When Xia Zhen returned, Aunt Fang—the woman who had raised her and knew her tastes better than anyone—practically flew to the door. “Why are you back so late, Miss? And—oh, heavens! You’re injured!”
Xia Zhen gave a dismissive wave. “It’s nothing, Aunt Fang. It’ll be gone in a few days.”
Knowing Xia Zhen’s father, Xia Yu, had specifically sent Aunt Fang to look after her “emotional well-being,” the nanny wasn’t so easily appeased. She listened with a chilled spine as Xia Zhen recounted the rescue. “Miss, I don’t mean to be a nag, but you acted so impulsively! A scratch is one thing, but what if something truly terrible had happened? It would be too late for regrets!”
“I know, I know,” Xia Zhen said, her mouth already full of a succulent braised rib [红烧排骨 Hóngshāo páigǔ: A classic, comforting Chinese dish of sweet and savory pork ribs]. “Aunt Fang, I’m craving your fried dumplings [锅贴 Guōtiē: Potstickers that are crispy on the bottom and juicy inside]. Could you make extra for me to take to school tomorrow?”
Flattered, Aunt Fang beamed. “Of course! I’ll make enough so you can eat your fill.”
After dinner, Xia Zhen retreated to her room. Lying on her bed in a silk nightgown, she opened the pink-iconed app. To her surprise, a small lamp had appeared in the boy’s dark room. It was dim, but it finally illuminated the “Snow White” in the corner.
He was staring up at the light, his face as flawless as white jade [白玉 Báiyù: A common metaphor for pure, smooth, and pale skin]. The soft, yellow glow seemed to melt the icy walls he had built around himself.
Suddenly, a star-shaped candy appeared in the glass bottle. But this one wasn’t white—it was a brilliant, shimmering gold.
Golden candies must be legendary tier, Xia Zhen thought. The white ones came from small kindnesses; this gold one was a reward for saving a life. She realized the game was a mirror of her reality. She eagerly “fed” the golden candy to the boy.
Nothing happened at first. Then, a dialogue box flashed:
“Congratulations! You have obtained a Time Capsule. Using it will reveal a small surprise!”
A platinum capsule pulsed in the center of the screen, practically screaming, Open me! Xia Zhen tapped it.
The world went pitch black.
A sudden, biting chill snapped Xia Zhen’s eyes open. She was standing at a busy intersection, barefoot, wearing only her thin pajamas, her hair a wild mess.
Cars honked aggressively. She stumbled back onto the sidewalk, her toes turning a painful, bruised red against the cold concrete.
“Mommy, look! That lady is wearing a skirt even though it’s winter!” a child cried.
“Don’t stare,” a young mother whispered, pulling her child away. “She’s… not well.”
Xia Zhen hugged her bare arms, shivering. Everyone else was bundled in padded coats [羽绒服 Yǔróngfú: Heavy down jackets]. Among them she looked like a madwoman in a slip dress. Is this a dream? she wondered. If so, why does the cold feel so sharp?
“Mommy, I want cake!”
A boy’s voice cut through the wind. It was a pampered-looking child, about six years old, dragging a woman toward a bright bakery.
“Xiao Ci, let’s go home first. We’ll buy cake another day,” the mother said gently.
“No! I want it now!” the boy pouted, his eyes welling with crocodile tears.
The woman sighed with that particular mix of exhaustion and indulgence [溺爱 Nì’ài: Overly doting on a child, a common theme in “favored child” dynamics]. “Fine,” she said, then turned to a shadow behind her. “You—wait for us here.”
Standing by the door was a boy in a school uniform with a full head of snow-white hair. He gripped the straps of his backpack, head bowed, staring at the tips of his shoes. Passersby stared at him like he was an exhibit, but the boy remained motionless, a picture of unnatural obedience.
He was only seven or eight, yet he seemed used to being the “leftover” child, waiting in the cold while his brother was pampered inside.
Suddenly, a pair of bare, frozen feet entered his field of vision. He blinked and slowly raised his eyes.
A girl stood before him, shivering but smiling like a sunbeam. “Hello, Lu Jin.”
He paused. “How do you know my name?”
“Because I’m a fairy, obviously!”
He looked away, his expression guardedly cynical for such a small child. Xia Zhen tilted her head, trying to catch his eye. “Don’t believe me? If I weren’t a fairy, how would I know you secretly want to eat cake, too?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but she cut him off. “You were going to say ‘I don’t,’ right?”
