Next morning, the light crept in like pale silk.

“What?! Sister Coco is the heiress of Chenghua International?!” Meng Xiaoxiao’s shriek cracked the apartment like a dropped plate.

“Is it that shocking?” Gu Xin set her phone down, her sigh drifting like steam from a cup.

Su Xinhua had just called, her words steady as a metronome, inviting Gu Xin over this afternoon.

“No wonder Coco’s got that aura,” Meng Xiaoxiao muttered, her doubts bubbling like fish under ice. “But why did she say she grew up in an orphanage?”

“Uh… that… Coco lost some memories,” Gu Xin said, her tone soft as rain on leaves. “Things got scrambled, so she probably remembered wrong.”

“Oh… no wonder she keeps getting sick and passing out,” Meng Xiaoxiao hugged her bear, her pity pooling like a shadow at dusk. “Mm… suddenly she feels so pitiful.”

“…” Meng Yuting and Gu Xin traded a glance, helplessness flickering like a candle in wind.

Elsewhere, in Su Xinhua’s luxe suite, the kitchen clinked like a small bell.

She was making breakfast, her motions careful as brushstrokes, though it used to be Tiantian’s job.

“Hey…” Tiantian watched her back with a wry face, dread crawling like a cold lizard. She’d eaten Su Xinhua’s cooking once and never dared a second time.

Twenty-odd minutes later, she set the plates down, the fried eggs glossy as morning suns.

“Sis Su, I’ll swing by the office first,” Tiantian said at the door, her heels clicking like castanets.

“Eh? Aren’t you eating?” Su Xinhua asked, her voice warm as a stove.

“N-nope, I won’t intrude on your mother-daughter time,” Tiantian giggled, then fled like a sparrow startled.

“…” Su Xinhua shook her head with a rueful smile, the gesture light as a fan’s flutter, and walked toward the bedroom.

She eased the door open, the hinge whispering like reeds. Tang Coco still slept, curled around the quilt like a cat in sun.

They’d talked half the night, their words drifting till dawn like river mist. Coco had finally dozed off; Su Xinhua hadn’t slept at all, her nights long and starless from years of work.

She stepped to the bedside, her gaze soft as a shawl laid over snow. Coco lay on her side, hugging the blanket, a faint smile blooming like a pale flower.

“Shoucheng… you knew it would come to this, didn’t you,” she thought, the name heavy as rainclouds in her chest. “Really… why couldn’t you just tell me. Don’t worry. I won’t let her carry that weight alone again.”

She sat by Coco’s legs, thoughts churning like a tide. Her hand drifted down, fingertips brushing Coco’s thigh, the smoothness like satin under moonlight. The feel lulled her, a small eddy she didn’t notice, until—

“Mom, seriously… are you like, daughter-obsessed?”

“Ah!” The voice snapped like a twig, and Su Xinhua jerked up. At some point Coco had woken, propped on an elbow, staring at her with a flat look like winter glass.

“You brat!” Heat rushed to Su Xinhua’s cheeks, pink as peach blossoms. The hand that had been stroking squeezed down without thinking.

“Ow!” The jolt lit Coco up like a struck string, and she sprang upright.

“Hey! Why’d you pinch me?” Coco pressed back to the headboard, eyes sparking like flint.

“You scared me!” Su Xinhua shot back, flustered like a teen, cheeks still rosy as dawn.

“You zoned out and started petting me, then blamed me?” Coco’s grievance puffed like a sulky cloud.

“I was thinking about your father—” The words faltered, falling away like a leaf cut from its stem.

“…” She swallowed it. “Forget it. I’ll let you off this time. Get up and get dressed.”

She rose, the decision neat as a folded note, and turned to leave.

“Mom…” The word came halting, tender as first rain, and Coco surprised herself saying it.

“Hm?” Su Xinhua turned, puzzled, her eyes clear as a lake.

Coco stepped in and hugged her, the embrace warm as a quilt from the sun. “I’ll stay with you,” she whispered, “for me and for Father.”

“…” Silence swelled between them like a held breath. Su Xinhua felt it—her child’s sincere care, a flame cupped in both hands.

“All right. No need to get that mushy at your age,” she said, shifting the current with a smile light as willow leaves. “I’ll wait outside. Change quick.”

“Mm, okay.” Coco smiled, soft as milk, and Su Xinhua stepped out, then leaned on the door, drawing deep breaths like a diver surfacing. Even a boardroom iron lady turned soft as rice when it came to family.

