"◎This is Hilarious◎"
The approval came through quickly. Le Qing explained her purpose clearly, assuring the other party they wouldn't lose out, and politely inquired about their wholesale range.
The other side kept showing "typing..." until Le Qing had finished washing up and was about to go to bed before she finally saw the reply.
AAAAA Wholesale Brother Jiang: "We have everything. You won’t lose out. Available anytime."
As expected of a businessperson—not only broad-minded but also highly professional.
Le Qing: "Then I’ll trouble you, Brother Jiang."
She glanced at the two little ones curled up together, fast asleep. Since buying them a few sets of winter clothes last time, she hadn’t gotten them anything new. The outfits she bought for Little Lan Xu today were clearly of much better quality than before.
Director Tan had mentioned that the New Year was approaching. After finishing these last few days of filming, she could go back and prepare New Year clothes for the kids.
In her mind, children from other families always got new clothes for the New Year.
Le Qing typed: "Brother Jiang, if it’s convenient, I’d like to prepare a few sets of New Year clothes for my two kids. They can be a bit pricier, but they need to be warm and good quality."
AAAAA Wholesale Brother Jiang: "Got it."
AAAAA Wholesale Brother Jiang: "Want to pick the designs?"
She could even choose the styles herself!
Le Qing: "If it’s not too much trouble."
The outfit Little Lan Xu wore today was really cute.
AAAAA Wholesale Brother Jiang: "Mm. I’ll send you pictures later."
Reading this, Le Qing felt even more favorably toward Brother Jiang. This was how business should be done—solid, reliable, and catering to customers' needs.
She typed sincerely: "Brother Jiang, you’re definitely going to make a fortune."
On the other end, Jiang Suizhi glanced at the message, his brow lifting slightly.
After settling everything, Le Qing couldn’t help but yawn. Checking the time, she realized how late it was. Work had made her lose track of time. Too tired to care about anything else, she carefully avoided disturbing the children and lay down at the edge of the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
Jiang Suizhi, a light sleeper by nature, waited for a long time but saw no further messages from Le Qing. He lowered his gaze to his phone for a moment before effortlessly navigating to her social media.
"."
Had she blocked him, or did she never post anything?
Weren’t parents supposed to love showing off their kids? Yet her profile was spotless—not even a background photo. Nothing to go on.
---
The next morning, Lin Shengxi woke up and prepared to check what tasks his boss had for the day. Scrolling through his recent chats, he couldn’t find Jiang Suizhi’s contact anywhere. Baffled, he wondered if he’d been deleted—but even then, the chat shouldn’t just disappear.
Looking further down, he spotted an extremely out-of-place, aggressively styled account that screamed "online seller."
Muttering, he tapped on it: "When did I add someone with such tacky taste?"
Three seconds later, a scream nearly blew the roof off: "HOLY—BROTHER JIANG?!"
Who else could this chat history belong to but that tsundere bastard surnamed Jiang?
Panicked, he immediately called Jiang Suizhi: "Bro, did you get hacked?"
He couldn’t afford to be hacked—this account held way too many classified secrets about Jiang Yan.
A cold voice answered: "You have half an hour before you’re late for work."
"!!!"
Not hacked.
"But bro, what’s up with your profile pic and bio?"
"Work requirement." As he spoke, Jiang Suizhi sent over a list and a sizing chart. "Today’s task."
What kind of work required that kind of profile?
And wasn’t this his personal account? If it was for work, why not just use his work account instead?
The mind of a domineering CEO was truly unfathomable. Lin Shengxi never could predict what this guy would do next. But… kids' clothes?
"Buying clothes for the two little ones?" Lin Shengxi asked curiously. "Are you bringing them back soon? Didn’t Sister Wang say the stuff she brought over still needed a kinship test?"
Jiang Yan hadn’t left much behind. The only way Jiang Suizhi could confirm his relation to the kids now was through a kinship test—though at the very least, it would prove they were his nephews.
Jiang Suizhi glanced at the document folder on his desk. The results had actually come in, but it wasn’t yet time to bring the children back.
Thinking of Le Qing’s words, he replied: "New Year gifts."
"Oh, right, the New Year’s coming up." Lin Shengxi saved the images. None of the brands were big names, but they were from private designers—expensive and hard to find.
He asked offhandedly: "If you’re not bringing them back, what’ll they do for the New Year?"
