Be good.
Yu Luo stared at the small, exquisite porcelain-white jade jar in her palm.
It was completely empty, with only the faint, clear, and cool fragrance remaining.
“Whenever you’re about to run out, I’ll go make more for you.” Qi Song’s eyes were as bright as a rainbow then, making one unable to resist praising her. “Only I can create Jiejie’s scent. No one else has the formula.”
“I’ve run out.” Yu Luo’s fingertips caressed the warm, smooth texture of the jade jar as she murmured, “Why haven’t you come back to make me a new one?”
“…You lied to me again.”
Her gaze darkened, and she slowly stood up.
After squatting for only a few minutes, she felt dizzy and her vision went white the moment she rose. It took a long while for her to recover.
“Mommy!”
Taotao’s milky, childlike voice came from the living room, followed by the sound of cheerful, scampering footsteps.
Yu Luo reached out and caught the little cub who joyfully crashed into her arms. She picked her up and asked gently, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see the fishies?”
“Don’t want fishies, want Mommy.” Taotao wrapped her arms around her neck, her soft hair rubbing against her.
“Alright.” Yu Luo chuckled lightly and ruffled her head.
Not wanting her own emotions to affect her daughter’s development, she had always appeared gentle and cheerful in front of Taotao, presenting a positive and optimistic demeanor.
Only when she was alone could she finally let her expression fall blank and sink into her own despair.
Carrying the cub, she walked straight to the room across the hall, which used to be Qi Song’s bedroom.
“Mama’s bedroom.”
Taotao mumbled the words as Yu Luo placed her on the large bed. She then took the opportunity to roll over like a fluffy little animal.
“When is Mama coming back?” she asked, blinking her big eyes, her speech still a bit slurred.
Yu Luo habitually tidied up Qi Song’s room, even though there was clearly nothing to tidy.
Hearing her daughter’s question, her movements paused. Her lips parted and closed, but for a moment, she couldn’t speak.
Taotao was just over a year old when she arrived in this timeline, and her memories from before she was one were almost completely blurred.
The only thing she recognized was that Yu Luo was her Mommy.
Ah Ran had once said this was very strange because Taotao should have been more familiar with Qi Song, not her.
“Why? In the future, wasn’t I supposed to raise her with Qi Song until she was one?” Yu Luo had immediately retorted.
Ah Ran had looked a little unnatural. “Although that’s true, you were busier with work, so Qi Song spent more time looking after the child…”
Ah Ran was always vague and refused to say more.
For instance, she also refused to reveal who she was, or what role she was supposed to play in Yu Luo and Qi Song’s lives in the future.
She also had an inexplicable resistance toward Taotao. Every time she came to see Yu Luo, she would first confirm that Taotao was asleep in her room, so she could speak with Yu Luo alone.
Yu Luo was trapped in a fog, finding it difficult to piece together the full picture from the meager information Ah Ran sparingly provided. She could only wait alone, a wait with no end in sight, hoping that one day she could part the clouds to see the sun1.
She would mention “Mama” to Taotao, hoping Taotao wouldn’t forget Qi Song. Yet, she didn’t dare make too many promises, worried that if Qi Song really didn’t come back, Taotao’s hopes would be dashed just like hers.
Therefore, when Taotao now asked her “When is Mama coming back,” Yu Luo only responded vaguely, “Cub should grow up first.”
“Oh.” Taotao obediently replied, saying sweetly, “I grow up, I two years old.”
Qi Song had been gone for a year, and Taotao was now over two.
Yu Luo suddenly remembered asking Ah Ran last time, “What is Taotao’s birthday?”
Ah Ran paused on the other end of the line. “You want to celebrate her second birthday?”
“Celebrating birthdays is such a tacky activity, let’s just forget it.”
Her tone was light and a little playful, but her attitude was firm. She absolutely refused to reveal Taotao’s actual birthday.
Yu Luo was a little confused.
It was one thing for Ah Ran to dodge her previous questions, but now, was she not even entitled to know a small detail like her own daughter’s birthday?
So, unlike her previous considerate silence, this time she pressed on, “As her mother, I just want to know my own daughter’s birthday. Why do you keep inserting gags and making jokes?”
“…” Ah Ran was silent for a moment, then finally let out a light laugh, a laugh so hazy it sounded a bit distorted.
“I’m sorry, Yu Luo,” she said in a low voice. “I have my own selfish reasons too.”
In the end, she still didn’t tell Yu Luo Taotao’s specific date of birth.
Sometimes Yu Luo felt that Ah Ran was like a child, with a naive clinginess and obedience, playfulness and unruliness. Yet at other times, she felt she was truly an adult, possessing a silence born from experience and a tendency to conceal as if it were something profound2, as well as a deep gentleness and tolerance.
