Shen Yong Xuan curled up on the soft sofa, her gaze resting on Li Heng’s face for a moment before slowly drifting away, lost in a long reminiscence.
Li Heng was about to get up when she heard her voice again.
“Back then, the house was so lively.”
Li Heng turned around and looked at her quietly.
The edges of Shen Yong Xuan’s face mask had long been smoothed flat. She tilted her face up slightly, the mask gently lifting her skin. The movement of her lips was small as she spoke, but every word landed clearly in Li Heng’s ears.
Shen Yong Xuan talked about those old days.
When her sister-in-law first came home for dinner, everyone was secretly sizing her up. Seeing her quiet and reserved, they assumed she was gentle and soft-tempered. Her second brother had married earlier — his wife came from a well-off family and loved to compare and show off, dripping with arrogance. That day, a dish of top-grade abalone was served. Her sister-in-law, seeing it for the first time, was too shy to reach for it. Her second sister-in-law, all “concern,” “sympathized” with her lack of worldly experience and asked if she’d like to take some home for her parents, who worked odd jobs at a Chinese medicine clinic, to try.
Li Heng’s brow furrowed slightly.
Since reuniting with the Shen family, Shen Chongnian had told her many things. For instance, after her mother passed away, her maternal grandparents’ health had completely collapsed — hospital visits became routine. Years later, they too were gone.
She’d also heard from Shen Zhicheng that the two elderly people had no relatives to speak of, yet their funeral arrangements had been handled with great care. Shen Chongnian had never mentioned it, but she knew — her grandfather had instructed Uncle Cheung to take care of everything.
“Did she let them push her around?” Li Heng asked softly.
“Everyone assumed she’d swallow her pride — she was new to the family, after all,” Shen Yong Xuan said flatly.
Li Heng looked up, her gaze clear and bright, leaning forward slightly, listening intently.
“But everyone underestimated her backbone.” Shen Yong Xuan didn’t keep her in suspense. “She didn’t argue, didn’t defend herself, didn’t even change her expression. She just looked at my second sister-in-law and said two words.”
“She said —” Shen Yong Xuan’s lips curved into a smile, “— shut up.”
The atmosphere had frozen solid in that instant — awkward to the extreme.
Only she and her eldest brother couldn’t help but laugh.
“Second sister-in-law was all bark — her face flushed red on the spot. Second brother tried to smooth things over, urging everyone not to ruin the harmony. Then your mother turned to him and added —” Shen Yong Xuan paused, mimicking the tone of that time, “— you too.”
Shen Yong Xuan remembered clearly — from that day on, her eldest sister-in-law lived in peace. No one dared to give her a hard time.
Li Heng listened, first with surprise, then a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, the warmth in her eyes deepening.
Watching her smile, Shen Yong Xuan paused, then said softly: “You don’t look much like your mother. But when you smile — there’s a resemblance.”
With that, she reached up and tugged at the mask on her face: “The mask is almost dry — I’ve wasted so much time sitting here talking nonsense with you.”
Shen Yong Xuan got up and headed to the bathroom, peeling the mask off from bottom to top as she walked.
Li Heng looked at the mess on the dining table and remembered — she’d been running around all evening and hadn’t eaten much.
She stood by the table and opened a takeout box.
Shen Yong Xuan’s voice came from the bathroom, tinged with disdain: “I’ve already eaten out of those.”
Li Heng had eaten anything and everything as a child — as long as it filled her stomach, she wasn’t picky.
Besides, the boxes contained individually wrapped delicate pastries — no broth or soup to spill, nothing unhygienic about them.
But Shen Yong Xuan still frowned, came over, and slapped her hand away, then picked up the phone and ordered food.
After hanging up, she turned and went back to her room, fussing over the bottles and jars on her vanity.
Soon, a pleasant scent filled the room, mingling with the faint fragrance already there. The record player continued its mellow melody. The house still lacked the warmth of a lived-in kitchen, but it now carried a touch of refined elegance.
About twenty minutes later, Li Heng had showered and changed into loungewear. As she stepped out of the bathroom, the doorbell rang — the restaurant delivery had arrived.
She walked back to her bedroom, pushed open the glass door to the balcony, and called toward the other unit in a hushed voice: “Shen Zhicheng!”
The glass door next door opened almost immediately.
Shen Zhicheng poked his head out: “What is it?”
“Time to eat,” Li Heng said.
…
Shen Zhicheng thought — he’d never lacked a place to live his whole life.
But he’d never had a real “home.”
It wasn’t until he moved into this rooftop unit in Kowloon City that he truly understood what a home felt like.
It was having his sister call him over from next door for a meal. It was walking in and being casually ordered around by his aunt.
His aunt wasn’t just a real young lady — she was more like a matriarch.
One moment she wanted a new record on the player, the next she needed something handed to her, then she wanted him to clear away the previous meal’s leftovers. Shen Zhicheng scurried back and forth without a single complaint — almost willingly.
