So she stayed quiet, swallowing her words like bitter pills.
"Daddy," she murmured instead, "why do you work so much? You’re always tired."
He smiled faintly, looking away. "Because soone has to pay for the ingredients of all those mooncakes you love."
"Liar," she said softly.
That made him pause. He looked back at her, curious. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you were tired even before we started cooking."
He blinked, then sighed, a little smile tugging at his lips. "You’re too sharp for your age."
Huaijin didn’t answer. She only closed her eyes, pretending to sleep again.
But she wasn’t pretending when a single tear rolled down her cheek.
That night, after Yuanfeng turned off the lights and left her room, Huaijin stayed awake.
Her small hands clutched the blanket, and her mind replayed fragnts of mories from her previous life.
The article she once found online, a short report buried in an old database:
"Dr. Yuanfeng, aged 36, died in a laboratory explosion during an experint involving energy-conductive minerals. Authorities concluded it was an accident caused by faulty wiring."
She rembered reading that line over and over, her heart hollow.
But the more she thought about it, the less sense it made.
Her father wasn’t careless. He was ticulous, the kind of man who triple-checked every wire, every formula, every safety asure. The "faulty wiring" explanation didn’t fit him. It was lazy, vague... and suspicious.
And then there was the other thing.
The day before his death, she overheard him on the phone, speaking in a low voice:
"If this data leaks out, it’ll put us all in danger. I’ll take responsibility, but make sure the samples are destroyed. Don’t let them—"
The rest was drowned out by static.
At the ti, she thought nothing of it. She was just a child then — a "supporting character" who wasn’t supposed to know the deeper parts of the story. But now, with her second chance, everything looked different.
The lab explosion wasn’t an accident.
It was a cover-up.
And soone wanted her father gone.
Huaijin’s little heart thumped heavily as she turned on her side, staring at the faint light from the hallway seeping through the crack of the door.
She could hear her father still moving around in the kitchen, probably cleaning up, humming that sa old tune again.
She clenched her fists.
This ti, she wouldn’t let the story take him away from her.
This ti, she wouldn’t let anyone turn him into a background tragedy.
Even if she had to rewrite the whole story with her own hands, she would.
Because Chi Huaijin might look like an ordinary child now, but inside, she was the woman who had already died once.
She had seen too much, lost too much, and learned too much about the cruelty of narratives that only cared about heroes and leads.
This life was hers to live differently.
And if fate wanted to play the sa ga again, then she’d flip the board over.
The next morning dawned softly, with sunlight spilling into her room through the sheer curtains.
Her father had already left for the lab when she woke up. On her desk was a small sticky note, his handwriting neat and slightly crooked:
"Good morning, my little chef.
Breakfast is on the table.
Don’t forget your leaflet for the festival!
—Love, Daddy."
Beside it was a neatly wrapped box with one of the mooncakes from last night.
Huaijin smiled faintly. The sweetness of the gesture ward her heart... but that warmth didn’t reach her eyes.
She touched the note, tracing the words with her fingers. Then, very quietly, she whispered, "Daddy... I’ll find out the truth this ti."
Outside, the sun shone bright. The world was alive, buzzing with laughter and festival music echoing faintly from afar. But in that tiny apartnt, sothing colder stirred within Huaijin’s chest, a vow born from grief, love, and the quiet rage of soone who had already seen how unfair the story could be.
Her father’s laughter still echoed faintly in the air.
And Huaijin promised herself that no matter how the script was written, this ti, she would not let him die.
The next few days in Chi Huaijin’s life were... oddly peaceful.
No ghostly prophecies, no suspicious phone calls, no sudden lightning strikes announcing the beginning of her tragic second act, just the soft hum of ordinary life.
When the morning alarm rang, Huaijin would wake up after her father’s nagging, then freshen up and have breakfast. Leave for school, then return ho, do her howork, watch shows on TV, then have dinner with Daddy, and finally go to bed. The circle repeated for quite a while.
If one didn’t know her past, they would say she was just another happy kindergartener.
And honestly, Huaijin was fine with that.
Her days started with the sa routine: her father tying her little scarf for school, kissing her forehead before heading to work, and reminding her for the hundredth ti not to forget her lunchbox.
Her biggest problem used to be trying to sneak cookies before dinner. But now? She was trying to stop the butterfly effect of her father’s future.
Sotines, small differences make a big outco.
In the morning, the school gates were bustling with laughter and chaos.
Children ran everywhere like tiny tornadoes, dragging their parents behind them. Teachers stood at the entrance with forced smiles that scread, "I need a vacation!"
Huaijin clutched her backpack strap, scanning the crowd like a tiny general inspecting enemy territory.
To her left: Yuanying, the so-called "protagonist" of the school, rich, spoiled, and annoyingly radiant in her pink ribbons. She had that sugary sweet voice that could make bees diabetic.
To her right: Liang Lingzhi, her so-called "archnesis in miniature form," glaring daggers at her from the art corner.
Apparently, Huaijin’s very existence offended her. Maybe because Huaijin sat beside Song Jue, the future male lead, currently nothing but a trouble magnet, and he occasionally talked to her.
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