Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 14

An Chixu first left her dilapidated home at the age of sixteen.

That winter break, Yan Ciwei invited her to spend it together.

They could live together, cook, shop, clean, and spend every day together.

Even celebrate the Spring Festival together.

Yan Ciwei said she wouldn’t be going home. An Chixu saw through her forced composure, recognizing the resolute determination in her eyes.

They were alike, it seemed—children with homes they couldn’t return to, their bodies adrift while their hearts remained lost.

An Chixu took Yan Ciwei’s outstretched hand.

On the day they finished their last exam, they raced hand-in-hand into Yan Ciwei’s home.

This was An Chixu’s second visit to Yan Ciwei’s house. This time, they would spend thirty-five nights together.

Yan Ciwei’s home had a guest room, and An Chixu didn’t insist on sharing a bed with her.

“Good night, then. I’ll wake you up in the morning,” Yan Ciwei said without pressing further. Her plush pajamas wrapped her from head to toe, making her look warm and cozy.

Standing in the hallway with her back to the living room light, the faint glow reflected in her eyes was less noticeable than the red mole beneath them.

At that moment, An Chixu stood half a head shorter than her, tilting her face upward to gaze at Yan Ciwei, just as she had when Yan Ciwei first brought her home.

Her eyes, catching the light, shimmered with fragmented ripples, blinking with the unique loyalty of a kitten.

Reserved yet profound, pride concealed a deep-seated insecurity—a truth easily missed without careful observation.

Yet even a casual glance could sense the intense emotion radiating from her.

Perhaps it was love.

Yan Ciwei took a small step toward An Chixu.

The little cat she had raised had come home to her, wearing her clothes and sleeping in her bed.

Loving her, her eyes pleaded to avert their separation.

Yan Ciwei’s hand landed on An Chixu’s head, the dampness from her recent bath clinging to Yan Ciwei’s palm.

The master bedroom door closed. An Chixu stood frozen for a long moment before hurrying after her, lingering at Yan Ciwei’s door, then clenching her teeth and retreating.

Sleeping together would disturb her.

Clutching the kitten-shaped pillow Yan Ciwei had prepared for her, An Chixu quietly left the guest room door ajar.

In the middle of the night, a faint light spilled into the guest room.

The soundly sleeping An Chixu remained unaware of the crimson gaze that lingered in the shadows.

The Spring Festival was approaching.

Yan Ciwei was meticulously compiling a shopping list. An Chixu, clinging to the few warm memories she had, added familiar items to the list. She wanted to cut paper window decorations, just like when her family was still close, and they would make them together.

They lived together for a week. During that week, An Chixu slept more peacefully than she had in any previous week.

She didn’t have to worry about sudden arguments, violent brawls, the dormitory supervisor’s pacing, her roommate’s sleep-talking and snoring, or pranks.

She slept so deeply that she didn’t realize Yan Ciwei came to her room every night.

Even if Yan Ciwei only stood quietly at the door, peering through the one-centimeter gap she had deliberately left open.

Even when they were folding paper window decorations together, An Chixu didn’t notice Yan Ciwei’s occasional glances.

Perhaps she was finally getting used to it. Yan Ciwei observed An Chixu’s changes, calculating when to take the next step.

“Do you know how to fold butterflies?” Yan Ciwei asked, her expression betraying nothing as she continued her routine of tending to her “pet cat.”

Today, Yan Ciwei decided to teach An Chixu how to make paper-cut window decorations. On a whim, she switched from flowers to butterflies, the only paper-cutting design she knew.

An Chixu shook her head, feigning disinterest, but her gaze remained fixed on Yan Ciwei. Her uplifted mood stemmed solely from Yan Ciwei’s presence, not the activity itself.

Then An Chixu’s phone rang.

It was still an old-fashioned flip phone. Her family wouldn’t buy her a better one. If she wanted to play touch-screen games, she had to stand quietly behind Yan Ciwei, watching intently until Yan Ciwei took the initiative to invite her to join.

