Chapter 46: The Name Xiao Tao

Su Yutao listened. The knot in her chest slowly loosened.

The meal was finished.

Shen Nian collected the lunch boxes and glanced at the time. “I should go. Xiao Xue will be back soon.”

She stood up, walked to the door, then turned back. “If that woman comes again, call me. No, you can’t call.”

She thought for a moment.

“Get Xiao Xue to call me. If that b*tch comes to bother you again, don’t blame me for being rude.”

The door opened and closed.

Footsteps faded away.

The room fell silent.

Su Yutao curled up on the sofa, holding Qiansui.

Qiansui whispered in her ear, “Shen Nian is really nice.”

Su Yutao nodded.

Yes, Shen Nian was really nice.

But she couldn’t stay at Shen Nian’s place forever.

She had to come back.

Back to this place with that person.

The sky began to darken.

Sunlight slowly retreated from the French windows, bit by bit.

Su Yutao felt the change in temperature—from warm to cool, from bright to dark.

Her heart gradually tightened.

Qiansui whispered in her ear, “She’s almost back.” Su Yutao held Qiansui tighter.

The door rattled.

The sound of a key turning.

Su Yutao’s whole body stiffened.

Qiansui went quiet.

The door opened.

Footsteps entered.

Very light.

Su Yutao curled up on the sofa, holding Qiansui, waiting for that cold voice to sound—”Awake?” or “What’s wrong today?” or nothing at all, just walking over, grabbing her chin, and lifting her face.

But no.

That voice sounded, gentle and soft: “I’m home.”

Su Yutao froze.

It was the daytime her.

She was back.

The nighttime one didn’t come out?

No—she hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

The nighttime one only came out after she fell asleep.

The one who came back now was the daytime her.

Su Yutao’s tense body relaxed a little, but her heart remained tight.

She didn’t know how to face the daytime her.

Didn’t know how to face that gentle voice, those warm hands.

Didn’t know how to face the person who knew nothing.

The footsteps drew nearer.

That voice stopped in front of her: “Nian Nian said you were in a bad mood today. What’s wrong?”

Su Yutao didn’t move.

She just held Qiansui, burying her face in the plush fur.

That voice sounded again, laced with worry: “Nian Nian said someone came to cause trouble? Called you names?”

Su Yutao nodded.

A moment of silence.

A hand reached out and gently stroked her head.

Su Yutao didn’t flinch.

She just stayed rigid, letting that hand touch her hair.

That hand was very light, very warm.

Not grabbing, not hitting, not pinching.

Just stroking.

Like petting a frightened little animal.

“Don’t mind her,” that voice said. “People like that aren’t worth getting angry over.”

Su Yutao held Qiansui tighter.

She didn’t know what to say.

She just listened to that gentle voice beside her: “Hungry? I’ll cook you some noodles?”

Su Yutao shook her head.

She couldn’t eat anything.

“Then some milk? Warm.”

Su Yutao hesitated, then nodded.

Footsteps headed toward the kitchen.

The sound of a kettle boiling.

The clink of cups.

Su Yutao curled up on the sofa, holding Qiansui.

Qiansui whispered in her ear, “It’s the daytime her, not the nighttime one.”

Su Yutao knew.

She knew.

But she was still afraid.

Afraid that this gentle person would suddenly turn into the other.

Afraid that these warm hands would suddenly grab her throat.

Afraid that this gentle voice would suddenly say, ‘A dog raised by oneself still bites its owner.’

Footsteps returned.

A hand pressed a warm cup into hers.

Su Yutao held the cup. It was warm.

That voice sat down beside her: “Nian Nian said that person called you a mute?”

Su Yutao’s hand trembled.

The milk sloshed, spilling onto the back of her hand.

That voice sighed softly: “Don’t mind her. You just can’t speak now. It’ll get better.”

Su Yutao didn’t know if it would get better.

She only knew that now, she was a mute.

