“Mom! What are you doing?!” Her voice cracked like a startled sparrow bursting from a hedge.

Tang Coco felt herself fray, like a kite yanked by a sudden gust.

“What you’ve got is way too old-fashioned. What era is this? Still wearing that? I’ll find you a new one.” Su Xinhua’s smile was soft, like spring light through gauze.

She rummaged through the wardrobe’s little cabinet, hands fluttering like leaves, and pulled out a white strapless bra, lace delicate as frost.

“Here—try this.” Her tone landed light, like a petal on water.

“...” Silence coiled in Coco’s chest, cold as a draft slipping under a door.

“As expected, this day still came...” The thought thudded, like distant drums under fog.

She turned the thing over in her hands, brow pinched like a cloud’s ridge; how did one wear this with no straps?

“Hm? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to put it on?” Su Xinhua folded her arms, sharp as a willow switch.

“...” The quiet swelled, like dusk pooling in a room.

“Mom... I was wrong...” Coco’s voice softened, like rain tapping the eaves; she knew her problem was laid bare.

“Good. Knowing you were wrong is the first step.” Su Xinhua sat beside her, warmth like a hearth.

She took the bra, her fingers sure as silk weavers, and as she helped Coco put it on, she spoke like a steady stream.

“Since you’ve become like this, you need to cut out your old ‘man’ mindset. Otherwise, what will you turn into? I don’t want my beautiful daughter becoming a tomboy.” Her words wrapped gentle as a shawl, yet carried steel.

“Okay...” The syllable sank, like a pebble into clear water.

For the next half hour, Su Xinhua updated Coco’s wardrobe from inside out, a full bloom from bud to blossom.

Every style she made Coco try leaned mature, lines sleek as night water; if Coco balked, Mom’s “lesson” snapped like a brief summer thunder.

The once-cold assassin had no temper before her mother, like a blade sheathed under moonlight.

“Mm—give me a spin.” Su Xinhua planted her hands on her hips, like a captain on a deck.

“Please, spare me... How old am I, and you still want spins? I’m not a kid.” Coco puffed her cheeks, like a little drum.

She wore a black off-shoulder, waist-cinching short dress; its airy hem fell to mid-thigh like a shadowed petal.

“Hey! Not listening again, are we?” Su Xinhua’s brow arched, a hawk catching a rising wind.

“...” Coco wilted at that look, like grass under noon sun.

She turned in place, weak as a last swirl of smoke; the black skirt lifted, a raven feather in a small breeze, and a fresh scent threaded the air.

“Mm—perfect.” Su Xinhua nodded, eyes bright as lacquer, then pulled Coco’s hand toward the living room.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Her tone rang warm, like a dinner bell at dusk.

The living room, a mess last night, now gleamed clean as a washed stone; the table held three breakfasts, set neat as chess pieces.

Coco sat, chopsticks just in hand, when Su Xinhua cut in, voice crisp like a bell.

“Wait. It’s been a while—the food’s cold. I’ll go heat it.”

“No need. A bit cool’s fine.” Coco waved casually, like brushing off stray mist.

“That won’t do! You’ve got to protect your body. Diet matters for your health.” Her frown drew tight, like a knot in red thread.

“...” Coco went quiet, a lake going still; she felt her old habits would be swept away like leaves in a current.

Su Xinhua carried two fried eggs back to the kitchen, footsteps steady as metronome ticks, then returned after a few minutes with steam curling like white vines.

“Alright, eat. I made these just for you.” Pride shimmered, like sunlight on porcelain.

“You can cook?” Coco leaned in, a cat sniffing at a bowl; the aroma wasn’t bad.

“Listen to yourself! What can’t your mother do?” Su Xinhua stood hands-on-hips, a small peacock flare.

“Alright then, I’ll try.” Coco lifted a piece with her chopsticks, like pinching a coin from water.

She put it in her mouth and hadn’t even chewed when—her eyes flew open like shutters, then slowly lowered, brows twitching like moth wings.

“How is it?” Su Xinhua rushed the question, words tripping like pebbles downhill.

“Mom... where’s Tiantian?” Coco deflected, voice thin as a thread.

“Hm? Why bring her up? She went to the company early.” Su Xinhua blinked, a sparrow’s quick look.

“She didn’t eat breakfast, right? That portion’s hers.” Coco glanced at the untouched plate, like a judge at evidence.

“She left without eating—how’d you know?” Curiosity pricked, like a thorn.

“...” Understanding slid into place for Coco, smooth as a blade; relief bloomed like a small fire: “That girl’s really clever.”

“Is it good or not? Why’re you asking about everything else?” Su Xinhua’s patience frayed, a taut string humming.

“It’s... fine. Color, aroma, and taste are basically there.” Coco’s answer limped like a tired mule.

“Really!? Then... which part isn’t met? Color? I think it’s fine.” Hope brightened her face, like dawn lifting fog.

“Color’s fine... but taste could use improvement.” Coco chose each word like stepping stones.

“Taste?” Su Xinhua rolled the verdict around, and suddenly the meaning clicked like a snapped twig.

“So it’s bad!” She stood, the word falling like a gavel.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t say that. You said it.” Coco dodged, slippery as a fish.

