◎Quit◎
What’s so hard about eating a little cookie?
Yet Lan Xu still swallowed hard with difficulty. He rarely got to eat cookies—Mom said he couldn’t grow too fat, because no one likes chubby kids. So he wasn’t allowed snacks, only some truly awful-tasting stuff.
So he could only lower his head and admit, "I can’t do this."
"Uncle System, you’re so smart!" Little Le Jia was instantly in awe, practically worshipping the system.
No one could leave Auntie’s cookies with a smile, after all!
He unwrapped a cookie and popped it into his mouth without batting an eye. "Then how can you say you can do everything?"
Now it didn’t even taste that bad anymore.
The crisp crunch-crunch sounds made Lan Xu’s heart itch with longing.
Did this little brother really have teeth that good? Were the cookies really that crispy?
The desire in his eyes was practically dripping from the corners of his mouth.
[If only I could have just one… But Mom would punish me. I don’t want to go through those classes again—so tired, just want to sleep.]
This time, it was Little Sister Treasure’s turn to be shocked.
This big brother was so pitiful! His mom wouldn’t even let him eat these terrible cookies! And she wouldn’t let him sleep either.
This mom was just like the mean auntie from before!
That mean auntie wouldn’t even let her and big brother go to class.
Blinking her big eyes, she whispered to her brother. Meanwhile, Lan Qian was getting a headache from these two kids who refused to play by the rules. "What’s with the cookies? We’re talking about talents—what kind of talent is eating cookies?"
"Why wouldn’t it count?" Though a little annoyed that the kids had turned her cookies into some kind of challenge, Le Qing still stood firmly on their side. "If my kids say it counts, then it counts."
Lan Qian covered her mouth with a laugh. "Are you going to perform cookie-eating for the director later or something?"
"Are you the director?" Le Qing shot back.
"No."
"Did the director give you the test questions in advance?"
"No."
Le Qing pulled her two kids close and smiled faintly. "Then how do you know it’s not?"
Lan Qian had assumed Le Qing was just some small-time influencer with no real experience, but she hadn’t expected her to be so sharp-tongued without even raising her voice.
"I was just trying to help," Lan Qian said, lifting her chin with the pride of a seasoned model. "Kids these days have it so competitive. You can’t just let your children fall behind from the start. You might not care as an adult, but haven’t you thought about how they’ll feel when they compare themselves to their peers? You have to consider their feelings—you can’t just think about yourself."
"You’ve got all the lines covered," Le Qing replied, her expression unchanging. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in charge of enrollment for a tutoring agency."
"Why won’t you listen to reason?"
Le Qing truly didn’t understand where these people got their superiority from. Normally, she wouldn’t even bother engaging, but they always dragged the kids into it.
"What counts as ‘reason’?" she asked. "Is it ‘reason’ to subtly belittle my children?"
She stood up, ready to take the two little ones somewhere else to relax before their mood was ruined. "Don’t overreach."
The two kids held hands, whispering to each other, still confused. "The auntie is wrong—we’re not sad at all!"
They were having the best time every day now!
"Fine, consider it me meddling." These three were impossible to get through to. Lan Qian wasn’t about to push further—after all, she’d already figured out these two kids had nothing but their looks going for them. No performance experience, no real competition.
She scoffed. "Ungrateful. No wonder they’re raised like this."
Though the kids didn’t fully grasp the argument between the adults, they could tell this auntie didn’t like their auntie one bit.
Kids were sensitive like that.
Little Le Jia had always been fiercely protective, especially now that his family was just his little sister and auntie. Auntie had been good to him, so he’d repay that kindness.
So after hearing the auntie’s words, he let go of his sister’s hand and walked right up to her. "Auntie, does being good at performing make you happy?"
Lan Qian glanced down at him, haughty. "Of course."
"Then why isn’t big brother happy?"
"What big brother?"
"This one." Little Le Jia pointed at Lan Xu. "He performed, but he’s not happy."
