Yan Xingli moped alone for a moment, but quickly cheered himself up.
He took a large durian out of the fridge, brought it to the kitchen, and scooped out a full plate of durian flesh. In high spirits, he carried the fruit platter and knocked on the hatch of the Little Fish:
“Scientist Yu-yu, are you done yet? Come out and have some fruit.”
The hatch slowly opened, and Qi Youyu, having removed her helmet and gloves, popped out: “I’m coming, Uncle.”
“What’s this?”
“Durian.” Yan Xingli, wearing disposable plastic gloves, picked up a plump piece of durian flesh and held it to her lips. “Have you ever tried it?”
Qi Youyu hadn’t even heard of it, let alone tasted it.
The oval-shaped durian flesh was plump and round, looking like a little cake. Even though she caught a whiff of an unusual scent, the child didn’t think much of it.
Qi Youyu cupped the durian flesh in her hands and took a bite. An indescribable flavor shot straight to the top of her head.
!!
Gah!!
Qi Youyu grimaced and bent over, retching dryly.
“Oh no, durian makes you fart!” the child shouted, shoving the half-eaten piece of durian back into Yan Xingli’s hand. He ran several meters away, opening his mouth wide to fan the air. “It stinks me out.”
Genetics determines whether some people find durian stinks but tastes delicious, or stinks both to the nose and in the mouth.
Yan Xingli had loved durian since childhood—a trait he’d inherited from his parents.
It seemed the little boy hadn’t inherited that particular trait from his ancestor.
Yan Xingli picked up the leftover durian flesh the child hadn’t finished and took a bite. The creamy, velvety texture made his eyes crinkle with delight. It was truly delicious.
“What a pity. You’re not blessed enough to enjoy this durian.”
Qi Youyu stared wide-eyed, as if he were doing something utterly scandalous.
Xiao Hua, gliding over on her roller skates, chimed in: “Durian, a fruit native to Earth’s tropics, is hailed as the king of tropical fruits. Its flesh is rich in protein and vitamins, making it one of ancient humans’ favorite fruits. Even with its high price and distinctive odor, it remains highly sought after.”
“It’s important to note that durian should never be consumed with alcohol; eating them together can cause nausea, vomiting, and other symptoms.”
Xiao Hua swam slowly over to Yan Xingli: “Ancient texts record that excessive durian consumption in children can lead to excessive liver fire and premature puberty.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than Yan Xingli felt a sudden lightness in his hand.
Yan Xingli looked down: 0.0
Where’s the durian?
His whole plate of durian flesh!
“We have now retrieved the durian, which is detrimental to the healthy growth of human children.”
Yan Xingli: “……”
“I paid for that!” Yan Xingli gritted his teeth, his face turning green. “Give me back my durian! Can’t I just eat it myself?”
Behind Xiao Hua, two long, tentacle-like arms flailed about, looking exactly like a mischievous child wiggling its hips and shouting, “I can’t reach you!” as it taunted an adult.
“Sorry, Xingge, your physical stats show that even if you jump, you still can’t reach me.”
Yan Xingli nearly burst a blood vessel from rage. Who was this insulting? He turned to Qi Youyu: “Didn’t you say it had no self-awareness?”
To dare snatch food right from the ancestor’s mouth and then mock him to his face—it was nothing short of treason.
Qi Youyu blinked: “Uncle, Xiao Hua is a robot specifically designed to protect children. Snatching the durian was an instinctive reaction to prevent the child from getting into danger.”
The civilized Yan Xingli held back his itchy middle finger: “At least I paid for it. Don’t waste food. I’ll just stop bringing durians home from now on.”
Yan Xingli asked Xiao Hua for some durian flesh. Xiao Hua’s belly lit up: “Durian has been decomposed.”
Qi Youyu: “Uncle, Xiao Hua ate the whole durian.”
Does it even know what it’s eating?
Yan Xingli protested. He hadn’t even managed three bites of that huge piece of durian—what a waste of good food.
“Uncle, wait a minute before you get mad.”
Qi Youyu turned and ran into the Little Fish, then came running back, waving her hands.
“Look what this is.”
“What?”
“This is the emotion crystal I modified.” Qi Youyu tugged Yan Xingli down a bit, gesturing for him to hold out his hand. “Uncle, once you install this in the car, you won’t need to refuel anymore.”
This emotion crystal was a defective sample from Qi Youyu’s experiments; the energy stored inside wasn’t enough to power a spaceship, but after she made a few adjustments, it worked perfectly for a car.
Yan Xingli was astonished.
He’d only mentioned it in passing, never expecting the little girl to be so skilled with her hands.
Yan Xingli was overjoyed.
He took the emotion crystal from Youyu’s hand, lowering his head to run his fingers over the thin, blue crystal in his palm. His eyes sparkled with wonder, and he couldn’t wait to give it a try.
“Come on, Uncle’ll take you for a spin.” He glanced at Xiao Hua. “Fat Potato, you stay here and watch the house.”
The two of them took the elevator down to the underground parking garage. Yan Xingli found his massive Bentley Bentayga, looked around for a while, and didn’t know where to start:
“Yuyu, where do I put this crystal?”
