Aunt Ping leaned in, pressing her ear against the phone receiver, her calloused hand instinctively covering her mouth as her eyes widened. She barely dared to breathe, afraid of missing even a single word.
Fangfang sat upright on the sofa, his small hands gripping the edge of the phone table. The little boy couldn’t understand the medical jargon—every technical term left him confused—until Qing Zai told him the good news:
Big Sister’s condition was improving.
Sheng Fang could hear his niece crying on the other end of the line—soft, restrained sobs.
He had never seen Qing Zai cry before. This "Blabbermouth Qing" had always claimed she never shed tears.
Fangfang stopped sitting so properly, swinging his short legs over the sofa. In his sweet, childish voice, he said, "Don’t cry, okay? Wipe your tears yourself."
"You’ll turn into a little mess!"
That was what Qing Zai had told him when he cried before they parted.
Now, Fangfang was comforting her the same way, looking down at his tiny hands. What a shame—he couldn’t help wipe her tears.
By the time the call ended, Fangfang could finally hang up with relief. The little elder let out a long sigh, as if expelling all the worry he’d carried these past few days.
At last, Fangfang had waited through the surgery. Such a small child should be asleep by now.
Ever since coming to this household to care for Zhu Qing and the young master, Aunt Ping often found herself moved to tears. This time was no different. The old-fashioned woman dabbed at her eyes with a neatly folded handkerchief, her brows furrowing tightly before relaxing again.
"Young Master, your big sister’s surgery went smoothly."
"She’ll wake up for sure!"
Fangfang’s little face was cupped in Aunt Ping’s hands.
He blinked. "I know."
These past few days, Sheng Fang had been weighed down with endless worries.
Fangfang fretted over Qing Zai, alone at the hospital… Just like when he first started kindergarten, left in an unfamiliar place, needing company, longing for home.
As for whether Big Sister would wake up—
Fangfang had never doubted it, not even for a second.
He had been waiting for this day all along.
Aunt Ping carried on as usual, meticulously fulfilling her duties.
She wrung out a towel, tested the water temperature, and even squeezed toothpaste onto the brush. "Young Master, time to wash up."
"I can do things myself!" Fangfang pouted, hands on his hips. "Aunt Ping!"
"Oh, I forgot…"
As he washed his face and brushed his teeth, Fangfang hummed a nursery rhyme, swaying his head side to side. Innocent and oblivious, the child had no idea what life-and-death ordeal Sheng Peirong had endured in the operating room. All he knew was that they had received very, very good news.
Even as he was tucked into bed, Fangfang kept singing.
Aunt Ping, having covered the young master snugly, suddenly remembered his schoolbag still needed packing and hurried to the living room. Ever since Sheng Fang started kindergarten, a silent tug-of-war had played out between them.
Fangfang always tried to stuff his bag full of toys, while Aunt Ping made it her daily mission to secretly remove them.
The little rascal was probably testing his luck, hoping she’d forget to check one day so he could succeed. But as the young master himself would say—she was no foolish Aunt Ping!
Moving quietly, she reached into the small backpack and, sure enough, found today’s hidden treasures.
She guessed that in the children’s room, Fangfang was still amusing himself.
Even under the covers, the young master never stayed still, tossing and turning as he played.
It had been like this for a while now.
Before, even if Zhu Qing couldn’t tuck him in every night, just knowing his niece would come home no matter how late had been enough for Fangfang to sleep soundly. But now, after five days… He missed her so much he could only wear himself out by rolling around until exhaustion took over.
Aunt Ping’s heart ached, wondering if he was lying there now with those big, dewy eyes—
"Young Master." She gently pushed open the slightly ajar door to the children’s room.
The little troublemaker had wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, only his fluffy head peeking out.
"Aunt Ping, look—I’m a mummy!"
Fangfang’s eyes sparkled like they were filled with stars.
Who said children understood nothing?
Today, he was too happy to even miss Qing Zai. After all, she’d be back soon.
…
At 3 p.m. Berlin time, the operating room lights finally dimmed.