Jiang Suizhi’s gaze darkened slightly. "However they’ve done it before, they’ll do it now."
Though he rarely returned to the Jiang family, every year since coming back, he made sure to visit on New Year’s Eve. In these high-society families, keeping up appearances was non-negotiable—even if no one spoke much at the dinner table, the following days would be spent entertaining relatives and friends.
It was Jiang Suizhi’s least favorite time of the year.
He’d rather be holed up in that tiny apartment, cooking a small hotpot for himself and quietly going to bed after.
But looking back, there had been one good New Year.
Back then, it was Jiang Yan who played the part at the Jiang family gatherings. One year, after waiting in vain for Jiang Yan to return for the reunion dinner, Jiang Suizhi ate the hotpot he’d prepared alone, washed the dishes, and headed to bed.
He had no tradition of staying up late for the New Year, nor any interest in watching the Spring Festival Gala.
Yet just before midnight, his door burst open. A cacophony of clattering noises jolted him from his light sleep. Stepping out, he saw Jiang Yan dumping a pile of food on the table before rummaging in the tiny kitchen, already having shattered two bowls.
"What are you doing?"
Jiang Yan, still dressed in a high-end suit, had tied an apron around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. He turned at the sound of his brother’s voice: "Isn’t it hotpot time? I had these ingredients flown in. And I’m mincing this shrimp and fish to make dumplings—we’ll boil them later."
Jiang Suizhi was speechless. "Who eats hotpot at this hour?"
"Our family, obviously." Jiang Yan said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "Go sit. Let me show you my skills."
Though it felt excessive, Jiang Suizhi wrapped himself in a blanket and waited in the living room while his brother wreaked havoc in the kitchen. Finally, after another pot met its demise, he couldn’t take it anymore and marched in.
The fish was still flopping around, and the dumpling wrappers were so thick they could’ve been noodles.
He rolled up his sleeves. "Get out."
Jiang Yan scratched his nose sheepishly. "I followed a tutorial. A bit slow, and the presentation’s not great, but the taste should be fine."
Jiang Suizhi was wide awake now. "I said—"
"Alright, alright." Jiang Yan untied the apron and, ignoring his brother’s protests, tied it around him instead. "I’ll go prep the other ingredients."
The hotpot and dumplings didn’t make it by midnight. Jiang Yan, as if hard of hearing, had cranked the volume on the Spring Festival Gala to deafening levels. The house was noisy, but not enough to drown out his running commentary on how terrible the show was.
Jiang Suizhi was forced to eat two rounds of hotpot—one prepared by a street-smart kid who’d never seen the world and another by a wealthy boss who’d never cooked before. Despite the expensive, air-flown ingredients, the meal turned out utterly ordinary, lacking any distinctive flavor.
Yet somehow, Jiang Suizhi still ate a lot. Then, he noticed a red envelope placed on the table.
"Lucky money," Jiang Yan pushed it toward him.
"I'm an adult," Jiang Suizhi said.
"So what?" Jiang Yan tossed the haphazardly wrapped dumplings into the boiling pot, smiling through the rising steam. "Who says adults can’t receive red envelopes? This is from me to my little brother. Take it. I’ll give you one every year from now on."
For the first time, Jiang Suizhi accepted money from Jiang Yan.
Though that red envelope remained unopened to this day—he never bothered to count how much was inside.
After the meal, Jiang Yan took a phone call, his cheerful expression dimming. "I..."
"Eat and get out," Jiang Suizhi said without looking up. "I haven’t washed the bedsheets or covers in a while. No place for you to sleep."
Jiang Yan snorted. "Then hurry up and wash them. If there’s no bed for me tomorrow, I’ll just squeeze in with you."
With that, he stood and grabbed his coat. After putting it on, he paused, walked over, and patted Jiang Suizhi’s shoulder. "Jiang Suizhi, Happy New Year."
It was already the first day of the Lunar New Year.
Only after watching him change his shoes did Jiang Suizhi mutter, "Brother, Happy New Year."
Jiang Yan froze at the door for a few seconds, then waved without turning back and left.
Jiang Suizhi continued clearing the leftovers, biting into a dumpling Jiang Yan had cooked but never eaten. He chewed expressionlessly.
This idiot couldn’t even clean shrimp shells properly.
Jiang Suizhi quickly snapped out of his memories and hung up on Lin Shengxi.