After the incident with Taotao’s birthday, their relationship, which had been gradually becoming friendly, took a sharp downturn.
By the time of Yu Luo’s 28th birthday, they hadn’t seen or contacted each other for nearly two months.
That night, Ah Ran knocked on her door.
Knowing Yu Luo’s resistance, Ah Ran never took the initiative to come to her home. Therefore, Yu Luo was stunned for a long while when she saw “Qi Song” standing outside her door holding a cake.
The moment her eyes met Qi Song’s face, a vibrant joy and anticipation naturally surged forth.
But in the next second, she realized it was just a body occupied by another soul, and the joy was abruptly extinguished.
Amidst this emotional rollercoaster, her spirits quickly withered, shriveled, and cracked, and her attitude grew even colder.
Ah Ran didn’t mind her coldness and smiled gently at her.
“You and Qi Song once made a birthday cake for me. I thought back then that I would make one for you two in the future.”
“I never expected that when I finally had the chance to make one for you… it would be under such circumstances.” The emotions in Ah Ran’s eyes as she looked at her were thick and deep.
“Although I know you hate me right now,” Ah Ran said, “I still came over, thickening my face skin3, to bring you this cake, because I’m worried I won’t have the chance in the future.”
Yu Luo looked at the exquisite and beautiful cake, noticing a small figure resembling her had been carefully drawn on it.
“Isn’t it pretty? I practiced many times,” Ah Ran said, a childish pride appearing on her face, along with a hint of reserved expectation of being praised.
Yu Luo felt inexplicably flustered.
“What do you mean you won’t have a chance in the future?”
She asked this subconsciously, then was surprised that this was the question she cared about most.
Ah Ran was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke again, she smiled slightly, her tone carrying a frank regret and a sigh.
“Because the closer you get to Qi Song, the farther you are from me.”
—She was speaking in riddles again.
Few of the things Ah Ran said ever made sense.
Yu Luo felt a little tired of it.
She hesitated for a moment, but in the end, she gently took the cake with both hands. “Thank you. I still have to give the cub a bath, so I won’t ask you in.”
“You’ll eat it, right?” Ah Ran asked expectantly.
Yu Luo looked up at her and didn’t speak for a moment.
“…Actually, it’s fine whether you eat it or not. Even if you choose to waste my effort, I still like you very much.”
This seemed like a statement with a strange yin-yang air4, but Ah Ran said it with such sincerity, word by word, as if she truly thought that way.
Yu Luo tilted her head slightly. “Please don’t say things like that to me.”
Hearing such words from Qi Song’s body made her feel a strong sense of dissonance and unease.
Moreover, Ah Ran wouldn’t say how they would meet in the future or what their relationship would be, which made it impossible for her to get past a layer of unfamiliarity and distance. The “selfish reason” for not telling her Taotao’s birthday last time had made her harbor resentment.
“Okay.” Ah Ran’s brow drooped a little, but she still answered obediently.
“…You were the one who taught me to say things like that,” she muttered again in a low voice.
It was too faint for Yu Luo to hear clearly.
But an inexplicable feeling of distress began to well up in her heart.
That distress brewed and churned, soon becoming too strong to ignore.
She suddenly had a gut feeling—that Ah Ran, this “person” of unknown origin, might be the only one she would ever be indebted to.
So in the end, for some reason, she spoke softly and a bit awkwardly before Ah Ran left, “…I’ll eat it.”
The next second, Ah Ran’s eyes suddenly lit up.
She let out a clear “Mhm,” no longer acting as reluctant to leave as she had just a moment ago.
She turned and left briskly, her steps jaunty, humming a tuneless song.
Such joy, just because Yu Luo had verbally agreed to eat the cake she made.
Yu Luo stood there, lost in a daze for a long while.
…
Qi Song had been gone for two years.
Two years was too long. Taotao had grown from uttering simple words to speaking in smooth, complete sentences. She no longer stumbled when she ran, was completely out of diapers, and had gradually developed many self-care skills.
Meanwhile, Qi Song had vanished from the public eye, leaving only the impression and sighs of someone who was unlucky and saddled with debt, like a lamp that burned briefly and intensely before silently extinguishing.
People say it takes thirty days to form a habit, but after more than seven hundred days, Yu Luo still hadn’t gotten used to a life without Qi Song.
When she woke from a nightmare in the middle of the night, there was no one to immediately wake up with her, hold her tight, and coax her back to sleep. When she was sick and miserable, there was no one to care for her meticulously while secretly shedding tears of worry.