The lead surgeon removed his mask and said to Zhu Qing in accented English, "The surgery was a success."
His voice was hoarse but firm.
Zhu Qing’s tense nerves finally relaxed, though she could still hear her own pounding heartbeat.
Following critical care transfer protocols, the attending physician from China meticulously reviewed the medical records, checking every data point. Nurse Dai, who knew Sheng Peirong intimately, steadied Zhu Qing’s trembling arm, her eyes glistening with joyful tears.
"All indicators are within normal range."
"It worked—it really worked!"
"I think… the patient fought hard during the surgery, fighting to survive… Now, it’s all worth it!"
Against a mere 30% success rate, Sheng Peirong had pulled through.
Only then did Zhu Qing realize that waiting for a loved one in surgery was a hundred times more agonizing than staking out the most elusive suspect. Those hours had consumed her completely, making her forget the passage of time.
Postoperative care for long-term coma patients remained high-risk, and today’s visitation window was just twenty minutes. Clad in sterile gowns, Zhu Qing sat by the bedside.
"Why isn’t she waking up?" she whispered. "Is something wrong?"
The nurse adjusting the IV drip explained that for cases like Sheng Peirong’s, it typically took over ten hours post-surgery to regain consciousness—this was normal.
After visitation ended, Zhu Qing pressed her face close to the ICU’s glass window. The Ultraman toy in her grip had been squeezed flat. If Fangfang knew his prized possession was being treated this way, he’d be heartbroken.
Time ticked by, the world settling into quiet.
Zhu Qing remained on the bench outside the ICU.
Like a startled bird, she didn’t want to miss even the slightest twitch of her mother’s fingers.
Was that a sign of awareness? Or just the tremble of medical tubes?
Her cell phone suddenly buzzed.
Her gaze stayed glued to the hospital bed behind the glass until a nurse’s gesture snapped her back to reality.
Zhu Qing answered the call, walking toward the slanted window at the corridor’s end.
Cheng Xinglang’s voice traveled across 7,000 kilometers, steady and reassuring.
Leaning against the window, Zhu Qing closed her tired eyes and rubbed them. "Everything went smoothly."
"It was her strong will to live that carried her through."
Her mother must have been waiting for something…
Perhaps this very moment—reuniting with her daughter.
"Patients are stronger than we imagine." Cheng Xinglang paused, his tone softening. "Have you eaten?"
Zhu Qing looked out the window.
She hadn’t noticed the hours slipping by—from dawn until the sun dipped below the horizon, nor had she noticed the snow beginning to fall over Berlin in the evening.
She tightened the warm scarf around her neck and shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. "Yes, I know," she added.
This phone call finally eased the weight in her chest.
Because for the first time, someone had assured her—this wasn’t a dream.
A miracle had truly happened.
When she hung up, the screen showed that it was 3:05 AM back home.
Zhu Qing stared at the call log for a long time, until the screen dimmed on its own.
Does Dr. Cheng never sleep?
...
That night felt endless, especially since it was so critical.
Family members weren’t allowed to stay overnight in the ICU, so Zhu Qing had to return to her room. Her body was exhausted, but her mind remained unnervingly clear, like a machine pushed beyond its limits—until dawn finally broke.
Fifteen hours after the surgery, Zhu Qing received a call from Fangfang.
The little one had wanted to call her the moment he woke up, but after counting the time difference on his fingers, he realized it was the middle of the night in Berlin. Not wanting to disturb her, he reluctantly put the receiver down.
"Good morning! I’m at school—this is the principal’s office phone."
"Qing Zai, Qing Zai, how’s Big Sister? Is she awake yet?"
"Did you get any rest?"
His voice was brimming with energy, like the warm sunlight outside melting the night’s snowfall.
Zhu Qing thought of how he always rushed toward her like a little rocket. If only Fangfang really were a rocket—he’d shoot through the sky and land at Berlin Airport in an instant, keeping her company as she waited.
Finally, visiting hours arrived, and today she could stay longer in the ICU.
Zhu Qing sat by the bedside, murmuring endlessly to her mother.
