The tickets to Happyland weren’t cheap—two hundred yuan per person.

Qin Yage barely scraped the 1.2-meter height requirement for half-price tickets, yet stubbornly refused them. If she wanted to feel grown-up, this wasn’t the way to fake it.

For two people, that meant at least four hundred yuan—just for entry. Add other expenses, and it’d match Qin An’s family’s entire weekly budget. Before last night, Qin An would never have splurged like this. But after "borrowing" ten thousand yuan from that cheap little miss Dongfang Keian, his spine felt straighter, his mood lighter, his voice firmer.

Happyland was Nan’an City’s only modern amusement park. Already crowded on ordinary days, the May Day holiday swelled the throngs. Ticket lines and entrance gates choked with people.

Near the gate, Qin An spotted a notice:

*"Special May Day Couples’ Ticket! Just 520 yuan for two! Includes free games, exclusive couple activities, and a complimentary gift. Don’t miss out!"*

Qin An reread the notice three times before turning, voice uncertain: "Gege… what’s a ‘couple’?"

"Hmm… like Lin Yan and Han Gen."

Qin An picked neighbors easy to picture. Their apartment faced his, and their… *bedroom exercises* often happened with doors and windows wide open—lights blazing. Unwanted sights and sounds drifted out, causing "special disturbances."

Married couples found their harmony deepening. Lonely widows and curious teens discovered new ways to comfort themselves. All in all, a welcome phenomenon. The neighborhood tolerated it.

"You called them adulterers. That’s not a couple."

"Fine. Official definition: two people who like each other—not like family or siblings. No blood ties. They admit it publicly. Live together. *That’s* a couple."

"*Like* each other? No blood ties? *Live together*?" Qin Yage stole a glance at her brother. A terrible thought speared her mind, refusing to leave. Her ears burned crimson.

Qin An added, drawing from past-life knowledge: "Doesn’t have to be man and woman. Some couples are two men. Or two women."

"Men with men? Women with women?" Qin Yage frowned. The concept was still foggy.

Strangely, Dongfang Keian’s face flashed in her mind. A chill ran down her spine.

She scanned the crowd frantically. No familiar figures. Relief washed over her—unaware that in a shadowed corner, a tiny figure under 1.2 meters, swathed in an oversized trench coat, mask, hat, and sunglasses (full private-detective cosplay), was frantically patting her own chest.

The pint-sized detective turned for one last look at Qin Yage—

—when hands shot from the darkness, clamping over her mouth and nose. She slumped, unconscious.

"We’ll pretend to be a couple," Qin An said. "Buy the discount ticket. Save money for candy."

"Shocking your brain isn’t pickled in syrup yet," Qin An sighed. Her mood swings were faster than flipping pages. "Weren’t you desperate to be an adult? Settling for twenty percent off?"

"Hmph." Qin Yage refused to explain. A classmate had flaunted her Happy Valley ticket, bragging her *gege* took her—"I’m a grown-up now!" It stung. But showing up with a *couples’ ticket*? That’d make her the ultimate adult.

No way she’d tell her brother. He’d never let her live it down.

She dashed toward the couples’ ticket booth, bouncing on her toes.

Qin An smiled, then remembered—she had no money. He hurried after her.

"Couples’ package." Qin An flashed 520 yuan, arm draped casually over Qin Yage’s shoulders.

The ticket seller eyed them. "Siblings?"

"*You’re* siblings!" Qin Yage snapped, stung by the exposure.

"We… both have dwarfism. We’re actually eighteen." Even Qin An didn’t believe his own lie.

The seller just smiled. Siblings pretending to be couples happened often. No rules demanded proof. And who said elementary kids couldn’t date? *Kids these days…*

"Sorry about that," Qin An apologized while taking the tickets.

"If you change your mind later, you can pay the difference," the seller added kindly, charmed by the little boy. "But no refunds after entry."