He fell silent.
“See? Fairy powers,” Xia Zhen grinned.
Inside the shop, the mother was letting Lu Ci finish his treats slowly. Little Lu Jin knew how it worked: everything delicious belonged to his brother. He only got the “leftovers”—the crumbs of affection and food.
“Wait for me,” Xia Zhen said.
She marched into the bakery. Her pajamas drew gasps, but she ignored them, pointed at everything Lu Ci was eating, and ordered the same. Fortunately, mobile payments [移动支付 Yídòng zhīfù: Referring to the ubiquity of Alipay/WeChat Pay in China, though it’s a slight anachronism for ten years ago, it fits the “game logic”] worked.
She grabbed Lu Jin’s hand—his skin was like ice—and led him to a sheltered alley. She laid out the feast: egg tarts, strawberry mousse, and a slice of Black Forest cake.
“Which one first?”
Little Lu Jin’s grip on his backpack tightened. He was flustered, unaccustomed to being the priority. “I… I can’t eat all this.”
“Then we’ll just keep it so no one else can have it!” Xia Zhen pressed a warm egg tart [蛋挞 Dàntà: A popular Hong Kong/Portuguese style custard tart] into his hand. “Eat it before your brother sees, or he’ll definitely snatch it.”
Hearing that, Lu Jin finally took a small, hesitant bite. He had heard his classmates describe the taste, but it was his first time. The sweetness didn’t make him look away from her.
Xia Zhen reached out and gently wiped a crumb from his lip. “Is it good?”
He nodded slowly. Then, his light-colored eyes shimmered with a desperate hope. “Are you… really a fairy?”
“The best one there is.”
Lu Jin’s lashes fluttered. He asked in a tiny, cautious whisper, “Then… can you turn my hair black?”
Xia Zhen’s heart grew heavy. “Why would you want that?”
“They say I look like a monster.”
The air felt even colder. Xia Zhen forced a laugh, standing up to pat his soft white hair. “You’re not a monster, Lu Jin. You’re a Snow Fairy [雪精灵 Xuě jīnglíng].”
“A…….Snow fairy?”
The little boy’s eyes rounded in shock. He had spent his short life hearing whispers about being a “monster” or a “jinx,” and it took his mind a few seconds to process a compliment so alien to him . So a deep, rosy flush crept up his neck and bloomed across his cheeks.
Little Lu Jin’s shy, unfiltered reaction was infinitely more precious than the guarded, icy composure he would wear as an adult.
Xia Zhen’s fingers twitched—she couldn’t hold back her “wicked” impulses any longer. “Little Lu Jin,” she cooed, her voice dripping with affection, “can I touch your face?”
He lowered his head, a soft, muffled “Mmm” escaping his lips.
Xia Zhen didn’t hesitate. She cupped his small, soft face, which was radiating heat like a tiny stove. “So cute! You’re just too cute! I want to kidnap you and take you home!”
His ears turned a brilliant, fiery red.
The Lu Jin of the past hadn’t yet been hardened by a decade of cold shoulders and bitter resentment. He was still a child who desperately wanted to believe in kindness.
Under Xia Zhen’s enthusiastic encouragement, he finished almost every treat she had bought. Finally, she patted his slightly rounded belly with a satisfied grin. “Full?”
He nodded, then looked at her with concern. “Fairy Sister… are you cold?”
Xia Zhen straightened her spine, adopting a regal, “Goddess-like” pose. “Of course not! Fairies are immune to the cold!”
In truth, her teeth were nearly chattering, but she refused to let her “ethereal” image crumble in front of her biggest fan.
Little Lu Jin reached out and took her hand. He blinked, his voice small and knowing. “But… I’m cold.”
Xia Zhen stiffened. Seen through by a seven-year-old, she thought, embarrassed. She quickly recovered, her face a mask of calm. “Well, I’m a fairy, so my body temperature is naturally different from yours.”
The boy looked bewildered, caught between logic and the magic she radiated.
Just then, a young girl with a bouncing ponytail skipped past the mouth of the alley. Xia Zhen’s eyes sharpened. “Do you know her?”
“She lives next door,” he said softly. “We’re in the same class.”
“Are you eight years old this year?”
He nodded obediently. Since he had accepted she was a fairy, her “divine knowledge” of his age didn’t even surprise him.
Xia Zhen finally understood the weight of the Golden Candy. She looked toward the road; the little girl had already reached the curb. This was the moment that changed everything.