Lan Qian couldn’t help leaning down slightly, glaring. "Don’t spout nonsense. He’s talented in so many things—why wouldn’t he be happy?"
"But big brother isn’t happy," Little Le Jia insisted firmly. "He hasn’t smiled once."
Lan Qian turned. "Xu Xu, aren’t you happy?"
Little Lan Xu flinched under his mother’s sharp gaze, only daring to shake his head slightly. "I am happy."
"See?"
"Big brother is lying too." Little Le An peeked out from behind her brother, holding out the bag of cookies. "Do you want some, big brother?"
Lan Xu’s eyes darted down in panic, refusing to look.
No matter how hard a child that young tried to hide their feelings, the traces were still there.
"Auntie says if something feels bad, you have to say it," Little Le Jia said, now even more convinced this big brother was suffering under a bad mom. Kids had to help kids. "Otherwise, people will keep bullying you."
If something feels bad… you can say it?
Lan Xu was utterly lost.
Ever since Mom took him back, she’d never let him complain about being tired or in pain. In public, he had to smile and be polite—Mom said it was non-negotiable.
So he’d never dared to speak up.
But… how could Mom be bullying him?
"What nonsense is your kid filling my son’s head with?" Lan Qian stood up furiously. "Is this how you raise children? Just because you’ve got some followers doesn’t mean you can run your mouth. Who do you think you are?"
Le Qing gave her a calm look. "Why so defensive?"
Then she crouched down. "Why did you say that about big brother?"
The system in the little one’s mind sighed deeply. Every day, it had to scramble to clean up the mess these two kids kept making by almost spilling its existence. It guided carefully, "Don’t tell Auntie you can see me. Just repeat what I say, okay?"
Little Le Jia obediently parroted the system’s words: "When little sister is happy, she says it right away and smiles. But big brother doesn’t. Big brother doesn’t look at us when answering, and he’s scared to look at his mom. He stares at the cookies and swallows, but when we ask if he wants one, he looks down again. Little sister used to do that too when she was hungry but said she wasn’t."
He took a deep breath—Uncle System’s words were so many! He was out of air!
"When the auntie wasn’t making big brother perform, she ignored him. Big brother sat there all alone, so tired he was dozing off, but the auntie didn’t even look at him. She only paid attention when she wanted him to perform for us."
"Big brother said he couldn’t eat cookies, but he was scared. Why would he be scared of his own mom? Is eating cookies something bad?"
By the time he finished, Little Le Jia was rubbing his throat, exhausted.
Little Sister Treasure quickly patted his back—being a brave little man was hard work.
Not just Lan Qian, but even Le Qing was momentarily stunned by the detailed rundown.
Does a three-year-old really have such clear logical and verbal abilities?
And judging by his words, he's been observing his surroundings ever since arriving here?
Is this yet another sign of his genius?
"It's clearly Auntie's child who's unhappy," Little Le Jia straightened his posture. "Why say 'we'? We're very happy with Auntie!"
Lan Qian found herself speechless for the first time, stunned by a three-year-old. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to turn around and check if her son was really as the child described or to argue back.
"Alright, alright," her manager intervened, sensing the tension. "Let’s all calm down. The audition is about to start—let the children rest."
She didn’t know about other families, but the manager knew Lan Qian’s temperament all too well.
If the child said Lan Xu was exhausted and sleepy, it was probably true—though of course, she couldn’t admit it.
With the manager’s mediation, Lan Qian finally regained her composure, nearly losing her cool in public. "We won’t argue with a child."
Little Le Jia asked System Uncle, "What does 'argue' mean?"
"It means not holding your mistakes against you."
"No~" Little Le Jia pouted, tugging his aunt’s hand forward. "I’ll argue with the adult! You need to apologize to Auntie."
Lan Qian scoffed, pointing at herself. "Me? Why should I?"
"Auntie taught me and my sister well," Little Le Jia frowned. "If you’re wrong, you should apologize."
"Yeah, yeah!" Little Le An peeked out from behind her brother, her tone fierce. "Mind your own business!"