Qin An barely listened. After scanning the tickets, he learned the bitter truth: the couples’ package locked them out of most rides. They’d need separate tickets for those.

*No such thing as a free lunch.* No wonder it was discounted. Regret pricked him—he recognized most excluded rides from breakfast chatter.

Still, popular rides had endless queues today. The quieter ones were accessible. *Silver linings*, he told himself. Classic Ah Q spirit.

"What first?" Qin Yage’s mood lifted inside the park gates.

"This way—"

Qin An headed for the crowds. First stop: the rollercoaster. It screamed along the tracks, showering the air with shrieks.

"Boring." Qin Yage turned away after one glance.

"How about that?"

He pointed to the carousel—a rare couples’ package highlight. Teens and kids filled the painted horses.

"I’m not three! That’s baby stuff!" Qin Yage protested loudly.

Ignoring her, Qin An seized her wrist and marched toward the carousel.

"It just spins! Zero fun!" she grumbled all the way.

At the platform, he hoisted her under the arms, plunking her onto a rainbow-striped horse. The ticklish lift flushed her cheeks pink.

"Gege, I said I won’t—*AHHH!*"

The carousel lurched. She grabbed the pole, shrieking.

Despite her earlier protests, by the second rotation, she was grinning wildly—eyes wide with the pure, unjaded wonder of a child experiencing magic for the first time.

Qin An chuckled. She’d entered Doville too young, missing childhood joys. Even when he’d bought her a private amusement park in his past life, her happiness never reached a fraction of this moment. Some joys only bloom at the right time. Miss them, and no amount of fertilizer brings them back.

When she finally slid off the horse, reluctant to let go, Qin An teased: "Having fun, I see? Or did I imagine someone calling it ‘boring’ and ‘childish’? Mouth says no, body says yes."

Her face flamed. "It was dull! Only played because you *forced* me!"

"Stubborn duck." He pinched her cheek, laughing, and pulled her toward the next ride.

"Hmph. It *was* dull…" Her voice faded. Even she couldn’t keep up the act.

Qin Yage’s standards were impossibly high. Most rides earned a single dismissive glance. Finally, Qin An steered her toward the Ferris wheel—a crowd-pleaser for all ages.

As they queued, she grumbled: "Just a slow spin. Slower than a snail. Zero fun."

"Spin faster, and we’d plummet to our deaths, silly. Queue nicely. I’ll grab ice cream."

Her eyes widened. "The *mega* triple-decker one!"

"Greedy guts."

While Qin An bought ice cream, Qin Yage waited unusually patiently, sucking a lollipop to kill time.

Two teens—fifteen or sixteen—approached the queue. The girl pouted: "Ugh, this line’s endless. We’ll miss our hotel check-in. I wanted a romantic Ferris wheel ride first…"

Her boyfriend, a gold-haired kid already acting like a street thug, spotted an easy target: a scrawny boy he’d shaken down for "protection money" before.

"Follow me. I’ve got this." He yanked his date forward, cutting straight in front of the scrawny boy.

"Hey! What—*Ji Yu*?!" The boy started to protest, then wilted recognizing him.

"We were *here* earlier. Just stepped away," Ji Yu sneered. "Problem, Xiao Ma?"

Ji Yu glared at him fiercely, his thuggish nature on full display.

Intimidated by that savage gaze and Ji Yu’s thug persona, the thin, weak boy nicknamed Xiao Ma dared not utter a sound. Memories of beatings, bullying, and protection money extortions flooded back, making Xiao Ma tremble all over.

Seeing this, Ji Yu felt a flicker of smugness. He shot a knowing wink at his girlfriend.

Though she sensed it was wrong, his domineering display just now filled her with pride. She felt a hint of smug satisfaction, thinking she’d landed a badass boyfriend to show off later.

Ji Yu beamed at her smile. But just then, a fresh, gentle voice came from behind Xiao Ma: “Xiao Yu, what’s going on?”