The dust-covered window was pulled open by Yun Ze as he climbed in, and the warm spring sunlight fell on the small table behind it. After finishing his bread, Bai Ying hugged his juice and drank it slowly. In a daze, he had the illusion that time hadn’t passed at all, and he was still that little child who had just transformed into human form not long ago.
The orphanage in his memories had always been financially strained. It was too remote, almost outside Shen City’s boundaries, often forgotten, and received very little funding. But the dean and teachers did everything they could to ensure the children grew up healthy. Much of the furniture in the orphanage was handmade by the teachers, and the children’s clothes were mostly donated second-hand items from kind-hearted people. The savings from these areas allowed the orphanage to buy eggs and milk for the kids. The children might not have dressed well or lived in luxury, but none of them were malnourished. Gloomy kids like Yun Ze became much brighter after spending some time there.
As the only two children in the orphanage who couldn’t speak, the teachers secretly took extra care of Bai Ying and Yun Ze, treating them differently from the others. They didn’t require them to play games with the other kids; they could go off and play elsewhere on their own. Bai Ying loved sunbathing and often dragged Yun Ze back to the dorm, sitting by the window where the sunlight reached. He would pull a bottle of milk—the daily allotment—from the large pocket sewn onto his skirt by the teacher and sip it contentedly through a straw.
Back then, his legs were still very short, so Bai Ying had to climb onto the stool hand and foot. Yun Ze steadied him from the side, afraid his little sister Ying would fall.
Yun Ze’s own movements were much nimbler; he could hop up onto the stool effortlessly by bracing against it. Bathed in sunlight, Bai Ying gently swung his legs that couldn’t reach the ground, and Yun Ze, influenced by him, reached out toward the sunlight outside.
For a long time, he hadn’t liked the sun. The family that had bought him from human traffickers would force him to work in the fields during the hottest afternoons of summer. There was a gaunt old ox in the fields, and the whip cracks on its back often landed on him too. Yun Ze could no longer distinguish whether the pain he felt came from sunburn or the lash of the whip; gradually, he equated the two.
It was only after meeting Bai Ying—after meeting that sun-loving Bai Ying—that Yun Ze remembered the sun brought not only pain, but also warmth.
This small window held too many memories. Suddenly, Yun Ze recalled the sound of a harmonica.
“Little Ying,” Yun Ze asked Bai Ying, “do you still remember the harmonica the teacher gave you?”
Bai Ying tilted his head. “Of course I do.”
A little snake’s memory was excellent, better than most humans’. People often forgot things from before age seven, but after transforming into human form, a little snake remembered all the important events.
Yun Ze asked him again, “Do you still have it?”
The teacher who cared for them had once returned from a business trip and given the nonverbal child a silver harmonica. Bai Ying cherished it greatly and always kept it in a spotlessly clean cloth bag when not in use.
Even on the day Yun Ze left, Bai Ying hadn’t learned to play a proper tune on it; he just blew randomly. Because Yun Ze could barely hear from one ear back then, Bai Ying always ran to the side of his good ear before playing. He would solemnly take the harmonica out of the cloth bag as if a master was about to perform, then blow away haphazardly.
It didn’t sound good, but it made people happy to listen.
“It’s not with me anymore,” Bai Ying said. “After moving to another orphanage, I gave it to another kid who couldn’t speak.”
Mentioning this still pained Bai Ying—not for losing the harmonica, but for his own musical talent.
“I thought I’d never learn because the harmonica was too hard, but it only took a few days for someone else to play tunes on it!” Bai Ying said in anguish. “Turns out I was just too dumb!”
Yun Ze lied with a straight face. “No way, Little Ying is the smartest!”
Bai Ying felt like he’d corrupted some of Yun Ze’s good qualities, like honesty.
“Little Ze, do you want to see some old stuff?” Bai Ying stood up and pulled Yun Ze toward the door. “I remember some things I didn’t take with me back then. I don’t know what happened to them; they must still be here.”
Bai Ying led Yun Ze to the activity room at the end of the corridor.
It was called an activity room, but it was really a storage closet. The orphanage had more activity rooms than needed, and the more remote ones became places to stash junk—like the one Bai Ying was heading to now.