Le Qing found the phrasing oddly familiar. She lowered her gaze. "Where did you learn that?"
"Auntie said it!" Little Le An declared proudly. "An-an saw it on the phone!"
It was from a clip of their aunt scolding that mean lady—something she’d secretly memorized after watching it with her brother.
Le Qing couldn’t help but laugh, pulling both protective little ones close. "Auntie doesn’t need an apology. Let’s go."
"Why?"
"I know!" Le An, Auntie’s number one fan, chimed in. "Auntie said, if it’s not sincere, it’s meaningless!"
"Repeat after me—meaningful."
"Mean-ing-ful!"
Lan Qian watched, fuming, as the three walked away hand in hand, laughing as if she didn’t exist. She nearly lost her composure and stood to confront them, but her manager held her back.
"Can’t you keep your cool? Do you want to make a scene and end up trending?"
Lan Qian gritted her teeth. "She’s not even famous yet, and she’s already acting like a diva!"
"And you know she’s not famous?" The manager snapped. "Have you forgotten your place? You’ve been in this industry for years—she’s just starting. Even if you’re competing, there are better ways than throwing a tantrum and handing her ammunition."
The reminder finally soothed Lan Qian’s temper. She wasn’t a rookie—Le Qing might have Lin Jian’s resources, but she’d always be the junior.
Yet when she glanced back at her silent, downcast son, frustration flared again.
"Were you really that desperate for cookies? They’re worthless—you embarrassed me," she scolded under her breath. "And I’ve fought for every opportunity for you. Smile properly—do you understand?"
Knowing he’d upset his mother, Lan Xu swallowed his tears and forced a smile. "Yes, Mom."
Soon, the production team arrived for the audition.
Child auditions were simpler than adults’. Kids didn’t need character breakdowns or nuanced line readings—the director just wanted to see if they looked the part, followed instructions, and fit the role’s vibe.
More importantly, they assessed the guardians.
The parents weren’t the ones acting, but difficult guardians could make collaboration a nightmare—sometimes bad enough to drop a child actor entirely.
Director Tan tapped the receptionist’s desk as he entered. "Well?"
"Things got interesting," the receptionist nodded toward the back room. "Footage is all in there."
Director Tan knew something had happened.
Hidden cameras were standard practice for child auditions. Minor roles or not, kids required extra scrutiny—no one wanted to deal with brats.
Lan Xu’s prior fame had made the team hesitant; his performances felt rehearsed, his true self hard to gauge. That’s why they’d called him in for a proper audition.
Instead of heading straight to the waiting area, the team reviewed the footage first.
The cameras were well-hidden—no one had noticed.
The playback showed Lan Qian whispering with her manager while Lan Xu sat silently behind them, detached, like a stranger.
"He looks well-behaved," the lead actor remarked. "At least he’s not a handful. Should be easy to work with."
"His energy’s off," Director Tan side-eyed the team. "More jaded than you lot."
The others stiffened. "…"
Who was he insulting?
"Maybe he’s just tired. Kids need naps," the lead actor offered.
"Spoken like someone who’s never raised a child," the producer, a parent, sighed. "Kids doze off, but they cling to their parents in unfamiliar places. Not sit alone like this."
Without full context, though, they couldn’t be sure.
Soon, the next group arrived.
Only two candidates mattered today: Lan Xu and the viral sibling duo.
The moment the siblings appeared, the team burst out laughing. "Pfft!"
"Oh god, flashbacks," the producer wheezed. "My wife dressed our daughter exactly like this for Children’s Day!"
"Same. My childhood photos are all like this."
"Wait, isn’t Le Qing a model? Lin Jian’s post showed her styling—why’d she dress her kids like this?"
"You’re a producer married to a famous director, and your kid still ends up like this. It’s a universal parent thing."
The lead actor grinned. "No childhood’s complete without clown cheeks."
Director Tan glanced at Le Qing, who was sitting beside the two children and occasionally asking them questions: "Don’t you think she seems more like a parent than Lan Qian?"
No matter how old children grow, parents always worry about them during important moments.
