◎Finding a Second Mom◎
"Xu Xu, time to go." Lan Qian's agent noticed the children were still chatting and gently pulled the child closer. "We have work to do now—no more playing."
Little Lan Xu, who hadn’t managed to talk much with his new friends, reluctantly took a step back. "Okay." After a pause, he added, "Goodbye."
The two little ones knew work couldn’t be delayed, so they didn’t try to keep him any longer, waving their tiny hands. "Bye-bye~"
Once the older boy and the auntie had left, Le An tilted her head curiously. "Brother, was that big brother in trouble?"
Le Jia, unable to see others' emotions as clearly, grew alert. "What kind of trouble?"
"His eyes said he was unhappy."
"Tired."
"Hungry."
"Wants to play."
Le An counted off on her fingers before concluding, "He’s having a hard time."
She and her brother used to feel that way too, but now she was happy every day.
"But he has a mom," Le Jia said, puzzled. "Can moms be bad to their kids?"
Weren’t all moms in the world supposed to love their children?
They’d thought there were only bad aunties before—could there be bad moms too?
"Then we should help him, right?" Le An asked. "Aren’t we little heroes?"
Kids on TV were always heroes! She and her brother were here to do good things and help other children in trouble.
"You’re right." Le Jia’s sense of justice flared up. "We have to help him."
"But how?" Le An frowned. "An An doesn’t know what medicine Auntie took."
She remembered Auntie had become really nice after she got sick—ever since that day, Auntie’s "illness" had been cured. But she’d never seen her take any medicine or get injections.
"I got it!" Le Jia smacked his forehead. "Let’s make Lan Xu get sick too!"
Just then, Le Qing arrived with a camera to take the kids for their photoshoot and caught the last few words. "Who’s sick?"
Le An’s dark, round eyes flicked toward her aunt. "Auntie, what medicine did you take when you were sick?"
"Me?" The only time Le Qing had been "sick" in this world was when the two little ones had forced her into the hospital for an IV. Her cheeks warmed slightly. "It depends on the illness. Why are you asking?"
"Lan Xu’s mom makes him unhappy," Le An said, tugging at her aunt’s hand. "An An wants his mom to take the same medicine you did."
"…"
"…………"
For a moment, Le Qing was too stunned to react—then she almost laughed.
So the kids still thought she’d been "cured" by medicine.
Le Jia pressed on seriously. "If Lan Xu gets sick, will his mom get better too?"
It took Le Qing a few seconds to recall who Lan Xu was—his mother was that woman from the audition who’d given off such hostile vibes.
From what she’d seen that day, the woman had high expectations for her child.
Every family had its own way of raising kids, so Le Qing wasn’t about to judge. But if it was something else entirely… well, that was different.
She corrected the children gently. "His mom isn’t sick. If a mother truly loves her child, she wouldn’t make them unhappy—whether they’re sick or not."
[Not everyone is like me, transmigrated here.]
Le An didn’t quite understand, blinking in confusion.
Le Jia picked up the thread. "So his mom doesn’t love him?"
"You don’t know him well enough to say that," Le Qing chided. "If the wrong person overheard, they might misunderstand."
Realizing his mistake, Le Jia clapped a hand over his mouth—but still peeked through his fingers to whisper, "Then how do we know? If his mom loves him."
Kids this age were full of questions—and just as full of ideas.
Pei Yu had once told her not to discourage their enthusiasm or let their kindness go unnoticed.
Le Qing considered them. "Do you really care about him?"
The little ones didn’t fully grasp the weight of "caring," but to them, Lan Xu was the first friend they’d really talked to. In their minds, friendship was that simple.
So both nodded. "We exchanged names."
That meant they were friends.
"Then he doesn’t need to get sick," Le Qing said. "There’s another way."
She whispered something in their ears before Director Tan called her away.
Hand in hand, Le An and Le Jia headed toward the lead actor’s set. Le An still hadn’t figured it out and turned to her smarter brother. "Brother, what does ‘transmigrated’ mean?"
"Like wearing clothes?"
"No, it’s about Auntie being weird." Le An had noticed her aunt’s oddness before but couldn’t put it into words.
She repeated the phrase she’d seen in her aunt’s eyes, then added, "And Auntie lied that day."
Le Jia wasn’t sure either, but the system in his mind suddenly spoke up, its tone unusually grave. "What lie?"