Or perhaps, she didn’t need all these details of being loved.
She just needed that person to exist in her life, to smile brightly at her.
That was truly all she asked for.
Sometimes, waking from a dream at midnight, Yu Luo would cling to her daughter like a lifeline, drawing strength from that warm, soft little body, repeatedly trying to drive away the increasingly heavy thought in her mind: “Qi Song might never come back.”
It wasn’t always effective. Sometimes, she would be swallowed by that thought.
It had been happening more and more frequently lately.
That morning, she was trapped in a nightmare and couldn’t wake up.
She saw herself in a gorgeous, long dress the color of spider lilies, standing alone and quiet by a giant rock on the coast of D City, with the vast, pink glow of dawn spread across the deep blue, boundless sea.
She saw Qi Song stumbling and running desperately toward her, yet always falling just short, unable to touch her no matter what.
“Jiejie, I can’t find you…” Qi Song gazed at her back, tears filling her reddened eyes.
So pained and pitiful.
Later, when Yu Luo groggily woke up, she saw Taotao beside her, crying so hard she could barely breathe, calling out, “Mommy.”
Yu Luo was instantly wide awake. She quickly pulled the cub into her arms, patting her back with a pang of heartache. “Mommy’s here.”
“Mommy wouldn’t wake up just now…” Taotao’s tears soaked the collar of her pajamas.
The tears of the Qi Song in her dream and the tears of her daughter in reality crashed and shattered in Yu Luo’s heart, creating a resounding splash.
She hadn’t cried in a very long time.
But at this moment, holding her daughter tightly, the long-suppressed emotions surged up. She couldn’t help but fall into a state of unknowing bewilderment, silently shedding tears.
They were restrained, grief-stricken, and soundless, leaving only a slight tremor in her body.
Taotao didn’t know Mommy was sad; she thought it was fear from waking up from a nightmare.
So, even with pitiful teardrops still clinging to her own eyes, she kissed Yu Luo’s cheek just as Mommy usually comforted her, clumsily coaxing, “Don’t be scared, Mommy. Taotao’s here.”
Yu Luo remained silent, letting the little milk dumpling fuss over her for a while.
She lowered her gaze to the cub in her arms, whose own clear tears were on the verge of falling, her big, red-rimmed eyes wet and full of worry.
She couldn’t help but stare blankly as she stroked Taotao’s cheek.
Our daughter is so lovely.
Qi Song, can you come back and see her?
She had thought the nightmare was just a chance occurrence, but Yu Luo found herself trapped in it more and more often.
The content was always the same as the first time.
It began with the brilliant pink dawn by the giant rock and ended with Qi Song’s devastated “I can’t find you.”
That day, waking from a nap with a throbbing headache, Yu Luo saw three missed calls from Ah Ran.
Subconsciously thinking there was a turn of events, her spirits lifted for a moment.
She quickly called back, but no one answered for a long time.
Just as she was about to hang up, the call suddenly connected. “Hello, may I ask if you are a family member of Miss Qi? Miss Qi has suddenly differentiated…”
…
On the way to the private hospital, Yu Luo gazed out the window, countless images flashing through her mind.
Sometimes it was the lingering pain from her youth, when her already precarious life completely collapsed because of her pheromone scent after she differentiated.
Sometimes it was that ordinary morning two years ago when Qi Song told her she might differentiate, and they made a casual agreement—
“If that day comes, I’ll be with you through your differentiation period.”
“It’s a promise.”
So leisurely, so matter-of-fact.
But now that the differentiation period had truly arrived, Qi Song was no longer in this body, and her companionship had therefore lost its meaning.
They had been forced to break their promise to each other once again.
Yu Luo rushed to the hospital where Ah Ran was.
Because it was a rare adult differentiation, she couldn’t go through the standard medical differentiation process and could only let her body differentiate naturally. This process could be long and difficult.
A doctor led Yu Luo to the door of a hospital room.
Yu Luo asked, “Excuse me, can I go in?”
The doctor said, “According to regulations, family members can choose to go in to accompany the patient, but Miss Qi instructed before entering the room that you should not come in. She said she was worried about hurting you.”
Inhibitors couldn’t be injected during the differentiation period. Due to an Alpha’s physiological instincts, they could pose a threat to an Omega.
Yu Luo was slightly taken aback.
She remembered Ah Ran’s jaunty back as she left after delivering the birthday cake, and a spot in her heart wrinkled slightly.
After standing there lost in thought for a moment, she turned and walked down the corridor, sitting down on a sofa in a nearby rest area.
The time for natural differentiation was too long; she waited from afternoon until sunset.
