Little white rabbit run

Bazi Village had a small population, with Bazi Village Elementary School hosting fewer than 200 students total.

To promote holistic education, the school often held extracurricular activities.

On their third day in the village, Ming Shuzhen’s group caught the school’s flea market.

Unlike campus-based events, due to the small student body, teachers led the kids to the village’s busiest street corner, setting up desks and stools for the sale.

Passing grandparents, familiar with the kids, knew whose child was whose, happily buying their items, treating it like indulging grandkids.

Ming Shuzhen and Ming Shuyan followed Liu Wenjing to the street to buy seeds.

They planned to get tulip seeds and colorful rain boots, planting seeds in the boots for fun and to distinguish the planting area from the mud-dyeing zone.

With the street bustling with students, foot traffic slowed their pace.

Liu Wenjing, aware of the flea market, asked if Ming Shuzhen and Ming Shuyan wanted to check it out.

Ming Shuyan wasn’t keen, but Ming Shuzhen, energized by the lively vibe, eagerly wanted to join in.

The kids’ items were ordinary—lacking novelty, some dolls looking worn, sparking little buying interest.

Scanning the desks, Ming Shuzhen’s eyes caught a grid notebook, open with pencil-written text.

Curious, she thought a kid was selling a used notebook, better suited for recycling.

Closer inspection revealed a paper sign beside it: “Selling my poems.”

Intrigued, she asked the little girl at the stool, “You wrote these poems?”

The girl, with twin braids and a slightly oversized checkered outfit, looked neat despite the fit. Her eyes sparkled, her speech clear. “I wrote them, sister. Want to buy?”

She flipped to a poem titled “Sister” and showed Ming Shuzhen.

“I want to take Sister to see the stars. Sister says stars are in the sky, always there to see. I shake my head—sky stars need night to shine, but the stars in Mom and Dad’s eyes glow even in daylight.”

The girl, likely in fourth or fifth grade, had unpolished handwriting, but each stroke was legible.

Ming Shuzhen’s heart softened. “How do you sell your poems?”

“Take the whole book for five yuan,” her voice crisp as a porcelain bowl.

“The whole book?” Ming Shuzhen, surprised, flipped through. Though short, every page was filled.

Ming Shuyan, seeing her interest, glanced through it too.

“‘Twelve moon candies in a glass jar’?” she smiled faintly. “Just the title—who’d guess it’s about the twelve months?”

Her words held praise, but the girl, not catching it, blinked and focused on Ming Shuzhen.

Seeing her expectant look, Ming Shuzhen, charmed by the romantic notion of selling poems, was set on buying.

With little cash, she pulled out fifty yuan.

The girl, startled by the large bill, said, “I can’t make change.”

Ming Shuzhen, amused by her practical sense, caught Liu Wenjing’s affirming glance. “These kids are independent—buying soy sauce on the street’s no big deal.”

“Keep it,” Ming Shuzhen pushed the money forward. “Your poems are great. Five yuan a poem—this is over ten.”

The girl shook her head. “Five for the book.”

Liu Wenjing, understanding Ming Shuzhen’s kindness but knowing the kids better, said, “She won’t take such a big bill. Villagers wouldn’t accept it from her either.”

“Oh,” Ming Shuzhen got it—fifty yuan was indeed too much for a young child.

Rummaging through her pockets, she gathered all her five- and one-yuan bills, placing them on the desk.

“These are for you.”

The girl glanced up, not expecting so much, hesitant to take it, looking to Liu Wenjing.

Liu patted her head. “This sister loves your writing. Take the money.”

The girl nodded, carefully tucking the cash into her bag and handing the notebook to Ming Shuzhen solemnly.

“Thank you, sister.”

Ming Shuzhen smiled, accepting it.

She asked, “Your poem’s about stars—why call it ‘Sister’?”

“It’s for my sister,” the girl said proudly.

“Oh~” Ming Shuzhen nodded, feigning realization.

The trio moved through the crowd. With the notebook in hand, Ming Shuzhen found other items lackluster.

Surprisingly, Ming Shuyan bought something—a rare move.

Though not planning to shop, she spotted braided cords on a desk, amazed kids still played with them.

The cord was vibrant pink, adorned with tiny bells and stars.

Giving the kid two yuan, Ming Shuyan pocketed a pack.

“Wow, Boss, didn’t know you had such a girly side,” Ming Shuzhen teased, delighted.

Ming Shuyan glanced at her, silent but visibly pleased.

After buying seeds, back in the car, she pulled out the cords and started braiding a bracelet.

