She Adopted Me After My Biological Mother Passed Away - Chapter 14

Seven Chi Yeyus

Chi Yeyu let out an incredulous “Huh?” and asked, “How about you pick a different wish?”

“Just this one,” Shi Shuxue said.

Chi Yeyu compromised begrudgingly. “Fine, barely approved. If you ever decide you don’t want to live at school anymore, just tell me whenever. Now, pick another wish.”

“Wasn’t it just one?”

“That one was too small, it doesn’t count,” Chi Yeyu insisted.

Shi Shuxue thought for a moment and said, “Then, teach me an instrument.”

Chi Yeyu hadn’t expected this request. She had assumed Shi Shuxue wasn’t interested in music considering it a success that the girl didn’t actively dislike it lately, so why was she suddenly offering to learn?

“What do you want to learn? I can teach anything.” Chi Yeyu’s lips curled into a smile.

Seeing her reaction, Shi Shuxue felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of bashfulness. She lowered her voice. “The drums, then.”

“No problem,” Chi Yeyu said happily, the corners of her eyes curving into perfect arcs.

Shi Shuxue thought of a cliché metaphor: when Chi Yeyu smiled, her eyes looked exactly like crescent moons in the sky.

Before they headed home, Chi Yeyu shot Shi Shuxue a mysterious look. Shi Shuxue sensed something was amiss and mentally prepared herself, yet she still widened her eyes the moment she stepped into the entryway.

The living room curtains were drawn tight. Colorful fairy lights blinked all around, and vibrant balloons crowded the entire ceiling. Shiny streamers of various colors hung from the chandelier to the floor. Most exaggerated of all was a red banner stretching across the room, with “Hotly Celebrating Little Shi Shuxue’s 16th Year in the World!” scrawled across it in crooked yellow characters.

The scent of cream wafted through the air. A cake and gift boxes of various sizes sat on the coffee table. Chi Yeyu picked up a party horn and blew it at the stunned Shi Shuxue: “Pa”

“…What is all this?” Shi Shuxue asked slowly, seemingly unable to process the scene before her.

From behind a nearby curtain, Chi Yeyu pushed out a life-sized cardboard cutout of herself. It looked like it had been cropped from a band photo, making it even more abstract than the real person.

“This is the birthday party we threw for you! So, surprised?”

Shi Shuxue asked, confused, “We?”

Chi Yeyu continued to pull cutouts from behind the curtain. One Chi Yeyu, two Chi Yeyus, three Chi Yeyus… Soon, Shi Shuxue was surrounded. Six identical smiling faces stared at the high schooler standing in the center. Shi Shuxue’s composure began to crumble, her pupils constricting.

The Chi Yeyu who had dragged out six versions of herself didn’t find it strange at all. She asked expectantly, “How is it? Do you like it? I’ve been planning this party for a long time. I know you don’t like noise, so they don’t talk that way it’s not loud, but it makes our home feel lively.”

She pushed past one of the “Chi Yeyus” to squeeze in next to Shi Shuxue, expecting to see a moved expression. Instead, she found Shi Shuxue’s eyes squeezed shut and her fists clenched tight, as if she were enduring something.

“Don’t cry. I’m recording this; I’ll make fun of you when I watch it back later,” Chi Yeyu said, leaning over to pat her shoulder, her voice softening involuntarily.

Shi Shuxue didn’t want to cry, she wanted to throw Chi Yeyu and her six trashy cutouts out of the house.

She forced herself to endure it and finally opened her eyes. Catching a glimpse of Chi Yeyu’s boundary-less face right in front of her, her pulse throbbed at her temples.

“…I wasn’t going to cry. You… turn off the recording. Now.”

“I don’t want to.”

Shi Shuxue took a step back, nearly bumping into a cutout behind her that had its arms spread wide. She ducked out of the circle of cutouts, found the tripod-mounted camera, and quickly turned it off.

Chi Yeyu surprisingly didn’t stop her. She pulled her over to the coffee table piled with gifts and said, “Want to open one?”

Looking at the assortment of boxes, Shi Shuxue went silent for a moment. “Which one?”

“They’re all yours. You have to open them sooner or later, so just pick one,” Chi Yeyu said.

Shi Shuxue picked the smallest one. Inside was a palm-sized jewelry box. When opened, it revealed an exquisite silver pendant that looked expensive even under the bizarre party lighting.

“Do you like it? Want to try it on?”

Shi Shuxue held it up to her neck. The chain was very thin. She struggled to put it on, so Chi Yeyu took it from her hands, brushed her hair aside, and fastened it for her from behind.

It was cool to the touch and a little ticklish.

Chi Yeyu turned her around to face her, looking her over seriously before nodding. “It looks good. It’s yours.”

Shi Shuxue didn’t know if it really suited her. Uncomfortable, she averted her eyes and looked toward the floor. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chi Yeyu said.

Dinner was followed by the customary cake routine: candles and wishes. Chi Yeyu helped her light the candles, placed a birthday crown on her head, and said, “Make a wish.”

Growing up, Shi Shuxue never had a proper birthday. Though she’d seen this process many times on TV, she felt it was a bit tacky and meaningless. She stared at Chi Yeyu for a moment, then dutifully closed her eyes anyway.

Should I really make a wish? What should I wish for? It’s just something to trick kids, it won’t actually work.