Besides Yan Ciwei, only her family knew An Chixu’s phone number.

Yan Ciwei gripped An Chixu’s wrist.

Reacting faster than An Chixu, her disapproving gaze betrayed her suspicion.

After so many stolen glances, their eyes finally met.

An Chixu knew it was her mother calling, triggering an immediate panic response.

Her pupils constricted, her heart clenched, and she dared not breathe deeply.

What should she do? Answer or ignore it?

She could only ask her caregiver, Yan Ciwei, for help.

Won’t the butterfly be broken? Yan Ciwei wondered. If An Chixu truly cared about her, she wouldn’t be so conflicted by a single phone call.

Yan Ciwei had foolishly imagined she could rival the creator of the little cat, but today she had been dealt a crushing blow.

An Chixu neither nodded nor shook her head, her eyes fixed in a blank stare.

The warmth on Yan Ciwei’s wrist faded.

Yan Ciwei released her grip.

Half an hour later, An Chixu left Yan Ciwei’s home, carrying her belongings.

The living room, now missing one person’s reflection, suddenly felt darker. Even with the heater on, the room seemed colder than before.

Yan Ciwei put down the red paper-cut window decorations and scissors, gazing out the window. A fleeting red figure flashed in her eyes—the new clothes she had bought for An Chixu during their shopping trip two days earlier. An Chixu had grown taller since the start of the semester; it was time for some new clothes for the New Year.

The winter scenery blurred, making it impossible to distinguish human figures. Only the sound of drizzling rain remained.

It was raining.

An Chixu returned home.

She fumbled awkwardly for her key, trying three times to align it with the lock in the dim hallway light before finally succeeding.

“An Chixu, come eat!” her mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

Surprised, An Chixu pressed a hand to her pounding chest and slipped off her shoes.

Her feet had grown slightly, making the shoes feel a bit tight. But the house was decorated with lanterns and spring couplets, as if they were about to reconcile into an ordinary family and celebrate the Spring Festival together.

Ignoring the discomfort of her ill-fitting shoes, An Chixu rushed into the kitchen.

“Mom, why did you make so much?” she asked, as if there had never been any estrangement between them.

She leaned in affectionately, her ears flushing crimson as she nearly hugged her mother. She had almost treated her mother the way she treated Yan Ciwei.

“It’s the New Year, and we have guests,” her mother replied, her gaze drifting. She never once looked directly at her daughter.

Yet An Chixu’s heart soared at this long-awaited conversation, finding even her mother’s listless gray eyes bright and cheerful.

She carried the dishes out one by one, set out three small chairs, and turned on the bulky television, waiting for her mother to come home.

It felt like every day before she turned five.

But they never got to wait for their mother to come home.

“Eat. Don’t worry about it,” her mother said impatiently, patting An Chixu’s back with a force that seemed inappropriate for a growing girl.

The blow stung, but An Chixu lowered her head and continued eating.

As she ate, the food lost its flavor. Her nose tingled, and her eyes ached.

Suddenly, she remembered Yan Ciwei, whom she had abandoned.

Yan Ciwei had never struck her with such force, always gentle and tender, like a spring breeze or a soft cloud.

That night, after clearing the dishes, An Chixu watched her mother pack the leftovers and leave. Alone in the empty house, she felt lost and numb.

She couldn’t stay awake through the night, collapsing onto the sofa and falling asleep amidst the deafening firecrackers.

Then came the second day of eating leftovers alone, followed by the third.

Her mother occasionally returned home. Her other mother remained absent.

On the fourth day, her mother finally came back.

The moment the door opened, a tea set flew out.

An Chixu’s brow twitched, and she immediately dodged.

The tea set shattered on the floor, as if shattering An Chixu’s heart.

“So you finally decided to come back,” her mother said, spotting the tiny An Chixu.