Le Jia relayed the question.
The little girl scrunched her face in thought. "The doctor auntie asked Auntie, ‘How long have you had Gu Gu and Mei Mei?’ Auntie said, ‘Three years~’"
She pointed at her eyes. "But her eyes said, ‘Half a month.’"
They didn’t yet understand units of time like "three years" or "half a month."
But the system did.
Based on when Le Qing had met Dr. Pei, counting back half a month from that day would place it right when she’d suddenly changed—flipping personalities overnight to bring home the brother who’d been sold off.
From that moment on, she’d been a completely different person.
Add in the "transmigrated" comment the little girl had just mentioned, and the picture was clear.
"Uncle?" Le Jia had never heard the system sound so serious before and grew nervous. "Did Auntie do something wrong?"
Was lying that bad?
The system hesitated.
If Le Qing had transmigrated into this world, then from her perspective, the brother and sister were strangers. She had no obligation to waste her time caring for two unrelated children—especially when there was no telling how long it might last.
"Has your sister seen anything else in your aunt’s eyes?" it asked.
Le An shook her head—then nodded. "Auntie said, ‘Need to earn lots of money.’"
True, Le Qing had started working, but the system had noticed something: she hardly spent any of the money she made.
When she did spend, most of it went to the children—new clothes, good food, even setting up a savings account in their names, saying the money was for their future.
A transmigrated stranger wouldn’t go to such lengths unless she wanted something.
In this world, people only acted for survival, money, power, or affection.
Le Qing didn’t push the idea that she was their only family. Aside from taking care of them, she kept a respectful distance—no excessive doting, no emotional manipulation. So it wasn’t about affection or control.
She didn’t spend on herself, instead saving for the kids. Good food, nice clothes, a comfortable life—clearly not about money.
And survival? That was the least of her concerns.
What rights could two children possibly have?
That leaves only one possibility...
She also knows the true identities of the two children and what will happen in the future.
Yet she hasn’t actively sought out their relatives, which means she has her reservations.
At this point, the system finally realized that Le Qing’s goal was indeed survival.
If she followed the original person’s approach, Jiang Suizhi would never let her off when he eventually came knocking. Right now, she was laying the groundwork for her own escape—otherwise, she would have already demanded a hefty sum for their upbringing.
Given Le Qing’s current personality, this made perfect sense.
However, what surprised the system was how strong Le Qing’s sense of morality and responsibility was. Most people in her position wouldn’t have gone to such lengths.
Humans are inherently selfish, yet she willingly took on the burden of someone else’s mistakes—no small feat.
Even if she was doing it for her own survival, her patience with the two children far exceeded what a stranger would offer.
But this part of the story wasn’t in the system’s original script. Le Qing was an unexpected variable. Forget the children turning dark—they weren’t suffering at all now, and their mental state was perfectly healthy.
Yet, according to the original plot, even after Jiang Suizhi took them back, growing up in his world would be fraught with danger. The cutthroat environment would leave a deep mark on them, especially after Jiang Suizhi’s eventual death.
They still had a long road ahead. Le Qing had secured her own escape route, but what about the future?
Could she become the variable that changes the course of the story?
Perhaps she could.
The two little ones grew impatient waiting for the system’s answer. “Uncle? What did Auntie do wrong?”
They would make sure to teach her properly—no need for harsh punishment.
“Do you really like your auntie now?” the system asked.
“Yes!”
Well, compared to the blood-related yet far more hostile figure from before, this stranger was, in a way, their salvation.
Who said family had to be bound by blood?
The system chuckled. “Then she did nothing wrong.”
“Have your little sister look into Auntie’s eyes,” it instructed. “Then tell me what you see, and I’ll guide you on what to do.”
“Okay~”
Relieved that their auntie wasn’t in trouble, the two little ones threw themselves into their tasks.
Meanwhile, a mix of relevant and irrelevant onlookers buzzed around the set.
It was almost comical—who would’ve thought Director Tan had hastily assembled such a “makeshift” crew?
Not only were the child actors scouted online, but even the photographer was a last-minute “find.” Everyone was curious whether Le Qing could really deliver good shots.
Le Qing was used to all kinds of stares, good or bad. Once she immersed herself in work, she barely noticed who was around her—even the children faced her stricter demands.