That activity room…
Yun Ze remembered something, and his expression changed slightly, but Bai Ying was walking ahead and didn’t notice Yun Ze’s abnormality.
The activity room door was locked.
“I remember the key is around here…” Bai Ying muttered as he searched the area for the key.
He quickly found it on the windowsill of a nearby room along the corridor. Years ago, the activity room key had been left just as casually—there was nothing valuable inside, and locking it on schedule kept out the dust.
But so many years had passed, and no one had come to clean the abandoned orphanage. The moment Bai Ying opened the door, dust billowed out. He coughed from it and instinctively turned, crashing straight into Yun Ze’s arms.
Yun Ze placed a hand on the back of his head, holding him close until the dust settled. Then he released him and lowered his head to examine Bai Ying’s reddened eyes. “Did dust get in your eyes?”
Bai Ying shook his head. “Just choked a bit.”
Yun Ze felt a pang of regret.
As a child, if dust got in Bai Ying’s eyes, he wouldn’t dare rub them for fear of grinding it in. Instead, he’d tear up and go find a teacher—or after Yun Ze arrived, he’d come to Yun Ze. Yun Ze would cup his face and gently blow on it up close.
Little Ying would look at him pitifully with his eyes, asking: Is it gone?
Yun Ze would give him a reassuring look in return.
But Bai Ying was still scared, always feeling the speck was still there, so he’d be extra well-behaved all day until the next day when his eyes truly felt fine, and then he’d liven up again.
Two kids doing that was just cute, but if adults did it, it would feel rather ambiguous.
Yun Ze let go of Bai Ying, who immediately darted into the activity room. The small room, converted into storage, had many shelves. In the past, they held boxes and baskets full of odds and ends, but now the shelves were mostly empty—most things had been moved out when the orphanage closed. Still, some items remained.
Mats used for games on the floor, a deflated rubber ball that had rolled under a shelf, a broken music box with a stuck spring, a kaleidoscope that still showed colorful patterns when held to the eye… Bai Ying happily rummaged through the storage room like he was excavating treasures buried by the sands of time.
Yun Ze watched him, but a distant memory surfaced—one he even doubted was real.
It was a summer afternoon, cicadas shrilling endlessly in the trees, the sun scorching enough to curl the leaves. Even sun-loving Bai Ying avoided it that season, hiding in the shade like the other kids.
Fortunately, the orphanage building was well-designed—warm in winter, cooler than elsewhere in summer. No air conditioning, but electric fans made the heat bearable.
The coolest spot in the orphanage was probably the rooms at the end of each floor’s corridor, repurposed as storage closets. That day, Yun Ze searched everywhere for Bai Ying and figured he might be hiding in the storage room.
On the way there, Yun Ze passed two teachers chatting. His good ear twitched, catching their conversation.
“I think I saw a snake in the yard a couple days ago, but it vanished in a blink.”
“No way. We’re in the suburbs near the hills, but we’ve never had snakes come in.”
“Maybe I was mistaken… It wasn’t scary, just a tiny one, pure white, no patterns.”
“You must’ve seen wrong. White snakes are rare; you don’t just spot one casually.”
The teachers’ voices faded as Yun Ze focused on finding Bai Ying.
But when he found the key and unlocked the storage room—from the inside—he saw in the corner a tiny white snake soaking itself in a bowl of water.
Every child in the orphanage had their own bowl.
It was Little Ying’s bowl.
***
The old orphanage site was too far from the city, so to avoid returning too late, they set off before sunset. The Yun Family home was in the city center. On the way back, Yun Ze took Bai Ying to the flower and bird market to buy a pot of blooming roses—just over a hundred yuan. Bai Ying felt uneasy.
Was this gift too cheap?
Yun Ze said he lived with his parents. Ever since he was found and brought back, they hadn’t felt secure leaving him alone and insisted he stay with them until he started his own family. Yun Ze understood their anxiety after losing and regaining him and never objected. They were all open-minded and respectful of each other, so even living together, there were no conflicts like in some families when kids grew up.
Thinking that he was about to meet Yun Ze’s parents—and that Yun Ze’s dad was the chairman of Yunxin Group, whose building was right next to his company’s—Bai Ying felt his gift was even more inadequate.