“Zhicheng,” Shen Yong Xuan said, not even turning her head from the sofa, “pour me another glass of champagne.”
She had already eaten dinner and no longer touched the chopsticks, holding a wine glass as she sat in front of the television.
Shen Yong Xuan was always complaining about Hong Kong — the neon lights on the streets were too glaring, the dishes from restaurant chefs lacked care, the environment was too noisy, the lighting was poor here, the landscaping in the flower beds downstairs wasn’t good enough — she found fault with everything.
But she loved watching Hong Kong’s local TV programs.
Now, she lounged lazily on the sofa, flipping channels frequently with the remote. Her gaze lingered on the screen for a moment, then moved on to the next show.
At the dining table, Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng were opening the delivery boxes. Last night’s Western dinner had been cold and unsatisfying. Their aunt had ordered from the tea restaurant downstairs — the boxes were still steaming when opened, the familiar home-style aroma wafting to their noses.
While tidying the table earlier, Shen Zhicheng had placed the trash by the door and noticed a stack of delivery business cards at the entryway. His aunt never lacked for people to run errands — in just one day, she’d already gotten her life in perfect order.
Before picking up his chopsticks, Shen Zhicheng went back to his place and returned with two cans of chilled beer.
Condensation beaded on the cans. Li Heng’s gaze lingered on them for a moment — she remembered the scenes from the original plot.
Shen Zhicheng didn’t just drink socially — he had already reached the point of alcoholism. Alcohol gave him brief numbness — when his mind was no longer clear, the endless void would fade, and he wouldn’t have to struggle against it so hard. It had only been two days since they’d moved into the rooftop unit, and they’d been busy nonstop. The fridge was still empty — yet he’d already stocked alcohol for himself.
All her life, Li Heng had fought to put food on the table, trying to carve out stability for herself.
And Shen Zhicheng — though he never had to worry about survival — had fallen into endless pain, suffering just as much.
She remembered clearly, from the original plot, how those eyes had slowly dimmed — until they became completely lifeless.
Both of them — all they’d ever wanted was to live well.
Click — the beer tab was pulled open.
Li Heng suddenly reached out and firmly pressed down on the can.
“Police Boss — we’re off duty—” Shen Zhicheng started, but before he could finish, the beer was taken from him.
Taking one can away — making him drink a little less — was the only thing she could do for now.
Li Heng raised the can and took a big gulp. The bitter taste slid down her throat — her brows instantly knitted together.
Watching from the sofa, Shen Yong Xuan spoke up: “Beer tastes terrible anyway. Try mine.”
She got up and walked into the kitchen.
Although it was her niece’s place, with Li Heng always busy with work, Shen Yong Xuan had already spent more time there and knew the layout well. She fetched a clean glass from the cabinet, poured a small amount of champagne, and handed it over.
Li Heng took a sip and still wasn’t impressed: “Not much better.”
At some point, Shen Yong Xuan had also pulled up a chair and sat down at the table.
No one remembered who started it first — three glasses clinked together gently, the sound crisp and clear.
A quiet warmth rose in Shen Zhicheng’s heart, spreading silently.
Li Heng’s brows slowly relaxed too — the alcohol no longer tasted bitter, and there was even a hint of sweetness on the finish.
That night, Shen Zhicheng didn’t drink much. Li Heng kept taking his beers, one after another, without stopping.
He remained clear-headed throughout. The record player was loud, the TV shows were loud — but even with all that noise, it wasn’t irritating — it was reassuring.
As the night grew deeper, Shen Yong Xuan stretched and declared she needed her beauty sleep, shooing him out.
As he left, Shen Zhicheng tidied the trash from the table and quietly carried it downstairs.
Watching his retreating figure, Shen Yong Xuan raised an eyebrow.
On second thought — if Shen Chongnian ever found out she’d been drinking with the two kids, he’d lecture her for half a day, saying she was nothing but trouble.
Then again, it was funny — they were both in their twenties — hardly children anymore.
Shen Yong Xuan walked toward the guest room and said to Li Heng: “I’m going to sleep.”
Li Heng propped her chin on both hands, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half-closed — looking ready to fall asleep right there: “Good night.”
“You’re not expecting me to carry you to bed, are you?” Shen Yong Xuan turned around. “I’m not going to baby you.”
But after a few steps, she stopped and went back to the table.
The next moment, Shen Yong Xuan took Li Heng by the arm and guided her to the bedroom.
Once she’d settled her niece in bed, she said: “Cover yourself up — I’m not a nursemaid.”
Li Heng rolled over and hugged the soft blanket tightly.
She buried her face in it, mumbling: “You’re so loud.”
Shen Yong Xuan pulled the door closed, paused, then poked her head back in: “You’re not allergic to alcohol, are you? If you feel sick, remember to call 999 for an ambulance.”
As she turned back to her room, she left the bedroom door slightly ajar, muttering: “So much trouble.”
…
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