Her mind was filled with the image of Chi Yeyu’s face under the dim blue light, all seven of them. Then, Chi Yeyu’s voice rang in her ear: “It’s okay to say it out loud. I’ll help you make it come true.”

Being pestered like this made it impossible for Shi Shuxue to think of a wish. She wanted to open her eyes and glare, but something warm covered her sight.

It was Chi Yeyu’s palm. There was a hint of a smile in her words: “You aren’t allowed to open your eyes until you’ve finished wishing.”

Shi Shuxue fell silent for two seconds, touched the back of Chi Yeyu’s hand, and said, “I’m done.”

Chi Yeyu lowered her hand, and Shi Shuxue leaned over to blow out the candles.

“What did you wish for?”

Shi Shuxue asked, “If I say it, won’t it stop being effective?”

“I just want to see if I can help you realize it,” Chi Yeyu said solemnly.

Shi Shuxue refused to budge. “No.”

“Is it about someone? Your grandmother? Or yourself, Xiaoxue? Is there something you want? Or something you want to do?”

Chi Yeyu was relentless, guessing several things in a row. Shi Shuxue remained tight-lipped, took the cake knife, and cut a large piece for Chi Yeyu first to plug her mouth.

Chi Yeyu took the cake and was about to ask again when her phone, lying face down on the table, began to vibrate. She picked it up with one hand and declined the call. Not long after, it rang again.

The faint blue glow of the screen made her eyes look icy. She gently set down her plate and stood up to take the call, giving Shi Shuxue a smile before leaving. “I’ll be right back. Take your time eating.”

Shi Shuxue ate a blueberry from the cake and turned to watch Chi Yeyu’s back. In the hazy light, Chi Yeyu’s silhouette momentarily overlapped with the smiling cutouts pushed near the stairs.

For some reason, a wave of unease surged in her heart.

Chi Yeyu stepped into the study, the smile on her face vanishing the moment the door closed. The phone screen lit up again stubbornly. she pressed the answer button but didn’t speak immediately.

A voice filled with suppressed anger and helplessness came from the other end: “President Chi, the situation isn’t looking good. Star Dragon Entertainment… they’re very well prepared.”

Several printed documents were spread out on the desk. On top was a copy of a lawyer’s letter demanding she immediately cease the use of the band name “Screaming Goldfish” and the commercial performance rights for songs like Powder Snow Buried the Swing. The bottom was stamped with the bright red seal of Star Dragon Entertainment.

“The other side was prepared long ago.” Chi Yeyu’s face was expressionless, her fingers turning white as she gripped the paper.

“I asked around for inside info. The other side used connections in the industrial and commercial systems. On the surface, the registration process is completely compliant, which means it will be very hard for us to find a loophole in the procedure,” the voice continued.

It wasn’t just the procedure. Star Dragon Entertainment had laid this trap long ago, and now an overwhelming PR offensive was sweeping in. They had carefully orchestrated a “deification” plot for Shi Xianyu. Suddenly, a large number of her unpublished diaries appeared online, using affected prose to deliberately highlight her depressive tendencies, molding her into a tragic genius who didn’t fit into the real world.

Those sentences taken out of context or fabricated entirely, were paired with sensationalist interpretations and spread rapidly across social media. The topic grew hotter by the minute, people were filled with sighs and praise for her death and her “final works.”

The recent string of incidents had already given Chi Yeyu a massive headache, but today, a new knife had been plunged in this one from Shi Shuxue’s biological father, A-Yuan, who was far away overseas.

After abandoning Shi Xianyu, that man had quickly gotten engaged and had children abroad. With the help of his wife’s family, he started a company. Now that the business was failing, he had no qualms about selling Shi Xianyu’s privacy in exchange for attention and traffic.

In a video, he sat for an interview with a self-media outlet, reminiscing emotionally: “She was already losing it when she wrote that song. The lyrics were full of distress signals, her eyes were empty… It’s a pity no one understood back then, not even me, sigh…”

Just looking at that pretentious, bearded face on the screen made Chi Yeyu feel sick to her stomach.

Online public opinion began to turn, pointing fingers at the current members of the band, especially the current leader, Chi Yeyu. The internet trolls hired by Star Dragon Entertainment had begun to concentrate their fire these past few days, spreading claims that Chi Yeyu was exploiting the deceased and going against Shi Xianyu’s final wishes.

They skillfully manipulated public sympathy for the dead to trap Chi Yeyu in a moral low ground.

From outside the study, the faint sound of the television could be heard. Shi Shuxue had probably turned it on out of boredom. Chi Yeyu took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Being a so-called guardian wasn’t just about managing food and housing. She was the adult, Shi Shuxue was inexperienced. At a time like this, she had to protect the peace of Shi Shuxue’s life. She could not let the online storm reach her.

She couldn’t help but regret her carelessness that day, forgetting the routine of the scheduled livestream and exposing Shi Shuxue’s face to the camera, then doubling down by introducing her to the audience.

After hanging up, Chi Yeyu’s finger swiped across the screen, finally stopping on a name in her contacts she hadn’t reached out to in a long time. If it really came down to it, there was one last path she could take even if it meant stepping back into a circle she had been trying to distance herself from.

She fixed her expression, dispelling the gloom from her face, and pushed open the study door. In the living room, Shi Shuxue was taking small bites of her cake. Hearing the movement, she looked up, her clear eyes carrying a trace of unobservable inquiry.

“Did something happen?” Shi Shuxue asked.