Chapter 900: Brother‑in‑law?

Ling's gaze shifted from the gloves to Ying's pleated short skirt, then to the pair of ash‑gray ultra‑thin stockings, and she tilted her head, "Those stockings are the really thin kind, right? Fei Ying sister, do you also wear them in winter? Our school requires thick tights in winter, and every time I wear them my legs feel like they're wrapped in two blankets."

"In winter you add a coat," Ying said, thinking seriously. "And a scarf."

That's the truth.

Even though she rarely thought about temperature in Past World Paradise, when she was still alive she did indeed add a thick feathered coat in winter, and also wrapped a scarf.

Ling used to snatch her scarf and wrap it around her own neck; the scarf was so long that it wound around her neck repeatedly until she looked like a rice‑dumpling wrapped in yarn, only two eyes peeking out and blinking.

"Scarf!"

Ling's eyes lit up again. "What kind of scarf? What color? Is it white like sister's scarf?"

She reached out to pull the white knitted scarf from Bachongying's neck, but Bachongying gently brushed her hand away.

"Ling, this scarf is the birthday gift you gave me; if you pull any more it will come undone."

"I didn't pull! I was just feeling it to check the material!"

Ying watched the two of them bicker back and forth over the scarf, then lowered her head and took another sip.

The scent of jasmine tea mingled with the sunlight outside, melting into a faint sweetness on the tongue.

Ling struggled in her sister's arms, defending, "I really chose carefully, okay? The convenience store only had three colors and I picked the whitest one." Bachongying tapped Ling's nose with a fingertip and said, "Then you should knit one yourself next time." Ling fell silent for half a second, then whispered, "…I can't."

Bachongying smiled helplessly and ruffled her hair, the motion light and gentle; when her fingertips passed through Ling's light pink short hair, Ling closed her eyes contentedly.

Ying watched the scene, placed her teacup back on the tabletop, and unconsciously traced a circle along the rim with her fingertip.

"Next time, knit one."

Ling poked her head out of her sister's embrace, gave Bachongying a thumbs‑up, and said, "I'll definitely learn it later! Then I'll knit the warmest scarf in the world for you, and also knit one for Fei Ying sister!"

She turned her head toward Ying, giggling, and added, "Fei Ying sister, what color do you like?"

"…Pink, I guess."

Ying thought for a moment, then another, and added, "A lighter shade."

"Got it! Light‑pink scarf! Noted!"

Ling extended her index finger and wrote a virtual memo in the air, her expression so serious it seemed she were actually uploading a to‑do into her brain.

Bachongying watched her younger sister revive with renewed vigor, smiled and sighed, then lifted her eyes to glance at Ying.

That glance held gratitude and a hint of gentle kindness.

She probably thought that, despite the pink‑haired girl's few words, she was fundamentally a very gentle person.

It was evident from her willingness to patiently answer Ling's rapid‑fire questions, from the tone when she said, "Okay, I'll bring it next time," and from the unmistakable soft curve at the corner of her eye when she looked at Ling.

"By the way, Ling, didn't you say you wanted to show Miss Fei Ying your drawing?"

Bachongying suddenly seemed to recall something, turned her head toward her sister, a faintly knowing smile on her lips, and said, "I drew it earlier at the milk‑tea shop. I said I was especially satisfied with it and want to show the whole world."

"Ah—yes, yes! My prized work!"

Ling slapped her forehead, turned around, rummaged in her backpack, and pulled out a palm‑sized sketchbook whose cover was covered with various cartoon stickers, the corners already a bit faded.

She flipped to a page, then solemnly held the sketchbook up with both hands to show Ying.

The picture, drawn with a ballpoint pen, depicted two people—a long‑haired sister and a short‑haired younger sister—hand in hand beneath a massive cherry‑blossom tree; at the top the words "Sister and Me" were scribbled crookedly, with a similarly crooked heart beside them.

