On the day Qiu Sheng was set to return to Jing City, Little Tong was still unwell. Though her fever had subsided, her cough was severe—her once-clear voice now hoarse and raspy. Her energy was even lower than when she had been feverish.
Little Tong insisted on going with Zhong Jin to the airport to see her mother off. Both Zhong Jin and Qiu Sheng worried she might catch another chill if she went outside and tried to dissuade her, reminding her that her mother would be back in a week.
But Little Tong clutched Qiu Sheng’s sleeve, tears welling in her eyes, her lips trembling as she sniffled softly. Normally not one to cry easily, the discomfort of her illness had made her unusually clingy these past few days.
Seeing her like this, Zhong Jin’s heart ached, and they relented, letting her come along.
Bundled up tightly in a wool hat, scarf, mask, a long down coat, and snow boots, Little Tong was carried the entire way in Zhong Jin’s arms.
As Qiu Sheng walked through security, she turned back at the checkpoint and waved to them through the crowd. “Little Tong, take your medicine properly, okay? Mama will video call you as soon as I get to Jing City. Go home now, it’s cold.”
Originally, Qiu Sheng hadn’t felt too emotional about leaving for just a week. But seeing her child weak and sniffling in Zhong Jin’s arms, breathing through her mouth because her nose was blocked—tears spilled over before she could stop them.
She quickly turned away so Little Tong wouldn’t see her crying. If she did, the girl would only cry harder.
It wasn’t until Qiu Sheng’s slender figure disappeared past security that Zhong Jin finally carried Little Tong out of the terminal.
The day before, Zhong Jin had mentioned Little Tong’s persistent cough at the office, and Mao Feixue recommended an old herbalist. She said Xiang Zimo used to cough every winter until he was three, but after taking the herbalist’s remedies, he’d been perfectly healthy ever since—now five years old and never sick.
After leaving the airport, Zhong Jin drove Little Tong to the herbalist’s clinic, tucked away in an old alley in the historic district.
The shop was unremarkable at first glance, but the long line outside spoke volumes about the herbalist’s reputation.
Zhong Jin adjusted Little Tong’s hat, pulling it down to her brows, then tugged her scarf higher to cover her nose—leaving only her big, bright eyes visible.
Inside, the elderly herbalist worked slowly, diagnosing patients one by one while an assistant jotted down notes. The line inched forward at a glacial pace.
Zhong Jin squeezed Little Tong’s hand, tucked snugly in her coat pocket. “Cold?”
“No.” She shook her head, then slipped her hand out and under the collar of Zhong Jin’s coat, pressing her warm little palm against his neck. “Toasty.”
Her hand was indeed cozy.
Spotting some kids playing marbles nearby, Little Tong wriggled in his arms. “I wanna get down.”
Zhong Jin knew she was bored. Even sick, the girl had boundless energy—like a puppy that could never sit still.
“You can watch, but keep your hands tucked in.” He set her on the ground.
Wrapped up like a little snowman, she toddled over with stiff, penguin-like steps. The kids were crouched, flicking marbles, but her padded pants made it impossible to squat properly. So she stood with her hands in her pockets, leaning forward curiously.
A rosy-cheeked boy held out a marble. “Here, little sister.”
Little Tong shook her head. “Hello, my name is Zhong Yuntong. But I can’t play—Daddy said no taking my hands out.”
The boy shrugged and took it back. “Fine, just watch then.”
After a while, though, she lost interest. The game was just about rolling marbles into a hole—boring. She shuffled back to Zhong Jin, coughing hoarsely.
“Let’s go home. I miss Sable.”
Zhong Jin glanced at the barely-moving line, then at the small convenience store across the street where a TV flickered.
He tapped the person behind him. “I’ll be right back—just stepping across the street.”
After carrying Little Tong over, he asked the shopkeeper if she could stay and warm up inside. He settled her by the heater, then hurried back to wait in line.
By the time their turn finally came, Zhong Jin jogged back to fetch her.