All the unspoken thoughts, the loneliness of growing up alone—now poured out in quiet whispers.
Only then did she realize she had so much to say.
"When you wake up, we’ll talk properly, okay?"
She held Sheng Peirong’s hand, her voice growing softer, eyelids growing heavy.
As drowsiness overtook her, she thought of Fangfang—how the little chatterbox would always tell stories until he lulled himself to sleep. Now, she was the one resting her head by her mother’s bedside, like an exhausted child.
Zhu Qing was usually alert, but this dream was so gentle it disarmed her completely.
In the dream, she was a little girl by Victoria Harbour, her parents’ loving gazes warmer than sunlight. The dark sky lit up with fireworks, and when she turned, they were just like any ordinary parents who adored their child—resting their hands on her small shoulders, pointing at the dazzling night sky.
So happy. So real.
She reached out, trying to catch the fleeting sparks, only for her fingers to be enveloped by a pair of warm hands.
Zhu Qing jolted awake, lifting her head.
Her mother, still asleep, had squeezed her hand in return.
It was the first response Sheng Peirong had given her.
She didn’t know how much longer she waited—until finally, the moment came.
Her mother’s eyes fluttered open, her blurred gaze slowly focusing.
At last, they settled on the face that had been waiting for her all this time.
...
Little Sheng Fang had been in high spirits all day. When the school bell chimed, he skipped out, swinging his backpack straps with both hands.
Then, he froze mid-step.
Across the street, under a plane tree, a sleek black car was parked.
A middle-aged man in a crisp suit leaned against it. Spotting Fangfang, he smiled and beckoned him over.
Fangfang wasn’t some naive three-year-old—he’d taken safety classes.
So instead, he raised his chubby little hand and waved back, signaling for the man to come to him.
"Still remember me?" The man took a few steps closer. "We used to see each other often."
"Uncle Pei," Fangfang said in his childish voice.
He recognized him—Uncle Pei had come over for dinner before.
When his older sister had first been reunited with the family, they’d gathered at the hillside villa to hear their father’s will. Uncle Pei’s name had been mentioned, the lawyer emphasizing it.
But what exactly the will said, Sheng Fang couldn’t recall anymore.
A glint flashed in Pei Junyi’s eyes. "Clever boy."
He studied the child, his thoughts drifting back months.
Sheng Wenchang’s death had been too sudden—no one expected the illustrious jewelry tycoon to perish in a plane crash. During his lifetime, the old man had only trusted a handful of confidants. His second daughter, Sheng Peishan, had no head for business, and her husband, Chen Chaosheng, was openly ambitious… Yet when the will was read, even Pei Junyi was stunned—the old man had appointed him to oversee the group until the young master came of age.
By the time Pei Junyi saw the will, Sheng Peishan had already been arrested for murder, and Chen Chaosheng was dead.
In a handwritten letter attached to the will, Sheng Wenchang had scrawled that Pei Junyi was the one he trusted most on the board. His eldest daughter, Sheng Peirong, was in no state to manage the company after her husband’s sudden death, so Pei Junyi would act as interim steward.
But Pei Junyi couldn’t shake his suspicions.
Sheng Peirong had left the family years ago, vanishing without a trace. Then, just last week, at a social event, a friend in the medical field mentioned an unusual case at the Canossa Sanatorium—a patient surnamed Sheng.
If Sheng Peirong was being hidden so carefully, things couldn’t be as simple as they seemed.
Now, standing before him was the so-called future heir of the Sheng family.
All of three and a half years old.
If Sheng Peirong was truly incapable of returning, why should he let Sheng Wenchang’s scheme play out?
If the Sheng family had no one left to inherit, who could blame him?
Pei Junyi bent down. "Tell me, have you seen your older sister recently?"
"Of course."
"How is she? I need you to pass on a message—there are some documents at the company that require her attention."
Fangfang tilted his head. "You came to see a kid without bringing candy or toys?"
Pei Junyi’s smile stiffened. "Next time… next time, I’ll bring some. But right now, that’s not the point. What I asked was—"
Fangfang hadn’t stepped beyond the school gate.