Blind.

A dog owned by that person.

Qiansui whispered in her ear, “She called you Xiao Tao.”

Su Yutao was stunned.

She hadn’t caught that.

Qiansui added: “Shen Nian sent her a message saying ‘your Xiao Tao is in a bad mood today.’ When she replied, she typed ‘Xiao Tao.'”

Su Yutao clutched the cup tighter.

Xiao Tao.

Not little mute.

Not little blind girl.

Not little beggar.

Not dog.

Xiao Tao…

That voice spoke again: “Still want to finish the milk?”

Su Yutao shook her head.

“Then rest early. Tomorrow will be better.”

A hand reached out, supporting her shoulder, helping her up from the sofa and leading her toward the bedroom.

Su Yutao let herself be guided, step by step. Just like the day she came back from the bun shop.

Back then, she thought this person was light.

Now, she wasn’t sure.

But she knew this person called her Xiao Tao.

Lying in bed.

The blanket tucked in.

The light turned off.

That voice said beside her, “Good night, Xiao Tao.”

Su Yutao didn’t move.

That voice added softly, “Tomorrow will be better.”

Then it fell silent.

The breathing was soft, even.

She had fallen asleep.

The daytime her was asleep.

The nighttime her hadn’t woken yet.

Su Yutao held Qiansui, staring into the eternal darkness.

Qiansui whispered in her ear, “She called you Xiao Tao. She’ll be okay. Tomorrow will get better.”

Su Yutao held Qiansui tighter.

No tears came, but her heart trembled.

She waited.

Waited for that person to wake up.

Su Yutao lay in bed, holding Qiansui, staring into the eternal darkness.

Beside her, the breathing was soft, even. Then—it changed.

Not the change of waking up, but a change of person.

Su Yutao’s whole body tensed.

The person beside her sat up.

The movement was very light, making no sound.

Then silence.

Su Yutao dared not move.

She could sense that the person seemed to be thinking about something.

Silence stretched on.

Then the person laughed softly and reached out to pat Su Yutao’s head. “Good, no problems today.”

Su Yutao didn’t move.

That hand was still on her head, light, like patting an obedient dog.

“But you, little mute—”

Su Yutao’s whole body stiffened.

Those two words stabbed in like needles.

Mute.

Little mute.

Exactly what that shrew had said today.

And the tone was the same—mockingly familiar.

Su Yutao couldn’t help but feel miserable again.

She curled up on the bed, holding Qiansui, her whole body trembling.

A soft, stifled “whimper” came from her throat. Very quiet, very suppressed. Like a small animal being choked.

The person froze.

Her hand stopped on Su Yutao’s head, not moving.

She looked at Su Yutao—this little thing curled into a ball, hugging that broken penguin, trembling all over, making those pitiful whimpering sounds.

She frowned. She hadn’t laid a hand on her today, so why was she so upset?

She reached out, grabbed the back of Su Yutao’s collar, and lifted her out of the blanket.

Su Yutao dangled in the air, still curled up, still holding Qiansui, still trembling.

The “whimpering” didn’t stop, like a broken tape recorder.

The person looked at the bundle in her hand, a bit annoyed.

Her other hand reached out to take the broken penguin. Su Yutao hugged it tighter.

Her fingers gripped Qiansui’s plush fur, nails digging in, her whole body shrinking into the penguin.

The person tugged, but couldn’t pull it away.

Su Yutao lifted her head.

Those blind purple eyes turned toward her direction.

There was nothing in them—no focus, no spark, only that eternal violet.

But the person saw something else.

Resentment, frustration, the agony of wanting to speak but being unable to.

Su Yutao opened her mouth, producing a raspy “huh, huh” from her throat. She wanted to talk.

She wanted to say “I’m not mute.”

She wanted to say “I’m not a little mute.”

But she couldn’t.

Only that raspy sound came out, like a leaking bellows. She held Qiansui, curling herself even smaller.

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