“You’ve finished reading the storybook, right? Now you’re the kids in the story—show me how you think they’d act.”
“Mr. Cui, you can’t keep staring at the children. It looks too deliberate. Stay in character.”
After a moment’s thought, she had Cui Shuo turn his back to the kids, then quietly repositioned them. Once they were settled, she signaled for Cui Shuo—already deep in his role—to turn around.
Sure enough, the moment he turned, his eyes instinctively darted to where the children had been. When he didn’t find them there, his gaze shifted until he spotted them in their new spot.
Le Qing captured that fleeting moment—the confusion, then the relief of finding them—with a quick click. “Perfect!”
She shot multiple sets, nailing the emotional beats for each character and bringing out their best performances.
Director Tan, watching from the sidelines, finally relaxed. He was bold in his experiments but still feared failure.
During a break, while others rested, Le Qing stayed busy, sifting through the raw images on the set’s computer. She discarded unusable shots and picked the ones to edit for the client’s approval.
“You’ve got solid experience,” Director Tan remarked, observing her workflow. “You handle both adults and kids with precision. You must’ve built up quite a portfolio, but you seem young—fresh out of school?”
Le Qing’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen. In work mode, her priority was the job, but muscle memory reminded her not to leave a collaborator hanging—a skill every hustler mastered.
She nodded softly. “I started saving up before graduation.”
Director Tan’s curiosity piqued. “You said you’ve done everything—what kind of jobs?”
Le Qing never saw her past struggles as shameful. “Dishwashing, serving tea, food delivery, street vending.”
The stability of earning kept her grounded, oblivious to the eavesdroppers. She grinned. “Even fetched water and takeout for dormmates—one yuan per trip.”
Back then, her dorm had no elevator. Some upper-floor students hated going downstairs, so she’d scarf down two sandwiches at noon while sprinting between buildings for deliveries.
“That’s rough. You’re so thin—how’d you manage?” Director Tan was stunned.
“Got used to it,” Le Qing said calmly. “Trained enough to haul water jugs to the top floor—for extra pay.”
Later, modeling demanded strict time and figure management, so she lost some strength. Now, holding the kids for too long wore her out.
Director Tan admired her hustle. “Well, our crew doesn’t need tea-fetching.”
Le Qing pulled up another photo and chuckled. “Before modeling, I dabbled in film sets.”
Otherwise, she wouldn’t know the photography ropes so well.
Cui Shuo butted in. “Wait, you’re serious about this industry?”
“Not really.” Le Qing shook her head. “Campus job boards always had casting calls for extras. Crews love hiring students—crowds sign up for the pay and free meals. I joined the fun for a while.”
“No agents scouted you?” Director Tan eyed her striking features—more than fit for the big screen. “Such a waste as an extra. With a face like that, you’d steal the spotlight.”
“Never got close-ups.” Le Qing smiled. “But this line wasn’t for me, so I quit.”
Director Tan wasn’t wrong—ever since Le Qing started working as an extra, many people had eyed her. She couldn’t take roles that required showing her face unless it involved heavy makeup. Later, she landed a few minor roles with a couple of lines that didn’t demand much acting skill. Soon enough, numerous agents, big and small, took notice of her looks and wanted to sign her.
As they put it, even if she wasn’t professionally trained, her face alone could carve out a future for her in this industry.
Le Qing didn’t care much about "making it big." As long as there was money to survive, she was willing to give it a shot. So, at the time, she was genuinely tempted.
Then, one of the lead actors in the crew, who had always been kind to her, invited her to a dinner under the pretense of introducing her to a company. When Le Qing arrived, she found the room filled with greasy, middle-aged men.
If she hadn’t fought her way out, risking everything to escape, she didn’t dare imagine the consequences.
Long ago, she had warned herself not to be too greedy—just getting by was enough. But when faced with others’ apparent kindness, she had underestimated her own greed and their acting skills.
After that incident, she developed an inexplicable aversion to the acting world. She could no longer tell who was genuine and who was pretending. She never returned to the film studios.
She often reminded herself not to overanalyze whether someone’s intentions were good or bad. After all, it didn’t matter to her anymore.
She stopped hoping for anyone to truly care for her. Living alone was fine—who couldn’t survive without someone else?
What a joke.
"Director, look," Cui Shuo clicked his tongue. "Doesn’t she seem like someone with a whole backstory?"