Even if he brought the kids back now, what could he do for them on New Year’s Eve?
He couldn’t even manage to sleep through the night with them.
But Le Qing had already spent two New Years with the children, even buying them festive clothes. She probably understood better than he did how ordinary people celebrated.
If he really brought the kids home in the future, maybe he should send them to Le Qing during the holidays.
---
Le Qing had expected Lan Qian to stir up more trouble, but surprisingly, she’d been quiet these past few days. According to the police, she’d clashed with her lawyer over their statements—though it only worked in the children’s favor.
With that settled, Le Qing stopped paying attention and focused on filming with the crew.
Working with a professional production team was a breeze. The producers and Director Tan were easygoing and open to discussion. Besides the initial promotional photos, she was also paid for candid behind-the-scenes shots taken during filming.
In fact, she ended up earning more on set than the two children combined.
Looking back, Le Qing realized she’d benefited from the kids every step of the way—each opportunity had come through them.
Guess that’s the perk of being tied to the main characters.
While the two little ones and Cui Shuo filmed, Le Qing circled the set with her camera, searching for the perfect angle to capture great shots. When idle, she’d edit the photos on the spot. If no actors were filming, the crew would gather around her, requesting close-up edits and tweaks on the spot—no need to hire extra hands.
Meanwhile, Little Lan Xu, free from his mother’s demands to please adults, now bundled up warmly, finally had energy to spare. Though his idea of "more things to do" mostly involved trailing Le Qing like a tiny shadow.
Clutching her water bottle, he’d pester her every few minutes—"Auntie, do you want water?"—as if wearing his eagerness to please on his sleeve.
Le Qing couldn’t refuse, so she let him tag along. The bottle wasn’t heavy anyway, and it kept him occupied.
At lunchtime, the three kids eagerly rushed to Le Qing with their lunchboxes.
The crew was used to it by now—these children were in full competition for Le Qing’s attention, always offering her the best bites first.
"Meatball~" Little Le'an held out his lunchbox. "All for Auntie! Auntie worked hard!"
"I don’t eat meat," Little Lan Xu chimed in, not to be outdone. "Auntie can have mine."
He’d never eaten much meat anyway.
"Why you no eat?!" Little Sister Treasure was so mad her words tangled. "You MUST eat!"
"Brother, are you trying to steal Auntie?" Little Le Jia eyed him suspiciously. "You can only call her 'Auntie,' not 'Little Auntie.'"
"Mom’s sister is 'Little Auntie'~" Little Sister Treasure lectured. "Not your bad mom’s sister, okay?!"
Le Qing: "..."
She blocked their sneaky attempts to dump meatballs into her rice with her chopsticks. "I have my own. Eat yours. Stop giving me food."
Rejected by Le Qing and scolded by the younger two, Little Lan Xu buried his face in his lunch, poking at it dejectedly.
He couldn’t help Auntie, and she wouldn’t even take his meat.
Without his mom, where would he go if Auntie didn’t want him?
The orphanage had been awful. Was he supposed to go back?
Suddenly, a hand steadied his shoulder.
Little Lan Xu looked up, meeting Le Qing’s gentle gaze. "Careful, or you’ll eat your nose."
"Okay." He sat up straight, eyes stinging. "Auntie... if Mom’s gone, where will I go?"
Le Qing couldn’t promise anything, but she offered comfort. "You’ll go to someone who likes you."
"Then... do you not like me?"
She paused. "I don’t qualify to adopt you."
Even if she could, she wouldn’t.
Seeing his downcast look, she ruffled his hair softly. "Don’t worry. Until then, I’ll take responsibility for you."
Once she’d stepped in, she’d prepared to face the consequences. She wouldn’t abandon him halfway.
At least she knew Brother Jiang, the wholesaler. With some budgeting, she could support the kid for a while.
Reassured, Little Lan Xu’s anxious heart settled slightly. He nodded, though he remained clingy whenever the other two weren’t around.
The crew understood his situation and tried to distract him—so Director Tan actually gave him a minor role as an extra, freeing up some of Le Qing’s time.
After a costume change, Director Tan led him to the extras. "Stand with them. As long as you don’t cross that line, do whatever you want."
Assigned a task, Little Lan Xu focused obediently.
Finally, Le Qing could sit back and edit photos without worry.