Even a model who is often in front of the camera is no different from any ordinary parent at this moment, completely focused on their child.
The producer pointed to a corner: "Look at Lan Qian."
Ever since Le Qing and her family appeared, Lan Qian and her agent’s expressions had shifted noticeably. The two of them kept whispering while watching the scene, their faces changing expressions repeatedly.
The lead actor chuckled: "Lan Qian seems more like an actress."
Then, everyone clearly witnessed how Lan Qian had actively approached Le Qing’s family to strike up a conversation. Since this was an exchange between the two parties, their voices were slightly louder than before, making it easier to hear what was being said.
After watching the entire interaction, Director Tan finally smiled: "I told you my intuition wasn’t wrong."
"So that’s why you kept turning down Lan Qian’s collaboration requests repeatedly. Turns out you’ve got a sharp eye," the producer also sighed in relief. They certainly didn’t want any troublemakers in the crew.
Work was already stressful enough—having to deal with unnecessary drama would only make their frustration worse.
"Though it’s not necessarily the case. Lan Qian is a public figure; no matter how much she acts up, she’ll still care about her image and won’t go too far. In terms of professionalism, those two kids probably can’t compare."
After reviewing all the footage, Director Tan didn’t announce his choice. Instead, he said, "Let’s go take a look."
When the group arrived at the waiting area, their presence was too conspicuous to ignore. Lan Qian immediately locked onto the most important person in the room.
Indeed, Le Qing was right—this was just a minor role.
But just as every veteran and newcomer wanted to work with Lin Jian, all actors, old and new, dreamed of collaborating with Director Tan. Even a supporting role could shine brilliantly under his direction, and the project’s reputation was guaranteed. There was so much to learn from him.
Moreover, bringing her son here wasn’t just about securing an opportunity for Lan Xu—it was also her own chance.
She would grow old someday. Modeling wasn’t a sustainable career, and if she wanted to carve out another path, she had to find opportunities in other circles. Who wouldn’t want a piece of the film industry’s pie?
"Director Tan," she immediately stepped forward, holding her child’s hand as soon as she saw him approach. "I’m Lan Qian. We’ve met before."
Director Tan remained expressionless: "Hello."
"This is my son, Xu Xu." Lan Qian nudged the child forward. "Say hello to the uncles and aunties."
At this age, Little Lan Xu already had a rehearsed greeting ready to go: "Hello, uncles and aunties! My name is Lan Xu, I’m five years old. My special skills are—"
"Alright, let’s save that for later." Director Tan patted his head, still gentle with the child. "The assistant will send you the audition scenes shortly. Prepare well, and we’ll see you in a bit, okay?"
"Okay."
Then, the group made their way toward Le Qing and the two children. Every parent and child there for the audition stood up to greet them as they passed.
With such a large crowd, it was impossible for Le Qing not to notice. However, she didn’t recognize any of them—she only saw the work badges hanging around their necks. Judging by Lan Qian’s and the others’ attitudes, this had to be the main creative team.
Le Qing unconsciously clenched her hands, the same nervousness she used to feel when meeting teachers creeping up on her.
"Auntie," Little Le An, whose hand she was holding, wiggled her fingers. "Hand wet."
"Sorry." Le Qing quickly let go and stood up as well.
This was her first time bringing the kids out for an audition, and she had no experience with this kind of situation.
In the past, no matter what she did or how she performed, she only had to bear the consequences herself—there was never any pressure.
But now, she was the guardian of these two children. If she messed up, would it affect them?
She wiped her sweaty palms against her sides.
[Ah, I’m getting nervous again. What do I do? Take a deep breath—don’t embarrass the kids.]
Little Le An couldn’t ignore her aunt’s anxiety. She hadn’t realized her aunt was just as shy around strangers as she was.
The little sister treasure could relate all too well. She hooked her finger against her aunt’s hand and took a deep breath with her: "An An’s not scared. Auntie’s not scared either."
Le Jia, who was standing beside his sister, peeked out and whispered, "What’s wrong with Auntie?"
