Qin Yage had once believed kissing led to pregnancy. Only after personally asking Aunt Xia did she learn how incredibly complex the process truly was—sperm! fertilized eggs! None of it made sense. But she’d distilled it down to one crucial fact: kissing won’t get you pregnant. That was enough.

Still, remembering how she’d snapped at her brother earlier made her cheeks burn.

“When’s Brother coming back?”

Qin Yage watched the soap opera on TV, drifting off to sleep on the sofa without realizing it.

Qin An returned home past midnight. He’d spent hours chatting with Wang Luoran on a park bench, uncovering some secrets.

“You ever wonder why I seem so boyish? Probably everyone thinks I’m a guy, except those who’ve seen my name on the class roster,” Wang Luoran said with a self-mocking smile.

“I’m a little curious, sure. But I won’t push if you’d rather not talk. Everyone’s got secrets, right?” Qin An felt he already carried too many of his own. Spilling them would land him on a scientist’s dissecting table in seconds.

Wang Luoran continued anyway. “I never knew my dad. No idea if he’s alive or dead. Mom raised me alone. Once, some old creep tried to assault her. The police caught him eventually, but I could only hide in the closet, crying silently while he yanked her hair and tore her clothes. I cursed that father I’d never met. I wanted to protect Mom.” She clenched her tiny fists earnestly, looking utterly adorable.

“But girls can’t protect moms. Only boys can. And being a girl? That’d just worry her more. Back then, I hated how troublesome it was to be female. So I… forgot. Or forced myself to forget I was a girl.”

Qin An sighed at his doorstep, glancing at Aunt Xia’s brightly lit house. Wang Luoran was surely in for a scolding. Would she take his advice? Change couldn’t happen overnight. Best to let things unfold naturally.

A cool night breeze carried warm air. The lamp still glowed amber. The TV droned on with its eternal soap opera. On the gray fabric sofa, cushions and pillows lay scattered. Qin Yage slept soundly nestled among them.

The little girl wore a sundress she’d haggled for at a street stall—skimping on two lollipops to convince the stingy vendor. Simple straps, a short hem barely covering half her thighs. Lying down now, one slender, perfectly shaped leg was fully exposed.

Seeing her sleep so peacefully, Qin An couldn’t bear to wake her. He slipped into her room, turned down the bed, then returned to lift her from the sofa.

Qin Yage’s skin was impossibly smooth, slippery as a fish—hard to get a grip. Qin An slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her neck, lifting her in a proper princess carry.

Qin Yage grumbled softly in discomfort. Her arms instinctively looped around Qin An’s neck. Eyes still closed, she mumbled drowsily, “Brother… is that you?”

“Not me.”

“It’s you.” Qin Yage sounded displeased. Her long lashes fluttered, threatening to wake her.

“Alright, alright. It’s me.”

Qin Yage gave a satisfied “Mm,” then fell silent again, slipping back into her Sleeping Beauty slumber.

Qin An smiled. He tidied the girly magazines on her bed before laying her down and tucking her in. He placed the Hello Kitty hair clip atop the neat stack of books.

*May this tiny clip stay with you forever. Never return to my hands again.*

Standing at the doorway, Qin An watched Qin Yage sleep. An involuntary smile softened his lips, warm and tender.

Qin Yage woke early, feeling wonderfully refreshed. She sat on the bed, daydreaming for a while, in high spirits.

Ever since Mom and Dad left, her quality of life had skyrocketed. No more facing her stingy mother’s scowls. Mornings now meant sweet corn porridge, soy milk, bread, cake, or fried eggs. Free time meant lollipops and soap operas.

Her gaze drifted to the girly magazine borrowed from a “mature” senior—neatly arranged, with a Hello Kitty hair clip resting on top. Qin Yage’s eyes lit up. Everything she owned—pillows, sheets, pajamas, even notebooks—featured that explosively cute cat.

She owned many Hello Kitty clips, but all were cheap knockoffs from street stalls. They broke easily and clashed with others’ accessories. This one? Limited edition. Pink crystal, polished smoother than a mirror. In sunlight, it glowed with a soft, warm pink light. Worth ten thousand lollipops? A million? She wasn’t sure. But *this* was a birthday gift fit for a queen.