Somehow, a small mountain of snacks had materialized beside her. The TV, which had been playing a cheesy romance drama earlier, was now tuned to cartoons.
Little Tong lounged on the sofa, munching on haw flakes while the shopkeeper shelled sunflower seeds for her.
Zhong Jin thanked the man, scanned a payment for the snacks, then scooped her up and rushed back to the clinic.
The old herbalist lifted his gaze at them, then sighed and shook his head.
Zhong Jin’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong? Is it serious?”
The herbalist sighed again. “She’s overdressed.”
Zhong Jin, "......"
"If you want your child to stay healthy, they should endure a bit of cold, eat only until seventy percent full, and dress just enough to keep their back, belly, and feet warm. Why are you bundling her up so much? She’s not a baby chick in an incubator."
As soon as Little Tong heard "incubator," she immediately chimed in, raising a tiny finger and declaring seriously, "I have a little chick named Savage Tyrant."
Zhong Jin pressed a hand over her fluffy hat. "Enough talking."
With her big-mouthed tendencies, the entire kindergarten, the whole neighborhood, and even the breakfast vendors down the street now knew about her chick named Savage Tyrant.
The elderly Chinese physician smiled at her and slid the pulse-taking cushion forward. "Rest your wrist here, and let Grandpa see where you’re feeling unwell."
After checking her pulse, the doctor picked up his brush to write the prescription. "Externally contracted cold pathogen, prolonged cough damaging lung yin. Children shouldn’t take harsh medicine—here’s 200 grams of dried Chinese yam slices. Boil 50 grams daily and drink the water whenever thirsty. Continue for three days."
Chinese medicine was never as straightforward as Western medicine. Zhong Jin felt lost in the explanation but decided not to overthink it. He cut to the chase:
"Doctor, is my daughter seriously ill?"
The old physician lifted his wise, clear eyes, weathered by time but still sharp, and studied Zhong Jin’s face for a long moment before answering.
"She’s not the one in bad shape."
Zhong Jin exhaled in relief.
Then the doctor added, "She’s fine—you’re the one who’s unwell."
Zhong Jin, "......?"
"You suffer from emotional stagnation. Liver qi depression, insomnia, anxiety, pent-up emotions. If left unchecked, it could develop into what Western medicine calls breast-related issues."
Zhong Jin, "......?"
Noticing his confusion, the doctor clarified, "Both men and women have breast tissue."
When they left the clinic, Zhong Jin carried several large bags of medicine.
Among them, a tiny packet of Chinese yam slices was for Little Tong. The remaining three hefty bags, filled with dozens of herbal ingredients, were prescribed for his emotional stagnation.
Back at home, Qiu Sheng had already landed in Jing City and video-called Zhong Jin.
Qiu Sheng asked, "Did you take Little Tong to the Chinese doctor today? What did they say? Is it serious?"
Little Tong clambered onto the couch, squeezing her round head into the frame, grinning as she announced, "I’m not sick—Daddy’s the sick one."
Qiu Sheng, "What’s wrong with Daddy?"
Zhong Jin clamped a hand over her mouth and pushed her away, shooting her a warning glare to stop her from blabbing.
"It’s nothing, just some insomnia. The doctor gave me some medicine," Zhong Jin said.
The airport noise roared in the background as Qiu Sheng shouted, "Then make sure to take it properly! Gotta go—I’ll call again tonight when I’m home."
Aunt Liang brought out two servings of medicine: Little Tong’s yam-infused water, cooled to lukewarm in a sippy cup, and a thick, foul-smelling herbal concoction for Zhong Jin.
As Zhong Jin picked up his bowl, Little Tong leaned in. "Let me smell it!"
Her puppy-like nose twitched at the rim of the bowl before she immediately pinched it shut. "Ugh, that’s intense!"
Zhong Jin stared at the murky brown liquid, his own stomach twisting at the thought of swallowing it.
He even wondered if the doctor had been exaggerating. Last month’s mandatory physical had shown flawless results—how could he suddenly be at risk for "breast-related issues"?