In the blink of an eye, he scampered back to the security booth, cupping his hands around his mouth. "There’s a bad man trying to kidnap me!"
What followed was Pei Junyi being held up by the guards.
Frustrated and humiliated, he spent ages explaining himself, his face turning beet red, but whether they didn’t understand or simply didn’t believe him, it was a complete waste of time.
When Teacher Ji rushed out after the internal call, she nearly laughed out loud.
It seemed the extra safety education lessons had been thoroughly absorbed by the little one.
"Wait—don't go yet." Pei Junyi, held back by the security guard, raised his voice at Sheng Fang's retreating figure. "At least give me your contact details? Do you know where your eldest sister lives?"
Fangfang turned around, sticking out her tongue in a playful taunt.
"Sir, please present your identification and guardian authorization documents. Otherwise, we’ll have to alert the authorities immediately."
Pei Junyi’s expression darkened.
This child understood nothing, treating it all like some silly game. What he needed was information about Sheng Peirong!
Little Fangfang had already climbed onto the school bus, shaping her tiny hand into a mock gun.
"Bang!" The child blew on her fingertips like a gunslinger and holstered her imaginary weapon.
From her seat, Fangfang tilted her chin up defiantly—
Think you can cause trouble? My family’s got plenty of people!
......
Sheng Peirong slowly opened her eyes.
This wasn’t the sharp, decisive gaze from negotiation tables, nor the hollow despair of a mother who’d lost her daughter before slipping into unconsciousness. She was awake, yet nothing like the dramatic awakenings portrayed in films. Her vision swam, disoriented, struggling to make sense of her surroundings. She wasn’t fully lucid yet.
Zhu Qing was about to speak when Nurse Dai gently caught her wrist.
"Don’t rush," Nurse Dai murmured, shaking her head. "It could overwhelm her."
The doctors meticulously checked every monitor, verified the data, and only after confirming her vitals were stable did they finally transfer her out of the ICU.
The hospital room bore traces of Zhu Qing’s vigil—a Ultraman plush tucked under the cot’s blanket, a scarf curled at the foot of the bed, a discarded jacket draped over the chair, and half a forgotten sandwich on the nightstand.
Sheng Peirong’s gaze drifted over these fragments before settling on Nurse Dai’s face. Her lips curved into a faint, exhausted smile.
"Do you recognize me?" Nurse Dai leaned in softly.
A seasoned nurse at Jianuo’an Sanatorium, Nurse Dai had tended to Sheng Peirong’s room from the beginning. Day after day, she’d watched Sheng Peirong’s health deteriorate until hope seemed lost. Now, witnessing this turnaround, even Nurse Dai’s eyes glistened.
For medical staff, this was the moment they worked for.
Sheng Peirong nodded, her chapped lips parting soundlessly.
She recognized this nurse who’d gently washed her face at dawn, and she remembered the sterile hospital scent. But time had fractured for her—waking up felt like stepping into a disorienting haze.
Years of coma weren’t just a footnote, as novels might gloss over. Sheng Peirong was still a patient, her movements sluggish as if moving through syrup. When her eyes met Zhu Qing’s, there was only polite detachment, as if acknowledging another dutiful caregiver.
Nurse Dai drew Zhu Qing into the hallway, explaining in hushed tones. Post-coma patients often experienced cognitive disarray; some even believed they’d only been out for days.
Sheng Peirong’s memories needed time to reassemble. This transitional phase was delicate—every day mattered, but patience was crucial.
So Zhu Qing waited quietly.
She adjusted blankets, assisted with tests, steadied her mother during short walks, and handed her water with a straw when strength faltered.
She didn’t dare say much. Just being here was a gift.
Then, on the fifth day of awakening—
Sheng Peirong roused from a nap as if emerging from fog.
Her fingers lifted slightly, hovering midair.
Suddenly, like dawn breaking, her trembling fingertips brushed Zhu Qing’s cheek—as if afraid the touch might shatter an illusion.
