“Can that social media celebrity Yan Xingli please stop popping up everywhere? Who wants to waste their time watching a wooden puppet act? Work is already stressful enough!”
“Go home, kid. Just go home, okay? @Yan Xingli”
In a high-end residential complex in City S, Yan Xingli calmly scrolled through the trending negative search results about him.
His young assistant, watching his expression, whispered, “Brother Xing, don’t look at it. I’ve already messaged Sister Li. The company will squash this soon.”
Yan Xingli: “I’m fine.”
The assistant glanced at the wall clock and changed the subject: “Well then, Brother Xing, get some rest early. You have a very important commercial shoot first thing tomorrow morning, you can’t afford to be late.”
Slumped on the sofa, Yan Xingli yawned lazily. “Got it.”
“Oh, and I’m taking a vacation next month, so you don’t need to come in every day.”
Xiao Lin, who had already started to get up, froze, looking a bit confused. “Bro Xing, are you pulling out of next month’s My Little Kid variety show recording?”
“What’s My Little Kid?”
The moment the words left his mouth, Yan Xingli realized what was going on.
He frowned in annoyance. He’d submitted his vacation request six months ago, and the company had approved it. He never expected them to change their minds at the last minute and dump a major project on him.
Xiao Lin sensed something was off from Yan Xingli’s sour expression.
In that moment, the worker earning 6,000 a month felt a deep kinship with the worker earning six figures a month.
Xiao Lin scratched his face and shifted his hips slightly. “Bro Xing, My Little Kid is a reality show that’s been trending like crazy these past few days. I’ll send you the materials so you can take a look.”
With his long-awaited vacation down the drain, Yan Xingli’s face was as dark as the bottom of a pot: “You can go home first.”
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
Xiao Lin fled as if he’d been granted a pardon, adding one last remark before he left: “The company sent Sister Li on an assignment yesterday; she probably won’t be back for the next two weeks.”
“……”
After seeing Xiao Lin off, Yan Xingli opened a bottle of red wine in a foul mood.
He’d been working various part-time jobs since college. His family wasn’t short on money, but he was a hoarder at heart, loving to save up and stuff his pockets until they bulged.
He’d stumbled into the entertainment industry by accident. A talent scout told him he’d get five thousand yuan for recording an episode of a boy band audition show, with room and board and round-trip travel expenses covered, so he signed up.
He’d originally intended to just go through the motions, but to his surprise, Yan Xingli managed to secure a spot in the debut lineup thanks to his striking, model-like features, a decent singing voice, and his perpetually clumsy dancing, all of which drew votes from a massive crowd of fans who loved a good spectacle.
Between group promotions, recording new songs, and appearing on group variety shows, the rookie Yan Xingli enjoyed a brief surge in popularity, which earned him a spacious apartment.
Later, the agency landed him a role in a drama, and the reception was quite positive.
Yan Xingli knew his limits; he could only play minor supporting roles with few lines or scenes, preferably as the “white moonlight” who dies early in the story.
The “white moonlight” role was his comfort zone and the territory where he reigned supreme.
Unfortunately, ideals and reality often run counter to one another.
Eager to capitalize on his rising popularity and make a quick buck, the agency, once they realized Yan Xingli was a rising star with untapped potential, immediately cast him as the male lead in a drama, with a supporting cast consisting entirely of veteran actors of national treasure status.
Every frame of his performance was dissected and judged. Haters swarmed in, banding together in the comments section of his Weibo to mock his lack of professional skill and demand he get out of the entertainment industry.
Yan Xingli sat with his long legs stretched out in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his slender fingers massaging his temples. This time, his family would surely force him to quit the entertainment industry.
How much was the penalty for breaching the contract again?
Yan Xingli pulled the contract out of his phone and ran the numbers. His slightly tipsy head snapped back to full clarity.
, A two-hundred-million-yuan penalty?
Yan Xingli jumped to his feet, his hand gripping the phone,e trembling slightly.
Not only would four years of hard work go to waste, but he’d have to dip into the savings he’d built up during college, reducing him to square one overnight.
Yan Xingli winced at the thought.
Leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, he looked up at the pitch-black sky and silently made a superstitious vow: as long as it didn’t cost him a dime, he’d gladly become a devout vegetarian for ten years, just to secure a peaceful termination of his contract.
An inconspicuous star twinkled in the night sky.
Having made his wish, Yan Xingli gathered his thoughts. Since things had come to this, he might as well take a shower first.
Soaking in the tub was the best way for him to relax both body and mind; many of the difficult problems he’d encountered in life had been solved through sudden flashes of inspiration while lying in the bathtub.
With six long years remaining until the contract expired, Yan Xingli propped his chin on his hand and pondered seriously: If he passed the civil service exam, could he terminate the contract early and pay a smaller penalty?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, Yan Xingli’s body shuddered involuntarily.
…Never mind. I’ll just pay the penalty.
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
Yan Xingli opened his phone and looked at the eight-digit balance in his bank account; his expression shifted several times.