She placed her hands on Little Lu Jin’s shoulders, her tone sudden and solemn. “Stay here. Do not run out, no matter what happens. Promise me.”
Though confused, the boy nodded. “Okay.”
Xia Zhen sprinted out of the alley, her bare feet slapping against the frozen pavement. Sharp pebbles bit into her soles, but she didn’t slow down.
The light turned green.
The little girl stepped onto the Zebra Crossing [斑马线 Bānmǎxiàn: The black-and-white striped pedestrian crossing]. Suddenly, a car—completely ignoring the red light—shot toward her like a bullet.
Xia Zhen lunged, her fingers catching the girl’s coat and yanking her back onto the sidewalk just as the car roared past, missing them by an inch.
Xia Zhen let out a shaky breath, leaning against a lamp post. She couldn’t help but laugh inwardly—What is it with me and saving people from traffic? “Big sister…”
Xia Zhen looked down. The little girl was staring at her with wide, watery eyes. It was unmistakably a miniature version of the “naive and sweet” female lead, Tang Susu.
Xia Zhen immediately put on her “fierce” face. “Watch where you’re going! You have to check for red-light runners even when the light is green! Understood?”
Tang Susu trembled, her bottom lip quivering. “Y-yes… I understand.”
Ugh, this big sister is so scary! the little girl thought.
Xia Zhen exhaled in relief. By saving Tang Susu herself, Lu Jin wouldn’t have to throw himself under the wheels. He wouldn’t have to be crippled.
“Little Lu Jin!” she called out, spinning around with a radiant, triumphant smile.
The neon lights of the city danced in her eyes, making her look truly otherworldly. Little Lu Jin stood at the edge of the alley, frozen. He wanted to run to her, but he was a boy of his word—she had told him to stay, so he stayed.
Xia Zhen ran toward him, but a sudden, violent gust of wind stung his eyes. When Lu Jin blinked again, the street was just a street. The passersby were there, the neon was there… but she was gone.
Xia Zhen hit her mattress with a heavy thud, her mind spinning. She lay there for a long time, trying to convince herself it was just a vivid dream.
Then she felt the chill.
She sat up and looked at her feet. They were covered in gray dust and small scratches from the pavement. It hadn’t been a dream.
She scrambled for her phone. In the game, the dark room now had a table, and on that table sat a small, frosted cake. The boy was no longer huddled in the corner; he was standing by the table, staring at the treat.
She wanted to run across the hall and bang on Lu Jin’s door, but it was 1:00 AM.
She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. At 5:30 AM, she gave up on sleep. She packed Aunt Fang’s fried dumplings into a thermal container [保温桶 Bǎowēn tǒng: A multi-layered vacuum flask used in China to keep meals hot for hours] and headed out.
Not wanting to cause drama with Lu Jin’s parents, she waited in the lobby. Finally, the elevator dinged.
Lu Jin emerged. He was still in the wheelchair.
Xia Zhen’s heart sank slightly. Had nothing changed? “What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised.
“Waiting for my favorite deskmate,” she smiled, masking her disappointment.
As they started toward the door, the exhaustion and the cold from her “time travel” caught up to her. Her vision blurred, her knees buckled, and she pitched forward.
Before she could hit the marble floor, a hand caught her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force. Because of the momentum, Xia Zhen didn’t just stand up—she tumbled right onto Lu Jin’s lap.
Her warm breath fanned across his neck. She blinked groggily, meeting his eyes. For the first time, his icy indifference was cracked by a flicker of genuine alarm.
He pressed a hand to her forehead. “You have a fever.”
Xia Zhen, dazed and weakened by the illness, looked unusually docile. “Really?”
Lu Jin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“No… it’s just a cold,” she murmured, suddenly realizing where she was sitting. She tried to scramble off his lap. “I’ll infect you… and your legs…”
He lowered his gaze, his voice low and steady. “It’s okay. You’re very light.”
Xia Zhen froze. Her eyes snapped open, wide with realization. “You can… you can feel how light I am?”
Lu Jin stiffened. Since the accident years ago, his legs had been dead weight—numb to the world till now. A look of stunned disbelief washed over his face.
Xia Zhen grabbed his hand, her feverish energy returning in a burst of excitement. “Lu Jin! I think I’m very, very sick. In fact, I’m dying! You absolutely must come to the hospital with me right now!”