The lines were childlike yet full of spirit; the figures' proportions were off, but the expressions were rendered with great seriousness— the sister's eyes were curved, the younger sister's mouth opened wide as if shouting, "Sister, look how beautiful the cherry blossoms are!"

Ying stared at the drawing, silent for two seconds.

"Well drawn."

Her voice was soft, but the tone was more earnest than any of her previous words, "The eyes look just like Ling's—bright and shining."

Ling clutched the sketchbook, a smile blooming on her face brighter than the sunlight outside.

Then she leaned forward again, glancing left at Ying's face, right at her sister's face, and finally squinted to reach a conclusion.

"Your hair colors really match, both pink, except Fei Ying sister has medium‑short choppy hair, and the sister has ultra‑long straight hair,"

She tilted her head again to examine Ying's hairstyle, "Fei Ying sister's bangs are irregularly choppy, super cute. Next time I want sister to cut my bangs like that—no, sister's haircutting skill is too terrifying; last time she cut my bangs flat and I cried and missed three days of school—"

"Ling."

Bachongying's smile remained gentle, but Ling read from that single word a full threat: "If you say another word I'll show Miss Fei Ying the photo of you hiding at home after I botched your bangs."

So Ling immediately changed her tone: "—But sister's haircutting skill is improving! I have confidence in you! Next time will be even better!"

Ying could no longer hold back.

She lowered her head, pressed the back of her hand to her lips, and let out a highly restrained laugh.

It was brief, about a second, then she returned to that calm, gentle expression.

But the afterglow of the smile lingered; the gray‑purple eyes retained a thin sheen, as if something had just warmed them and hadn't fully faded.

She lifted the teacup for another sip, finished the last of the jasmine tea, then gently placed the empty cup back on the tabletop.

Sunlight slanted in through the car window, striking the edge of the tabletop, making the jasmine flower floating at the bottom of the cup shine transparently.

Bachongying glanced at her empty cup, then at the half‑full thermos she held, and naturally reached for her cup, "I'll pour you another."

"Thank you." Ying did not decline.

As she handed over the cup, she heard a word.

Ling was talking with her sister.

Probably after seeing the jasmine flower in her cup, Ling turned her head to Bachongying and said something in a light, casual tone, as if mentioning an insignificant little thing—perhaps about the jasmine tea, or some amusing incident that happened when she drank tea at home earlier.

When Ling said that, her hand was still flipping through her sketchbook, her head not lifted, and her tone was as natural as saying, "The weather's nice today."

But that word, that fleeting term amid Ling's rapid‑fire barrage, was like a needle, piercing Ying's eardrum with pinpoint precision.

Brother‑in‑law

"…Speaking of it, the jasmine tea brother‑in‑law brewed last time was more fragrant than this; next time let brother‑in‑law bring some again."

Bachongying was pouring tea for Ying; upon hearing the line, she made no pause, only a slight pursing of her mouth, a hint of helplessness at being teased by her sister and a trace of involuntary tenderness that rose when that person was mentioned.

"Ling, stop bothering people all the time."

"What's called a hassle! My brother‑in‑law said it himself, that 'whenever you want tea, just find me,' and you, sister, were there at the time, weren't you!"

Ling lifted her eyes from the sketchbook, squinted at her sister, grinned, completely unaware that the casual nickname she tossed out sparked what level of earthquake in the pink‑haired girl's brain across from her.

Ying's hand paused in midair.

She was about to hand over the cup, but her hand froze the instant Bachongying took the cup, hovering about three centimeters above the tabletop, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Bachongying took the cup and poured tea for her; the sound of tea filling the cup stood out sharply against the carriage's background noise, whooshing, steaming, and the jasmine fragrance rose again.

But Ying barely heard that sound.

Her brain was trying to process the just‑received information at an unprecedented speed, but the processor seemed stuck at some stage, looping the same signal over and over.

Brother‑in‑law?