After a moment, as if he had made up his mind, he got up, wrapped himself in a bathrobe, and shuffled back to the bedroom in his slippers to find the box containing the safe.
The silver-glinting metal safe came into view, and Yan Xingli’s slender, fair fingers reached up to press the buttons.
Click. The bedroom lights went out.
Yan Xingli froze. He looked up and scanned the room; it was pitch black.
He bent down to turn on his flashlight, unaware that just beyond the floor-to-ceiling window behind him, a tiny speck resembling a star was approaching at a speed invisible to the naked eye.
The moment the flashlight illuminated the room, a deafening explosion erupted, causing the entire building to tremble twice.
The bedroom’s hardened tempered glass shattered instantly. The deafening blast, accompanied by a howling cold wind, burst into the room, the gale violently sweeping everything in its path.
The incident happened so suddenly that even the physically fit Yan Xingli didn’t have time to react; he was blown this way and that, lost his balance, and plopped down onto the floor.
He was so startled by the sudden turn of events that his heart nearly stopped. An earthquake?
Yan Xingli shivered uncontrollably, his mind reeling. Having grown up in the peaceful and powerful Zhonghua, he would rather believe it was an earthquake or an act of revenge than consider the possibility of a terrorist attack.
Shattered glass littered the floor, but fortunately, no shards had struck Yan Xingli, and he was not in immediate danger.
A beam of light as bright as daylight poured down, dispelling the darkness, yet it was so blinding that Yan Xingli couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He awkwardly wrapped his bathrobe tighter around himself, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the glare as he struggled to make out the situation before him.
After a few seconds, the light dimmed, and finally, it stopped stinging his eyes so badly that he couldn’t stop crying.
Yan Xingli lowered his arm and turned his head, his face frozen in astonishment.
Amid the hazy dust and the night sky, a strangely shaped, metallic-silver craft hovered in midair. Its shape, resembling a giant iron pot, looked exactly like the legendary UFO.
What on earth was that? Were aliens finally coming to take over the Earth?
Did that mean he wouldn’t have to pay the penalty for breaching the contract?
Just as he was wondering whether aliens could understand romantic dramas, the craft’s hatch slid open with a hiss, and a wide, long slide extended from within.
Here it comes. Yan Xingli’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He pressed his numb calves, staggered to his feet, and narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the thing overhead.
Amid the tense atmosphere, a round, chubby head poked out of the hatch. After looking around for a moment, it hopped to the entrance.
Yan Xingli faintly heard a child’s soft, joyful cheer. Then the little alien sat down at the top of the slide and whooshed down.
Yan Xingli quickly backed away, pressing himself against the wall and holding his breath.
“Grandpa!”
The little alien sprinted over on his stubby legs, spread his arms wide, and shouted, “Yuyu’s here to protect you!”
Yan Xingli: “……Huh?”
His thigh tightened as he was clearly embraced. He looked down and found himself staring straight into a pair of bright, wide eyes.
Upon getting a clear look at the little creature, Yan Xingli was quite taken aback.
“How come this little alien looks just like an Earth kid?”
Eyes are eyes, nose is a nose.
Yan Xingli furrowed his brow and gave his leg a slight shake, but the little one didn’t fall off.
So, he put on a stern face and carefully poked the little alien’s hand with his finger.
It was soft and squishy, feeling just like a steamed bun fresh out of the pot.
It was alive, not a cold-blooded creature, and Yan Xingli quietly let out a sigh of relief.
He bent down and unceremoniously picked up the little alien clinging to his thigh:
“Where are you from, alien?”
“What are your intentions?”
It seemed this alien race hadn’t read many books; they’d actually sent a little snotty-nosed scout.
The little alien stared with its big, dark eyes and made a startling claim: “I’m not an alien. I’m a Baby-ian. You’re my ancestor.”
Yan Xingli: …
“Don’t be afraid.”
Hanging in midair, the little alien flashed a smile, looking like a good-natured puppy. She held out a chubby little hand and said, friendly and familiar:
“Hello, ancestor. My name is Qi Youyu. I’m a really amazing scientist, you know. I’m here to protect you.”
Yan Xingli stood there in silence.
He quietly set the child down, crossed his arms, and listened to her chatter for ten minutes, piecing together the general story.
This little alien named Qi Youyu was no ordinary being. She claimed to be his descendant, hailing from the planet Cang’ai three hundred years in the future.
Planet Cang’ai was the new home where humanity had migrated after Earth’s destruction. It possessed even more abundant resources for survival than Earth, and its current level of technological advancement far surpassed that of the present day.
And that massive iron pot that had nearly blinded him was none other than the legendary time-space spaceship.
Three-and-a-half-year-old Qi Youyu piloted the time-space spacecraft all by herself, traveling for seven hours to arrive at her ancestor’s home.
As for the “protection” she kept muttering about, Yan Xingli didn’t give it a second thought.
His mind was in a whirl.
