Song Huai slightly furrowed his brows.
She actually followed him all the way to the library.
His expression grew colder.
Seeing his reaction, Rong Ruoyao felt a wave of relief.
She hesitated whether to greet Rong Yu, but before she could, Rong Yu walked past her with an indifferent expression and entered the library.
Rong Yu spent the entire noon in the library, only rushing back to the classroom with a stack of ten books just before class started, taking her seat.
Beside her, Ji Zhouye was chatting with his gang—apparently, they had skipped class all morning to play games at an internet café.
After a while, Chen Nian pulled out a deck of cards. "Bro Ji, come on, let’s play Landlords."
He also took out a pack of cigarettes and passed them around. Soon, three or four of them were smoking, filling the air with a hazy cloud.
Rong Yu glanced at the podium.
A young female teacher, probably in her early twenties, fresh out of college, had already run into these spoiled rich kids. Too intimidated to scold them, she pretended not to notice and continued her dull lecture.
The rest of the class seemed used to it.
Ji Zhouye held a cigarette in one hand and cards in the other, about to slam down the "King Bomb."
Then, a slender, pale hand reached over, snatched the cigarette from his fingers, and threw it to the ground. A white sneaker stepped on it, grinding it into dust.
"What the hell!" Chen Nian exclaimed. "Rong Yu, you’ve got some nerve! Bro Ji’s been tolerating you, but don’t think you can just push your luck like this!"
Rong Yu raised an eyebrow. "You have two choices: either get out, or sit quietly—no noise, no smell. Otherwise—"
She picked up a marker from Chen Nian’s desk and snapped it in half with a light flick.
Chen Nian gaped.
Then, recovering, he nudged Ji Zhouye. "Bro Ji, this girl’s really stepping all over us…"
Ji Zhouye: "…"
He knew she was insufferably arrogant.
But what could he do? He couldn’t beat her.
He slumped onto the desk. "Perfect timing, I’m sleepy anyway."
Chen Nian was stunned. "Bro Ji, you’re not actually scared of some girl, are you?"
"A real man doesn’t fight women, got it?" Ji Zhouye said coldly. "Keep yapping, and you can get out."
Rong Yu lowered her head and returned to her book.
The other troublemakers in class, seeing even the school’s top delinquent yield, didn’t dare make a sound. Some slept, others played on their phones—unprecedented silence filled the room.
The young English teacher couldn’t believe it.
If one sentence was all it took to shut them up, what had she been so afraid of all this time?
After the last class ended, Rong Yu slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed out of school, hailing a cab to Hibiscus Manor.
Ji Zhiyuan was still in a company meeting and wouldn’t be home yet, but the butler already recognized her and respectfully led her inside.
She sat by the bed. "What did the doctor say?"
The butler bowed his head. "The old master’s episodes vary—sometimes he’s unconscious for three months, other times he wakes in just three or four days. There’s no telling."
"Does it happen often?" Rong Yu pressed her lips together. "What triggers it?"
The butler remained silent.
Rong Yu didn’t push further and changed the subject. "Could you prepare dinner for me?"
If her original self had a good relationship with her family, she wouldn’t mind playing the obedient daughter.
But clearly, the Rong family didn’t need her.
Well, she didn’t want to stay with them either.
So she’d start detaching herself—beginning with meals.
After dinner, she took out a pencil and sketched a simple drawing in minutes, placing it neatly on the bedside table before settling into a chair with a book.
It was a fairytale collection from the 1930s–40s. Her gentle voice filled the room as she read, unhurried and soothing.
For a moment, the butler thought he saw the old man’s finger twitch—or was it just his imagination?
Rong Yu stayed for over half an hour before standing. "Yingbao, I’ll leave now. I’ll visit again tomorrow."
The butler escorted her out. "Miss Rong, shall I arrange a car for you?"
"No need." Rong Yu smiled. "On my way here, I noticed a bookstore nearby. I’d like to browse."
The school library’s books were outdated by years. If she wanted to know the latest advancements in mathematics, she’d have to buy recent journals.
She walked toward the bookstore, backpack in tow.
Just then, a car pulled up at the manor gates. The butler hurried to open the door. "Young Master Five."
Ji Zhouye glanced toward the bookstore.
Wasn’t that Rong Yu?
Was this woman following him?
Come to think of it, he’d also run into her at the airport a few days ago.
Could it really be coincidence?
A smirk tugged at his lips.
The butler asked, "What amuses you, Young Master?"
"None of your business." Ji Zhouye strode inside. "How’s the old man today?"
They disappeared into the manor, deep in conversation.
Rong Yu picked out dozens of journals, but when she went to pay, she realized her phone only had a few hundred yuan left—barely enough for a few books.
The Rong family was among Haicheng’s wealthy elite. Was this all they gave their eighteen-year-old daughter?
Back when she was just fourteen, she’d taken over the Rong family business, leaving with most of the family’s wealth to study abroad… She’d endured many hardships, but poverty had never been one of them.
Even after the Rong family collapsed during the war, she’d already returned as a state-protected researcher—and the matriarch of the Ji family. Money was never an issue.
Back then, the Ji family wasn’t just about commerce; their influence spanned politics, military, and academia.
And part of their foundation? Built with her wealth.
But she couldn’t exactly tell Ji Zhiyuan, "I’m your great-grandmother, wire me money."
Would he believe her?
Of course not—he’d think she was insane.
Better to wait until Yingbao woke up.
Rong Yu lingered in the bookstore for hours. By the time she left, it was past nine.
Back at the Rong residence, the family of four sat in the living room: Rong Wangtian reviewing documents, Rong Ruoyao helping Rong Qing’an with homework, and Shen Lin stepping in from the balcony after a call.
"Yaoyao," Shen Lin said, "the Ji Group just announced a major music competition. The winners get to collaborate with A-list singers on a single—this is a huge opportunity."
Rong Yu remembered now.
Rong Ruoyao was in the entertainment industry.
She’d acted as the daughter in many TV dramas as a child, then transitioned to singing with her clear voice. Though not wildly famous, she was impressive for her age.
"Here are the audition requirements: pick one of these three songs, record a video, and submit it to the judges." Shen Lin handed her a list. "‘Little Kite,’ ‘Moonlight,’ ‘Small Bridge, Flowing Water’—all nursery rhymes from the 1920s–30s. Your youthful voice gives you an edge. Choose one."
Rong Ruoyao frowned. "I’ve never heard of these."
"They’re from the Republic of China era," Shen Lin explained. "Rumor has it these were Old Master Ji’s favorites—he listened to them daily. Since he fell ill, Chairman Ji probably launched this contest to fulfill his wish."
Rong Yu froze.
These were the exact lullabies she’d sung to Yingbao whenever he fussed…
Seventy years later, he was still listening to them every day.
Yingbao must have missed her terribly.
