Lunch was simple: two side dishes and a soup. The dishes balanced meat and vegetables—scrambled eggs with tomatoes and shredded pork with bean sprouts—nutritious and colorful. The soup was a clear broth with preserved suan cai.
Last week, Aunt Chunxiang had given Qi Yan a huge jar of homemade pickled suan cai. For the next month, it would dominate their meals: suan cai omelets, suan cai braised pork, suan cai fish, and more.
"Xiao Ran, time for lunch," Qi Yan called out. But his sister didn’t react.
Since he’d returned home, her small hands hadn’t stopped moving. She scribbled furiously in a notebook—sometimes lost in thought, sometimes writing with fierce focus, sometimes blushing, sometimes scowling.
"What are you so absorbed in, Xiao Ran?" Qi Yan asked, stepping closer.
The moment Qi Ran sensed him near, she *slammed* the notebook shut. She crossed her arms over it, leaning forward slightly to hide it completely.
*Is she writing a diary?* Qi Yan wondered silently.
Everyone had secrets. He had his own—things he hadn’t told his sister. Not out of malice, but because knowing them wouldn’t help her condition. Like his dropping out of school. Or his current job.
Their shared life left almost no private space—a terrible, *terrible* situation. Even married couples kept some boundaries. Siblings needed them more.
They had to respect each other’s privacy. No crossing that line, no matter how close they were.
Qi Yan lifted Qi Ran into his arms. She pinched her nose with one hand and scribbled on the notebook with the other:
【Brother smells awful!】
Qi Yan chuckled helplessly. "Can’t be helped. No time for showers at lunch."
He always left his work clothes at the shoe rack by the door, changing into clean clothes at home. That was the best he could do.
But his body had reeked for nearly a week. Why complain only today?
Puzzled, Qi Yan ate lunch in gloomy silence.
【Can I borrow your laptop, Brother?】
His sister rarely asked for anything. Qi Yan agreed instantly.
"Of course. But we don’t have internet. No games installed either—just Solitaire and Minesweeper."
【I need it to practice typing.】
"Still... no internet is inconvenient. Sometimes you need to look things up or send files."
Qi Ran nodded vigorously.
"Next month," Qi Yan promised. "I’ll sort out your phone, SIM card, and internet all at once."
He booted the ancient laptop, plugged it in, and set it on the small desk over her bed before leaving.
Qi Ran patted her cheeks, steeling herself. She opened a Word document and pulled out the notebook filled with *unmentionable* things.
She’d caught that vixen’s scent on her brother earlier. A wave of crisis crashed over her.
The nightmare might have a one-in-ten-million chance of returning—but even a flicker of threat had to be crushed.
*Brother is the one thing I can’t lose.*
No more waiting. She had to act.
It was arrogant to think she, bedridden and voiceless, could do something *only* she could do. But there *had* to be something.
First, though—she’d inspect Brother’s laptop. Maybe his hard drive hid "Japanese study materials" and "art tutorials" that weren’t so innocent.
Qi Yan scrubbed cars, oblivious to his sister ransacking his files. He thought his laptop was clean.
But as the saying went: art and pornography were separated by a thin line. What seemed harmless to him looked very different through Qi Ran’s eyes.
That evening, Qi Yan noticed his sister’s strange gaze. Then came her baffling question:
【Brother... do you like women with large busts?】
"Busts get attention," he replied carefully, "but faces and legs matter too. Outfits and hairstyles carry weight as well."
【I asked about your *preference*—not which parts you draw on anime girls!】
The conversation ended with Qi Yan’s utterly off-target answer.
Qi Yan’s life became a loop: home, the auto shop, the market. By late September, golden rice stalks bowed heavy in the fields, ready for harvest.
The season of reaping had arrived. So had his sister’s birthday.
Su Shiyu hadn’t returned to the shop since that mysterious morning. Qi Yan felt both relief and a faint emptiness. Staring at Uncle Zheng’s gruff face all day killed his motivation.
Uncle Zheng’s son visited twice a week—whenever he ran out of cash. He’d "steal" money from his mother’s jewelry box. Not really theft; Uncle Zheng refilled it daily, counting the missing bills.
Their communication was painfully stiff. If they met by chance, shouting matches erupted. Qi Yan had grown used to it.
He’d even asked Uncle Lin for advice, only to be warned: "Don’t meddle in others’ family wounds. You might lose this job."
Reluctantly, Qi Yan let it go.
Friday, September 30th.
Schools dismissed students after two classes for the National Day holiday. Many boarders lived in remote mountain villages—a 5 PM dismissal would leave them walking home in pitch darkness. This compromise kept them safe and boosted the school’s reputation. The cost? Just one class period.
A mud-caked sedan rolled slowly into the shop. *Business*, Qi Yan thought.
Autumn rain had chilled the air overnight.
"Welcome! How can I help?" Qi Yan asked with a professional smile.
The car door flew open. A mature woman leaped out, grabbed his shoulders, and shouted: "Xiao Yan?! Is it really you?!"
"S-Senior Sister? What are you doing here?"
Her eyes dropped to his hands—encased in grimy waterproof gloves. Her voice turned sharp: "Qi Yan! What are you doing with those precious hands?!"