On one hand, he suspected he’d been set up; on the other, he thought it impossible. The aircraft hovering above him was clearly a state-of-the-art technological marvel.
Anyone with that kind of technology would have been secretly recruited by the government long ago; there’s no way they’d be parading around in public like this.
The little newcomer wasn’t shy at all; he strolled around with his hands behind his back as if he owned the place, occasionally sighing and frowning.
“Ancestor, your house is so small.”
“Aren’t you a little bit poor?”
“Oh, it’s so messy in here, and the wind is so strong.”
Yan Xingli shot him a sidelong glance: “And whose fault is that?”
Was it his fault that he didn’t install Windows?
Was it his fault that he didn’t put in underfloor heating?
Pretending not to understand, the child scratched his head and shuffled over: “Ancestor…”
“Don’t call me ‘ancestor.’”
Yan Xingli found the term jarring.
He had just turned twenty-five, a chaste, self-respecting bachelor, and being called “ancestor” by a child gave him the absurd sensation that he was already a grandfather with a house full of grandchildren, on the verge of being laid to rest.
Seeing the resistance written all over Yan Xingli’s face, Qi Youyu thought for a moment, then lifted her little head and shouted:
“Okay, Grandpa!”
Yan Xingli’s body trembled.
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
He puffed out his cheeks and, after a long pause, finally ground out a sentence through clenched teeth: “Calling me ‘Grandpa’ won’t do you any good.”
“Just look at the mess you’ve made.”
With his left hand on his hip and his right pointing at the chaos on the floor, he grew angrier as he spoke:
“My bedroom was perfectly fine. Who asked you to turn it into a war-torn Syrian zone? Did I say I wanted that? Do you have any idea how much that floor-to-ceiling panoramic window cost me?”
He’d only been living in this apartment for a year, and now the little alien had already wrecked it; it was enough to make his heart bleed.
Faced with Yan Xingli’s barrage of questions, the child lowered his head, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and said nothing.
He must have been scared.
Yan Xingli pursed her lips and reluctantly looked away. What was the point of arguing with this little alien? She didn’t have the money to pay for the damage anyway.
She’d just have to accept her bad luck.
“Auntie, please don’t be angry. Yu Yu will take responsibility.”
?
Who???
Before Yan Xingli could recover from the shock of being called “Auntie,” another scene that completely shattered his worldview unfolded: the shards of glass on the floor seemed to have someone press the rewind button, automatically piecing themselves back together until the entire floor-to-ceiling window was restored to its original state.
He’d only ever seen such a scene in TV dramas.
Qi Youyu ran over to Yan Xingli’s side, rubbing her little hands together and asking, “Is this okay?”
“……You… you know magic?” Yan Xingli swallowed hard, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re not… a little immortal sent down to undergo trials, are you?”
The child blinked innocently. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
This was way too big for him to handle. Yan Xingli rushed to the living room to grab his phone, muttering to himself:
“That’s right, if you’re in trouble, call the police. Just hand the person over to them.”
The little tail trailing behind him jumped up and clung tightly to his leg in protest: “No, don’t call the police.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.”
“Do you think nothing will happen if I don’t call the police? ” Yan Xingli, exasperated, patiently explained, “With the earthquake-like racket you just made, who do you think you can fool? The police will be knocking on our door in no time.”
Qi Youyu shook her round head like a rattle, trying to explain: “No, the Little Fish has a super-powerful protective shield. No one can see or hear it. Don’t believe me? Look.”
Yan Xingli looked up in the direction the child was pointing, but the giant iron pot that had been hovering above their heads was nowhere to be seen.
High-tech indeed… it can even turn invisible.
Come to think of it, it made sense. For a time-space spaceship like that to barge into his home as if no one were there, it must have had super-strong signal-jamming capabilities; otherwise, the national air defense department would have detected and intercepted it long ago.
“Still,” Yan Xingli said, bending down to pat the child on the head, “even if that’s the case, I can’t keep you around. First, I don’t know how to take care of children, and second, you’re an alien, I certainly can’t take you in.”
Qi Youyu stamped her foot in frustration. “I’m not an alien! I’m your baby’s baby’s baby!”
Before Yan Xingli could say a word, the child waved a tiny hand, and a transparent holographic screen instantly appeared before them.
Qi Youyu swiped rapidly, and a complex family tree popped up on the screen. The name at the very top was none other than Yan Xingli, and footage of him from childhood onward began playing frame by frame.
When the screen showed Yan Xingli wetting the bed at age three and then brazenly framing his dad for it, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Hey, stop, stop, stop! I believe you’re my descendant now.”
The three-headed child laughed. She stood on tiptoe, took one of his fingers, and said earnestly:
“Grandma, Yu Yu will take good care of you.”
Yan Xingli looked utterly numb.
They could dig this up even three hundred years after his death, restoring his embarrassing past to high definition. Aside from his unfilial, treasonous descendants, he really couldn’t think of anyone else who would “take care” of him like this.