We took the bus into the city, not daring to trouble the Yeh Family’s driver. Besides, I get carsick in sedans these days. Qingli led me off at East Street—a place I’d never visited.

I’ve hated going out since childhood. My world barely stretched beyond our neighborhood, so this city felt unfamiliar. But Qingli knew it like the back of her hand. She tugged me through twisting alleys, left and right.

“Qingli, Qingli, where are we even going?”

“Patience. We’re almost there.”

After my question, we walked a few more minutes before Qingli stopped. I looked up… Huh?

An orphanage.

“This is where I was born,” Qingli murmured. “I was adopted out just after turning two.” She stepped inside, and I hurried after her. Shock hit me like ice water—Qingli was an orphan? She’d never mentioned this.

True, she’d said Elder Mink always cared for her, never speaking of parents. I’d assumed family drama, not this.

So she’d returned for old times’ sake, to see familiar faces. I scanned the place.

This orphanage had stood for decades. The gate’s crossbeam bore deep grooves—visible even to my enhanced sight. But everything else gleamed new. The yard sprawled wide, packed with playground gear. Clearly well-funded, swimming in charity cash.

Inside, an old lady welcomed us. I accepted her cup of water and sipped quietly. Qingli was here for old friends; I’d just watch.

Yet Qingli didn’t chat. She acted like a stranger until she said:

“Truth is, I was raised here too. Old Man Chen cared for us back then.”

“Oh, Old Chen?” The lady sighed. “His health failed years ago. I took over. Want to visit him?”

“Not today. I’m here for something important.”

Huh. Not nostalgia after all. Everyone Qingli knew was gone—over ten years had passed. Why was she here? I scratched my ear and drank again.

“I want to adopt a child.”

PFFT!!!!

Spitting out water mid-conversation is mortifying. I’ve done it twice: once on Monday, now.

Both times because of Qingli.

Their stares burned into me. Flustered, I waved my hands. “Qingli, did you say… adopt a child?”

I must’ve misheard. We’re broke, living under others’ roofs, drowning in trouble. Why adopt? Was she leaving me?

“Yes,” Qingli confirmed firmly. Seeing my confusion, she whispered, “I’ll explain later.”

“Ah, Miss Luo,” the director said—Qingli had introduced herself as Luo Qingli, so she meant Qingli, not me. “Your kindness is appreciated. But… are you married? Do you have financial proof?”

Right. Adoption requires married couples with stable income. Qingli wasn’t married. This trip was pointless—

“No worries. I’m prepared.” Qingli pulled documents from her bag. “City government permits and proof.”

Huh.

My lips twitched. “City government permits”? So privilege worked here too?

Adults are vile. Qingli’s no big shot in the hidden world, but in reality? Her powers made her formidable—enough to sway officials.

Wait… did that make me, Luo Xiaoyao, important too? I grinned stupidly, warmth spreading in my chest.

“Well… alright.” The director clearly saw Qingli was single. But with permits in hand and Qingli’s resolve, she relented. After brief warnings, she led us to the inner yard. Kids rested there, all tiny—the oldest maybe six. A young auntie watched them, preventing scrapes.

“Miss Luo, any child you favor?” the director asked.

Qingli’s golden eyes swept the yard. She pointed. “That girl.”

So casual!

Adoption meant raising a child, pouring love into her. Why so flippant? Was this a scheme, not motherhood?

Qingli promised to explain. My heart clenched. A conspiracy?

“Don’t overthink it,” Qingli whispered in my ear. “It’s our Lynx Clan’s inheritance. I was an orphan too—just like her.”

Ah. Made sense. Qingli never planned marriage or kids; she vowed to stay with me. But why explain now? Did she read my mind? I blinked at her, puzzled.

“Your face screams your thoughts,” she said. “You went pale, then flushed.”

Gwah!

……………………………………………………

Luo Qingli approached the little girl. She didn’t know why she’d chosen her—maybe just a gut feeling.

Her own “mother” probably picked her the same way years ago.

The girl’s eyes were timid. Only two or three, her mind unformed, yet she seemed to sense what came next. Her gaze held eerie calm.

Orphanage kids mature fast. Normal.

Qingli sighed deeply. “I’ll adopt you. But you must bear a curse.”

“Do you… agree?”

Back then, she hadn’t understood “curse.” She only knew the big sister meant full bellies, warm clothes, a real home.

This girl was the same. No child, however sharp, could grasp the weight in those golden pupils.

The girl nodded. They finished paperwork inside. Coming out, she wanted to share her joy with playmates—but Qingli blocked her.

“No. You don’t need that. Never see them again.”

“This is the curse’s price. You agreed.”

The girl didn’t grasp “curse.” She only knew she couldn’t see friends again. Fear and hurt bubbled up, but she swallowed it. She was too sensible to rebel.

“Qingli~ is this our daughter?” A pink-haired girl dashed over. She grabbed the child’s cheeks, nuzzling her face. “So cute! Like a doll!”

This girl was shorter than Qingli, looking years younger. Her innocent-yet-charming face had bright eyes—wine-red pupils like gemstones.

But she radiated adorably clueless energy, barely more mature than the child.

“Xiao Yao, watch her. I’ll handle something.” Qingli handed the girl over and left for the office. Xiao Yao instantly bounced, hugging the child and burying her head in her surprisingly ample chest.

“St… stop!”

Rude, but silence meant suffocation—what an indecent bust!

Free at last, the girl turned—and locked eyes with him.

Her “brother.” Three years older. He’d shielded her since she arrived.

Her hardest goodbye. She’d only agreed because the director promised funds for the orphanage.

But that money would save him… and the others.

“Huh, your friend?” Xiao Yao noticed her stare. “Go say hi!”

She shook her head. “The big sister forbade it.”

The adopter’s rule. She couldn’t disobey.

“What? Qingli can’t do this!” Xiao Yao planted hands on hips, frowning. Her voice turned sharp, regal. “Ignore her. Sister Qingli obeys me. Go—I, Brother Yao… Sister Yao, protect you!” She blinked her wine-red eyes like glittering rubies.

……………………………………

Throughout history, governance shifts in two ways.

Revolution from below. Reform from above.

Revolutions erupt constantly—every era has rebels, rising and falling like tides.

Reforms from above are rarer than hen’s teeth. Few rulers crave change; the status quo serves them best.

But now, seeds of change are buried deep.