Guan Xia finally realized that although she and Meng Lan had grown up in the same orphanage, Meng Lan's life had not been as peaceful as she had assumed.
Perhaps it was because the mother who raised Meng Lan had a different temperament. Compared to Mother Chen, Mom Geng was far less patient and gentle. She was stricter, more focused on results than the process. As a result, Meng Lan and the over twenty siblings who lived under the same roof—constantly coming and going—grew up in an environment filled with competition and rivalry.
It was about winning attention, but also about securing resources to make life a little better.
Listening to Meng Lan's account, Guan Xia was also drawn into her own memories. During her time with Meng Lan, she had occasionally heard arguments and crying from the doorway she passed through daily. But back then, she had been too preoccupied with her own future to pay much attention—or perhaps she had subconsciously ignored it.
After all, in her eyes, a mother responsible for so many children—sometimes as many as ten at once—was bound to face conflicts, even if the house was spacious at over 90 square meters. What she hadn’t expected, however, was that the competition Meng Lan had endured growing up had been deliberately stoked by others.
With a solemn expression, Guan Xia listened as Meng Lan continued, "Among all the children Mom Geng raised, I remember two or three who would regularly send letters and gifts back—anything from a single pencil to a pair of shoes or a coat. I still recall one girl who was very short-tempered and petite. After she ranked first in her final exams, an older sister sent her 50 yuan. Fifty yuan! That was the first time I’d ever seen so much money. Along with the money came a letter. I don’t know what it said—she refused to show or tell us—but I clearly remember that night, while we were weeding the vegetable garden, she said that when she grew up, she would find her birth parents. Then she’d have lots and lots of money, more than just fifty yuan."
Guan Xia paused, turning to Meng Lan. "Those letters, gifts, and money—were they sent to you individually, not to Mom Geng?"
Meng Lan nodded. "Yes. I don’t remember when it started, but as a child, every year or two, someone would come back to visit Mom Geng and talk to us younger ones. Afterward, some of us would receive letters or gifts. I got one too—just a single letter. I even wrote back carefully, but for some reason, that sister never wrote to me again."
Guan Xia instinctively exchanged a glance with Xu Nian, both sensing suspicion in each other’s eyes.
"Can you remember what the letter said?" Guan Xia pressed.
Meng Lan thought carefully before shaking her head. "It’s been too long—I was eight or nine. I vaguely recall a few lines, but not much else."
"Do you still have the letter?" Guan Xia asked.
Again, Meng Lan shook her head. "It was torn up not long after. Someone must’ve been jealous—they shredded it into tiny pieces. I tried piecing it back together, but it was impossible. I remember crying over it for days."
Then, as if struck by a thought, Meng Lan looked at Guan Xia. "Actually, I think I told you about it—when the letter arrived, and again after it was torn. Do you remember?"
At this prompt, Guan Xia strained to recall, and a hazy memory surfaced.
The next moment, the system interface activated—this time not with text, but with three spliced-together video clips, just like before.
The first clip appeared to be set in the early morning. Guan Xia walked among a group of children, with Mother Chen visible ahead, holding hands with two kids while occasionally glancing back to check on the others.
Meng Lan walked beside Guan Xia, bouncing excitedly and whispering in her ear.
In the video, Meng Lan leaned close, murmuring, "Guan Xia, Guan Xia, guess what? I got a letter yesterday! From an older sister! She even sent me a hair tie—it’s pink! Look, I’m wearing it now. Isn’t it pretty?"
At first, her voice was hushed, but her excitement grew, and she tilted her head to show off the pink bunny hair tie holding up her high ponytail.
Guan Xia heard her younger self reply in a childish, distracted tone, "Yeah, pretty."
Meng Lan, seemingly used to this, remained undeterred, still hopping happily. A few seconds later, she whispered again, "I’ve decided—when I grow up, I’ll find my parents too. Then I’ll buy tons of hair ties—red, green, yellow, a new one every day! And so many pretty dresses—princess gowns, strappy ones, way more and prettier than my sister’s!"
Young Guan Xia finally caught the odd detail. "Sister? What sister?"
Still cheerful, Meng Lan answered, "The sister who wrote to me! She’s all grown up now. She said in her letter that she found her parents, and they treat her so well. She even has a little sister and brother, and they all live together happily. That’s what I want too!"
"What letter?" young Guan Xia pressed.
Meng Lan glanced around furtively before covering her mouth and whispering, "A letter from a sister. She said I’m smart and pretty, and that my birth parents would love me if they saw me. I think so too!"