Director Tan chuckled. "She really does. No wonder she’s a model—she’s got that natural aura."
Le Qing brushed off their teasing with a faint smile, unconsciously reaching up to touch the back of her ear—then suddenly froze.
Her fingers traced over the spot, confirming a small, raised bump.
After arriving in this world, she had only checked her appearance in the mirror on the first day. Since then, she hadn’t paid much attention, even during daily showers. That spot was sensitive for her.
Back in the film studios, during that incident, a shattered bottle had nearly sliced off her ear. She had dodged just in time, jumping out the window, but the scar remained.
Since then, she rarely touched that area. If not for today…
"Excuse me," she said, looking away from the screen and opening her phone’s camera. She turned to a nearby female assistant. "Could you take a photo of the back of my ear?"
The assistant was puzzled but obliged. "Huh? Did you hurt your ear?"
"...Yeah."
When Le Qing took the phone back, her hand trembled slightly.
Only after seeing the faded, flesh-colored scar in the photo did her eyelashes flicker uncontrollably.
How?
The same sensitive stomach. The same scar in the same place.
Hadn’t she traveled to this world?
If her body had come along, where was the original owner? How had she seamlessly taken over this identity, even appearing in that household?
Director Tan noticed her odd expression. "What’s wrong? Does the wound hurt?"
"No." Le Qing set her phone down, forcing herself to focus on work—but the doubts in her mind refused to fade.
Could it be that she and the original owner had swapped worlds? That the original owner had gone to hers?
Alternatively, if her body had crossed over, why hadn’t the children or anyone from the original owner’s life questioned her identity?
Meaning the original owner looked exactly like her.
Who would believe that?
Then… Le Qing instinctively glanced at the two children nearby, searching for their playmates.
Did this mean she had no blood relation to them?
If their father ever showed up, she wouldn’t be responsible for his debts or raising the kids. It was an escape route.
But no matter what, she was the one using the original owner’s identity now.
Back to square one. Le Qing sighed in frustration.
"If you’re not feeling well, you can take a break," Director Tan offered. "The studio wasn’t expecting finalized images today anyway."
"I’m fine." Le Qing straightened up. "Just spaced out for a second. Sorry."
The others, seeing she was back on track, dispersed to their own tasks.
"Workaholic," Cui Shuo remarked as he and Director Tan headed to their trailer to grab something. "But her raw shots look great. She’s got talent."
Director Tan agreed.
"And those kids—she hired a nanny but still takes care of them herself. Really dedicated. You’d think they were her own."
Director Tan patted his shoulder. "Mind your own business."
"Right… Wait." Cui Shuo paused. "Did another actor join the crew?"
Director Tan shook his head. "You know who’s on set."
"Then who’s visiting?"
The cold weather kept foot traffic low in the area, and the production had controlled access, so only crew members were around. Even the coffee shop was catering exclusively to them.
Following Cui Shuo’s gaze, Director Tan spotted a man sitting outside the café. Dressed casually, he seemed unfazed by the chill, wearing a black leather jacket, brown trousers, a mask, and a cap that obscured his face but couldn’t hide his striking presence. His pale skin and long, well-proportioned legs were impossible to ignore—the kind of figure that would catch any industry insider’s eye.
No wonder Cui Shuo, always wary of competition, had noticed.
As if sensing their stares, the man glanced up. Even from a distance, his gaze felt piercing, making Director Tan and Cui Shuo quickly look away.
"Hey," Director Tan muttered after they’d walked a few steps. "We didn’t do anything wrong. Why’d we flinch?"
"Exactly." Cui Shuo clicked his tongue. "Guy’s got an intimidating aura. I’m dying to see what he looks like."
Once they were gone, Jiang Suizhi, seated by the roadside, finally looked away. His pale fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, patient and unhurried.
He hadn’t brought Lin Shengxi today. There was no particular agenda—just an impromptu visit to observe the person under consideration.
Since the two children had joined the filming crew, daily video uploads couldn’t be maintained, which meant he couldn’t see them anymore.
When he stepped out, he deliberately changed his outfit—completely different from what he usually wore at the company—and made sure to conceal himself before sitting outside.
If he stayed in the car like last time, he realized he wouldn’t be able to hear anything clearly, which was inconvenient.
