her coat, and went over to hug Zhou Hua’an. Deliberately, she gave him a loud kiss on the cheek, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and glanced teasingly at the children. “He’s mine. You can’t have him.”

An’an was the first to protest. She let out a displeased sound, quickly scrambled over, and started pushing Lin Xiaoxiao away from her father.

Xuanxuan and Qianqian, still sitting across from them, laughed and babbled in Lin Xiaoxiao’s direction, clearly voicing their own disagreement.

Lin Xiaoxiao kept teasing them playfully, eventually tumbling all three onto the bed and tickling them mercilessly.

The kids were incredibly ticklish, bursting into helpless giggles no matter where she touched.

Zhou Huai’an watched them, his eyes warm with amusement, and gently pulled Lin Xiaoxiao back. “Don’t lie on An’an.”

At that, Lin Xiaoxiao pretended to be offended, pushed Zhou Huai’an down instead, and soon all three children clambered on top of them, turning the bed into a joyful mess of laughter and wriggling little bodies.

Just as the family of five was enjoying the chaos, Li Yunlan’s voice called urgently from outside the door: “Hua’an! Zihao is missing—you need to go look for him!”

Lin Xiaoxiao sat up quickly. “How can he be missing? He was sitting by the window when I got home.”

Zhou Huai’an was already straightening his clothes and heading out.

Li Yunlan stepped inside as he opened the door. “I was helping in the kitchen and left Zihao alone in the living room. When I came out to get something, I didn’t pay attention—then he was gone. We’ve searched downstairs. Do you think he wandered outside?”

Zhou Huai’an hurried down the stairs. Lin Xiaoxiao thought it was very likely—especially since Zhou Xiaoling, who was usually so punctual, still hadn’t returned. He might have foolishly gone out looking for her.

She carried two of the children while Li Yunlan held An’an, and they went downstairs just as Zhou Huai’an rushed out.

Zhou Liyun had already put on her winter coat. “I’ll go search too. Who knows if he even knows his way around? If he wanders somewhere he shouldn’t, he could get picked up by the authorities.”

Li Yunlan urged her, “Hurry. The poor child didn’t even wear a coat—thank goodness he at least put on winter boots.”

The thought worried them all. If that silly boy was out roaming in the freezing cold, he could easily fall ill.

—

Earlier that day, Zhou Xiaoling had gone to Xidan to buy clothes, and afterward she visited a certain alleyway to see a fortune teller known as “Old Liu the Mystic.” Rumor had it he was remarkably skilled—not only could he predict fortunes, but he also healed illnesses.

She had hoped to ask him whether someone like Lin Zihao had a real chance of recovery.

To her surprise, this so-called mystic was quite popular. A steady stream of people came secretly for consultations, and there was even a lookout at the door who questioned visitors before letting them in.

Inside, the place was packed. A small room was filled with low stools, every seat taken by people waiting in the dim light.

Zhou Xiaoling had expected a quick visit, but after waiting over two hours, the crowd showed no sign of thinning, and the sky outside grew dark. She began to doubt—how could a simple consultation take this long?

Still, leaving now felt like a waste. With so many people coming in secret, maybe this Liu really did have some ability.

Torn between doubt and hope, she waited until full darkness fell—and still, her turn hadn’t come.

Finally, her patience ran out. What was she thinking? Lin Xiaoxiao was studying medicine—why was she here dabbling in superstition? If Lin Xiaoxiao or Mu Xiaowan found out, they’d laugh at her forever.

By the time she made up her mind to leave, it was completely dark outside, with few people on the streets.

Zhou Xiaoling checked the time and cursed under her breath. What a waste of time! Why had she listened to that crazy idea?

She rushed to catch the bus. After getting off, she remembered a sweet potato vendor near North Street whose roasted yams were especially delicious.

Since she was coming home so late, she knew Lin Zihao would be waiting—she felt a little guilty. Maybe buying him a sweet potato would cheer him up.

As she approached, she saw the old vendor leaning near a small shop door, using its faint light to warm himself by his charcoal stove.

Huddled beside him was another figure, dressed too thinly for the cold, crouching and shaking as they held their hands toward the fire.

Zhou Xiaoling froze, then called out in surprise, “Lin Zihao?”

Hearing her voice, Lin Zihao sprang up. The moment he saw her, his face crumpled in petulant distress. He hurried over and said, “Sister, where did you go? Why didn’t you come home?”

Zhou Xiaoling understood instantly: he had noticed how late she was, slipped out to look for her, and gotten lost—ending up by this kind vendor’s fire.

If she hadn’t suddenly thought to buy roasted sweet potatoes, she might never have found him.

She quickly took his icy hands in hers—they were cold as stone—and without a word, gave him her warm gloves. “Why didn’t you just wait at home? What if you got lost? How would I ever find you? And you didn’t even wear a proper coat! If you freeze and get sick, we’ll have to take you to the hospital and make you drink bitter medicine.”

She was angry, worried, and deeply moved, all at once.

Lin Zihao pouted, still looking hurt. “But it got dark… and you still weren’t home.”