Before Guan Xia could ask more, they reached the school gates. Meng Lan giggled and dashed ahead, waving for her to follow. But young Guan Xia stayed behind, watching as Meng Lan ran off with her classmates.
The first clip ended, and the second began—this time at dusk, the setting cramped, as if hiding in bushes, with golden sunlight filtering through the leaves.
Meng Lan was still with Guan Xia, pressed close, her eyes swollen from crying. She sniffled, lips trembling, wiping tears away every so often.
In the video, little Guan Xia tried to comfort her, but little Meng Lan wasn’t soothed—instead, she burst into even louder sobs, wailing almost hysterically. Between cries, she kept repeating, "It’s too broken, it won’t come together. I tried, but it won’t fit." Meng Lan looked utterly heartbroken, her cries piercing as she mumbled the same phrases over and over. No matter how Guan Xia in the video tried to console her, nothing worked.
The second clip ended there, cutting abruptly to the third. Judging by the dim light, it was still evening, but the setting had shifted from the bushes to a room. In the footage, Guan Xia sat at a table, painstakingly attempting to piece together a pile of fragments—not just torn paper, but shreds so fine it seemed someone had ripped them apart, then shredded each piece again into countless slivers. Guan Xia tried several times but found no starting point, eventually giving up.
Yet amid the debris, a few intact characters occasionally surfaced. Some were highlighted with bright red frames by the system. Guan Xia examined them one by one, identifying the words: parents, home, joy, dress, shoes, envy.
The third clip paused for a few seconds on the system interface before vanishing swiftly.
Guan Xia instinctively fell into deep thought. Piecing together Meng Lan’s earlier words in the video, she realized something—though the letter had been torn to bits, and most of the red-framed characters were isolated, their implications were clear.
The letter, likely written for a child, had been straightforward. The circled words seemed ordinary at first glance, but upon reflection, they were precisely the kind to stir a child’s emotions and desires. No wonder, when Guan Xia recalled her childhood, her earliest memories always circled back to Meng Lan whispering in her ear about finding her birth parents. It wasn’t just Meng Lan’s instincts at play—someone had been reinforcing that longing, deepening it over time.
Guan Xia sighed heavily. The signs had been there from the beginning, but back then, she hadn’t known she’d crossed into a world fused with crime fiction. She’d never overthought it, never dug deeper.
Around her closest companions, Guan Xia never masked her emotions. Her reaction instantly clued them in.
Pang Le was the first to ask, "You really remembered?"
Meng Lan, who’d been about to speak, tensed further, waiting for Guan Xia’s reply.
Guan Xia glanced at Pang Le, then met Meng Lan’s gaze before nodding. "Yes, I did. I even recalled bits of what Meng Lan once told me about the letter’s contents. Just fragments, but it’s progress."
She saw no reason to hide details about the orphanage, so she meticulously recounted what she’d seen in the video.
Even braced for it, Meng Lan couldn’t hide her shock. "So… I wasn’t targeted just seven or eight years ago? This started when I was eight or nine?"
The more she dwelled on it, the paler she grew, until her face was nearly bloodless. Instinctively, she pressed closer to Guan Xia, practically glued to her side, as if proximity alone could steady her. Her expression eased slightly.
Guan Xia, in turn, wrapped an arm around Meng Lan’s shoulders and murmured, "Don’t be afraid. After analyzing it, I don’t think you were singled out that young. Based on what we know now, it was more like casting a wide net. You were just one of many they observed. They likely only zeroed in on you after you found your birth parents."
Meng Lan visibly calmed, pausing to think before replying, "That makes sense. Now that I focus, I remember other kids getting more letters and gifts than me—especially one girl. The short-tempered one I mentioned earlier. She was brilliant, always top three in exams, so she received the most letters, presents, even pocket money."
Zhong Xiaoyu suddenly interjected, "Do you remember her name? And Mom Geng—how did she react to all this? Did she never intervene? You said a few women visited often. Do you recall their expressions, their words?"
The barrage of questions made Meng Lan frown in concentration. After a long pause, she hesitantly shook her head. "In my memory, they didn’t visit often. I can’t recall how many there were, just that they all had long hair, wore dresses and heels, and looked polished. They’d bring Mom Geng gifts, and Mom Geng… she seemed delighted. She’d bustle around cooking, and we’d always eat well those nights. As for the letters and gifts, Mom Geng never stopped them."
She paused, then added, "Actually, I think she encouraged it. Whenever a child got a letter, Mom Geng would praise them. I was praised once too—just a pat on the cheek and a ‘you’re so clever,’ nothing more."