So he set the bowl aside and pulled out his phone to search.
An article on "preventive medicine in TCM" explained that Chinese medicine often treated latent illnesses—conditions already brewing in the body but not yet detectable by Western instruments.
Silently, Zhong Jin locked his phone and gave the pungent brew a conflicted look.
Meanwhile, Little Tong balanced her sippy cup in one hand while gripping her tricycle’s handlebar with the other, taking a hearty swig of her delicious yam water.
She pedaled over to him, tilting her head. "Aren’t you drinking?" Then she raised her cup. "Cheers with me!"
Zhong Jin eyed his smug little troublemaker. "Beat it."
She didn’t budge.
Her chubby feet, clad in wool socks, braced against the tricycle pedals as she declared in her raspy toddler voice:
"Daddy’s super brave—he’s not scared of medicine. Lu Xingxing asked if my daddy’s afraid of bitter drinks, and I said nope! My daddy gulps it down in one go!"
Zhong Jin pinched her cheek. "You little schemer."
With that, he downed the entire bowl in one swallow, then chased it with two gulps of water to wash away the sour, bitter aftertaste.
Little Tong motioned for him to bend down.
She patted his head with her pudgy hand and praised, "Daddy, you’re amazing."
Mission accomplished, she pedaled off on her tricycle to check on Savage Tyrant.
Baby chicks grew so fast. Just yesterday, Savage Tyrant had been an awkward, scraggly fluffball, but today, its downy golden feathers had fluffed out, making it almost... cute.
Little Tong noticed Sang Biao staring at her, so she scowled and snapped, "What are you looking at? Do you want a taste of medicine too?"
Sang Biao replied, "Chirp chirp chirp."
*
That afternoon, Qiu Sheng went straight to Wen Hechang’s company to meet with the project manager and discuss work matters. She was busy until dinnertime before finally returning home.
Since her divorce from Zhong Jin, Qiu Sheng had been living with her parents in a three-story villa on the outskirts of Jing City. She had let them know in advance that she’d be back today, so Nanny Zhang had prepared a lavish dinner, and her parents and older brother were all waiting for her to join them at the table.
Jing City had grown quite cold, and the central heating had already kicked in. The living room on the first floor had an electric fireplace running—though artificial, the flickering flames still gave off a cozy warmth.
Qiu Sheng went upstairs to change into comfortable loungewear before returning downstairs and sitting down at the dining table with her family.
After months away, the dinner conversation was the same old routine.
First, her mother, Tao Siyuan, complained about her running off to another city without a word, claiming it was for work—though she couldn’t imagine what "serious work" Qiu Sheng could possibly have.
Then her father, Qiu Zhengrui, grew irritated, saying she only cared about playing with dolls and couldn’t possibly have anything serious going on—she was probably off shopping or vacationing somewhere instead.
Qiu Sheng kept her head down and ate in silence.
That was, until Qiu Zhengrui said,
"How are things going with that youngest son of the Wen family, the ones in real estate? You shouldn’t be so picky—you’re divorced, and they’re not even looking down on you for it. He’s younger than you, and the Wen family’s well-off. Just settle for it. In a couple of years, when you’re past your prime, who’d even want you?"
Qiu Sheng abruptly set her bowl down and stood up. "I’m done eating. I’m going upstairs."
Ignoring her parents’ displeased expressions, she walked straight to the staircase but paused at the landing, turning back to the dining room to say,
"Brother, come up in a bit. I need to talk to you."
Qiu Sheng stayed in her room for over half an hour, during which she video-called Zhong Jin again. Seeing that Little Tong was in much better spirits—even letting Sang Biao out to play on the floor—she felt a little more at ease.
A knock came at her bedroom door.
Qiu Sheng told Zhong Jin, "My brother’s here. I’ll call you later," then hung up immediately.
Qiu Chen walked in, dressed in a shirt and slacks, and sat down on the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. "What’s wrong?"
Qiu Sheng straightened up from where she’d been leaning against the headboard and said seriously,
"Brother, I have a child."