Recently, juggling childcare and work had left Le Qing feeling drained, no matter how carefully she managed her energy. After editing a few photos, she allowed herself a short break, dozing off in her chair.
"I told you—if the work isn’t urgent, don’t push yourself too hard," Director Tan teased. "No matter how capable you are, you’re still human. Feeling the strain now, aren’t you?"
Le Qing smiled sheepishly. "I haven’t worked in a while, so I’m still adjusting."
Before transmigrating to this world, she had been on vacation—one that was abruptly cut short by her sudden arrival here. Add to that the constant demands of childcare, and her old routine had been completely upended. Only now was she starting to feel the exhaustion.
"Adjusting won’t change much," Director Tan said. "Models like you have to watch your diet, right? And these past few days, you’ve been running around with the kids, taking photos, editing—barely even pausing to eat. Since you’ve hired a nanny, give yourself a break. You’re already too thin—if your health worsens, you’ll waste away completely. No wonder the kids keep trying to feed you their own food."
Over this time, the two children had noticeably filled out a bit, their cheeks rosy and plump.
But Le Qing hadn’t gained an ounce.
She knew her own body well. If she had physically crossed over, her old ailments would still be with her—no matter how well she ate, her body wouldn’t absorb enough to put on weight.
It was a lingering issue from childhood, not a serious illness, just a persistent, nagging condition.
Director Tan closed her laptop. "Rest for a bit. Don’t worry about editing today’s photos—the contract payment still stands."
Le Qing didn’t argue. With a light laugh, she said, "Thank you."
While everyone else worked, she relaxed at the table, watching the little ones come alive under the camera’s gaze. The sight brought her a rare sense of ease.
Today’s shoot for the two children wasn’t demanding, and since it didn’t require much acting, they finished quickly.
But ever since joining the set, the kids had grown noticeably more cheerful, their playful instincts unleashed. If they weren’t tired, they wanted to keep playing nonstop.
Seeing Lan Xu chatting and laughing with a group of adults, they couldn’t resist joining in.
But Lan Xu was currently an extra—what were two child actors doing running over like that?
"It’s fine," Director Tan said, fond of the children. As long as it didn’t disrupt filming, he didn’t mind. "Let them change clothes, smudge their makeup a bit to disguise it, and then they can join in."
Since extras rarely got close-up shots, having two more kids made no difference. So, after finishing their main roles, the two little ones now had a side gig as extras—complete with room for improvisation.
For them, this role-playing game was thrillingly new. And when something was this fun, they had to share it.
Huddled under a table, the three children conspired to recruit their aunt into the game.
Noticing Le Qing resting at the table between shoots, they scurried over to invite her to play.
Le Qing, still drowsy: "…?"
"We’re on set. Let’s play back at the hotel tonight, okay?"
"But we can play here!" Little Le Jia pointed across the set. "We can hide-and-seek there!"
The scene being filmed was an evening banquet, set indoors. The tables, laden with fruit and cakes, were draped with tablecloths—perfect for hiding under. The three kids were already acting out a hide-and-seek scenario, ducking beneath the tables.
"I can’t go in," Le Qing explained patiently. "I’m not an actor. I can’t walk into the shot."
Little Le Jia frowned. "But Auntie, you’re prettier than us. Why can’t you?"
"Director Uncle said it’s super easy," Little Sister Treasure added, convinced that if she could do it, her aunt could too. After all, the director had praised their performance.
"I—"
"Perfect timing," Director Tan interrupted, approaching with his script. "We’re short one female extra. Everyone else is already in costume—Le Qing, want to step in? No need to show your face, just give us a back shot. This scene needs symmetry in numbers."
Having once boasted she could handle anything, Le Qing had no reason to refuse.
If the client needed help, she’d oblige.
"Alright," she said, standing. "I’ll go change."
Extras didn’t require elaborate makeup, so she was ready quickly. Still, the makeup artist couldn’t resist dusting her face with a darker shade of foundation. "I’m worried the audience’s eyes will automatically zoom in on you otherwise."
At least this way, her face wouldn’t stand out.
The scene called for the extras to stand in two rows down the center. Once the main actors entered and gunfire erupted, chaos would follow, and everyone would scatter.
The three hide-and-seek kids could stay under the tables, but the adults had to run.
Director Tan reminded her firmly, "Le Qing, we’ll put a blood pack on you. When you’re ‘shot,’ just drop—and whatever you do, don’t show your face!"