The little sister treasure sighed, remembering her brother’s advice about protecting adults’ dignity, and whispered back, "Same as An An."
Both of them were hopeless. What could they do?
Little Le Jia thumped his chest proudly: "I’ll handle it."
Uncle had taught him how to guide and protect his introverted little sister—he had plenty of experience.
So, just as Le Qing had steeled herself to greet them before quickly retreating, a tiny figure boldly stepped in front of her.
His voice was loud and clear: "Hello, uncles and aunties!"
Naturally, the main team, already curious about the siblings, stopped and watched with amused smiles as the little boy beamed with pride.
Admittedly, the lead actor had a point.
With his rosy cheeks, big bright eyes, and cheerful greeting, he radiated a lively charm that made him far more approachable than the well-mannered but rigid Lan Xu.
Director Tan nodded: "Hello."
Then, his gaze shifted to the other two.
Just as Le Qing was about to speak again, the little radish turned around and, with all the dignity of a seasoned host, introduced: "This is my auntie, and this is my little sister."
Le Qing was completely stunned.
What kind of situation was this?
The main team was equally baffled.
Then, Little Le Jia waved behind him and instructed: "Little sister, Auntie, come say hello to the uncles and aunties!"
The main team: "???"
Le Qing: "..."
It’s over.
Le Qing thought to herself. She had truly embarrassed the kids this time.
No wonder this was the same child who’d dared to poop in a shopping mall for his sister—his potential was truly immeasurable.
The siblings really balanced each other out.
One was socially awkward, the other a social butterfly.
Someone in the team couldn’t hold back a short burst of laughter, and soon, the entire group was either openly or discreetly chuckling.
Le Qing’s ears burned red. Utterly flustered, she stepped forward with Little Sister Treasure in hand: "Hello, I’m the guardian of Le Jia and Le An."
Her words only made it seem like she was following the child’s lead, which made everyone laugh even harder.
"Your family is quite interesting," Director Tan said with a smile. "We look forward to your performance later."
The producer glanced at the children’s faces and kindly suggested: "Do you want to remove their makeup first?"
Le Qing turned completely red.
In her nervousness, she had momentarily forgotten herself and instinctively dressed the kids up with all the glamorous stage makeup she’d admired as a child.
"Sorry, I’ll take them to—"
"No need." Director Tan waved his hand. "It looks nice. It won’t affect anything. Just go with it."
Le Qing’s eyes widened in surprise, and now, she and the two bewildered little ones looked perfectly matched.
"So I heard you're their aunt?" The lead actor raised an eyebrow. "You look quite like a real family."
Little Le Jia nodded cheerfully. "We are family~"
What did he mean by "look like"?
The adults chuckled and walked away, leaving Le Qing alone in her chair, clutching the audition materials as her face burned hotter and hotter.
[Ugh, this is so embarrassing.]
For the first time in her life, she genuinely wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.
Little Le Jia exchanged a glance with his younger sister, then tilted his chin up slightly, giving her a reassuring "don't worry" look.
He knew exactly what to do—this was the time for compliments!
Uncle had taught him that.
So he stood on tiptoes and patted his aunt's head. "Auntie, you're amazing."
"......"
Any hope of cooling down vanished completely.
Resigned, Le Qing spread out the audition materials for the two kids. Since they couldn’t read yet, the script was illustrated with pictures.
The production team didn’t expect much acting from children—just for them to perform the required scenes naturally, without overly complex directions.
This particular scene depicted the lead actor’s first meeting with the two children.
First encounters are always beautiful, so the children were meant to appear carefree, happily doing whatever they pleased.
Yet these two children also symbolized the lead’s entire life—reflections of his relationships with family, friends, and lovers.
It was a tragedy. Every time the children appeared, the lead would see fragments of his own life in them, only realizing too late that it was all a tragic cycle.
Le Qing had been given a general outline of the story—meant to help adults explain the scene to the kids.
So while it seemed like the simplest scene, it was actually the hardest.