Sister Wang mentioned that the two children had just finished taking photos, and Le Qing was busy with work.
Two jobs in one crew—this person’s time management was quite efficient.
Jiang Suizhi was about to message Sister Wang to find an excuse to take the kids out for some hot drinks.
Before he could send the message, he heard the hushed whispers of children nearby.
"Do you remember Mom’s number?"
"I do."
"Then let’s do what we planned, okay?"
"Mm-hmm..."
Jiang Suizhi lifted the brim of his cap slightly and leaned back in his seat, spotting three children crouching behind a flower bed, "conspiring" in loud whispers.
Sister Wang, who had been following them, was about to step closer when she noticed the familiar figure behind the kids. Recognizing him with a glance and a subtle gesture, she immediately understood it was the other boss and kept her distance, watching from afar.
Little Lan Xu was still hesitant. "But if we lie to Mom, she’ll get mad, right?"
"Aren’t you trying to find out if your mom loves you?" Little Le Jia patted his shoulder sagely. "Auntie said if she loves you, she wouldn’t want you to be sad."
Little Le An nodded solemnly in agreement. "Moms can be biased."
Even though neither of the two siblings had a mother, they analyzed the situation like seasoned experts.
The mischievous older brother was determined to help today, playing the role of a little hero. "If Mom worries about you, just say you’re fine and then apologize."
"Don’t you not want to be here?"
That was true—Lan Xu really didn’t want to stay.
He hadn’t slept properly in days, but Mom wouldn’t let him rest.
Just like the younger siblings said, if Mom truly loved him, she’d listen when he said no.
Finally making up his mind, he borrowed Le Jia’s phone and dialed his mother’s number.
The call rang twice before Lan Qian answered, her voice gentle. "Who is this?"
The two kids, eager to help their brother judge whether his mom was good or bad, quickly put the call on speaker. They were experts at handling phones.
Hearing his mother’s soft tone, Lan Xu grew bolder and whispered, "Mom, it’s me, Xu Xu."
"Lan Xu?" Lan Qian’s voice sharpened slightly. "Whose phone is this? Aren’t you supposed to be on set?"
"Yeah," Lan Xu replied, his speech much more fluent than his younger siblings. "It’s the little siblings’ phone."
Little siblings?
The only "little siblings" Lan Qian could think of in the crew were Le Jia and Le An. But since this wasn’t her child’s phone and she worried it might be the crew’s doing or that others were listening, she suppressed her anger. "Is there an adult with you? If there’s something, have them talk to me."
"No," Lan Xu said, a flicker of hope rising in his chest when his mom didn’t immediately yell. "It’s just me and the little siblings."
The moment she confirmed no adults were around, Lan Qian’s tone turned cold. "What’s this about? Didn’t I tell you to learn from the director and wait on set? Where’s your agent?"
"She’s in the bathroom."
Lan Qian’s anger flared. "So you took the chance to sneak off and play around with a phone?"
"Mom," Lan Xu clenched his hands nervously. "I want to sleep. Can I come back tomorrow?"
Just one good sleep—then he’d be a good boy again.
But Lan Qian didn’t see it that way. Filming schedules were tight—one less day was one less opportunity. "Sleep? Do you know how much your classes cost? Do you know how many kids would kill for your spot? You’re already falling behind those two good-for-nothing internet-famous brats, Le Jia and Le An, and now you want to sleep?"
The two "good-for-nothing" kids looked up in unison: "?"
What’s wrong with eating a lot?
Auntie always said they had healthy appetites!
What kind of mom was this?!
Lan Xu froze at his mother’s outburst, instinctively wanting to apologize. But then he remembered what his siblings had said—a mom who loved him wouldn’t make him suffer.
His voice was small. "Mom, I don’t feel well."
Just one sleep, and he’d feel a little better.
"Suddenly not feeling well now, huh?" Lan Qian’s voice turned shrill. "Did those two brats put you up to this? They just don’t want you to succeed, don’t want you to be famous!"
"We didn’t!" Little Le Jia protested immediately, indignant at the accusation. "We just want big brother to be happy! That’s why we called!"
Hearing the other kids’ voices only made Lan Qian angrier. "Oh, so all three of you are listening? Motherless brats, corrupting my child!"
The two kids didn’t fully grasp the insult but defended themselves. "We have an auntie!"