"Got it." Not showing her face was ideal. Le Qing already had a plan for her dramatic demise.
Once everyone was in position, the director called action, and the set fell silent. To avoid accidental close-ups, Le Qing had been placed in a corner—just to balance the numbers.
Uninterested in acting and too far from the leads to hear their lines, Le Qing found the quiet almost too soothing.
But once this was done, they’d wrap for dinner, and today’s workload would be light. Fewer photos meant no overtime editing—just a good night’s sleep.
Just as she was thinking this, a gunshot rang out. Jolted alert, Le Qing rushed to her mark. At the third shot, she dropped convincingly, playing dead with commitment.
Remembering the director’s warning, she spotted a tablecloth ahead and wriggled forward, tucking her head beneath it—
Only to lock eyes with three startled, frosting-smeared faces.
Silently, Le Qing took in the half-eaten mini cakes clutched in their hands—props from the table. So this was their version of hide-and-seek? No wonder they thought it was fun!
Director Tan had told them to play until the gunfire, then hide however they liked—and help themselves to the cakes.
So even while hiding, they’d brought their favorite treats along, prepared for a long stay.
The three were happily munching away, cheeks stuffed like little chipmunks, with a stash of cakes piled before them—clearly planning to camp out indefinitely.
Little Sister Treasure, her face smeared with cream, was the first to react. She offered a cake to her aunt. "Auntie~"
Feeling ridiculous in her current pose—able to move only her head—Le Qing turned away. "I’m not hungry."
"Go ahead and eat, Auntie," Little Le Jia urged. "These are just normal cupcakes."
Auntie definitely hadn't tried them before.
Le Qing: "..."
This was even more embarrassing.
She hunched her head like Sun Wukong trapped under the Five-Finger Mountain, letting the three kids take turns feeding her.
Le Qing had no choice. She might as well taste the cake and see how it compared to her own. It was just a prop—how good could it be?
...Wait, it’s actually delicious?
She stared in disbelief at the three little cupcakes offered to her, skeptically taking a bite of one, then another.
When she nearly choked, Little Lan Xu thoughtfully handed her a small cup of juice.
"...You even have this?" Le Qing asked, surprised.
Little Le Jia proudly declared, "We agreed—my sister and I bring the cakes, and Lan Xu brings the drinks!"
Were they throwing a party here?
Shocking, but she still wanted a sip.
Le Qing let the three kids feed her, but after too many cupcakes, she started feeling overwhelmed by the sweetness.
Her own baking had way less sugar.
The three kids, still eager, asked, "Auntie, want more?"
"No more," Le Qing shook her head with difficulty. "I’m afraid I’ll need the bathroom soon."
The scene outside was still ongoing, and as a "corpse," she couldn’t move yet.
The kids didn’t quite understand but didn’t push her—Auntie never ate much anyway.
They sat cross-legged, but just eating cupcakes got boring. Since they couldn’t leave or make noise, they had to find something else to do.
Little Le Jia volunteered, "Should I tell a story?"
Le Qing chuckled. Were they having a tea party now?
Honestly, it really felt like one.
"Auntie should listen too," Little Le Jia said. "Auntie hasn’t heard a story in so long."
She worked every night, only coming in after they’d fallen asleep. He’d never gotten to tuck her in.
"Fine," Le Qing agreed. Lying there with nothing else to do, she indulged them. "Go ahead."
But she underestimated her own exhaustion.
Lately, she’d been falling asleep to her brother’s stories at home. After days of fatigue, the sugar crash, the soft storytelling, and lying motionless on the floor while the main actors argued in the background—it was the perfect storm.
She didn’t even realize when she dozed off, only dreaming of a vast green forest where a rabbit squad from the story stood guard, singing lullabies while the grass beneath her tasted oddly sweet.
The kids noticed and hushed their voices. "Shh, Auntie’s sleeping."
"Told you I could get her to sleep," Little Le Jia whispered smugly.
"Let’s keep it down," Little Sister Treasure said. "Auntie hasn’t slept in days."
When she slept, Auntie was still awake. When she woke, Auntie was already up. She must be exhausted.
Meanwhile, outside the set, Jiang Suizhi stared at his phone screen, waiting for a reply that never came. Finally, he called Sister Wang.
Sister Wang glanced at the headless figure in the scene and whispered, "Miss Le Qing’s doing extra work. Might be a while before she responds."