The final loop would show joyful moments tinged with sorrow.
As a model, Le Qing was used to interpreting themes and emotions, whether posing for photos or assisting shoots as a photographer.
Understanding the script’s core wasn’t difficult for her.
But explaining it to two children? That was a first.
Meanwhile, the creative team waited in another room, watching the young actors’ preparations on a large screen.
"Let’s see how they handle this," someone remarked.
This round wasn’t about testing the parents—it was about observing how seriously the children took the task.
Unsurprisingly, only two families had parents who went into detail about the script.
Lan Qian focused on technique: "You have to show your most innocent, happy side. If an adult interacts with you, keep it natural, okay? Remember what I taught you—smile by lifting the corners of your mouth, like this. And if you can’t find the feeling, just think of the happiest thing you’ve ever experienced."
The happiest thing?
Lan Xu’s eyes clouded with confusion.
For a moment, he couldn’t recall anything that made him truly happy.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Director Tan smirked at the scene. Setting aside Lan Qian’s personality, Lan Xu was a well-behaved, diligent child who took his work seriously.
Yet something felt... missing.
The screen switched to Le Qing and the two children.
The little ones rested their heads on their aunt’s knees, studying the illustrated script like a picture book—ignoring the text they couldn’t read.
Little Le An asked, "Auntie, what are we supposed to do?"
After a long pause, Le Qing replied, "What do you see?"
"Two kids playing," Little Le Jia answered, studying the images. "Then they meet an uncle."
"Mhm. And then?"
"They wave at him. Is that like saying hello?"
"No, no." Little Le An shook her head. "The uncle walks away. He didn’t say hello."
"Maybe he didn’t hear them?"
The two couldn’t agree, but Le Qing smiled. "Exactly. There’s no right answer."
"Huh?"
The kids blinked, baffled. How were they supposed to act without a clear answer?
"This is your interpretation," Le Qing explained gently. "Show the grown-ups whatever you understand from this. But pretend they’re not there—like when you watch cartoons at home. The cartoon characters don’t know you’re watching them either."
The children brightened. "Ohhh!"
The adults in the waiting room, however, were thoroughly confused.
The lead actor rubbed his temples. "I’ve never heard anyone explain a scene like this. Now I’m questioning my entire career."
Director Tan glanced at his pink shirt and deadpanned, "Pink is a delicate color. How old are you again?"
"Twenty-eight?"
"Then why are you overthinking a three-year-old’s perspective?"
"Try six," the producer chimed in. "My daughter’s that age, and half the time I’ve got no clue what’s going on in her head."
Director Tan signaled the assistant to start calling the children in by number.
"Interesting," he mused. "I might’ve just learned a new way to direct."
Every story takes on a different meaning for each character—that’s why actors often create detailed backstories. Usually, directors dissect the script from their own viewpoint when guiding performers.
But maybe a fresh approach wasn’t so bad?
One by one, the children began their auditions. As expected, whether experienced or not, every child showed some degree of performative affectation—some more, some less—but nothing glaringly wrong.
When Lan Xu’s turn came, his training was evident. His performance had the least artificiality; he embodied the role effortlessly.
But the moment he had to smile at the lead actor, his expression turned rigid.
Lan Xu tensed. His mind swirled with his mother’s instructions—smile techniques, "think of the happiest moment."
He’d settled on the day Lan Qian adopted him from the orphanage.
Yet remembering it only made him think of the present, where his mother’s affection felt... inconsistent.
His smile faltered, sustained only by mechanical effort. His eyes—far too knowing for a five-year-old—ruined the illusion.
"Alright," Director Tan cut in. "Next."
Lan Xu composed himself, bowed politely, and followed his mother out.
The second they exited, Lan Qian smacked his shoulder. "What was that? I told you to keep smiling!"
Lan Xu pressed his lips together. "Mom, I was smiling."
"I can see there's no joy in your eyes—the director will notice too," Lan Qian scolded irritably. "After all that preparation, how could you mess up now? You’ve really disappointed me."
"Mom told me to think of happy things."