Lan Qian scoffed. "And what kind of woman is she? Flaunting her looks to get you into the crew—who knows what she’s scheming? Acting all high and mighty in front of me."
She continued, her voice icy. "Listen, Lan Xu, if you keep hanging around these kids, forget sleeping—you’re not coming home tonight. I didn’t raise you for nothing. Remember your place. If you don’t talk to the director, don’t bother calling me Mom."
"Mom—"
"Enough!" Lan Qian cut him off. "If you’re unwell, tough it out! I’m calling your agent right now—get back to set!"
Before anyone could respond, she hung up.
Silence fell over the three children.
Though the siblings didn’t have a bad mom, they did have a bad auntie. But seeing how this mom treated her own child, it was clear she was beyond saving.
"Big brother," Le Jia said sympathetically, "your mom can’t be fixed."
Unlike their auntie.
This was the first time since returning home with his mother that someone had stood up for Lan Xu.
So he couldn’t hold back his tears, hugging his knees as he sobbed quietly.
"What do I do?" he choked out between cries. "I thought she took me home because she loved me. At the orphanage, there were so many kids, but she only picked me."
Orphanage?
What was that?
The two siblings gasped in awe. "You were chosen?"
"Yeah," Lan Xu nodded. "She said she spent a lot of money and effort to bring me home, so I have to be obedient. But I’ve been good… why doesn’t she like me anymore? She won’t let me come home, and if I make her mad, she hits me."
Hitting a child?!
The siblings shared a look of horror—they knew that pain all too well.
"Can’t you pick a different mom?" they asked.
"I—"
"Why are you crying?"
"Auntie!" The two little ones jumped up at the familiar voice, immediately grabbing hold of their aunt as she approached. "Auntie, come quick! His family hits kids too!"
That word "too"...
Made Le Qing break out in a cold sweat.
She quickly crouched down to look at Lan Xu, whose eyes were slightly swollen from crying. "Who hit you?"
Little Lan Xu pressed his lips together.
Adults and children were different—Mom had said not to tell other grown-ups.
"Tell her!" Le Jia urged impatiently. "Auntie is amazing. She’ll scold the bad mom for you."
Le Qing: "..."
She latched onto the key detail. "Your mom hit you?"
Le An, still a bit dazed, asked, "Auntie, Brother’s mom picked him but doesn’t love him. Why?"
"Picked?"
Amid the jumbled explanations from the three children, Le Qing finally pieced together the whole story.
She was genuinely surprised. She’d originally thought this family was just a little odd, and that Lan Qian had a bit of a temper, but she hadn’t realized there was this layer to it. Adopting a child was understandable if they wanted one, but going through so much effort to bring him home only to treat him so harshly—that veered into suspicion of abuse.
"Auntie," Le An tugged at her hand, eyes pleading, "can you find Brother a better mom?"
At this point, not only was Lan Xu crying, but the other two children’s eyes were red too, as if they might burst into tears any second.
Le Qing softened her voice, coaxing them to stand up first. But Lan Xu, exhausted from crying and shivering from the cold, nearly collapsed as soon as he tried to rise.
Le Qing had no choice but to scoop him up. A five-year-old was noticeably heavier than a three-year-old, and she couldn’t carry the other two as well.
Holding him, she noticed something was off. She touched his clothes—his coat was far too thin—then felt his face and hands, both icy cold.
"Are you not wearing any other layers?" she asked.
"Mom said this looks nice."
Frowning, Le Qing took off her own coat and wrapped it around him before lifting him again. The film set was crowded and chaotic, so when she spotted a nearly empty café nearby, she decided to take the children there.
As she turned, she noticed a man sitting outside. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there.
Le Qing glanced at him briefly, but since he didn’t seem to be paying them any attention, she dismissed him and carried Lan Xu inside.
Just as she settled the boy into a chair, a gust of cold wind blew in—the man from outside had entered and taken a seat by the window.
Le Qing ignored him, turning instead to order three cups of warm water and, after a moment’s thought, three small slices of cake.
The other two children proudly declared they could drink on their own, so Le Qing focused on helping Lan Xu take a few sips.
"See?" Le Jia said proudly. "When you pick a second mom, you should find one like our auntie."
"..."
And to her surprise, Lan Xu actually seemed to consider it, looking at Le Qing with hopeful eyes.