“How could it be! I followed the online improvements.” Su Xinhua grabbed chopsticks and tasted, faith stiff as cardboard.

“Ugh...” She spat it out fast, image forgotten, like a cat rejecting medicine; Coco at least managed to swallow.

“Did you spill the salt?” Coco stared, flat as winter earth.

“No... no, I put three spoonfuls, just like it said online.” Her confidence shrank, like a balloon losing air.

“Three fried eggs... you need three spoons of salt for that?” Coco pinned the issue, like a hairpin in place.

“Oh...” Words dried up for Su Xinhua, like a creek in August; she’d wanted to show off and had blown it.

“Ah...” Coco saw her mom’s crestfallen face and sighed, a breeze through bamboo; she rose and headed for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Su Xinhua’s voice lifted, like a bird calling from a branch.

“Fried eggs.” Coco’s helplessness sat heavy, like rain-soaked cloth.

Fifteen minutes later, Su Xinhua ate two fried eggs with pure contentment, a cat in sun; she usually only managed one, yet two weren’t enough today.

“Wow! Didn’t expect my girl to be this good! I can eat something delicious every day now.” Her eyes sparkled, like stars skimming a pond.

Coco went speechless, like wind paused at the eaves; Mom had accepted reality fast, calling her “daughter” like it had never stopped.

“I’m afraid I can’t cook for you every day... I’ve got things to do.” The thought weighed in her chest, iron under silk.

Su Xinhua caught the heaviness and tucked away her playful glow, like a lantern dimmed; she spoke to Coco carefully.

“Ke’er, come here. Sit on Mom’s lap.” Her voice invited, a quilt on a cold morning.

“Mm...” Coco settled into Su Xinhua’s arms, warmth soaking in like spring sun.

“I know what you’re worried about...” Fingers stroked Coco’s hair, a breeze through wheat. “I’ve been preparing too. From now on, you won’t fight alone.”

“Mom...” The word trembled, a leaf on water; Coco’s heart stirred.

“Those things...” The shadow loomed, like a mountain behind mist.

“Don’t rush. I’ll have Xin’er and the others come this afternoon. There are things you all need to know.” Her promise lay steady, a stone path.

“Xin’er? How do you know?” Surprise flared, like a match struck.

“Hmph! You think you can hide from me? At Hong Wei’s place, I already learned you found a girlfriend—and not just one.” She tapped Coco’s forehead, light as a dragonfly.

“What?! You two are talking behind my back!” Coco’s cry rose, like a kettle whistling.

“Hey! Mind your tone. What surprised me is both your girlfriends know you’ve become like this and didn’t leave. So I think we can trust them.” Her pragmatism stood, a pine in snow.

“Xin’er and Yuting are the ones I trust most.” Coco’s voice firmed, like a blade’s edge.

“Mm? And what about me?” Su Xinhua’s question popped, like a bubble; Coco gave her a look meant for children.

“...” Seeing that silent stare, Su Xinhua’s acting kicked in like theater lights; she went over the top.

“Wow—my daughter doesn’t trust her own mother. I’m heartbroken.” She clutched at air, melodrama like a silk fan flutter.

“Hey, hey! How old are you? Don’t act like a kid.” Coco’s exasperation rapped, like knuckles on wood.

“I’m still young~” Su Xinhua threw a cute pose, a sprout insisting it’s a tree.

“...” Coco studied her mother’s face, young as watered jade, and a thought flitted like a firefly.

“Right, I’m curious... Mom, how do you keep yourself like this?” Her curiosity gleamed, a stream finding sunlight.

“Eh—fast shift there. Already caring about that? Want me to share the secret?” Her tone teased, a ribbon dancing.

“...” Coco turned her head away, like a cat ignoring a toy. “Just curious. Forget it if you won’t say.”

“Hehe—by this afternoon, you’ll understand.” Su Xinhua’s smile left a hook, like a line on water.

“Alright... I need to swing by Yiyi’s place later.” Coco let the other matter rest, like setting a book aside.

“Yiyi...” The name pulled a memory, a girl who’d helped her daughter; Su Xinhua sighed, sound thin as smoke.

“Ah...” The air eased and dipped, like a reed.

“What’s wrong? Why the sigh?” Coco’s brow lifted, a small arch.

“I’m lamenting why I have a daughter so good at charming girls. What will the boys do?” Her exaggeration rolled out, a drumline in a parade.

“...” Coco stood up. “I’m heading out!” If she stayed, she’d want to clock her, the urge sparking like flint.

“Wait.” The call snapped, like a string plucked.

“What now?” Coco turned, a cat mid-step.

“Catch.” Su Xinhua tossed something; the key flashed like a fish scale.

“Black Porsche in the basement garage. I haven’t driven it since I got back. You take it.” Her tone was casual, like light rain.

“Okay.” Coco pocketed the key, smooth as slipping a coin.

“...” At the shoe cabinet, Coco paused, thought pooling like ink.

“Do you have—” The question barely rose when Su Xinhua’s shout cut clean, like a blade.

“No!”

“...” Coco deflated, air leaving like a sigh; she picked a pair of heels that fit, arcs sharp as swan necks.