Chapter 7: Waiting on the Steps

The footsteps faded completely.

Su Yutao sat there, still holding half a steamed bun in her hand, a package of medicine clutched to her chest.

Suddenly, the world around her fell silent.

No, not truly silent.

The bun shop was still bustling, cars still rumbled down the street, people still chatted. But for Su Yutao, that gentle, soft voice had vanished, and half the world seemed hollow.

She sat frozen for a moment before remembering to finish the half-eaten bun.

The bun had cooled a bit, but it was still delicious. She nibbled at it slowly, reluctant to finish it all at once.

This was the first proper meal she’d had since crossing over.

No—it was the very first meal since she’d arrived.

Those rotten leaves she’d eaten last night didn’t count.

Su Yutao swallowed the last bite and licked her fingers. Greasy and fragrant.

She was sitting on something—probably a step, maybe a low stool.

The surface was hard and a bit uncomfortable, but still far better than the concrete floor from last night.

She hugged the medicine package closer and curled up.

The sun warmed her back.

But her forehead still burned. Her body still felt cold.

That feverish sensation was strange—hot on the outside, cold within, as if ice water had seeped into her bones.

She should take the medicine.

Shen Nian said twice a day, one pill each time.

One now, one tonight.

But she didn’t know how. The medicine bag was sealed; she couldn’t open it.

Even if she could, she didn’t know the dosage, whether she needed water, or if she should take it before or after eating.

So she could only wait.

Wait for Lin Qingxue to return.

Su Yutao hugged the medicine bag tighter.

Her mind started churning with those questions again—

Why was she transmigrated?

Why her?

Why no system?

System.

That word had run through her thoughts a hundred times.

She’d read so many transmigration novels—every protagonist had a system. Check-in systems, romance systems, genius systems, tragedy systems—all kinds, everything you could imagine.

Even without a system, at least they had some golden finger: a space ring, awakened abilities, past-life memories. Everyone got something.

But her?

Nothing.

She was blind, mute, short, and poor. She hadn’t even received a newbie gift pack.

Su Yutao twitched the corner of her mouth, trying to smile, but failed.

Maybe her crossing-over method was wrong?

Others got hit by cars, struck by lightning, or fell off cliffs—dramatic and grand.

She was knocked flying by a girl chasing a bus, hitting the back of her head on the road. What was that? A traffic accident? An accidental injury?

Maybe the system was stuck in traffic?

Maybe the system saw how pathetic she was and didn’t want to bind with her?

Maybe there was no such thing as a system at all.

Maybe she was just unlucky, cursed with bad fate.

Or maybe… she really had been abandoned by the system.

It had always been like this, since she was a child.

Raised in an orphanage, never knowing her parents. She barely got into college, working three jobs to support herself.

She’d saved up some money to buy gifts for the younger kids, but before she could deliver them, she was gone.

Now she was here, in some unknown city, in someone else’s body—blind, mute, unable to even speak.

Su Yutao raised her hand and waved it in front of her eyes.

She saw nothing.

She opened her mouth and tried again.

Her throat moved, air rushed up, her lips parted—

Nothing.

Only the muffled sound of air passing through her windpipe.

She tried again.

Again.

Again.

Each time was the same.

She couldn’t make a sound.

She had verified this fact countless times. From last night to now, how many attempts? Dozens? Hundreds? Every time full of hope, every time disappointed.

But she still tried the next time.

Because she couldn’t accept it.

Who could?

A normal person suddenly goes blind, suddenly goes mute, suddenly becomes someone else—who could accept that?

Su Yutao closed her mouth and stopped trying.

She buried her face in her knees.

Another question surfaced in her mind—

Would Lin Qingxue come back?

She said she’d return at noon.

She said to wait for her.

But that was a stranger.

Su Yutao had grown up in an orphanage and seen too many ‘kind-hearted people.’

Some came as volunteers, held the children, said ‘how cute’ and ‘how pitiful,’ and never came back again.

Some promised to sponsor her education but never followed through. Some genuinely wanted to help but gave up after a while.

It wasn’t that they were bad.

They had their own lives.

Orphanage children were just a small episode in their lives. Once it passed, it passed. Who would really remember?

Lin Qingxue was probably the same.

An ordinary college student, heading to school in the morning, happened to see a pitiful little beggar, took pity, bought medicine and buns. Then a classmate came, urged her to go to school, and she left.

She left, and that was that.

Who would really bother to come back at noon for a roadside beggar?

Su Yutao felt pretty foolish.

Actually waiting here…

But she had nowhere else to go.

She didn’t know what city this was, didn’t know east from west, didn’t know where a shelter might be, didn’t know how to survive.

So she could only wait.

Wait for someone who might never come.

The bun shop owner had glanced at her several times.

Su Yutao could feel that gaze—probably thinking she was taking up space without leaving.

After all, she’d only bought two buns and had been sitting here for ages.

But she didn’t dare leave.

Lin Qingxue told her to wait here.

What if she left and Lin Qingxue came back but couldn’t find her?

What if Lin Qingxue actually did return?

Su Yutao hugged the medicine bag, huddled on the step, and stayed completely still.

Time passed bit by bit.

She could feel the sun moving—earlier it had warmed her left cheek, now it shone directly on her face, cozy and warm.

It was probably noon?

Almost noon?

She pricked up her ears, listening to the sounds around her.

The noise from the bun shop gradually faded—maybe past the breakfast rush, fewer customers.

The owner started cleaning up: the clatter of bowls and chopsticks, the sound of running water from the tap, the swish-swish of a broom sweeping the floor.

Then came a hurried set of footsteps, running from a distance.

Su Yutao’s heart leaped.

The footsteps drew closer.

Closer.

Then—

“Boss, two buns!”

It wasn’t Lin Qingxue’s voice.

It was a man’s voice.

Su Yutao’s heart sank again.

She continued waiting.

She had lost all sense of time because she couldn’t see.

She didn’t know how much longer passed.

The sun shifted from her face to the right side.

It was probably afternoon now?

She still hadn’t come.

Su Yutao lowered her head, burying her face in her knees.

She remembered when she first crossed over, her first thought was ‘so unlucky.’

Now she thought that word was too light.

This was the worst luck in eight lifetimes.

Transmigrated into a disabled body.

No system.

No kind-hearted person coming back.

She sat here, hungry, sick, exhausted, not knowing where to go, not knowing whom to wait for.

She didn’t even know what she looked like now.

What did this body look like? How old? What hairstyle? What color eyes?

No idea.

She couldn’t see anything.

All she could do was touch with her hands.

Her face—small, with a pointed chin, a nose neither high nor flat.

Her hair—long, tangled, dirty, probably unwashed for a long time.

Her clothes—coarse fabric, covered in patches, wet and then dried, stiff.

She remembered what Shen Nian said.

‘She looks so cute.’

‘Even though she’s dirty, her little face is quite pretty.’

Cute?

Pretty?

This little beggar is good-looking?

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