"Did you?"
"I did," Lan Xu whispered. "I thought about Mom picking me up from the orphanage... but Mom isn’t the same as before."
Lan Qian sneered. "Lan Xu, are you blaming me now?"
How could Lan Xu blame his mother? He just couldn’t understand—if he was her child, didn’t that mean she loved him?
He lowered his head. "I’m sorry, Mom."
"You—"
Lan Qian’s words were cut off by a tiny, cheerful voice. "Auntie~ Hold your own hand, okay? Brother and I will be done soon!"
"Alright." Le Qing followed behind the two children, her gaze fixed on them. Her fingers twisted nervously, but she didn’t want to add pressure, so she changed the subject. "How about we have ribs for dinner tonight?"
Compared to her, the kids were completely relaxed. "Yes, yes!"
Only when they reached the audition room did Le Qing softly say, "You’re both amazing. Do your best."
Little Sister Treasure nodded. "Auntie, you do your best too."
Little Le Jia glanced around and spotted the woman he didn’t like, so he warned, "Don’t talk to strangers."
Le Qing paused, then chuckled. "Got it. Go on in."
To ease the children’s nerves, parents were allowed to sit in the back and observe—something the kids didn’t know yet.
Once the little family entered, Lan Xu finally looked away.
The aunt of those two siblings seemed... kinder than his own mother.
He couldn’t help but recall what the younger boy had told him: If something feels wrong, say it. Otherwise, you’ll get hurt.
He didn’t think his mother was hurting him, but he still wished she would love him the way she had when they first met.
"Mom," he ventured timidly, "can I have a little cookie when we get home tonight?"
"You’re still thinking about cookies?!" Lan Qian glared. "If you can’t even outperform those two toddlers who can barely speak, forget about dinner."
Lan Xu’s eyes stung, and he fell silent.
For the first time, he missed the orphanage.
Inside the room, the two children remembered their aunt’s advice: Pretend you’re the heroes in a cartoon. Ignore everyone else and just play.
To help them get into character, the room was filled with toys as props.
The kids had never seen so many toys before. They were instantly captivated, picking up each one to examine, completely forgetting about the camera. They even debated several outfit choices for a teddy bear.
It wasn’t until the lead actor approached that they noticed him.
The older boy waved cheerfully. "Hello, Mister!"
"Brother, that mister isn’t looking at us."
"We should still say hi. It’s polite."
Little Le An hugged the teddy bear and made it wave too.
At their age, they couldn’t tell the difference between acting and reality—so when the man turned away without responding, they assumed he really hadn’t seen them.
"He’s close. He probably saw us."
"But he didn’t say hello!"
"That’s okay. We said hello. So did the bear."
Their "performance" was already over, but the kids were still lost in their roles as teddy bear stylists.
Director Tan swiveled his chair to face the dazed parent. "Le Qing, right?"
Snapping out of it, Le Qing stood quickly. "Yes, hello."
"No need to be nervous. I’m Director Tan." He rose as well. "They did great. We’ll sign the contract right away. If the timing works, you can bring them to the set whenever you’re ready. If it’s far, we can arrange a hotel for you and the kids. Their scenes aren’t many, but we’d like to wrap them up before the New Year."
The children had chosen this path, and Le Qing respected their decision.
She nodded. "Thank you."
A beat later, she blinked. "Before the New Year?"
"Yep," Director Tan laughed. "It’s almost Lunar New Year—that’s why we’re in a hurry. Don’t tell me you forgot?"
Since arriving in this world, Le Qing hadn’t paid attention to the lunar calendar. She just marked dates on her schedule. And "New Year"... that was something distant, something she’d never celebrated.
Noticing her hesitation, Director Tan teased, "Adults can forget, but kids never do. It’s their favorite time of year."
Le Qing smiled faintly. "True."
What child didn’t love New Year’s?
Her first celebration... would be with these two little ones.
"They seem to like these props," Director Tan said. "Take them as a New Year’s gift."
The kids, led over by a staff member, gasped in delight and looked at their aunt.