“Do I need to modify my car?”
At the mention of “modifications,” Yan Xingli visibly hesitated. Unlike other rich kids who craved to stand out, he preferred his cars straight from the factory.
Qi Youyu spread her arms wide: “Pick me up.”
Yan Xingli lifted the little one into his arms and walked around the car: “What do you think? Isn’t my car cool?”
Having seen mechs and starships up close and experienced grand spectacles, Qi Youyu had developed a deep affection for this ancient relic.
“Super duper cool.” The little one nudged his chin with her fuzzy, round head, then raised her chubby little hand. “Just leave it there.”
“In the driver’s seat?”
Qi Youyu tucked her hands into her pockets: “Mm-hmm, if you put it there, you can see it anytime.”
Yan Xingli didn’t quite catch on at first and asked blankly, “Shouldn’t we put it somewhere more hidden?”
“Then everyone wouldn’t be able to see the pretty crystals,” Qi Youyu said matter-of-factly.
She kicked her two little legs in the air. “Uncle, let me help you put it there.”
Yuyu wriggled out of Yan Xingli’s arms like a slippery loach, ran to the car door, stood up straight, and said:
“Please open the door.”
The aloof Cullinan: =3=
“Uncle, your car isn’t listening,” Qi Youyu complained. “It won’t even open the door.”
Yan Xingli pressed the key fob, and the door opened automatically: “All right, go sit in the back.”
Qi Youyu wasn’t having it. She pouted unhappily. She was already three and a half years old—she’d piloted spaceships and mechs and was the youngest scientist on Cang’ai Planet. She wasn’t a baby.
The little girl was indignant and tried to persuade Yan Xingli.
Yan Xingli was a man of principle and wasn’t the least bit moved by Yu Yu’s impressive achievements. The tug-of-war between grandparent and granddaughter lasted five minutes, but in the end, Yan Xingli’s authority prevailed.
Sitting in the back seat, Qi Youyu was still huffing and puffing at first, but she was gradually drawn in by the scenery outside.
The car wasn’t going very fast. Qi Youyu leaned against the window, her round face pressed against the glass, her dark, wide eyes peering intently out at the world.
No flashy hovercars, no smart city butlers, and no skyscrapers.
So this is what the world was like three hundred years ago. Oh, such a primitive human life.
Qi Youyu’s chubby face grew serious, yet her eyes sparkled brightly. She was determined to work hard to improve the lives of the people of the past and help them live happily too.
Yan Xingli drove for thirty kilometers, keeping his eyes glued to the dashboard the entire time, but the fuel gauge remained unchanged.
Yan Xingli couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth curl upward; he threw all pretense of composure to the wind, grinning like an idiot the whole way, his pearly whites on full display.
The paparazzi trailing behind him snapped photos, their eyes lighting up: Great! He’s smiling like there’s no tomorrow—there’s definitely a juicy scoop here!
Yan Xingli navigated to a mall specializing in children’s products, bought two child safety seats, and asked a clerk to help install them in the backseat.
After closing the car door, Yan Xingli didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he turned around and asked:
“Yuyu, would you like to go on a TV show with me?”
“I’d love to!” Sitting in her car seat, Qi Youyu curiously fumbled around, not even looking up. “Uncle, what does ‘going on a TV show’ mean?”
“You agreed so quickly without even knowing what it was,” Yan Xingli said. “Being on a show is like going to work, and working earns you money.”
“I want to go! I want to go! I’d love to help Uncle earn lots and lots of money.”
His kind of “work” was a bit different from a regular job. Yan Xingli wasn’t sure if the little girl would be willing to be on camera, so he gave her a rough overview of the recording process.
After listening patiently, Qi Youyu waved her hand and said in a tone of someone who’d been there before:
“I’m on TV all the time. I know the drill—you have to smile and be polite.”
Yan Xingli smiled with satisfaction. As long as the kid wasn’t a handful, he could avoid at least 90% of the criticism.
After returning home, Yan Xingli called Li Zhi and recommended the young guest to her.
Li Zhi: “Your sister isn’t married—where did this niece come from?”
Yan Xingli remained unfazed: “She’s my cousin’s daughter. She has a great personality and is close to me. I think having her on the show will make for better entertainment value.”
Li Zhi didn’t just manage Yan Xingli; she also represented several A-list stars whose star power dwarfed his by a mile.
Yan Xingli had been embroiled in quite a few scandals recently. Appearing on a variety show was both a chance to capitalize on his current buzz and a crucial step in rehabilitating his image. After quickly weighing the pros and cons, Li Zhi agreed.
“Alright, then send me your niece’s profile.”
After hanging up, Yan Xingli buried himself in editing. After ten minutes of tweaking and revising, he snapped three photos of Qi Youyu and sent them along with the profile.
Even though three hundred years had passed, the child had clearly inherited his excellent genes.
A high, delicate nose, thick, long, curled eyelashes, round, bright almond-shaped eyes, and dimples when she smiled—aside from her natural woolly curls, she looked just like him, no matter how he looked at her.