“Don’t worry. My mom loves flowers, especially not the expensive kinds. She thinks common ones are easier to care for. She’ll definitely like your gift,” Yun Ze reassured Bai Ying. He smiled. “And even if you brought nothing, just seeing you would make my parents happy.”
Bai Ying thought Yun Ze was just comforting him, but Yun Ze meant every word.
The Yun Family parents had long thought of themselves as gaining a daughter. Even after not finding Bai Ying, they considered him half their child. How could they not be happy to finally see him?
Yun Ze parked the car outside a small Western-style villa in the city center.
After Yun Ze was abducted, the Yun Family hadn’t lived in the eerily empty manor. With their simple family structure—just the three of them plus two servants—they moved into a century-old villa in the city center, another ancestral property.
The three-story villa had been renovated several times but still exuded historical charm. The attached garden brimmed with vibrant flowers, lively and beautiful. A middle-aged couple was already waiting at the door.
Bai Ying had been nervous holding the flower pot at first, but Yun Ze’s parents were kindly approachable. Xu Yunwei smilingly took the roses and placed them among her carefully tended blooms, right on the flower stand in plain view. Yun Shiyu warmly placed a hand on his shoulder, asking if the trip had tired him, if Yun Ze had taken good care of him, and if he had any food restrictions for dinner. Before he knew it, Bai Ying found himself seated at the dinner table.
The Yun Family dinner was everyday home cooking, simple dishes. The atmosphere was warm and casual—no strict “no talking while eating” rules. They chatted about nothing grand like economic trends or politics, just family matters. As a guest, Bai Ying felt no neglect; Yun Ze’s parents treated him like one of their own.
The orphanage was far; they arrived late, and after dinner, it was past eight. Xu Yunwei looked at the dark sky outside and said, “It’s too late. Little Ying, why not stay here tonight?”
Bai Ying hesitated. “Wouldn’t that trouble you, Auntie?”
Xu Yunwei laughed. “No trouble at all. Little Ze, go get a room ready for him.”
Yun Ze’s parents were too kind; Bai Ying didn’t know how to refuse and agreed.
The room he stayed in that night was indeed prepared by Yun Ze himself, right next to Yun Ze’s bedroom. Because he was looking after Bai Ying, Yun Ze had gotten a full day off work. Yun Shiyu grumbled good-naturedly and headed to his study after dinner, while Xu Yunwei carried a lantern to the garden to admire the roses Bai Ying gave her, growing fonder with every look. After making up the bed for Bai Ying, Yun Ze sat with him on the balcony rattan chairs, chatting while enjoying the night breeze.
On this idle evening, they talked about trifles, and time slipped toward ten o’clock. Bai Ying started to feel sleepy.
“Ready to sleep?” Yun Ze smiled. “Then I won’t bother you. Pajamas are on the bed—take a shower and hit the hay.”
Bai Ying rubbed against his shoulder. “Goodnight, Little Ze.”
Yun Ze actually wanted to ask Bai Ying if he liked it here and whether he was willing to stay not just for this one night, but in the future as well. But that would be too abrupt. Lu Changjun’s fate had taught Yun Ze that Bai Ying was actually very difficult to pursue.
He was like a little snail—once startled, he would retreat into his shell. Yun Ze had no idea what the best approach was, but he knew Bai Ying would stubbornly refuse to come out no matter what.
After bidding good night, Yun Ze closed the door. He headed downstairs, intending to remind his mother not to linger in the garden too long, as the night breeze was chilly and she might catch a cold. However, just as he rounded the stairwell corner, he realized Xu Yunwei had already returned.
She had casually set the lantern on the shelf. Looking at Yun Ze as he descended, Xu Yunwei asked, “Has Little Ying gone to sleep?”
Yun Ze replied, “Almost.”
Xu Yunwei smiled faintly. “This child is so adorable. The more I look at him, the more I like him. If only we’d found him back then—I’ve always felt like he belongs in our family.”
Yun Ze said, “It’s not impossible in the future.”
Xu Yunwei gazed at Yun Ze, and a sudden thought occurred to her. “…Little Ze, do you see Little Ying as a little brother, or as something else?”
Yun Ze glanced upward—Bai Ying was staying right upstairs now.
“For now, he can only be a little brother,” Yun Ze said.