"You’re..."
Zhu Qing held her breath, not even blinking.
Sheng Peirong’s fingers quivered, her eyes reddening.
"You’re Coco, aren’t you?"
No heirlooms, no matching features, no birthmarks to confirm it.
Only because she was her daughter.
A mother, purely and unconditionally...
Recognizing her child.
......
In the days that followed, Nurse Dai guided Sheng Peirong’s reacquaintance with the world—gentle and methodical.
The calendar’s numbers told her what year it was, but time remained gauzy, her thoughts wading through molasses.
Coco had grown so much.
Tears welled as Sheng Peirong drew her daughter into an embrace.
Her fingers traced the girl’s brow, confirming a miracle—she’d missed so much.
Only the steady beep of monitors filled the room. No words were needed.
Sheng Peirong studied Coco intently, her memories still fragmented, blurred.
Yet, guided by instinct alone, she knew.
Nurse Dai lingered outside, giving them space.
She remembered Sheng Peirong’s desperate search years ago—the once-formidable heiress reduced to rummaging through luggage seams, finding not a single photo of her girl. Later, a college student brought news, and Sheng Peirong had clutched that moss-green notebook like a lifeline.
She also recalled Zhu Qing’s first visit: hesitant at the doorway, perched stiffly on the chair, hands knotted. It was Coco’s uncle who’d animatedly cried "Eldest Sister!" as if staging a belated reunion. Coco herself had stayed silent, words stuck in her throat.
But now, sunlight spilled across the hospital bed, gilding it in gold.
Zhu Qing peeled an apple, the skin spiraling unevenly downward.
Sheng Peirong’s hands still lacked coordination, her fingers trembling as she reached. "Let me try."
They fumbled together, the knife hiccuping along the fruit’s surface, leaving it lumpy and scarred.
Mother and daughter stared at the mangled apple, then at each other—and burst out laughing.
Suddenly, the sunlight streaming through the window seemed dazzling.
Zhu Qing laughed until her eyes stung, hastily ducking her head.
As she gathered the scattered peels, her shoulders shook.
She thought: So this is what it’s like...
To have a mother again—
To feel like a child, with all the vulnerability that brings.
......
This was the fifth day of Sheng Peirong’s awakening.
Mother and daughter stayed inseparable, navigating the postoperative period side by side.
Sheng Peirong’s eyes followed Zhu Qing’s every move, as if afraid she might vanish.
Every time Zhu Qing turned around inadvertently, she would inevitably meet her mother's gaze. Those eyes held too many emotions—the fear of something precious regained, the terror that with one blink, she might disappear again.
Zhu Qing didn't know how she had been cherished as an infant. Had Sheng Peirong been like this back then? But later, she vanished. In those days before her collapse, Sheng Peirong neither ate nor slept, obsessively chasing every possible lead until her body finally rebelled.
How desperate and heartbroken she must have been to push herself to such a state.
"Coco," Sheng Peirong said softly, "can you tell me about your childhood?"
She wanted to know—how Coco had grown up, how she had taken each step that eventually led her back.
So much had happened recently—the upheaval in the Sheng family, the weight of the past...
Zhu Qing hadn’t mentioned a word of it.
But it was alright. They had time. They could take it slow.
Right now, the most important thing was for Sheng Peirong to rest and recover.
As for Fangfang... He was born after Sheng Peirong fell into a coma, and this adorable little boy had a way of melting away all sorrow.
Zhu Qing hadn’t yet shared this surprise with her mother. She imagined the soft, chubby little bundle throwing himself into his eldest sister’s arms, and her lips curled into an unconscious smile.
Late at night, Zhu Qing still found it hard to believe how beautifully things had unfolded. Lying on the cot beside her mother’s hospital bed, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Then, in the darkness, came a faint rustling sound.
She cracked her eyes open just enough to see Sheng Peirong struggling to lean forward, her trembling fingers carefully tugging at Zhu Qing’s blanket, pulling it up bit by bit.
Such a simple action, yet so difficult for Sheng Peirong now—she could barely stand on her own.