“You still dare to show your face here? Didn’t bring your lovers back this time? Why not introduce them to our daughter… An Chixu, where did you steal those clothes? You dare stay out during the holidays? You’ve got some nerve. Trying to become a delinquent at such a young age?”

Her mother emerged from the house, a hint of wine-red staining her lips. In An Chixu’s eyes, the color gradually merged with the bright red Spring Festival couplets, blurring the lines between them.

“You have the nerve to criticize her? She’s your daughter! Looking like this, how can you even claim you want to take care of her?”

Her mother raised her voice, forcefully blocking the other woman from approaching An Chixu.

“Isn’t she your daughter? Have you ever cared for her? You didn’t even attend the parent-teacher conference! And I haven’t even settled accounts with you for those people you keep outside this home.”

“You have the nerve? You, of all people, dare to criticize me? An Chixu, tell me, who’s really in the wrong here?”

The argument threatened to erupt into a full-blown fight.

An Chixu felt frozen, unable to move. The scene before her blurred, growing darker and grayer.

Finally, her gaze landed on her mother’s slightly rounded abdomen. A jolt ran through her, and she collapsed to the floor.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, An Chixu finally understood why her perpetually warring parents had summoned her home.

A trial.

Her mother was pregna

1. With someone else’s child.

Her mother’s affair was brazen, the evidence undeniable.

Their already shattered home had been reduced to rubble, and now they needed their only remaining bond—An Chixu—to judge each other.

She was merely an inconvenient tool, their only option.

Burning stomach acid, mixed with undigested food, scorched An Chixu’s throat.

She forced down the urge to vomit, scrambling out of the house without looking back, slamming the door behind her.

An Chixu stumbled out of the apartment building, her feet leaving the stairs as she fell to the ground, every inch of her body aching.

She was terrified of being dragged back. She’d had enough of being their weapon against each other.

But where could she go?

An Chixu stumbled and fell, crashing to the ground five times before finally collapsing, utterly exhausted, in an unknown place.

There seemed to be someone nearby, yet also no one. A hazy red figure stood far off at the edge of her vision, never approaching her.

Gasping for breath, she looked up at the sky. The gray, murky sky was both yellow and hideous, spewing corrosive acid rain that felt as cold as ice daggers.

The rain was about to pierce her eyes.

An Chixu closed her eyes, awaiting her own judgment.

But then a red umbrella appeared, lightly sheltering her from the downpour.

The imagined cold never came. An Chixu slowly opened one eye.

Yan Ciwei stood beside her, holding the red umbrella.

From that moment on, no rain or wind would ever touch An Chixu again.

An Chixu bit her lip, unable to stop the tears.

She knew she looked hideous like this, and her desperate attempts to control herself only made her tremble more.

“Weiwei…” She shouldn’t have left.

An Chixu’s voice was barely a whisper, her apology like snow melting in the rain before it could even fall.

Yan Ciwei crouched down, pressing close to An Chixu as if trying to lift her up and carry her home.

An Chixu reached out her hand.

“I… I want… I want your…” She wanted her love.

Her outstretched hand was grasped. Yan Ciwei had never once let An Chixu’s hand fall empty.

“I want your butterfly…” An Chixu rasped, drawing closer to her true home in her feverish delirium.

A foreign object appeared in her palm.

Dry and fragile.

It was a red paper butterfly.

Delirium.

Burning fever.

Abnormal flushing.

An Chixu couldn’t reach Yan Ciwei by phone and collapsed unconscious at home.

But a hand lifted her back into bed, placing the retrieved butterfly beneath her pillow.

The feverish nightmare receded, and An Chixu’s features gradually relaxed into peaceful repose.

Hours later, An Chixu opened her eyes.

Her body was no longer burning.

Her blurry vision slowly focused.

She saw an unbelievable sight.

Yan Ciwei was kneeling beside her, wringing out a cold towel and removing the fever patch from her forehead.