She had been having nightmares for several days in a row and was already sleep-deprived. At dusk, smelling the hospital’s disinfectant, she unexpectedly drifted off to sleep.
Dazed and chaotic.
“Jiejie…”
Beyond her messy and disordered, dark dream, a clamor suddenly arose, as if someone was running heavily down the corridor, being blocked by a group of people.
“Miss Qi, you haven’t finished differentiating, you can’t leave the room!”
“Let go of me.” The young woman’s breathing was unsteady, her voice cold.
A very familiar timbre, yet a very unfamiliar tone.
Yu Luo’s eyelashes trembled. The nightmare that had entangled her suddenly scattered, and clarity rushed in.
She opened her eyes.
Quickly turning her head toward the sound, she was caught off guard as her eyes met Qi Song’s reddened ones.
Directly.
Yu Luo’s heart trembled, and a surging numbness shot up her spine.
Time seemed to thicken in an instant, so this single glance from afar had to travel through it, stepping across heavy layers of time, across countless joys and pains, to arrive at that final mishap.
Her soul not guarding its abode5, she slowly stood up from the sofa.
The person a few meters away was staring at her without blinking.
That gaze was heavy, even carrying a hint of defensiveness and sharpness, like a small dog that had lost its master for too long and had re-armed itself, its fur standing on end with vigilance.
Qi Song had never looked at her with such a gaze.
But Yu Luo knew that the person before her was Qi Song.
Her lips trembled, her heart tightening into a knot. For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice.
“Miss Qi, your differentiation isn’t over yet…” the two doctors holding Qi Song urged with a bitter mouth and a grandmother’s heart6. “This could damage your glands, please go back to your room.”
Yu Luo’s gaze shifted down to Qi Song’s hand, which was bleeding from where she had crudely pulled out the IV needle.
Her brow furrowed slightly.
Facing Qi Song’s unfamiliar and aggressive gaze, she took a deep breath and said, gently but irresistibly:
“Qi Song, you’ll get hurt this way. Go back to the room, okay?”
Qi Song’s lips moved slightly, but she stubbornly broke free from the doctors again, standing her ground and staring intently at her.
Within those once clear and bright eyes, there now seemed to be a deep vortex, where assessment, bewilderment, suspicion, and a faint loosening churned.
It pained Yu Luo’s heart to see. She walked a few steps to stand before Qi Song, raising her hand to gently stroke the young woman’s cheek.
But Qi Song turned her head, avoiding the touch.
Yu Luo’s fingertips froze, and her eyes reddened instantly without her realizing.
She endured the suffocating feeling in her chest, pressed her lips tightly together, and her fingers moved upward insistently, touching the crown of Qi Song’s head.
Qi Song was held captive by the shimmering tears in the woman’s eyes and couldn’t dodge this time.
The moment her head was gently ruffled, she was like a captured little beast. Her whole body suddenly lost some of its strength, and her gaze inadvertently lost some of its sharpness.
This time, Yu Luo’s gentle persuasion was gone. Her fingertips pressed on the soft crown of Qi Song’s head, forcing her to lower her head slightly, compelling a hint of docility.
And in that proximity, she commanded in a deep voice:
“Go back to the room with Jiejie now. Be good.”
After speaking, she released her hand, took Qi Song’s other hand that didn’t have the IV, and led her toward the hospital room.
The two doctors stood where they were, staring with eyes wide and mouths agape as the young woman—who moments ago had been disoriented, red-eyed, muttering “Jiejie” while struggling with brute force, stumbling out of her room—was now being led back as obediently as a tamed puppy by the slender woman.
Qi Song was back in the hospital bed, and the doctor had put her on an IV drip.
She was halfway through her differentiation. Her body was hot, and her pheromones were being released in a turbulent and chaotic surge.
It should have been extremely uncomfortable.
But she tried her best to stay lucid, silently turning her head to look at Yu Luo, her gaze forcefully tracing the woman’s features.
Looking at her silhouette in the sunset, at the vivid and warm details of her skin.
Looking at the bone-deep familiarity of the gentleness and worry in those clear, beautiful eyes, as well as an unnamable sorrow and helplessness.
Her vision gradually fogged over.
She suddenly began to whimper, messily wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks, her voice trembling.
“It was all fake… I don’t even know if you’re real anymore.”
“But I miss you so much… I really, really miss you…”
She slowly curled up on the bed, covering her face and crying her heart out, as if weeping blood7.
The sharpness and defensiveness from before were completely gone, like fur standing on end that had been soaked by a sudden downpour, now all wet and limp.
So pitiful.
The author has something to say:
It’s normal to be confused right now, you’ll understand everything soon after reading what comes next.
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