Zhu Qing pretended to stay asleep, letting those warm hands clumsily tuck her in.
So this was what it felt like to be loved by a mother—silent, yet so tender.
In the days they spent together, every minute, every second, felt lighter, brighter.
When Zhu Qing asked if Sheng Peirong had heard her voice during her coma, her mother thought carefully before shaking her head.
In that moment, Zhu Qing saw the flicker of heartache in her mother’s eyes.
And so, Sheng Peirong began making up for lost time in the smallest, most delicate ways.
She could stand with support now, though she still needed the wheelchair. But Sheng Peirong pushed herself, determined to walk three minutes longer each time. Her resilience, that unyielding spirit, left even the doctors astonished at her recovery.
Rehabilitation had only just begun, and the road ahead might be tough.
But Sheng Peirong clenched her teeth, her gaze steady, ready to face every challenge.
One rainy evening, as Sheng Peirong watched pigeons sheltering outside the window, she suddenly asked in a quiet voice, "Where is Zhaoqian?"
Zhu Qing’s hand, stirring a bowl of warm congee, stilled.
"Coco, where is your father?"
Under her daughter’s hesitant gaze, Sheng Peirong fell silent.
Her eyes drifted to the bedside table. Once the undisputed heir and decision-maker of the Sheng family, how could someone as sharp as her not have noticed? When she’d first been moved from the ICU, a photo of her and her husband had still been there. Now, it was gone.
Zhu Qing set down the bowl and took her mother’s hand. "Let me take you home."
The home that was always waiting for them.
Warm lights, childish laughter... Fangfang must be getting impatient.
Sheng Peirong’s gaze lingered on the empty bedside table before finally settling on her daughter’s determined expression.
She asked nothing more, simply squeezing that hand gently in return. "Alright. Let’s go home."
...
Every day, little Sheng Fang would poke at the numbers on the calendar with his tiny fingers.
One day, two days, three days... He counted diligently, waiting a full fourteen days.
Morning and night, he waited—even the flowers seemed to wilt with anticipation—
Finally, the message came from Zhu Qing: their flight home was confirmed!
Fangfang nearly bounced straight to the ceiling in excitement.
"Qing Zai is bringing Big Sister home!"
Calculating the flight’s arrival time, he curled up on the sofa before bedtime, clutching the phone as he called Teacher Ji.
"Teacher Ji, I’m not coming to school tomorrow! My niece is coming home!"
"And Big Sister too!"
"They’re already on the plane back—"
Every word from Fangfang’s lips rose in a cheerful lilt, as if he were riding a rollercoaster straight to a celebration.
He was the happiest little boy in the world, practically glowing with pride, his round little head bobbing as he twirled the phone cord around his finger.
He wanted everyone to know the good news.
Aunt Ping quickly took the phone, apologizing to the amused Teacher Ji while sighing inwardly.
Ever since she’d started looking after the young master full-time, she’d had to paste on countless smiles.
Just yesterday, after school, Fangfang had pressed his face against the fruit shop counter, eyes wide as he asked the owner, "Can I try some?"
The owner, charmed, happily obliged.
The little rascal devoured seven cherries, patted his round belly in satisfaction, and waved—
"I’m full now, bye-bye!"
Aunt Ping had to drag him back, forcing him to buy the fruit first. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and she didn’t know where to hide her face.
Now, after explaining to the teacher and securing his leave, she hung up and turned to find the little lord treating the plush sofa like a trampoline.
"Young Master, if you keep this up..." Aunt Ping chuckled, "Big Sister might just scold you."
Fangfang, mid-bounce, paused and turned his head. "Is Big Sister scary?"
Before Aunt Ping could answer, he was already bouncing again. "It’s fine! Qing Zai will back me up."
Besides, Big Sister was coming home to dote on them, wasn’t she?
After finally coaxing the overexcited child into bed, Aunt Ping hurried to the kitchen.
Pulling out a new recipe book, she planned tomorrow’s soup. Another person to nourish now. A proper slow-cooked broth needed at least seven hours. She remembered—Big Sister had always loved her soups.