In the living room, minutes trickled by like sand. She frowned—too quiet. She went back, opened the door, and found Coco still in her slip, crouched by the closet like a squirrel rifling stores.

“What are you looking for?” Su Xinhua asked, her steps light as moth wings.

“Mom, do you not have shorts?” Coco’s voice was hopeful as a kite string.

“Shorts? What for?” The question hung like a brass bell.

“To, you know, wear.” The words tumbled out, plain as pebbles.

“Hm? There are plenty of skirts. Why shorts? None you like?” Her doubt tilted like a bird’s head.

“Uh… it’s not that… fine…” Coco deflated, her mood drooping like a wilted leaf. She pulled out a black, modest dress.

Watching her, a thought struck Su Xinhua like a pinprick of light. Every time they’d met, Coco wore skirts—last night’s white gown had been a lily in moonlight. She’d assumed Coco loved them. She didn’t know every skirt cost Coco a small battle, and that Coco only wore them when someone was there, like a guard at a gate.

She saw it now, the knot in Coco’s heart, knotted like bamboo roots. She stepped closer. Coco had slipped off her nightdress and lifted her arms to pull the dress down, when—swish—the dress was whisked away.

“Eh?!” Coco blinked up, startled as a deer. Su Xinhua held the black dress in her hand.

“What?” Coco asked, confusion fluttering like a moth.

“This one’s no good. I’ll pick for you.” Su Xinhua smiled, the curve bright as lacquer, and turned to the wardrobe.

“Hey? I think it’s fine—” Coco started, but her mother didn’t answer. She tossed the dress back, then drew out an off-white chiffon slip dress, light as breath.

“Here. We’re not going out anyway. Wear this.” She passed it over. Coco stared at the airy fabric and felt her soul cough blood, melodramatic as a stage actor.

“What is it? Don’t tell me… you don’t want to wear skirts. Or… you’re still not used to them?” Su Xinhua’s gaze held her, steady as a held bowstring.

“Uh…” The prickle of danger rose first, sharp as a thorn. If Mom found the “knot,” her makeover would be a storm worse than Li Muyan and Meng Yuting’s.

So Coco obediently slipped into the dress. She stood and smoothed it down, the hem barely skimming her hips like a shy wave. Four thin straps rested on her white shoulders, slightly off-beat like a note out of key.

“Wait.” The word cut in, crisp as a fan snap.

“Hm?” Coco looked up, dread spreading like ink. What now?

“No. Not pretty like this. Take it off first.” Su Xinhua frowned, the crease fine as silk.

“…” Coco swallowed a groan, her thoughts tumbling like dice. She never knew her mom cared this much about clothes.

“Come on, quickly. My daughter has to be lovely, not a single flaw,” Su Xinhua said, easing her tone into a playful lilt, sweet as honey on tea.

“…” Coco no longer knew what flavor her mother’s personality was—spicy, sweet, or both. She turned and slipped the dress off, the fabric whispering like water. Then—one move froze her.

Standing behind, Su Xinhua reached for Coco’s back, fingers quick as dragonflies. A neat row of hooks came undone in a blink.

“Ah!” Coco felt the looseness bloom like a sudden breeze on skin. She spun, but Su Xinhua’s fingers caught a strap, and the spin tugged the bra clean off.

“What the—!” Coco gasped, crossing her arms in a panic, then plopping onto the bed like a startled rabbit.

“Mom! What are you doing?!” Her voice frayed like torn silk.

“That style is so dated,” Su Xinhua said, calm as a tailor. “What era are we in? I’ll get you a new one.”

She rifled the small drawer in the wardrobe, motions tidy as cards, and pulled out a new white strapless bra, lace soft as cloud.

“Here. Try it.”

“…” Coco stared at the tiny thing, her heart sinking like a stone in a well. Of course. This day still came.

She turned it over, puzzled as a novice with a puzzle box. Where were the straps even supposed to go?

“Hm? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to wear it,” Su Xinhua said, arms crossed like a gate.

“…” Shame rose first, hot as summer. “Mom… I was wrong,” Coco murmured, small as a mosquito. She knew her mother had seen straight through her.

“Hmph. Good that you can admit it,” Su Xinhua said, sitting beside her, fingers deft as needles. She fitted the bra as she spoke, her voice warm as lamplight.

“Since you’ve become like this, you have to drop the old man’s mindset. Otherwise what’s that look like? I don’t want my pretty daughter turning into a tomboy.”

Her words were gentle, yet firm, like bamboo in wind.

“Oh…” Coco lowered her head, the surrender soft as falling petals. This time, there was no escape.