New ginger and pagoda

“Xinjiang, Baota,” Ming Shuzhen murmured their names.

“What books do you like? I’ll help you find them.”

Xinjiang, assertive, said, “No need. I can read and know how to find books.”

Ming Shuzhen smiled. “Tell sister how you do it.”

Like a little adult, Xinjiang enunciated clearly, “I want children’s literature. The shelf over there says so. I’m looking for *Laughing Cat Diary*, under X.”

Her process was spot-on. Ming Shuzhen, surprised, asked, “You know X? You’ve studied English?”

“Yup,” Xinjiang said proudly. “I’m in sixth grade, so I’ve learned it. Baota’s in fifth—she hasn’t.”

Ming Shuzhen was confused. “Isn’t Baota your sister? Why are you in sixth and she’s in fifth?”

“Because Baota repeated a year in preschool.”

Here, preschool was called “elementary class.”

“Oh,” Ming Shuzhen nodded, understanding. Some kids repeat preschool due to late birthdays.

“Why did Baota repeat?” she asked, hoping Baota would speak.

But Xinjiang answered, “Her parents went to the city, so no one enrolled her in elementary. She stayed in preschool.”

Now Ming Shuzhen got it. Xinjiang’s logic was impressive—unlike other kids who stumbled over words or paused to swallow, she spoke clearly and completely.

Initially thinking they were sisters, Ming Shuzhen now realized they were just close friends.

After talking, the girls pocketed the chocolates and headed to the shelves.

Qian Duoduo, done with her tasks, joined Ming Shuzhen to watch the fun.

Seeing the kids, she laughed, “So sharp. When I was young, I’d hide from adults, but they chat with you so easily.”

With Xinjiang and Baota at a distance, Ming Shuzhen said freely, “Yeah, they’re close. The thinner one, Baota, is the ‘sister,’ and Xinjiang, who sold me poems, is the ‘younger sister.’”

She added, “Thought they were real sisters, but nope.”

Qian Duoduo grinned. “One’s dark, one’s fair—if they were sisters, their parents’ genes would be wildly inconsistent.”

Good thing the girls, now in the reading area, didn’t hear.

Ming Shuzhen nudged Qian Duoduo, laughing. “The way you put it.”

Qian Duoduo chuckled, admitting her harshness.

Another group of kids arrived, sticking together, crowding the shelves to browse.

With more kids, noise was inevitable. Liu Wenjing entered from the courtyard, spotting a girl in a red puffy jacket and grabbing her.

Holding her shoulders, Liu introduced, “This is Zhou Hanrui, fifth-grade class monitor.”

She asked Zhou Hanrui to fetch Teacher Song.

Then, she called to Ming Shuyan, who was in a meeting.

Ming Shuyan pointed to her iPad, signaling she’d join later.

Soon, Zhou Hanrui returned, tugging Teacher Song’s hand.

Teacher Song, named Song Jin, was young, with a high ponytail, a volunteer teacher.

“Hi, I’m Song Jin,” she said confidently.

Liu Wenjing smiled. “These are Red Brick’s inspectors. Let’s get acquainted—I’ll add you to the group chat.”

She introduced names, then pointed to Ming Shuyan at the table. “That’s Red Brick’s leader, Ming Shuyan.”

Hearing Ming Shuzhen’s name, then Ming Shuyan’s, Song Jin exclaimed, “Oh, are you sisters?”

Ming Shuzhen, anticipating the mix-up, waved frantically. “No, no, pure coincidence.”

Her boss’s name was elegant; hers reflected her mom’s wish for an easy life.

“Oh,” Song Jin, startled by the reaction, dropped it.

Ming Shuzhen, still flustered, said, “Call me Full Pockets—everyone does.”

On this trip, she hadn’t brought her Lazy Sheep badge, or she’d pin it to her forehead, begging people to use her nickname and avoid “Ming” or “Shu.”

Once Ming Shuyan’s meeting ended and everyone gathered, Liu Wenjing shared her ideas.

She told Song Jin about encouraging kids to read, plus the planting and mud-dyeing plans.

Song Jin, intrigued, praised their creativity.

“Good,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about a fixed time for this as an extracurricular activity, but I’m worried it’ll turn chaotic with so many kids. Reading needs self-motivation—forcing it backfires.”

Liu Wenjing nodded. “Exactly. Surveys show kids like extracurricular books, but they’re scared to come here, or too shy inside. That’s why we thought of planting and mud dyeing—to make this place feel like home, a playground, not some lofty, serious space. You’ll need to explain that to them.”

After the talk, Ming Shuzhen visited the reading area, seeing Xinjiang, Baota, and Zhou Hanrui quietly reading on stools, her heart stirring.

She snapped a photo of their backs, but since some showed side profiles, she wasn’t sure if she could share it, keeping it in her gallery for herself.