"Extra work?"
As far as Jiang Suizhi knew, Le Qing had taken a photographer job in the crew. Since when did she start acting too?
Was her job scope that broad?
"The crew was short on people," Sister Wang explained. "Want me to take whatever you’re sending?"
Since they were just "friends," no one would suspect anything.
"Fine. Come out and get it."
Lin Shengxi, who was driving, chimed in, "Since we’re here, why not go in?"
Only now did he realize his usually aloof friend had turned into a wholesale supplier—all for two kids.
Lin Shengxi never thought someone as cool as Jiang Suizhi would stoop to this, but here he was, bending over backward. Even though his private WeChat was exclusive, the people on it weren’t nobodies—yet he handled it all with eerie calm.
"Kinda curious what those two kids look like on set," Lin Shengxi mused.
Jiang Suizhi’s heart twitched.
Even without ever meeting them properly, maybe it was the shared blood—he couldn’t help but care.
After all, in this world, they were the only ones left who truly counted as family.
The kind that made workdays feel lighter just knowing they existed.
"Can we go in?"
Entry required a pass.
Lin Shengxi unbuckled his seatbelt. "If my face doesn’t get us in, I’ve wasted years of fame."
Not that he flaunted it, but his online presence was massive. Most places, especially cash-strapped crews, would roll out the red carpet hoping he might toss in some investment.
Director Tan’s crew wasn’t strapped, but they’d never turn down connections. They’d crossed paths at events before, so when Lin Group’s young master dropped by for a visit, the director waved him right in.
Lin Shengxi played it smooth, bringing coffee for the crew. An assistant led him to Director Tan, but after scanning the set, he saw no sign of the kids or Le Qing. "Still filming?"
"Wrapping up," Director Tan said, barely glancing over. "Here to see someone?"
"Sort of. Two little actors in your crew."
"Two?" Director Tan paused. "Little Le Jia and Little Le’an?"
"Yeah. Where are they?"
"Went off to play extras. Probably hiding somewhere—wait till we’re done."
Lin Shengxi backed off, joining Jiang Suizhi to wait.
He sprawled on a chair, but Jiang Suizhi stood like a statue—unmoving, yet impossible to ignore. Even masked and capped, his presence had people sneaking glances.
How did someone look that cool while dressed like a bank robber?
Just because he had better proportions? So what if he was a few centimeters taller!
"Cut!" Director Tan called. "Dinner break. Someone find those three kids—they’ve got visitors."
He finally stood, but before addressing Lin Shengxi, his eyes locked onto the figure behind him. "And this is…?"
"A friend," Lin Shengxi said. "Tagged along."
"Your friend?" Cui Shuo stepped forward. "Looks familiar."
"?"
How could anyone recognize him wrapped up like that?
"Ah, were you sitting outside the coffee shop a few days ago?" Cui Shuo smacked his forehead. "I noticed you back then and thought, ‘Where did this handsome guy come from?’"
Jiang Suizhi gave a slight nod. "Mm."
Lin Shengxi teased, "Bro, you came here secretly without me?"
Jiang Suizhi lifted his head slightly behind his sunglasses. Though he said nothing, Lin Shengxi could practically feel the silent threat radiating from him.
"No need to sneak around," Director Tan chuckled. "Is there an actor in the crew you like? Who is it? Maybe you can take a photo together or chat a bit."
If any actor in his crew had connections or opportunities, he’d do his best to help them out. After all, you never knew what might catch an investor’s eye.
Jiang Suizhi followed his lead. "Those two kids."
"Huh?"
Both Director Tan and Cui Shuo, who had already pulled out a pen ready to sign something, froze.
"But the show hasn’t aired yet?"
"They popped up while I was browsing online," Lin Shengxi quickly covered. "We haven’t seen them post any updates in days, so we kinda miss them."
"Ah, right, right." Director Tan nodded in understanding. These days, plenty of people were "cloud-raising" kids online. "I’ve already had someone relay the message to them."
Jiang Suizhi spotted three children crawling out from under a nearby table, whispering to each other as they moved. Their faces were still smeared with leftover cream, but they looked lively enough.
Unconsciously, his lips curved slightly. "Are they well-behaved here?"
"Y-yeah, very."
Director Tan found the question oddly specific, as if Jiang Suizhi were asking about his own children.
