The rain hammered against the tin roof, the relentless pitter-patter ringing painfully in Ji Nian’s ears. Yet everyone else seemed accustomed to the noise—except for Da Gen, who noticed her discomfort. The dog let out a soft whine, shuffling closer to her, his watery eyes gazing at her with affection.
Over by the makeshift stove, Ji Tingzhou glanced their way while waiting for the instant noodles to cook. Though he said nothing, his displeasure was palpable.
Who wouldn’t be in a foul mood? Some stranger had shown up claiming to be his twin sister, looking exactly like him, and now even his dog had been stolen away.
Ji Nian, however, seemed utterly unbothered. She sat petting Da Gen while watching the three children divide a single packet of noodles.
There wasn’t much to go around—just a few oily strands, but to these kids, it might as well have been a feast. The "bowl" was nothing more than the cut-off bottom of a large Sprite bottle.
The sight twisted Ji Nian’s heart.
Shen Rushan caught her gaze and offered, "Want some? I can share."
Ji Nian waved him off. "No, really, I’m fine."
The rain outside was so loud she had to lean in to hear him.
Shen Rushan’s eyes flickered uncertainly as he licked the last traces of broth from his lips. "Why did you come to Liuxing Street?" he asked hesitantly.
He wasn’t from here either—he’d been trafficked—so he couldn’t fathom why any kid from the outside world would willingly come to a place like this.
Ji Nian looked over at Ji Tingzhou, who was calling Da Gen over to share the noodles.
"To find him."
Hearing her answer, Ji Tingzhou lifted his head, his gaze sharp as a blade. But when his eyes met hers—those eerily identical emerald-green irises—he quickly looked away, visibly unsettled.
"I see," Shen Rushan murmured.
He wasn’t sure how to feel—relieved, perhaps, that she hadn’t been forced here like him, but also inexplicably disappointed.
The downpour didn’t last long. Once the rain stopped, the three kids cleaned up, and Zhiliao and Ji Tingzhou stood, Da Gen rising with them.
From their conversation, Ji Nian gathered that this was Shen Rushan’s place. After eating, they’d each return to their own shelters.
She also noticed the deepening shadow in Zhiliao’s eyes as they prepared to leave.
The others saw it too but said nothing.
Just as they hadn’t pressed Ji Nian for details about why she’d come.
In a place like this, everyone had their own struggles. Not prying was their way of respecting unspoken wounds.
Shen Rushan, having just buried the day’s meager earnings, was about to ask Ji Nian where she planned to sleep—if she wanted to stay with him.
Not just because her combat skills made her a reassuring presence, but simply because she was Ji Tingzhou’s sister.
But before he could speak, Ji Nian casually pulled up her hood and fell into step behind Ji Tingzhou.
Both Shen Rushan and Ji Tingzhou himself seemed baffled. The latter shot her a look that clearly said, Why are you following me?
Ji Nian thought, You’re my dad—who else would I follow?
Outwardly, though, she just blinked innocently at him and asked, "Brother?"
Ji Tingzhou’s green eyes narrowed. "Don’t call me that."
"Okay, Zhouzhou," she amended smoothly.
Ji Tingzhou: "......"
After glaring at her—at that face so much like his own—he turned away with a scowl, apparently deciding to ignore her.
Ji Nian shrugged, secretly delighted.
There’s something thrilling about being able to call him ‘Zhouzhou’ to his face.
[Well, Little Zhouzhou seems harder to handle than Big Zhouzhou.]
At least the older version had been intrigued by her at first—if nothing else, her face had been a novelty.
But the younger one couldn’t care less.
Then again, this Ji Tingzhou was struggling just to survive. Maybe nothing else mattered to him right now.
Lost in thought, Ji Nian trailed behind, stepping carefully in his footprints.
Ji Tingzhou acted as if he’d forgotten about the tail behind him, leading Da Gen through a maze of alleys.
His place wasn’t far from Shen Rushan’s.
Despite the rain-soaked ground, Ji Nian didn’t step in a single puddle the entire way.
They stopped in front of a tin shack even smaller and more dilapidated than the last.
The "door" was so low they had to crouch to enter.
Ji Nian lingered outside, studying the patched-up structure, wondering if there was any way to improve it—just enough to make living here slightly less miserable.
Inside, Ji Tingzhou noticed her hesitation and thought coldly,
She’s disgusted.
She hid it well, but he could tell—this soft-skinned girl had come from a world nothing like this. The nicest place he’d ever seen belonged to the Wei family up in North Street, with their proper houses.
Ji Nian’s life had to be even better than theirs.
He thought of the way North Street residents looked at people like him—like they were rats scuttling through sewage—and lowered his lashes, expression blank.
A moment later, Ji Nian ducked inside.
The space was even more cramped than expected. Aside from a tattered bed, a pot, a basin with what might’ve been a sliver of soap, and a few well-worn plastic bottles filled with water, there was nothing.
[Looks like his birth mother isn’t around at this point.]
Once inside, she could stand straight again. Ji Nian watched as Ji Tingzhou meticulously washed his face and hands, conserving every drop.
When he finished and turned, he found Ji Nian holding a relatively clean towel, mimicking his actions as she dabbed at her own face.
Ji Tingzhou: "......"
Meeting his stare, she asked, "Where do I sleep tonight, Zhouzhou?"
No response.
She tried again. "Where do you go if you need to pee at night?"
"Can I just go on the bed?"
The younger, less composed Ji Tingzhou whipped around, eyes blazing. "Pee on the bed, and I’ll kill you."
Then, scowling, he stomped outside and pointed in a direction.
Ji Nian crouched, chin propped on her hands. "So you can talk to me."
On the bed, Da Gen—now with freshly cleaned paws—watched them for a moment before yawning and settling back down.
Ji Tingzhou looked down at Ji Nian, his gaze tracing the candlelight reflected in her eyes—those serene, jade-green pools far clearer than his own, unmistakably nurtured with tenderness and peace.
"You're lying."
"You're not my sister."
