“Don’t cry, Aunt. See? I’m perfectly fine.”

This was already the eighth time Xia Jiuli had repeated those words.

Sitting in the back seat, she gently stroked the stylish city woman weeping on her lap.

Xia Baixiao was thirty—exactly a decade younger than Xia Jiuli’s mother.

Their grandparents had held deeply ingrained son-preference views. After Jiuli’s mother was born, they’d nearly given up, but hoping for an heir, they risked having Baixiao.

To their dismay, the second child was also a girl. Their hopes shattered.

Growing up, Baixiao was cared for by her older sister. With one grandparent working in the city and the other farming rural land, even the sister dropped out of school.

All the Xia family’s hopes fell on Baixiao. In her memories, her sister worked tirelessly, her education ending at elementary level.

Baixiao attended a good university, married well, and lived a comfortable middle-class life.

She’d always wanted to repay her sister—but fate had turned cruel. Powerless now, she poured that devotion onto Jiuli. To her, Jiuli was what she herself had been to her sister: a cherished treasure.

Tears had soaked through Jiuli’s skirt. Sobs rose and fell until crumpled tissues landed in the plastic bag Jiuli held.

“Jiuli… why did you leave without a word?”

Up front, Ren Yi spoke for his wife, voice gentle. The whole family worried. Distant relatives aside, he considered himself half-Xia—especially for Baixiao.

She doted on Jiuli. Bought her clothes endlessly. Wanted to raise her like a little sister.

But Jiuli, too sensible, always refused.

“I just needed space. And… I’ve figured things out.”

Jiuli had rehearsed this line before getting in the car.

“Figured things out? You meant… you’ll stay with us?”

The car halted at a red light. Ren Yi turned, watching Jiuli gently stroke Baixiao’s hair.

Surreal: a seventeen-year-old comforting a thirty-year-old woman. And Jiuli herself seemed… different.

Baixiao, still shaken, hadn’t noticed. Ren Yi saw it clearly.

Days ago, Jiuli was a girl clinging to despair. Now? Calm. Wise. Polished by hardship.

Like his newborn reciting the *Chu Shi Biao*.

“I’ll stay a few days. But I’m moving back home. Living alone.”

“Huh?! No—*sob*—please…”

Baixiao lifted her head, eyes swollen, face pale—nothing like the poised woman Jiuli remembered.

*Last life*, she’d shut everyone out, stubbornly pulling away.

*This time*, she’d choose gentleness.

“It’s okay, Aunt. I’ll visit often. Handle Mom and Dad’s affairs properly. Study hard. Go to college. Find a good friend.”

“A… good friend?”

Baixiao’s hoarse voice carried quiet surprise.

Yesterday’s three-hour call reassured her: Jiuli was healing, embracing life.

But “good friend”? She and Ren Yi met in college. The implication prickled.

As the car moved, Ren Yi focused on the road. Recklessness was gone.

After all, “car accident” hitting close to home made anyone cautious.

“Yes. He told me to face you all… face life head-on. So don’t worry, Aunt. Jiuli will take care of herself—”

Jiuli nodded, a faint trace of relief in her eyes.

Baixiao stilled her tears, slowly sitting up. “Then… when will you bring him over?”

She wasn’t naive. That out-of-province call? Definitely not some generic “Li Hua.”

Either a kidnapper… or someone who knew Jiuli’s whereabouts.

They’d traced it to Xinchi, about to contact local police—until Jiuli called back.

They dropped the 800-km trip to verify Chen Dao.

“Huh? N-no…”

Jiuli’s courage faltered. *Saying that sounds like I ran 800 km for a crush… after making everyone worry.*

“No? I’m actually curious to meet him!” Ren Yi chimed in. Baixiao gave a small nod.

“Let’s skip it. Too much to handle… funeral arrangements, paperwork, inheritance. I need to focus.”

*Last life*, she’d hidden crying while her aunt handled everything.

*This time*, she’d face it herself.

“Alright… Your choice. Aunt won’t push. Just promise you’ll be okay. Don’t ever—”

“Enough, Baixiao! No bad omens. Weren’t you halfway through dinner?”

Ren Yi cut in smoothly, pressing the accelerator.

Baixiao shifted topics, chattering about dishes she’d cooked—even recipes passed down from Jiuli’s mother.

But Jiuli’s smile felt strained. *Chen Dao…*

*If I say I miss him… would he come?*

*Nah. He’s broke. Don’t make him spend.*