He Cheng was gently woken by the doctor's soft voice; the IV drip had already finished.
She hadn't slept well the night before, and had been rushing between classes all day. She'd lain down on the sofa and slept for two hours. Besides her own jacket, there was now a blanket over her—probably placed by the doctor while she slept. It was much like the one in her dorm, with a butterfly embroidered in one corner.
The doctor asked how she felt, whether she was any better, and reminded her to take her medicine on time.
Uncle Bing drove her back to school.
On the way, she said thank you several times.
When the car arrived at the base of Taitang Hall, Uncle Bing said, "No need to thank me. I work for Mr. Zong."
The meaning was clear—the person she truly owed thanks to was Zong Xubai.
But He Cheng hadn't seen Mr. Zong at all that evening.
Back in the dorm, Lu Qi's gossip radar was burning bright again. He Cheng patiently recounted the story once more, but Lu Qi felt it wasn't enough and couldn't dig up anything new, so she could only go to sleep with regret.
After a night's rest, He Cheng gradually regained her energy.
Coming out of the classroom, she saw that familiar black sedan again, along with Uncle Bing standing beside it.
Food delivery again.
This time, there was an extra pot of Chinese medicine.
"This medicine was simmered over low heat for four hours. It may be a bit bitter. Try not to take it cold—warm is best."
"What would you like for dinner? I'll have the chef prepare it."
He Cheng was so startled she didn't know what to say.
Since when did they start waiting on her hand and foot?
"Uncle Bing, I don't need meal deliveries, and I don't need the Chinese medicine. You don't have to bring me anything."
Uncle Bing answered her with the same script as before.
He Cheng carried the heavy meal and medicine back to the dorm. After hesitating for a moment, she found her call log and dialed the Hong Kong number ending in three sixes.
It wouldn't connect.
The number saved as "Sponsor Mr. Zong" also wouldn't go through.
So she sent a text message.
"Mr. Zong, thank you for your kindness. The school cafeteria has food—you don't need to arrange for Uncle Bing to deliver meals to me. I won't eat that expired chicken wing again. I'll take care of myself."
She opened the food container—it was actually stuffed three treasures, a specialty from her hometown.
That evening, Uncle Bing came to deliver dinner as usual.
He Cheng deliberately mentioned that Mr. Zong hadn't answered his phone or replied to messages.
Uncle Bing said Mr. Zong had gone on a business trip to the United States and would be back in four days. He was still on the plane at the moment and probably didn't have time to respond.
As night fell, He Cheng was about to take a shower when she received a call from the United States. Her intuition told her it was Mr. Zong, and she answered immediately.
"Mr. Zong, have you arrived in America?"
The line was very quiet—not even the faintest sound of wind. Through the airwaves, the silence was enough to make one's scalp tingle. He Cheng tried again, tentatively: "Mr. Zong?"
A drawn-out, careless "Mm" came through the receiver. "'Mr. Zong' is too distant. Change the way you address me."
His tone didn't sound pleased.
Distant?
They weren't exactly close either, were they?
If not Mr. Zong, then what should she call him? She couldn't possibly call him by his given name—that would be greatly disrespectful.
Mr. Zong funded her education, like a second parent to her. And now he cared for her so attentively, treating her like a daughter. Was he hinting that she should call him father?
At his age, did he already want a daughter?
If that's what he wanted, she could, out of gratitude, move her lips to please him. But wouldn't she be getting the better end of the deal? Freely gaining such a wealthy, handsome father.
Her own father had died saving people in a landslide when she was one year old. She'd never once called anyone "Dad" in her memory, and she couldn't bring herself to now. Besides, she only had one father.
He Cheng's mind turned, and a flash of inspiration struck. Hong Kong children called their fathers "Daddy"—"爹地"—which sounded quite different from "爸爸" and wouldn't feel awkward.
She'd treat it like reading English.
"I know you've been good to me, Mr. Zong. You've taken care of me like family. If you don't mind, I…"
He Cheng swallowed, gripped her phone tightly, and with a thin, weak voice laced with hesitation: "D…daddy?"
If one didn't listen closely, it was barely audible.
So English was still hard to say after all. Her ears flushed red instantly, and her heart pounded like she'd just run 800 meters in high school, waiting nervously for judgment.
"?"
Thinking he'd misheard, Zong Xubai gazed into the distance.