Xu Nian followed up with more questions.
As Guan Xia listened, she strained to recall something—Meng Lan’s mention of long hair and dresses had triggered a hazy memory.
Sure enough, seconds later, the system activated again. This time, there was no text, just another fleeting video.
Judging by the shifting perspective, Guan Xia must have been climbing stairs. On the third floor, she glimpsed a child around ten years old carrying two trash bags, opening a door. Through the crack, a slender figure came into view: dark, slightly wavy hair, a pale green dress, porcelain skin, and narrow eyes crinkled into crescent moons from laughter. The woman radiated warmth, yet something about her felt deliberately distant.
But Guan Xia, watching the video, felt no warmth. Above the woman’s head, the system had marked a glaring red frame—a clear warning.
Without a word, Guan Xia rushed to the study, grabbed a fresh sketchbook, and flipped to a blank page, her movements abrupt yet practiced. Only Meng Lan seemed startled; the others exchanged knowing glances before halting their discussion and filing into the study after her.
They crowded around as Guan Xia worked. As the figure’s features took shape under her pen, Meng Lan gasped again. "I… I think I’ve seen her."
She barely got the words out before Pang Le raised a finger to her lips. Meng Lan swallowed the rest and waited silently with the others for Guan Xia to finish.
Several months had passed, and Guan Xia had become quite skilled at her task. Before Meng Lan could even feel tired from standing, Guan Xia had already put down her pen and handed the sketchbook to Meng Lan, saying, "Take a look. Was she among the people you saw as a child?"
The moment Guan Xia finished speaking, Meng Lan nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes! I recognized her as soon as you drew her face. I definitely saw her when I was little. I wouldn’t have been able to describe her, but seeing your drawing made it feel familiar. Though I’m not sure if she’s the one who wrote me that letter—I only ever received one, and never got another after that."
At this, Zhong Xiaoyu couldn’t help but ask curiously, "Did you ever write back to her? Or did you stop after sending one letter and getting no reply?"
Meng Lan nodded firmly. "I wrote back. I remember it clearly—I sent three letters in total. In one of them, I even asked why she never responded. But unfortunately, all three letters went unanswered."
Pang Le and Zhong Xiaoyu instinctively looked puzzled, but Guan Xia seemed lost in thought, as if she had pieced something together.
Noticing her expression, Pang Le asked bluntly, "You’ve figured it out? Then tell us—why didn’t that person reply to Meng Lan? Was it because she wasn’t as good at school as that other girl?"
Guan Xia pondered for a few more seconds before shaking her head. "I don’t think so. Because Meng Lan mentioned that besides being academically strong, that girl had another defining trait—she was also very poor at studies."
After sharing this analysis, Guan Xia turned to Meng Lan and asked, "After your letter was torn up back then, besides crying to me and trying to piece it back together, did you ever try to find out who tore it and get revenge?"
Meng Lan’s expression shifted as if she’d realized something. "No. At the time, I wanted Mom Geng to help me seek justice, but she questioned all the kids, and no one admitted to it. I really wanted to find out who did it, but I didn’t dare go through other people’s things. After asking a few kids and getting nothing but denial and insults, I just let it go."
"So," Pang Le said, catching on, "Meng Lan didn’t get a second letter because she wasn’t bold or ruthless enough?"
Guan Xia nodded. "I suspect that was one of their criteria for selecting targets."
This also helped Guan Xia understand why, despite being in a similar position of observation, she had never been targeted by that criminal organization like Meng Lan had. Part of it was because Mother Chen was too good—patient, gentle, and doing her utmost to care for every child in their large household, which meant there were no major conflicts.
Another reason was that Guan Xia, with her adult soul, was naturally calm and steady. She had planned her future from the start and worked relentlessly toward it, instinctively ignoring any provocations or disputes around her. To that criminal organization, she must have seemed too passive, too lacking in aggression—making her useless for recruitment or exploitation.
Guan Xia also tried to recall whether, seven or eight years ago when Meng Lan received news about her birth parents, she had gotten any similar messages during her own college years.
But no matter how hard she searched her memories, there was nothing. Before, she might have doubted, but now, with no system interface triggered, it was clear—nothing had ever happened.
Guan Xia figured half the credit went to the personality she had always projected, and the other half to the system.
She hadn’t forgotten that without the system’s disguise, her soul would have been like a signal receiver to those criminals. The fact that she had grown up safely was largely thanks to the system.
Guan Xia decided she would never call it a "useless AI" again.