Then the neatly stacked books caught her eye. Qin Yage shrieked, “Ah!” A fiery blush spread across her face.

“Qin An, you jerk! Get out here!” Her sharp voice echoed through the empty house.

She dashed out of her room, searching every corner. No Qin An.

“Brother! Where are you?” Her voice trembled with tears.

Sitting at the dining table, the corn porridge tasted bland. A note lay beside it:

*Gone for three days over Labor Day. Brush teeth before breakfast. Order takeout if hungry—money’s in your wallet. Find Aunt Xia if trouble strikes. Bought your lollipops. Remember: one per hour.*

A doodle of a pig-faced boy sucking a lollipop grinned at the bottom.

“Hmph. If I’m a pig, you’re Pig Brother.”

Qin Yage hugged a bucket of lollipops, sighing deeply. The nine-year-old seemed burdened with the worries of a nineteen-year-old.

“Brother… how do I survive without you?”

Class 6-2, led by their monitor, embarked on a three-day camping trip. Some teachers, school leaders, and parents joined them. An Qi had skipped the “shoddy” outing, vacationing abroad with her dad.

Around ten, they reached the campsite—a clearing in the woods at the mountain’s base. Lunch first, then an afternoon hike to the summit to pitch tents for the night.

The travel agency had chosen well. The flat riverbed was perfect for camping.

Huang Jiajun finally escaped her chatty dad. What had gotten into him today? Nonstop praise, calling her “good daughter.” Had the sun risen in the west?

Ignoring ladylike decorum, Huang Jiajun squeezed through the crowd. She smoothed her striped dress and stepped out in gray-trimmed canvas shoes—just as she spotted Qin An lost in thought.

He stood beneath a canopy of trees, motionless. So different from his lively chatter during the hike. The contrast made Huang Jiajun pause.

In his clear, azure eyes, she glimpsed a loneliness words couldn’t capture. It seeped through two lifetimes. For a moment, the noisy crowd faded to silence and gray. Only he remained, standing alone atop a mountain of solitude. It wasn’t worn on his sleeve—it lived in his heart.

Watching him, Huang Jiajun’s chest tightened. Her unripe heart hammered against her ribs as she approached.

“Qin An! You’d better help cook, or you’ll starve later.”

“I brought bread and milk. Besides, can you even eat that ‘playing house’ slop they’re making?”

“You…” Huang Jiajun bit her tongue. She’d meant to invite him to cook *together*. Yet he wore that same expression, like the world owed him a million bucks. “Fine. Starve then.”

“Monitor! Our fire won’t light! Help!”

“Coming!” Huang Jiajun shot Qin An a fierce glare before leaving.

Though lively and nicknamed “The Aristocrat Killer,” Huang Jiajun was still a pampered young lady. Her fingers had never touched kitchen work.

After much effort, not a single spark appeared. Black smoke left her soot-streaked and coughing.

“That’s it. I’m calling the chef.”

The young miss seemed to forget—they were camping, not at home.

“Monitor, what’s wrong? Can’t even light a fire? Spoiled brat! Just stay home and wait for marriage! Why play hero?” Chen Chao jeered loudly. Onlookers gathered. Chen Dayong’s lackeys whistled mockingly.

Huang Jiajun’s face flushed crimson. Her glare could’ve vaporized Chen’s gang a hundred times over.

Nearby, Qin An gathered twigs and dry grass. He dug a shallow pit in a sheltered spot, stacked the smallest branches crosswise, then lit the dry grass and twigs with a lighter. Soon, a modest fire crackled.

He ringed it with stones, building a simple, ventilated stove.

“Done.” Qin An dusted his hands, ignoring the stunned stares, and returned to the banyan tree to nap.

Huang Jiajun pouted again. “Show-off. Eat your bread and milk. Hope it gives you diarrhea.” She cursed him silently, glancing back every three seconds to check on him.

*Wonder if that little brat’s surviving without me? Aunt Xia’s there… should be fine.* Qin An grinned up at the blue sky.

Letting her live alone awhile was good training.

Spoiling her was a silent killer. His sister’s growing dependence worried him deeply. *Must not repeat past mistakes,* he reminded himself firmly.