It was eight in the morning in New York. Morning light gilded the glass curtain walls with a cold golden edge. Wall Street was already awake—figures in suits carrying briefcases, footsteps quick and clipped, all manner of gears meshing and turning at their own rhythms.
Below were streams of vehicles. Amidst the cold, hurried concrete and steel, he heard a girl's soft, sweet voice calling out "daddy" like a coquettish plea.
He rubbed his brow, leaning lazily against the wall. His fatigue was smoothed away in an instant, and he swallowed hard.
He unbuttoned one shirt button, but the heat still couldn't be ignored. He tilted his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing again. Suddenly, he wanted a cigarette to ease this restless heat.
He let out a few low chuckles, as if wreathed in smoke, his voice deep and husky: "He Cheng, do you know what you're saying?"
He Cheng's face flushed crimson, her nerves tightening as she nearly sat up straight and almost kowtowed to the phone: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's because you've been really good to me—if my father were still alive, he would surely be like this… I didn't mean to presume. Just pretend I was talking in my sleep."
Her mind was entirely consumed by math, physics, and chemistry, leaving no time for romance novels. In her eyes, "daddy" was a wholesome, warm term. She had no idea that a girl calling an unrelated man "daddy" carried flirtatious undertones.
Father?
His white shirt was wrinkled, disheveled yet restrained. A smirk tugged at his lips, carrying a hint of roguish charm, his pointed questions delivered with deliberate precision through the phone line.
"He Cheng, who gave you the illusion that I want to be your father?"
"Being good to you means acting like a father?"
"Is your long-distance boyfriend not good enough to you? Why don't you call him daddy?"
He Cheng was struck speechless, momentarily unable to formulate a rebuttal.
His eyes suddenly took on a mischievous glint, and his voice turned playfully wicked as he uttered three more words: "That's unfair."
He Cheng stammered, "It's different—you, you're older than him."
He let out a mocking scoff: "So what if I'm older? Does being older mean I have to be your father? Am I that old?"
How did the conversation veer into age?
Besides, he wasn't old at all. His wealth and the confidence it afforded him made him look younger and more handsome than the male students at HKU. If he were old, those twenty-year-old boys would be breaking out in pimples from sheer frustration.
"No, you're not old." He Cheng frowned, trying to explain: "I won't have such delusions anymore…"
"It's not a delusion." He spoke slowly, word by word: "He Cheng, you can think…"
Like a calm, patient teacher, he gently guided: "In a different direction."
The door opened from outside as Lu Qi came in humming a love song after her shower, drying her hair as she asked: "Hey, aren't you going to shower?"
Noticing He Cheng's flushed face, she gave a knowing smile and lowered her voice: "Talking to your boyfriend?"
"No." He Cheng immediately denied: "It's my sponsor, Mr. Zong."
Hearing it was her sponsor, Lu Qi's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
He Cheng seized the opportunity to change the subject and return to her original purpose: "Mr. Zong, I've recovered from my illness. I'll take good care of myself and won't eat anything I shouldn't. Thank you so much for your concern and expense. How much was the medical bill? I'll transfer it to you."
Silence fell on the other end again, still as a lonely island, making He Cheng's heart flutter with unease. She asked hesitantly: "Mr. Zong, are you still there?"
Hearing her call, he let out a lazy "mm," his voice unhurried: "Did you enjoy today's food?"
Both lunch and dinner today had been hometown delicacies, perfectly suited to her taste.
"I did. Thank you so much for your care. The school has a cafeteria—I can eat there. Please don't have Uncle Bing deliver meals and herbal medicine to me anymore."
Zong Xubai let out a low chuckle again, answering only what he chose to address, speaking bluntly: "Your thanks don't sound very sincere."
"Wait for me to come back and have a meal with me."
At the end of the call, Zong Xubai had He Cheng add his WeChat.
Only then did she notice a little red dot in her contacts.
She tapped to accept.
Zong Xubai's WeChat nickname was a simple English name, Lucas, and his profile picture showed a flock of blue butterflies dancing in flight.
Clearly, he was fond of butterflies.
After adding him, He Cheng, out of politeness, sent a smiley face jpg first.