Yan Xingli was deeply relieved that his offspring hadn’t wasted those beautiful genes by pairing up with some ugly duckling.
With the co-star for the show finalized, Yan Xingli’s reluctance to go to work—which had been as heavy as visiting a grave—vanished into thin air.
With four days of vacation left, Yan Xingli took Qi Youyu shopping at the mall the next day. Youyu didn’t have enough clothes; at the very least, her closet needed to be filled to the brim.
The little girl emerged from the fitting room and admired herself in the mirror.
Xiao Hua: “Even though these fancy clothes don’t clean themselves and are a real hassle to maintain, they look absolutely stunning on our sweet and kind Lady Youyu.”
Qi Youyu: “Thank you, Xiao Hua. You’re right. I’m so happy.”
“Uncle, should we buy some clothes for Xiao Hua too?”
Xiao Hua: “No, I like myself just the way I am.”
Yan Xingli curled his lips: “It’s so fat and stiff all over—there’s nothing that would fit it.”
The children’s clothing store happened to sell accessories. He picked up a fisherman’s hat adorned with sunflowers: “Put on a hat. Don’t let that bare, big head catch a chill.”
Xiao Hua’s emerald-green eyes: →_→
“Actually, I can be very soft,” Xiao Hua corrected him sternly. “And my head isn’t big—it’s just a bit round.”
Yan Xingli wouldn’t listen: “Do you like this hat? If you do, I’ll buy it for you.”
The two children and one adult emerged from the mall, all wearing matching hats. Qi Youyu walked in the middle, holding Yan Xingli’s left hand and the slightly taller Xiao Hua’s right hand, taking a few steps before swinging on the swings for a while.
The entire parking lot echoed with the children’s giggles.
“Is that all it takes to make you happy?” Yan Xingli asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Uncle, I’m so happy I could burst—I can share plenty with you.”
“Hmm, I’ve got it,” Yan Xingli teased her. “Want to go buy a couple more outfits so we can stay happy a little longer?”
“No need to go to all that trouble.” Qi Youyu looked up, her dark, wide eyes sparkling. She pressed her palms together. “As long as I can have a seafood rice triangle, that’s enough.”
This child is so easy to please.
Every day since she arrived, she’s had to have a rice triangle, and each time it’s as if it’s her first bite—she never seems to get tired of them.
Yan Xingli smirked. “I bet you were a rice ball in your past life.”
The little girl agreed wholeheartedly, her cheerful tone tinged with pride. “That’s right! I must have been a fragrant, steaming rice ball in my past life.”
After running around all day, Yan Xingli collapsed on the sofa and dozed off for half an hour before stubbornly dragging himself back up.
Professional pride as a male celebrity demands that he drag himself out of bed, no matter how exhausted, to take care of his skincare routine.
There are no ugly men in this world, only lazy ones.
Yan Xingli had a real knack for skincare and beauty. He stuck to his workout routine and, every night before bed, would meticulously groom himself from head to toe to ensure he looked flawless on camera from every angle.
His routine includes giving himself a full-body essential oil massage after a shower, followed by slathering on a thick layer of body lotion.
Wrapped in a bathrobe, Yan Xingli sat busily working in front of a pile of bottles and jars when Qi Youyu walked in with a lollipop in her mouth. She crawled onto his lap and asked:
“Uncle, what are you doing?”
“Making myself look good.”
“I want to, too.” Qi Youyu pressed her chubby cheeks close to him. “I want to be pretty, too.”
“You’re already pretty.”
The child’s skin was fair with a healthy flush; her little face, brimming with collagen, had a natural glow that no amount of cosmetic procedures could replicate—it was the kind of flawless, naturally beautiful skin a mother passes down to her child.
“Then I want to put on some perfume, too.”
Yan Xingli reluctantly tore off a small piece of black bandage and rubbed it onto Qi Youyu’s little feet. He cut a few holes in a washcloth, soaked it in mineral water, and used it as a face mask for the child.
Grandfather and granddaughter lay on the spacious sofa, Yu Yu resting her head in her uncle’s armpit, blissfully savoring this peaceful, leisurely moment.
The little girl rolled over.
“Huh?”
“Uncle, why is this spot all bare? Why don’t you have any hair here?”
Yan Xingli: “I’ve shaved it all off.”
Qi Youyu sat up, her face frozen in a look of utter surprise.
Yan Xingli folded his arms behind his head, his expression utterly nonchalant as he lifted his eyelids. “Why the look? Don’t men on your planet ever shave?”
“I don’t know.”
“But my dad can tie a bow here.” Qi Youyu covered her mouth and giggled, “He makes ‘werwer’ noises. Mom says he’s imitating a donkey.”
“Then your dad is really unkempt.” Yan Xingli said with disdain, “If I ever get the chance, I’ll have a word with him.”
It’s so unsanitary for a grown man to have armpit hair. A man who truly values cleanliness should groom his armpits—it’s an important hallmark of the modern man.
Qi Youyu took him seriously, which only strengthened her resolve to “take care of” her uncle in the future.