Daily Life of a Family of Four
Time flew by, and the seasons turned.
A year might seem long to humans, but to yao, it was only a fleeting instant.
After He Qingfu’s reincarnation, Chen Xihe often went to secretly visit her, and Mu Wang would occasionally sneak a peek from the treetops, but Jiang Yan had never gone.
She and the other two had different moral boundaries.
—She might actually steal the child.
So as long as she didn’t look, her urge to steal the child wasn’t so strong; she wouldn’t end up bringing her home to play for a few days before sending her back.
But even though she didn’t go in person, Jiang Yan was well aware of He Qingfu’s situation. After all, with Chen Xihe and Mu Wang around, they would share everything they saw and heard with her.
“Today was her hundred-day banquet—she can roll over now.”
“She can sit up, her back is so straight I’m afraid she’ll tire herself out.”
“At her first birthday, she grabbed a little peachwood sword. Her parents said she’ll definitely fly with a sword in the future—what a strange idea.”
“She started talking really early—months ahead of other kids.”
These were all from Chen Xihe.
His ability was ten minutes of invisibility, so he’d often sneak into the house during various celebrations, listening to the parents’ conversations. He Qingfu’s parents truly loved her; no matter what new thing she learned, they’d throw a banquet, making a big show of it and boasting to everyone.
So Chen Xihe could always learn the latest details about He Qingfu from their mouths.
“You never went to the nursery to see her?” Jiang Yan asked him once.
“Of course not, that would be too inappropriate.”
Chen Xihe explained his reasoning, “If it were just the two of us in a room, I’d feel like… well, a creep. But if her parents bring her out to the living room or garden, then I can watch.”
“Can’t cross the line.”
Jiang Yan nodded. “That’s good.”
Later, when He Qingfu started kindergarten, Chen Xihe’s visits became much more frequent. He’d often go invisible and lean against the classroom’s glass door, pinpointing He Qingfu among the children, taking a quick look before hurrying away.
He went so often that Jiang Yan could tell He Qingfu’s situation just from Chen Xihe’s expression.
If he came back looking worried, it meant He Qingfu had bumped or fallen, or hadn’t eaten enough lunch, or had caught a cold or fever. If he returned with a gratified smile, it meant He Qingfu had achieved something new—first place in a puzzle contest, fastest at reading, best handwriting.
It was all quite amusing.
Once, Jiang Yan couldn’t resist sneaking a look herself, bringing Mu Wang along. The two of them sat on either side of He Qingfu in a spatial fold, a space completely separate from reality, so their forms and voices couldn’t be detected.
“She does have nice handwriting,” Mu Wang mumbled, leaning over He Qingfu’s number workbook, “but not as nice as Sister’s.”
Jiang Yan glanced at him. “Thank you.”
“But I don’t really feel proud about writing better than a six-year-old.”
Mu Wang: “…”
He awkwardly changed the subject. “I think I smell something good. I wonder if kindergarten lunch tastes good.”
Jiang Yan suggested, “We could try some.”
At lunchtime, the teacher handed out pre-packed lunches to each child. A few minutes later, little Qingfu lined up, carrying her tray back to her seat.
She had a particular eating order: she’d finish the stir-fried vegetables first, then dip her bun in the soup. She didn’t eat much; halfway through the bun, she was too full to continue.
She rubbed her belly, set aside the remaining bun and soup, and went to the bathroom with her friends.
Jiang Yan looked at Mu Wang. “Want to try?”
Mu Wang eyed the bun soaked in soup, hesitantly reaching out.
Jiang Yan burst out laughing, stopping his hand and tearing off a fingernail-sized piece for herself. After tasting it, she nodded. “Not bad, pretty soft, suitable for kids.”
“They just give too much,” Jiang Yan pointed at the wall. “The sign says to be frugal. I think she’s forcing herself to finish.”