Lucas: 【I don't use WeChat often. Call me if anything comes up】
Wishing Orange All the Best: 【Okay~】
He Cheng turned off her phone screen, deeply regretting her earlier rashness. She must have had a momentary lapse of judgment to think Zong Xubai wanted to be her father. That "daddy" made her want to bang her head on the desk.
Under Lu Qi's repeated questioning, she stammered out the story.
Lu Qi laughed so hard she clutched her stomach: "Oh my god, didn't you say he looks young? And you called him daddy—that makes him sound old! What were you thinking? Wouldn't 'big brother' be better? Brother Zong, Zong-gege~ How sweet is that."
He Cheng froze. Before Lu Qi had barged in and interrupted Mr. Zong, those words—"in a different direction"—seemed to have found their entry point.
Calling him daddy made him sound old; calling him big brother was neither distant nor aging.
That must be what Mr. Zong meant.
And it explained why he'd been so good to her these past days.
He was treating her like a little sister.
"Lu Qi, do you think Mr. Zong has a sister? Maybe he sees me as one."
Lu Qi glanced at her, hung the towel back on the rack, and smiled: "So, do you want to be his sister?"
"It's not about wanting or not." He Cheng lowered her lashes with a wry smile, a hint of helplessness in her eyes, her voice catching slightly: "Maybe I'm just too shallow. I keep thinking—if he's this good to me, what could he possibly want from me? Perhaps he wants nothing at all. Maybe it's just because he's sponsored me for seven years and feels more compassion for me than for others."
"One word from him and people would take care of me. Yet I can't help feeling uneasy, constantly searching for reasons to explain his kindness." She sighed softly, her fingers repeatedly twisting the hem of her clothes: "This unease will linger for a long, long time—keeping me from eating and sleeping in peace."
"Even if he is inherently a good person, I can't accept his kindness with peace of mind. To make myself accept his goodness faster, to keep myself from thinking negatively, I decided for him that he needs a sister, needs a daughter—isn't that ridiculous of me?"
She looked up at Lu Qi, her eyes wide open, as if trying to see Lu Qi's face clearly.
Meeting this sincere gaze, Lu Qi felt a stir in her heart.
Others' kindness reflects the powerlessness and fragility of the recipient, which then turns into a burden, breeding doubt and scrutiny over "purity." Not wanting to think too much or dwell too deeply, only focusing on the good, on what's within reach, on what can be controlled—this is because being in a lower position means having too little to give, too little that one can afford to give.
The worst fear is that ordinary things won't catch his eye, and what catches his eye, she's unwilling to give.
Lu Qi no longer teased her about Mr. Zong like before, but comforted her instead: "Mr. Zong sponsored you for 7 years before he even met you. This kindness now shows itself in delivering meals and Chinese medicine. For wealthy people, these small favors are done casually. You just arrived in the big city and have lived frugally all your life, so this kindness is bound to make you uncomfortable."
"But think about it—he didn't expect anything in return for those 7 years. Would he care about the cost of these meals and medicine now?"
"Don't put too much burden on yourself. Brother, sister, father, daughter—what's wrong with simply wanting to be kind to a poor student he's sponsored for years?"
"You're thinking too narrowly, Classmate He Cheng!"
He Cheng's shoulders sagged slightly. Maybe she really was thinking too narrowly.
After that, Uncle Bing no longer delivered meals to He Cheng, but the daily Chinese medicine continued as before.
"This medicine is nourishing. Your body needs to be nurtured slowly—it won't do much without a year or so. Zong Sheng said it must be given to you. If you don't drink it, just throw it in the trash."
A year or so?
He Cheng's pupils widened. Mr. Zong planned to have her drink Chinese medicine for a year or so?
She felt both flattered and miserable. When the medicine entered her mouth, everything from her oral cavity to her throat to her stomach felt like it had touched fish bile—bitter, bitter.
"Even if my body is already better, I still have to drink it?"
"This has nothing to do with your last food poisoning. Elder Yuan said your spleen and stomach have yang deficiency, so you need to warm the middle and dispel cold."
This kindness couldn't be refused for now.
Carrying the Chinese medicine back to Taigu Hall, she was called out by He Shuxia as she passed through the common area. Following the voice, she saw several girls sitting on the sofa waving her over, even shifting to make room. Their gossipy expressions made He Cheng frown.
He Shuxia bustled over and pushed her down to sit. On the coffee table was a phone playing Hong Kong and Taiwan television news.