The simplest method was like braiding a ponytail—three strands woven together.

But that made a thin, plain result.

In middle school, Ming Shuyan had watched classmates braid these, never trying herself. Relying on memory, she mimicked their technique, crafting a neat, square shape, adding a bell.

To finish, she glanced at Ming Shuzhen’s arm.

Covered in thick clothing, her arm’s size was hidden.

Ming Shuyan had to ask, “Can you roll up your sleeve? I need to measure.”

“Hm?” Ming Shuzhen, not catching on, obediently rolled up her sleeve.

Seeing Ming Shuyan size the bracelet around her arm before sealing it, she realized, “Boss, is this for me?”

“Yup,” Ming Shuyan said, embarrassed by the childish gesture. “It doesn’t suit me. If you don’t like it, take it off.”

“Love it!” Ming Shuzhen said quickly.

Unfazed by Ming Shuyan’s awkwardness, she genuinely found the bracelet cute, evoking childhood memories.

Seeing her keep it on, though hidden under her sleeve, Ming Shuyan’s eyes crinkled with a secret smile.

Back at the hotel that night, Ming Shuzhen removed the bracelet before washing, placing it on the sink counter.

After, she tucked it carefully into her makeup bag.

Ming Shuyan, on her bed with her iPad, stole glances, seeing Ming Shuzhen’s care with the bracelet. Her heart lifted, her face softening.

“Boss, Qian Duoduo said her area found wall cracks too—probably XPS board issues,” Ming Shuzhen said, climbing into bed.

“Should we tell Village Head Liu?” she asked, recalling Liu’s hints about past firms flagging issues, costing money and Xu Bao’s missed awards, plus XPS boards’ expense.

Ming Shuyan, eyes back on her iPad until Ming Shuzhen spoke, looked up squarely. “Already told her. She’s aware.”

“Oh, good,” Ming Shuzhen relaxed, grabbing her charging phone to play.

She photographed the notebook’s poems, sent them to Zhong Shuo, shared them in her family group, and, loving them, posted to her Moments: “This little girl’s so talented, writes so well.”

Wanting to praise the poems, she struggled for words, settling on “good.”

“We could post it on our website. I’ll have PR draft a news piece,” Ming Shuyan said, business instincts sharp. “It’s a公益 project, kid-written—eye-catching.”

She’d planned publicity for this project from the start.

Ming Shuzhen, silent, messaged Zhong Shuo: “Sometimes I forget I’m rooming with a capitalist, tsk tsk.”

Followed by a “run, little bunny” emoji.

—

The next day was another inspection day.

Unlike before, Bazi Village Elementary students, led by teachers, visited the Book House.

Ming Shuzhen, thrilled, checked her pockets for snacks to share, but she’d eaten her small stash over the past days.

Ming Shuyan, in Ming Shuzhen’s area, worked at a table, iPad propped for a remote meeting.

Still, she noticed Ming Shuzhen pat her pockets, eyeing the kids thoughtfully, guessing her intent.

Having few chocolates left from Ming Shuzhen’s gift, Ming Shuyan grabbed them from her bag and approached.

“For you.”

“Huh?” Ming Shuzhen recognized them. “Boss, you’re not eating them?”

“I’ve got more. Give these to the kids.”

“Oh,” Ming Shuzhen understood, delighted. “How’d you know I wanted to share?”

Ming Shuyan, meeting still ongoing, returned to her table without answering.

Ming Shuzhen, beaming, shared the chocolates with the visiting kids, spotting a familiar face.

“Hey, aren’t you the poem girl?”

“Hello, sister,” the girl’s voice crisp, inspecting the Book House seriously, like a little adult.

“First time here?” Ming Shuzhen asked.

“Yup,” she nodded.

The Book House, built over a year ago, wasn’t far from the kids’ homes, yet this was her first visit. Ming Shuzhen felt a pang of meaning.

Before she could ask more, another child ran up.

“Xinjiang!” Thinner, darker-skinned but healthy, the new girl grabbed Xinjiang’s hand, then shyly lowered her head under Ming Shuzhen’s gaze.

Xinjiang shushed her. “This is for reading—no loud talking.”

“Oh,” the girl stuck out her tongue.

Ming Shuzhen chuckled, splitting the chocolates. “You’re Xinjiang? And you?”

“Baota,” Xinjiang answered for her shy friend.

Then, proudly, “She’s my sister.”

“Oh~” Ming Shuzhen recalled the poem titled “Sister,” about taking her to see stars.

Though Xinjiang was sharp and Baota shy, she seemed more the younger sister.