Sure enough, when little Qingfu returned, she sat down and sighed deeply, then picked up the bun with a miserable face, closing her eyes as she tried to eat it.
Jiang Yan frowned.
She quickly reached out, snatched the bun from the girl’s hand, and popped it into her own mouth.
Mu Wang: “!!!”
The suddenly bunless little Qingfu: “?!!”
After swallowing, Jiang Yan coughed lightly and then calmly picked up a pencil.
She wrote on little Qingfu’s notebook, stroke by stroke: “Can’t finish your food? The Hungry Ghost will help.”
“As long as you’re quiet, the Hungry Ghost will come help you eat every day.”
Mu Wang sat there in a daze.
He wasn’t the sharpest, but even he could see that a child this young would be scared to death. He scrambled to erase the words, pretending nothing had happened.
But little Qingfu’s reaction was beyond his expectations.
She picked up the pencil and wrote carefully beneath the lines: “Thank you, Yanyan.”
“When I find a chance to sneak out, I’ll come find you.”
Jiang Yan chuckled, stood up, pulled Mu Wang to his feet, and led the dazed boy out. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”
From then on, Jiang Yan visited little Qingfu every day.
They secretly wrote to each other on paper where no one could see.
Jiang Yan also came to understand He Qingfu’s situation.
At five, she accidentally activated her spiritual power. She was too young to control it, and the power would poke around in her mind, letting her sense others’ memories. She was dazed all day, and her parents thought she was unwell; she caught colds and fevers more often than other kids.
But really, she’d just overdone it. Using her spiritual power too much had weakened her immune system.
On her sixth birthday, He Qingfu sensed not just fragments of others’ memories, but her own lives across many incarnations.
That time was different from before. Previously, she’d only glimpsed snippets of others’ memories, but this time, she sensed her own complete, colorful lives spanning a thousand years.
Those people had vastly different personalities and strengths.
But for some reason, she completely ignored the influences of the female general, Jiang Chixi, and others, subconsciously tracing back all memories related to He Qingfu.
Along with a flood of knowledge came the memories and emotions belonging to He Qingfu.
She was only six, her own life not yet begun, her mind and character not yet fully formed, so He Qingfu’s personality and memories had a huge impact. After a brief moment of thought, she decided she and He Qingfu were the same person.
Memory and soul have always been what make up a person.
She began to miss those she’d met beneath the underground palace.
But her family was so well-off, she was chauffeured everywhere, with a bodyguard in the car. There was no way for He Qingfu to sneak off to the Bureau, and she grew anxious.
Eventually, she finally met Jiang Yan, and immediately realized only Jiang Yan could have done this.
After Jiang Yan and Mu Wang once again helped her finish her lunch, He Qingfu wrote a little embarrassedly:
“You don’t have to come so often.”
“I was supposed to take care of you, but now it feels weird.”
“And since my plate is always so clean, the teacher thinks I have a big appetite and sometimes gives me extra… so you end up eating even more. The food here is low-oil, low-salt, not much flavor.”
Mu Wang picked up the pen: “It’s fine.”
“Every time we eat here, Sister and I go to a street stall afterward, and the food there seems to taste even better.”
Jiang Yan: “That’s right.”
So He Qingfu stopped worrying about it.
She asked Mu Wang, “Tao Tao, why do you call Yanyan ‘Sister’?”
Mu Wang: “Because Sister told me to.”
He Qingfu: “Why do you always come together? Do you live close by?”
Mu Wang replied, “I live with Sister.”
He Qingfu grew anxious: “Housing prices really are high now. My parents in this life saved a lot for me. I’ll try to get some out.”
Mu Wang wanted to say he wasn’t poor, but then remembered all his bank cards were with Jiang Yan, and he didn’t even have two hundred yuan on him, so he looked to her for help.
Jiang Yan answered herself: “We’re not poor.”
“We’ve lived together for six hundred years, and we’ll keep living together.”
Little Qingfu fell silent with her pencil.