A gift! Their first one ever!
Now that the pressure was off, Le Qing relaxed. The gift was a recognition of the children’s efforts—and it wasn’t anything she couldn’t accept.
"Say thank you," she told them.
"Thank you, Mister~"
After signing, Director Tan added, "Oh, right—you have a job, don’t you? Will you be able to manage the kids, or should we prepare a guardian contract for a nanny?"
With the tight schedule, Le Qing hadn’t found a nanny yet. "It’ll just be me for now. If that changes, I’ll let you know."
"Fine by me, as long as it’s documented."
Le Qing smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I’m new to this. Could you tell me what else I need to prepare?"
"Nothing to apologize for. It’s better to clarify now." He waved an assistant over. "Explain everything to Ms. Le Qing and get her the full scripts."
Unlike the audition scripts, the official ones were more detailed—though still illustrated like picture books.
Director Tan then said, "I’ll watch the kids while you’re gone. They can meet the lead actor too."
The little ones, already knowing (through special channels) that these were good people, weren’t scared at all. They reassured their aunt, "Don’t worry, we’ll wait for you!"
Le Qing couldn’t leave fast enough.
Not long after Le Qing left, the door to the room was knocked on, and Director Tan called out, "Come in."
Lan Qian walked in with a child, smiling as she said, "Director Tan, I was wondering if I could have a word with you in private?"
Director Tan knew what she was after. "We’ve already signed the contract."
"I know," Lan Qian replied, barely keeping her smile intact but still speaking politely. "It’s about something else."
Out of courtesy, Director Tan usually didn’t make things difficult for people, so he stood up and followed Lan Qian to another area.
Lan Xu stood alone by the door, unmoving.
He watched as his younger siblings played with toys alongside that uncle, but he couldn’t join them—he still had to study.
He could only envy them.
The orphanage used to have toys, and sometimes even candy.
He hung his head. He’d messed up today, and now he might not even get dinner.
Suddenly, something brushed against his palm, and a small object was pressed into his hand.
He looked down—it was a packet of biscuits.
Little Le Jia tore open another packet and handed it to him. "Here, eat this."
Having a bad mom was just like having a bad aunt—he had to help this brother. He wasn’t sure if the brother had any snacks, but for now, he hadn’t managed to trade anything with the system uncle for bread.
At least he still had these little biscuits the brother liked.
Plenty of them!
Lan Xu was tempted but refused. "My mom won’t let me eat these."
Little Le Jia didn’t understand. "Do you want to go hungry?"
"No."
"You have to learn to say what you like and don’t like," Little Le Jia said. "That’s how you’ll be happy."
Lan Xu’s mood sank further. "But Mom will be upset if I say it."
"Is your mom always right?"
Lan Xu froze.
"Auntie said grown-ups can be wrong too," Little Le Jia recalled his aunt’s words. "That’s why grown-ups say sorry. If you feel bad or unhappy, maybe the grown-up is wrong."
"But I didn’t perform well. Isn’t that my fault?"
"Of course not!" Little Le Jia encouraged him. "You did great!"
Lan Xu’s eyes brightened slightly.
"Maybe there are things my sister and I have that you don’t."
"Like what?" Lan Xu asked.
"Like an aunt!" Little Le Jia thought for a moment, then pointed at the biscuit packet. "And I can eat ten more of these little biscuits!"
These biscuits seemed like a big deal.
Lan Xu wavered. He stole a glance at his mom, confirming she wasn’t looking his way, then tentatively took one and popped it into his mouth.
"..."
"Well?" Little Le Jia watched him eagerly, ready to pitch. "If you like them, I’ll give you all of mine!"
Out of politeness, Lan Xu forced himself to swallow before shaking his head. "No, thank you."
"But you liked it just now, didn’t you?"
After a long pause, Lan Xu sniffled softly. "Kids change their minds a lot."
"I’m over it now."
He was genuinely impressed. No wonder this little brother was so amazing—he could eat ten of these biscuits!
Absolutely terrifying.
