On the first day of winter break, light sleet drifted from the gray sky.
Cold wind, damp and sharp, swept across the street as the postman hunched his shoulders and stepped through puddles that splashed under his boots. He handed over a letter printed with the words “Shanghai People’s Fine Arts Publishing House.”
“It’s from the publisher!”
Su Niannian’s heart thumped wildly. She fumbled with the envelope, tearing it open in a rush.
Inside—besides a thick letter—was a remittance notice for eight hundred yuan.
Her small face flushed crimson. She nearly screamed.
The letter was handwritten by Editor Zhao, informing her that The Legend of Nezha (Part One) had passed final proofreading and had already been sent to the printing factory. It would soon be officially published.
Even more thrilling—the editorial department praised her work highly. They said the story was lively, the artwork dynamic, and the potential enormous.
The base payment was ten yuan per illustration. Part One contained eighty lianhuanhua drawings— that meant eight hundred yuan in manuscript fees.
The letter further explained: if sales exceeded the basic print run of one hundred thousand copies, she would receive additional compensation for the extra printings.
Niannian stared at the remittance slip; her small hands trembled. Since arriving in 1985, this was the first time she had ever seen such a thick stack of money. Eight hundred yuan—no small sum at all.
Just then, Su Minzhi came home from work. She stepped inside and immediately saw her daughter holding the notice with sparkling eyes. She froze, thinking she must be seeing it wrong.
“What… what is this? Where did it come from?” she asked in disbelief.
Niannian handed her the letter, grinning.
“Mama, it’s the manuscript fee from Editor Zhao!”
Su Minzhi read the letter again and again, then carefully examined the remittance slip. Only then did she finally believe her daughter wasn’t joking.
Eight hundred yuan! Her own monthly salary at the work unit was 120 yuan—and that was already considered respectable. Yet her seven-year-old daughter had just earned the equivalent of half a year of her income in one go!
“Niannian, you’re incredible!” She wrapped her arms around her daughter, eyes misty. “Mama is so proud of you!”
Niannian’s cheeks glowed red with excitement. She hugged her mother back. “Hehe, I’m really happy too!”
But soon she remembered her upcoming holiday plans and said seriously:
“Mama, the day after tomorrow I’ll be going to Grandma’s with Uncle. You must buy The Legend of Nezha for me, okay? I want to see what it looks like printed!”
“Don’t worry,” Su Minzhi said with a smile, patting her daughter’s head. “Mama will get it the moment it comes out. Honestly, I might be even more excited than you.”
Niannian nodded eagerly.
“Editor Zhao said it’ll be distributed to all Xinhua Bookstores nationwide! Maybe I can even buy my own book in Guangzhou. That’s so amazing!”
Tomorrow, Su Minyan would arrive from Nanjing to take Niannian on the train south to Guangzhou. The girl was thrilled about the trip; her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Looking at her soon-to-depart daughter, Su Minzhi felt a bittersweet warmth. She gently brushed Niannian’s hair and reminded her softly:
“Niannian, once you’re at Grandma’s, you must listen to them and don’t be naughty.”
“Mama, you also have to remember to eat properly,” Niannian countered, sounding far too sensible for her age. “Don’t always work late.”
Su Minzhi’s nose stung, her heart warming.
She hugged her tightly and promised,
“Don’t worry. When the New Year comes, Mama will go to Guangzhou too. Then we’ll spend the New Year together at Grandma’s, okay?”
Niannian nodded hard and squeezed her mother tighter.
Meanwhile, Liu Xiaolei—no, he should be called Fang Xiaolei now—was walking home almost floating. He clutched his freshly issued final-exam papers, joy bursting from every pore.
His household registration had finally been transferred. He was officially a member of the Fang family now, his name changed.
He’d done well on the exam and couldn’t wait to show the family.
The moment he entered the house, he rushed toward Fang Mother in the kitchen, waving the papers excitedly.
“Grandma! Grandma! Look at my grades!”
Fang Mother set down the cleaver, wiped her hands, and took the sheet.
Chinese: 94
Math: 99
Third place in his grade.
She raised her eyelids, arched an eyebrow slightly, then responded with a dull, “Not bad.”
“But,” she added casually, “I heard your father say that Niannian got first place this time. Tied for first, in fact.”
She paused, then added with pointed emphasis:
“And did you know? Niannian already skipped up to fourth grade. Even like that, she’s still first.”
The words hit like a bucket of ice water.
All the warm excitement in his chest fizzled away instantly.
He had expected praise, affection—recognition. Instead, he was once again compared to Su Niannian.
His face fell. He squeezed the exam papers tightly.
That damned short-lived girl again!!
By evening, Fang Father and Fang Yuming returned home from work. Fang Xiaolei pushed down his earlier disappointment and eagerly showed them his exam results again.
Compared with Fang Mother’s lukewarm reception, the two men were far more enthusiastic.
Fang Father took the papers and smiled with approval.
“Xiaolei, this is very good! Ninety-nine in math—just one point from full marks.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Keep it up. Next time, aim for a perfect score.”
He had invested so much effort to get Xiaolei’s household registration transferred into Fang Family. Watching the boy do well reassured him that he had made the right choice.
Fang Yuming also nodded.
“You did well, Xiaolei. Keep it up.”
Having accepted this child had cost him a great deal—especially in the matchmaking world—he naturally hoped Xiaolei could achieve something to make the sacrifice worthwhile.
But Fang Mother’s thoughts were more complicated—and more practical.
Recently, the women introduced to her son had shifted from young, unmarried girls to divorced women with children.
The contrast made her bitter. In her eyes, the culprit was Fang Xiaolei.
If not for this child, her son’s marriage prospects wouldn’t have become so embarrassing.
“Alright, alright,” she said finally, her tone hiding a faint bite. “Don’t overpraise him. Good grades don’t mean he can get arrogant. Look at Niannian… she’s the real genius.”
And with that, the last spark of pride in Xiaolei’s chest was crushed.
He lowered his head, jaw tense, fingers digging into the exam paper.
A mix of shame, resentment, and humiliation twisted inside him— and his hatred toward Su Niannian deepened another shade.