It was the video of Reporter He interviewing her that day.
She had been unwell that day—thin, with no color on her lips. On camera, she looked even more malnourished, truly appearing like someone from a poor mountain region.
And underneath the phone was that day's Hong Kong daily newspaper.
It was also the news report from Reporter Lin's interview with her.
It occupied the front-page headline, with traditional Chinese black characters extremely eye-catching, accompanied by a photo of her smiling with pressed lips—softer and more delicate than her appearance on TV.
"So you have this kind of relationship with Zong Xubai! No wonder that [HK·ZHB6] car waits for you downstairs every day. You kept it so well hidden—we had no idea. We thought you had something going on with that driver."
"So you must be really close with Zong Xubai, right? You helped him solve such a big problem—he must be very grateful to you?"
"I think you're really lucky. His group's charity foundation was exposed in a sex scandal. If you weren't personally sponsored by him, you'd probably be… you know…"
"But could he just be putting on a show? I mean, his group is mired in such a huge scandal, with the whole internet attacking him. This is the perfect time to pull you out to divert attention."
The girls chattered away, each sharing their own thoughts.
From their curiosity and gossip, He Cheng understood: Zong Xubai's towering personal image had turned around the criticism of his charity work.
They praised him for quietly doing big things, silently sponsoring a poor girl for 7 years.
"He Cheng, does Zong Xubai have a girlfriend?" He Shuxia asked with animated excitement. "You're so familiar with him—you should know, right?"
He Cheng looked up. Four or five pairs of eyes were fixed on her, filled with expectation and curiosity.
"Mr. Zong and I are only in a sponsor-sponsored relationship. I know nothing about his personal life. My agreeing to the interview was an accident—because he's a very, very good person, and I wanted to do my small part for him."
Only when they saw they couldn't extract anything more did they let her leave.
He Shuxia grabbed her phone and opened WhatsApp.
[Asked for you—not close~ Would Zong Xubai even fancy her? Every time I see her, it's with some old man. I'd believe it if you said she's dating that old man~]
She had met Liang Jiahao a few days ago at the rice noodle canteen. She had deliberately approached him, using the topic of being He Cheng's next-door roommate to start a conversation. She had been beautiful since childhood and knew exactly where her charm lay. Sure enough, Liang Jiahao was drawn to her.
There was no sense of conquest—she didn't want to play with this kind of trash anymore anyway.
The reply came quickly, just two simple letters: [ok]
He Shuxia let out a cold snort, thought for a moment, and asked, "Are you someone who's eaten too much abalone and now craves wild greens, or are you just restless because you can't have what you want?"
"Then little sister, help me pick some wild greens, okay? Every day it's like scratching an itch through a boot—I'm so uncomfortable~"
He Shuxia couldn't keep a straight face and nearly rolled her eyes, as if the person who'd been flirting with her over text these past few days wasn't him.
"Think I'm a madam or something? I can't help you either—she's a pretty girl with no money but plenty of pride."
He Cheng returned to the dorm, drank her herbal medicine, and once again texted Zong Xubai.
"Mr. Zong, thank you again for your kindness, but I really don't need the herbal medicine. I'm a woman with the spirit of an eagle."
It was during a break between meetings. Zong Xubai was in the lounge, having just finished an investment report, and Zhou Qiyun was confirming the materials for the next meeting with him.
Zong Xubai swiped open his phone, saw the line, and let out a low chuckle.
Zhou Qiyun: "?"
What's he laughing at? Did he say something funny? He cleared his throat, heard a "wait a moment," and watched as Zong Xubai rose, turned his back to him, and walked toward the window, his silhouette calm and elegant.
He Cheng hadn't expected Zong Xubai to reply so quickly. She was just opening her book when her phone buzzed.
[Uncle Yuan said you're as frail as a little white rabbit—how could you be an eagle?]
He Cheng: [I just look thin. I'll exercise more every day to build up my strength. And the herbal medicine is so bitter—please don't put me through that.]
Zong Xubai could imagine the little frown on her face as she said that in a low voice. He tugged at his tie, leaving it crooked and askew, but the itch in his throat lingered. He didn't hold back any longer and called her directly.
The voice on the other end sounded a bit surprised. "Mr. Zong."
A smile curved at his lips as he coaxed gently, "Read the message you just sent—out loud for me."