After a long time, she carefully asked, “Together?”
Jiang Yan: “We’ve always been together all these years.”
He Qingfu tried to accept this. “But you both still look like kids?”
She’d barely written this when she realized—Yanyan and Tao Tao weren’t kids anymore. In all the years she’d been gone, the two little ones had grown up; they weren’t children her height, but adults.
Mu Wang was just as stunned.
His gaze darted between the paper and Jiang Yan’s face, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably. He repeated, “We’ll always live together?”
Jiang Yan: “Of course.”
Mu Wang’s eyes shone. “If someone else wants to move in, will I still have a room?”
Jiang Yan: “?”
She frowned, thinking it over, then shook her head. “I can’t imagine that. I really dislike unfamiliar scents.”
“If someone else moved in, I’d probably send them straight to reincarnation.”
Mu Wang couldn’t hide his smile anymore. He pressed his lips with two fingers, trying to flatten them. When Qingfu’s lunch break ended, he was once again dragged by Jiang Yan to a street stall, where they sat on the curb eating grilled gluten, wiped their mouths, and went home.
When they got back, Chen Xihe was crouched on the balcony, intently photographing flowers.
He’d been snapped by a street photographer while out for a walk, and the photo had gone viral that night. People guessed he was cosplaying some silver-haired, white-robed immortal lord—there were plenty of such characters in novels—so he was given a bunch of titles.
Several entertainment companies approached him, but he declined. Still, wanting something to do and to make some money, he studied modern social media and started an account, sharing daily tips on gardening, writing film reviews, and reposting healthy recipes.
He now had over a million followers.
Seeing the two return, Chen Xihe sighed and handed his phone to Jiang Yan, puzzled. “These flowers are so pretty—why does everyone in the comments want me to take pictures of my hands?”
“The flowers will be sad.”
Jiang Yan took the phone. In the flower photo Chen Xihe had just posted, his hand holding a watering can was accidentally visible, and his follower count was skyrocketing, the comments full of exclamation points and requests for more hand shots.
Jiang Yan: “That’s normal.”
“Just comfort the flowers more.”
Chen Xihe nodded gravely.
Time passed quickly. After He Qingfu started elementary school, she began going home for lunch, and the three visited her less often. With her now in a good family, safe and happy, they had nothing to worry about.
They settled into a routine of meeting once a week, until He Qingfu finished her college entrance exams.
By then, He Qingfu was eighteen, bearing a strong resemblance to her past life. Jiangcheng had a top university, and she applied there. Her parents finally let go, no longer worried about her safety, giving her plenty of freedom.
That year, He Qingfu moved in across from Jiang Yan.
But “across” was just a formality. The day after moving, she dragged her luggage over to Jiang Yan’s and moved right in.
The four of them began living together again.
Everything felt natural, with no need to adjust. Before, when they met, Chen Xihe was always invisible, and Jiang Yan and Mu Wang were in spatial folds; He Qingfu had only ever conversed through paper.
This time, they shared a brief hug and burst out laughing.
He Qingfu looked at Chen Xihe. “I want chestnut stewed chicken. I saw you reposted the recipe.”
Chen Xihe nodded with a smile. “Of course.”
He Qingfu: “Did you ever make that crispy pork belly Yanyan wanted last time?”
Chen Xihe spread his hands. “I lost out to Tao Tao; he made it.”
“He cooks better than I do, but I’m working on it.”
At dinnertime, Mu Wang put on an apron and started washing vegetables in the kitchen, Chen Xihe helped pick greens, and Jiang Yan and He Qingfu ate chestnuts while watching TV. On the national channel, the new diplomat was named Jin Yuebai, the interpreter Fang Xuyu. Jiang Yan recognized several familiar faces at the conference.
While watching, Jiang Yan casually peeled some roasted chestnuts for the chicken stew.
