“Jealous of me and Tingting? What, are you envious that we’re so close?”
Zhou Qingying hooked an arm around Chen Ting’s shoulders and deliberately pressed their cheeks together while grinning at Jiang Cheng.
“Yeah, yeah…”
Seeing that she had regained her energy, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help smiling too.
Chen Ting shoved her away in mock disgust, muttering, “You’re just using me as a shield. Even ice cream can’t shut your mouth.”
“Pfft~ I want the oranges that Chengcheng bought.”
Zhou Qingying laughed even harder after saying that tongue-twister.
It was as if all the gloom that had shrouded her today had completely vanished.
The question Jiang Cheng had wanted to ask now felt impossible to voice.
“Yingying…” Chen Ting sighed.
Zhou Qingying frowned and reached over to tug the corners of Chen Ting’s drooping mouth upward.
“Little kids shouldn’t sigh.”
“You’re still a kid too!”
“But I’m older than you. You’re supposed to call me big sister… Oh, right—Chengcheng, when’s your birthday?”
Zhou Qingying’s birthday was in November, while Chen Ting’s was a month later.
She never missed a chance to take advantage of that.
“February. February twenty-second.”
“Pfft!” Chen Ting burst out laughing.
“Then you’re the youngest of us all! Looks like you’re the little sister~ Call me big sister, come on.”
“No way.”
Jiang Cheng refused, her serious little face coldly adorable.
“Sigh, even that can’t change the fact that you’re the youngest.”
“I already have one big sister… that’s enough.”
“Hm? What did you say?”
Zhou Qingying was flipping through TV channels and didn’t catch it.
“Nothing.”
“You must have been badmouthing us sisters~ Watch me punish you.”
Chen Ting suddenly pounced, startling Jiang Cheng.
She grabbed a throw pillow and held it in front of her chest just in time for Chen Ting to crash into it.
“Where exactly are you aiming, huh?”
Zhou Qingying looked at her, speechless.
“Hehe, who can blame Chengcheng for having such big targets? It makes my eyes burn with envy.”
Maybe because they were at Zhou Qingying’s house, Chen Ting spoke without any restraint—she was clearly much more reserved at school.
“Just go read your yuri novels every day. Sometimes I even worry about my personal safety.”
“That’s discrimination! And you’re overestimating yourself. Chengcheng is goddess-level. After seeing such beauty, how could I ever look at anyone else~”
Chen Ting boldly slung an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, imitating an emperor draping an arm around his favorite consort in a period drama.
Jiang Cheng stuffed the pillow into her arms and joined in the teasing.
“I’m pretty worried about my personal safety too.”
“Sigh, Chengcheng…”
Chen Ting pretended to sob.
Jiang Cheng ignored her and turned to Zhou Qingying, only to find her staring blankly at the TV.
She frowned and looked too.
It was a local interview program featuring veteran figures from the arts community.
Tonight’s guest was an elegant, intellectual woman whose expression was calm and detached, as if nothing around her mattered.
Yet just sitting there drew every eye in the room.
Jiang Cheng’s gaze dropped to the guest introduction at the bottom of the screen.
【Renowned theater actress Ma Lijun】
A completely unfamiliar name.
Zhou Qingying stared at the woman on the program, her eyes unmoving.
That lost, broken look was exactly the same as this morning.
Suddenly, something clicked for Jiang Cheng.
She glanced at Chen Ting, whose face was also full of shock—she clearly hadn’t expected to see this woman on television either.
“Yingying?” Jiang Cheng called softly.
Zhou Qingying turned her head mechanically. Her pupils were unfocused.
A tiny, almost inaudible sound escaped her throat.
“Mom…”
This was the second time today she had heard Yingying call her that.
Jiang Cheng felt dizzy, but how could she not understand now?
Did she really look like the woman on TV? Why would Yingying mistake her for her mother?
Clatter—
The remote fell from Zhou Qingying’s hand onto the floor.
The noise snapped her back to reality.
Belatedly realizing what she had done, shame and panic flooded her.
“No, I…”
Her fists clenched, her gaze darted away.
Jiang Cheng, who had been about to ask, suddenly didn’t know what to say.
“Yingying, this is Chengcheng—Jiang Cheng…?”
Chen Ting had also recovered from her shock.
This was the first time she had ever seen Zhou Qingying so undone.
She, who prided herself on being the best friend, had somehow never truly seen through her.
Chen Ting grabbed Zhou Qingying’s hand.
Zhou Qingying tried to pull away, but Chen Ting held on tight.
“What exactly happened? Last night—”
“I’m really fine!”
Zhou Qingying yanked her hand free.
“If you’re fine, then why are you crying?!”
Chen Ting simply wrapped her in a fierce hug.
She could feel the front of her uniform slowly growing wet with tears.
The interview program had cut to commercials; the noisy advertisements clashed painfully with the oppressive silence in the living room.
Jiang Cheng could feel the thick, suffocating air choking everything.
Zhou Qingying’s world had turned gray. She was drowning in immense sorrow—from soft sobs to endless falling tears.
“Yingying.”
She realized her own voice had gone hoarse.
“Mm…”
The gloom inside Zhou Qingying had found release; her emotions looked much more stable now.
“I told you before—if you’re ever under too much pressure, you can talk to me and Tingting…”
Zhou Qingying took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes fixed on her own legs.
She was avoiding.
Jiang Cheng knew that feeling all too well.
“You’re willing to tell Tingting, but not me? Did I do something wrong that makes you think I’m not trustworthy, that I’m not really your friend?”
Jiang Cheng said deliberately.
“No… I…”
Zhou Qingying lifted her head.
Her wet eyes were rimmed red, a tiny red mark stuck to the tip of her nose from crying.
The words reached her lips but refused to come out.
“If you’re willing to talk, I’ll be a very good listener. Otherwise… being randomly called ‘Mom’ feels… indescribable.”
Jiang Cheng smiled, imitating the gentle, reassuring tone Wang Ziyue had once used on her.
Zhou Qingying glanced at Chen Ting.
Her best friend squeezed her palm encouragingly. She felt her dry throat finally able to make a sound.
The commercials ended; the screen returned to the interview.
The host was smiling and pointing at an old photo projected on the large screen.
“Teacher Ma, when you were still in China, you performed in the very first play of your career. You must have been a university student then, right?”
Seeing the photo, a trace of nostalgia appeared in Ma Lijun’s eyes.
Her voice was gentle yet carried a powerful resonance—the result of decades of training. Every word rang clear and strong.
“That was my first play in China. There weren’t many people involved; most of us were students from the film academy. We got together, wrote the script, rehearsed, and finally performed on stage.”
Her tone was full of reminiscence, tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible melancholy.
The host listened quietly. Ma Lijun let out a soft, wistful sigh.
“The people in this photo have all gone their separate ways now, but… the taste of your very first experience, your very first time—it’s branded into your heart like a burn. If you asked me to recite lines from back then, I could still manage a few. I even deliberately aged myself up for the role—I played a mother.”
“Oh? Teacher Ma, could you perform a little for us right now?”
Warm applause rose from the audience. Ma Lijun didn’t hesitate.
She stood, faced the camera, and the stage lights narrowed to a single spotlight that bathed only her.
“Child… don’t look back. Mom is right behind you, watching you.”
“She is my mother. She divorced my dad when I was little.”
Zhou Qingying’s voice overlapped perfectly with Ma Lijun reciting the old line on TV.
Jiang Cheng held her breath.
“Chengcheng… the first time I saw you, I thought you looked a lot like my mom.”