Xinjiang, clearly a book lover, turned pages gently, her book halfway read, uncreased.

Baota, head perked beside her, glanced at Xinjiang’s book when prompted, looking distracted.

Recalling Han Shuyu and Liu Wenjing’s words—that kids weren’t uninterested, just scared of the environment—Ming Shuzhen tiptoed out, not wanting to disturb them.

Turning, she nearly bumped into Ming Shuyan, who’d followed her.

Startled, Ming Shuzhen clapped a hand over her mouth to avoid yelping.

In the courtyard, they could finally speak loudly.

“I saw your photo,” Ming Shuyan said.

Ming Shuzhen grinned, wondering when her boss had trailed her and noticed the photo.

“Here,” she showed her phone.

“Nice shot,” Ming Shuyan said after a glance, though Ming Shuzhen suspected she was being polite.

But her next words confirmed otherwise. “Send it to me. PR can use it for the news draft.”

“Some kids’ faces are visible,” Ming Shuzhen noted, meaning side profiles.

“Hm…” Ming Shuyan mused. “Should be fine, but I’ll check with Liu Wenjing.”

“What’s that do? You need to ask Song Jin and the kids themselves,” Ming Shuzhen muttered.

Being photographed was one thing; publishing it on the company site or WeChat was another.

“Alright, I’ll ask Song Jin and the kids later,” Ming Shuyan replied patiently.

Her patience made Ming Shuzhen pause, realizing her casual tone with her boss—she’d spoken so freely.

“Uh, Boss…” Ming Shuzhen bared her teeth, flustered. “I’ll ask, no need to trouble you. You’re so busy.”

Ming Shuyan gave her a puzzled look, wondering at her softened tone. “No big deal—whoever thinks of it can ask.”

“Mm…” Ming Shuzhen blinked, itching to escape.

But Ming Shuyan wasn’t letting her off. “Want to try mud dyeing?”

“Uh…” Ming Shuzhen’s mouth opened. “I’ve got a stomachache.”

Thinking fast, she clutched her abdomen, feigning pain.

As hoped, Ming Shuyan dropped the dyeing. “What’s wrong? Stomach pain?”

“No,” Ming Shuzhen shook her head, gripping her stomach tighter.

Ming Shuyan, eyeing her grip, assumed, “Period cramps? I’ll get you hot water.”

Knowing she wasn’t sick, Ming Shuzhen leaned into the misunderstanding. “Yup, cramps.”

Then, quickly, “No trouble—I’ll sit inside.”

Before Ming Shuyan could react, she darted into the Book House.

The reading area had several sections. Ming Shuzhen picked an empty one with a burlap sofa, sinking into it to relax.

She liked simple games to unwind—Candy Crush, Snake—no brainpower needed.

Without earphones, she muted her phone and played on the sofa.

After one Candy Crush level, Ming Shuyan appeared.

She’d likely checked other reading areas, only peeking in here. Seeing Ming Shuzhen, she entered.

“Got a heating pad from Liu Wenjing. Want me to put it on?”

Ming Shuzhen looked up, craning her neck to meet her standing boss’s gaze.

Struggling, she squeaked a “no” through gritted teeth, barely audible.

Ming Shuyan, missing the refusal or not hearing it, approached and tore open the heating pad’s wrapper.

“I’ll put it on?” Her voice was soft, mindful of the library setting.

It sounded like a question, but Ming Shuzhen, dazed, heard it as a command: “I’m putting it on.”

She froze, guilty for lying about being sick while Ming Shuyan took it seriously.

“Hm?” Ming Shuyan, seeing no response, thought her pain had dulled her senses.

Ming Shuzhen blinked rapidly, staring at her approaching boss.

Her face was stunning—each close-up made Ming Shuzhen marvel at her makeup skills or flawless skin, holding up after a long day.

Not eggshell-smooth, but creamy and fair.

Assuming consent from her silence, Ming Shuyan unzipped Ming Shuzhen’s jacket, lifted her sweater slightly, and placed the pad on her stomach.

She rubbed her hands to warm them, pressed the pad gently, lowered the sweater, and zipped the jacket.

Her actions were pure, driven by concern for Ming Shuzhen’s “cramps” while working.

But Ming Shuzhen was wracked with guilt and nerves. She watched Ming Shuyan lift her clothes, stick on the pad, her stomach still cool as it hadn’t warmed yet.

Her whole body burned, especially when Ming Shuyan lifted her sweater, sending shivers through her.

Her stomach clenched, like a giant hand squeezing it.

Ming Shuzhen winced, letting out a soft “hmph.”

Ming Shuyan, catching it, asked with concern, “Hurts a lot?”

“Yup,” Ming Shuzhen’s face crumpled, nodding.

It did hurt now—not cramps, but a stomachache.