Looking around, Hu Ming saw only vast emptiness and desolation. For miles, no human traces existed. Withered yellow weeds swayed wildly in the fierce wind. Thickets of thorns and wild vines tangled together, making the path treacherous and daunting.
If this was truly an orphanage, it felt more like an abandoned suburb.
Yet above the gate, the words "Sunny Family Home" still hung high.
Hu Ming stood there, old memories stirring in his mind.
Soon, an elderly grandmother emerged from a nearby wooden door. Keys jangled in her wrinkled hand. Her back bent, she hurried toward him as fast as she could.
"Oh, Ah Ming’s here!" she exclaimed after unlocking the gate. She patted his shoulder warmly. "It’s Monday—shouldn’t you be in school? Won’t this delay your studies?"
"N-no," he stammered.
Her wrinkled palm covered his hand. She radiated warmth, treating him like her own grandson.
Hu Ming froze, momentarily lost in thought.
He’d inherited countless messes from his predecessor. In this world, most people targeted him.
But gazing at the old lady now, he realized his predecessor wasn’t as terrible as everyone claimed.
He’d always known rumors weren’t always true. Yet facing it, he couldn’t help pondering the cause and effect.
At least, the man wasn’t the monster he’d imagined.
"Those children miss you terribly," she said, leading him inside. "They kept pestering me about when you’d visit."
Kangxin followed silently behind.
Watching their backs, her eyes softened inexplicably.
...
Just as Hu Ming sensed, the place wasn’t welcoming.
No decorations at all—just white walls, a green blackboard, old electric fans, and glaring lights.
An ordinary classroom, yet heavy with meaning. Forty children sat neatly in pairs at yellow desks. Above them loomed a large dark-green blackboard.
At the podium, an elderly teacher lectured. A thermos cup sat unscrewed but capped beside him.
The children, dressed simply, stared intently at the board. Their eyes burned with thirst for knowledge.
Hu Ming was instantly captivated.
An emotion swelled within him. He finally understood why he kept returning here.
How could anyone not be moved by these children?
As if sensing him, the kids turned. Serious faces melted into pure excitement.
One elbowed his friend. The boy frowned impatiently—then his eyes lit up seeing Hu Ming!
The teacher noticed the commotion. He adjusted his glasses and squinted toward the door.
Spotting Hu Ming, a smile cracked his chapped lips.
"Alright, alright. I know you all want Hu Ming. Class dismissed."
The words barely faded. Children surged toward Hu Ming like a tidal wave. He felt submerged in a sea of small bodies.
They shouted his name, joy blazing on their faces.
"Brother Hu Ming, I improved this time!"
"Brother Hu Ming, carry me!"
Some boasted; others tugged his sleeves, begging to be lifted.
Hu Ming hoisted one onto his shoulders. His smile never wavered.
Kangxin stood aside, hands clasped neatly before her.
The old teacher approached her. "Miss Kang, thank you again. Those people refused to leave—I feared for the children’s safety."
"No trouble," she replied. "As long as the young master is happy."
She shook her head, watching Hu Ming surrounded by kids.
The teacher was the orphanage director. The grandmother was his wife.
Both retired city teachers, they’d cut off their wasteful son and moved here to raise these children.
Hu Ming met them long ago.
A child fell gravely ill. Rushing to the hospital, they crossed paths with Hu Ming—he’d been buying a gift for Su Liu.
Hearing the child’s condition, Hu Ming hesitated briefly, then drove them to the hospital.
He missed Su Liu’s gift time. She stayed angry with him for months.
Yet visiting these children became Hu Ming’s unbreakable habit.
Only Kangxin knew this secret. She always accompanied him.
Hu Ming was careless—well-meaning but clumsy. Kangxin quietly fixed his messes.
"Go eat first," he told the kids, ushering them toward the canteen. "We’ll play after."
Watching their backs, Hu Ming smiled genuinely.
"Ah Ming, hungry?" The director patted his shoulder. Dressed like a scholar, his aged frame still brimmed with vigor. "The old lady made jiaozi. Want some?"
Their closeness felt grandfatherly.
"I know studies aren’t your strength," he added gently. "But they matter for your future."
He clearly knew Hu Ming’s grades. That’s why he pushed him.
"I understand," Hu Ming nodded, saying no more.
Distant canteen laughter stirred deep memories in him.
...
The directors ate with the children.
Hu Ming and Kangxin walked through ankle-high wild grass.
"Kangxin," he asked, "what do you think of me?"
"...Truth or lies, young master?"
"Aren’t they the same? I’ll hear it anyway."
"Arrogant. Proud. Oblivious to moods..." Her list of flaws seemed endless.
Hu Ming cut her off, pinching his nose bridge. "You’re reciting a menu."
"Sorry," Kangxin apologized earnestly, as if weighing every word.
"Sigh. Guess I’m truly worthless," Hu Ming muttered.
"You’re very kind, young master."
Her words froze him mid-step.
He almost asked if it was sarcasm—but her pure, clear eyes silenced him.