And what was with this guy’s getup? Sunglasses, mask—was he some kind of A-list celebrity?
Just then, the three kids came running over hand in hand. Little Le Jia waved enthusiastically. "Uncle Lin!"
"Wow, look at you, little stars now! You guys—"
Before Lin Shengxi could finish, the trio gracefully bypassed him and dashed toward the door, their voices fading into the distance. "Sorry, Uncle Lin! We’re getting food for Auntie! See you later~"
Lin Shengxi: "?"
Jiang Suizhi: "..."
"Getting food?" Lin Shengxi glanced around, confused. "I meant to ask earlier—isn’t Le Qing also working as an extra? Why haven’t I seen her?"
Director Tan hadn’t spotted her either. "Maybe she’s changing costumes?"
Meanwhile, the three kids had already reached the food distribution counter. Normally, Sister Wang would pick up their meals, but today they wanted to do it themselves for their auntie.
Extras’ meals were different from the main cast’s, but since the children were special guest actors—and still growing—plus Le Qing was part of the photography team, they were given the same meals as the leads.
The staff member handed them the boxes with a smile. "Why are you picking them up today?"
"Auntie’s sleeping," Little Le Jia explained, hugging the food. "We want the biggest one for her."
Their auntie was so thin—she needed to eat more to grow strong and tall like them.
After collecting the meals, the kids didn’t head back immediately. Instead, they crouched nearby, opening each box to compare whose portion had the biggest piece of meat.
Little Le Jia transferred the largest chunk from his own box into his auntie’s, then eyed his sister’s. "This one—swap it over."
Little Sister Treasure obediently handed over her extra-large chicken drumstick.
A nearby staff member cooed at the adorable scene. "Where do you even get kids like these? I want one too! They even trade meat for their auntie. Here, have another drumstick, sweethearts."
"We’ve got fruit too!" Little Le Jia added the prettiest-looking fruit to his auntie’s box. Only then did the trio stand up, satisfied, and scamper back toward the set, balancing the containers carefully. "Thank you, sis~"
"Holy—" A crew member packing up nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted a figure in a white dress sprawled under a table, fake blood splattered dramatically across her back. "Who died here?"
The commotion caught Director Tan’s group mid-conversation. They turned to look—and finally noticed the person lying motionless on the ground. That spot…
"Le Qing?"
Director Tan hurried over, worried she might be hurt. "Check what’s going on."
Lin Shengxi and Jiang Suizhi exchanged a glance before silently following.
Before Director Tan could crouch down to check on her, the three kids came barreling back like tiny tornadoes. "We’re here!"
"Uncle?" Little Le Jia hugged the food, puzzled by the crowd of adults. "Why so many people watching Auntie sleep?"
Jiang Suizhi’s mask hid his expression, but the corner of his eye twitched visibly. "...Sleeping?"
The three children squeezed past the grown-ups, forming a protective barrier around their auntie. "Auntie was super tired. I worked really hard to tell her stories so she’d fall asleep."
"Damn, she must be exhausted to sleep like a corpse," Lin Shengxi couldn’t help muttering. "This is downright alarming."
Le Qing stirred faintly at the noise, her head feeling too heavy to lift. She flexed her fingers and shifted her legs weakly.
Jiang Suizhi, standing closest to her hand, took a reflexive step back. "...She’s reanimating."
The kids immediately ducked under the tablecloth again, chirping, "Auntie, wake up~"
Le Qing blinked her eyes open, momentarily disoriented. Before she could process where she was, the three little ones proudly presented the neatly arranged meal boxes in front of her. "We picked the biggest drumstick for you! And got an extra one!"
Still half-asleep, Le Qing: "?"
The group outside heard every word.
Lin Shengxi couldn’t hold back his laughter, clutching his stomach. "I’m dying over here."
Jiang Suizhi arched a brow, then knelt down on one knee, curiosity getting the better of him. What kind of person ended up in such a bizarre situation? And what exactly was happening under there?
He lifted a corner of the tablecloth with one finger.
Tilting his cap slightly, he saw Le Qing’s head poking out from under the cloth, her face still dusted with gray makeup—only her bright, confused eyes betraying any life. The three kids were kneeling in a row, four open meal boxes and assorted snacks laid out before them like some strange ritual.
The scene was utterly surreal.
After a beat of silence, Jiang Suizhi let out a low chuckle. "Now that’s what I call filial piety."