She was prettier than his mom. And kinder. So, so much better.
"Little brother’s auntie... can you take me home?"
The two toddlers gasped, nearly spilling their water in excitement. "Brother, don’t ‘bite the hand that feeds you’!"
(They’d learned that phrase from Uncle Lin! This was definitely how it was used!)
"That’s ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you,’" Le Qing corrected gently before turning back to Lan Xu. "And no, I can’t."
Lan Xu’s face fell.
Le Jia patted his hand reassuringly. "Don’t worry! We’re friends now. Little heroes help each other!"
Le Qing wanted to remind them not to trust strangers so easily, but the sight of the two toddlers scooting their chairs closer to comfort their new friend made the words die in her throat.
These were Le Jia and Le An. They weren’t her. They wouldn’t become her.
Her heart softened. She turned back to Lan Xu. "You said your mom hits you?"
Lan Xu nodded silently, then rolled up his pant leg.
The bruises were fresh.
Le Qing’s eyes widened slightly. "Was this from the audition day?"
A small nod. "Mom said I didn’t do well."
"Does she hit you other times when you ‘don’t do well’?"
"...Yeah."
With nothing urgent at the set for now, Le Qing sat down properly.
"What else?" She opened her phone’s voice recorder. "Besides hitting you, what else does she make you do?"
Lan Xu hesitated.
But the two little ones beside him cheered him on. "Tell her! Auntie’s gonna find you a second mom!"
"Brother, sister," Le Qing gently pressed a hand to each of their heads, then slid the cakes the waiter brought in front of them. "Let him talk without interruptions, okay?"
"Aww, okay."
The third slice was pushed toward Lan Xu. He stared at it longingly. "Mom never lets me eat this. Says I’ll get fat."
"You can have it today," Le Qing handed him a fork. "One slice won’t make you fat. But you have to tell me the truth, okay?"
Warm cake, warm water, warm borrowed coat that smelled like flowers—Lan Xu felt dizzy with comfort. He nodded.
By the time Lan Qian’s agent tracked them down at the café, Le Qing had already gotten all the answers she needed.
"Xu Xu!" The agent paled at the sight of Le Qing. She hurried over. "Auntie’s been looking everywhere for you! Let’s go back now."
"No!" The two toddlers planted themselves in front of Lan Xu. "Brother’s not going back with bad people!"
"Bad people?!" The agent’s voice cracked. She glanced at Lan Xu, bundled up in Le Qing’s coat, and a terrible suspicion crept in. Forcing calm, she said, "Don’t spread lies, kids. Your guardian’s right here—I could sue for slander and kidnapping!"
She reached for Lan Xu.
A slender hand intercepted hers mid-air.
"Go ahead," Le Qing said coolly, adjusting the coat around Lan Xu. Then she glanced out the window. "Sue."
"Wha—"
The agent followed her gaze and froze.
Several police officers were walking toward them.
"Why did you call the police?!" the agent hissed. "Who do you think you are? This is a private family matter!"
"Whether it is or not isn’t your call anymore." Le Qing smiled faintly. "As for why..." She arched a brow. "I promised my two little heroes I’d help their first new friend find a second mom."
On cue, the two "heroes" puffed out their chests and pointed at the agent. "Officer, this is the bad lady!"
The police took Lan Xu outside first. The agent, defeated, trailed after them, shooting Le Qing a venomous glare.
Le Qing didn’t even notice. Her hands were busy being warmed by two small pairs of hands, their tiny fingers wrapped around hers.
"Auntie’s the biggest hero!" Le Jia beamed.
Le Qing’s lips curved. It was her first time playing hero by meddling in someone else’s business.
"Auntie~" The little girl on her other side swung their joined hands.
"Hmm?"
The little girl pondered, "Big brother was picked from among many children."
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she asked, "Auntie, can you tell me how you chose An'an and big brother from so many kids?"
Le Qing: "?"
She'd like to know too!
Care to explain? How does one get selected to time-travel among billions of people!
Just as she was left speechless, a soft chuckle suddenly came from nearby.
It was the man who had been sitting by the window all along without looking up.
Even now, he didn't turn around—his face remained unseen as he leaned back in his chair. One slender hand with distinct knuckles and elegant fingers rested against his cheek, tapping lightly.
Judging by the playful rhythm of those taps, he was genuinely amused.