Ten years. Big Sister had left the Sheng family for ten years. Back then, Aunt Ping had only heard she lived in Shek O. Who would’ve guessed the old master had kept it so secret? All this time, she’d been in a care facility.
For so many years, Big Sister hadn’t tasted her cooking.
The thought made Aunt Ping suddenly nervous. She turned the faucet back on, scrubbing her hands over and over.
Lost in thought, a soft voice called from the children’s room.
"Aunt Ping, I can’t sleep!"
But how long could a child’s insomnia last?
By the time Aunt Ping finished in the kitchen and rushed over—
"Coming, coming!"
—the young master’s "insomnia" had lasted all of fifteen minutes.
Now, he was curled up with his stuffed toy, fast asleep, tiny snores escaping his lips.
Aunt Ping tucked the blanket around him, her hand brushing over the child’s tender face.
"Sleep well. Tomorrow, you’ll get to see the young mistress and Qing Zai."
Fangfang went to bed early and woke up even earlier.
Already dressed and ready, he darted around the house like a little spinning top, urging Aunt Ping to hurry.
The medical charter plane would be landing soon.
In a little while, he and Aunt Ping would set off for Kai Tak Airport.
Fangfang pressed a small hand to his chest, feeling his heart thump wildly.
He was so excited.
Would his big sister recognize him?
He’d have to introduce himself properly!
And—
A nephew should always dote on his niece. Fangfang missed Qing Zai so much—he wondered if she’d been eating well.
In the kitchen, Aunt Ping was putting the final touches on her preparations.
The soup pot on the stove bubbled softly, and she checked the heat again and again, afraid of the slightest mistake.
Seizing the moment, she gave the house one last inspection, tidying every room meticulously.
It was only then that Sheng Fang noticed their home had just three bedrooms—but four people!
Aunt Ping had already changed the sheets in the room she was temporarily using and neatly arranged the young master’s toys on the sofa.
Naturally, she would make do in the living room first—it was her duty, and the proper way. As for later arrangements, they’d have to wait for the young mistress and Qing Zai to decide.
Fangfang scurried about, though no one quite knew what he was busy with.
When he emerged again, he saw Aunt Ping tidying up by the sofa and tilted his head thoughtfully.
"This Qing Zai," the little elder sighed with disapproval, "never plans ahead."
When buying the house, Qing Zai had always insisted on something small… but how would they all fit?
Looks like they’d have to buy a villa—again!
The wind on the tarmac tousled Fangfang’s hair.
Standing on tiptoe, he stared unblinkingly at the distant runway.
Sheng Fang had come to Kai Tak Airport with Aunt Ping and Dean Luo, and due to special medical circumstances, he was permitted onto the tarmac.
After a long wait, the medical charter plane’s stairs slowly descended.
The moment the cabin door fully opened, Fangfang’s eyes lit up.
Closer, closer…
"Qing Zai! Qing Zai!"
Zhu Qing heard Sheng Fang’s bright, cheerful voice calling out to her.
Spring.
After such a long separation, she was finally coming home.
And this time, she was bringing her mother back with her.
Zhu Qing pushed the wheelchair out of the cabin, carefully draping a coat over her mother’s shoulders.
The warm Hong Kong sunlight spilled over Fangfang’s eager little face, his smile already radiant as he rushed forward without hesitation.
Zhu Qing crouched down and spread her arms—
"Thud!"
Fangfang crashed solidly into her embrace.
He nestled against his niece like a pitiful little thing, but before he could finish clinging to her, his curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked at the figure in the wheelchair.
On the other side, Aunt Ping trembled as she took Sheng Peirong’s hand, suddenly choked up.
Sheng Peirong’s eyes also welled with tears. "Aunt Ping…"
As she spoke, her gaze fell on Sheng Fang, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.
Zhu Qing gently turned Fangfang toward her mother. "This is—"
"Nice to meet you," Fangfang straightened his little posture and extended a chubby hand. "From now on, we’re real siblings!"