The atmosphere between her and He Qingfu was quiet. After a long while, He Qingfu lowered her eyes and suddenly said:
“I always felt you looked too young before, and sounded like I was ridiculing you. I have to formally apologize now.”
Jiang Yan knew what she meant.
She shook her head. “No need.”
But He Qingfu didn’t stop.
She said softly, “Twelve hundred years is just too long. Back then, Chen Xihe said he couldn’t bear the mental pressure of being trapped somewhere, unable to see or hear anything, so he’d rather have his soul separated from his body, for the freedom.”
“But what you endured was exactly what he feared.” He Qingfu’s voice choked. “Whenever I think about what you went through, I can’t bear it. I can’t even think about it.”
“How can anyone go through such torment and not go mad?”
Jiang Yan looked at her. “It was a little hard at first, but later Mu Wang kept me company.”
“It wasn’t as quiet underground as you’d think.”
He Qingfu’s eyes blurred. She stared at Jiang Yan for a long time. Some people go through suffering and say it wasn’t so bad, but that’s only because their spirit is so strong. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard, or that others could endure the same.
Jiang Yan patted her hand. “Really, it’s fine.”
“I really like my current body. It was a trade I’m satisfied with, and the feelings that came with it are good too.”
He Qingfu could barely contain her heartache.
Jiang Yan changed the subject. “Are you not joining the Bureau again?”
He Qingfu had thought about it before. “If they need me.”
“That girl Pingping is excellent. She’s running the Bureau perfectly. Shen Huanhuan is now Deputy Director, handling everything smoothly. Everyone likes them. The new generation is thriving, and my abilities aren’t as necessary anymore.”
Jiang Yan asked about humanity’s future. “Have you ever sensed the future?”
He Qingfu shook her head.
Jiang Yan nodded. “Sensing the future shortens your lifespan, so best not to do it.”
He Qingfu smiled gently, reaching out to stroke Jiang Yan’s hair. “You’ve grown up, arranging things for me now.”
Jiang Yan didn’t dodge, just raised her brows in surprise.
It had been so many years since anyone dared touch her hair.
He Qingfu seemed to get addicted, using both hands to mess up Jiang Yan’s hair, then squishing her face until she made all sorts of expressions. The smile in her eyes grew brighter.
After a while, she said, “I don’t plan to sense the future anymore.”
“Humanity will find its own way, whether it’s building spiritual schools so ordinary people can use their spiritual power and everyone can become psychic, or seeking cooperation with other worlds—it’s all good.”
“Humans have never feared trial and error. The ending will always move toward the light.”
Jiang Yan: “Then let’s wish for humanity success.”
He Qingfu smiled and nodded. “And wish us all happiness.”
“Most importantly, I wish Yanyan will always be happy.”
The aroma of food filled the air. Mu Wang and Chen Xihe brought the dishes to the table. Jiang Yan stood up, nudging He Qingfu’s slipper with her foot.
“Let’s go.”
“Of course I’ll always be happy.”
[End of Extra]
Since the story is still on the serialization charts, I can’t mark it as complete yet. The completion tag can only go up at midnight on Thursday.
Thank you all for accompanying me. None of the dozen or so warnings in the blurb scared you away, and you read all the way to the last chapter, so we must be kindred spirits with resonating souls (shocking).
There’s so much I want to say, but somehow it’s hard to put into words.
The outline for this book began in early September last year, I started writing at the end of March this year, and finished in early October. There were many struggles along the way—should I focus on supernatural horror or psychological horror, should I write it as a standard feel-good novel, should I make the writing process less painful, should I overturn real news and create a utopia, should I prioritize story above all, should I sacrifice some suspense and horror for smoother storytelling, even manufacture some coincidences and minor bugs. I agonized for so long, and finally chose this writing style.
Thank you for being willing to read, thank you, thank you.
If you’re interested, maybe follow my column! Because I don’t know what I’ll write next—if inspiration strikes, I might just open a new project and start writing on the spot (?)