As one of Hua Xia’s most renowned provinces for the Gaokao, evening study sessions were an inescapable nightmare for every high school student.
Approaching Mid-Autumn Festival, despite the lingering heat of late summer still scorching the land, the early autumn evening breeze brought a trace of coolness to the night.
Her divine identity meant Yu Zhi hadn’t felt heat or cold in a long time.
The sudden coolness made her spin around curiously a few times, only for her now “fragile” body to betray her, resulting in several sneezes before settling down.
Yu Zhi pulled her school uniform jacket tighter around her and walked from the teaching building toward the school gate.
The newly built school was large, jokingly nicknamed the “Royal Garden” by the students, but at this moment, it didn’t feel empty.
Hundreds, even thousands of students flowed like a long stream, moving toward the exit in a messy yet orderly fashion.
Parents stood behind them, hands clasped behind their backs, stretching their necks eagerly to peer inside the gate, afraid their child might miss their gaze.
Yu Zhi instantly spotted her mother, Tao Xiaochun, in the crowd.
Five hundred years had passed without seeing each other, yet upon reunion, there was no sense of estrangement— as if their souls were intertwined, ignoring the span of time and space, inseparably close and deeply moving.
However, compared to the woman in her memory— always stern-faced yet gentle in treatment while nagging— her mother now seemed a little older.
She vaguely recalled that just a few months ago, her mother had freshly dyed her hair, carefully styled in big waves while admiring herself in the mirror for a long time, only to tie it back into the simplest bun the next day— for the sake of convenience while working.
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have wasted that money.”
That phrase soon became her mother’s mantra for the entire month.
Yet now, strands of silver shimmered through her dark brown hair.
Compared to other students in her class, Yu Zhi’s family wasn’t wealthy; “struggling” would be an appropriate word.
Long ago, her father’s entrepreneurial venture failed, plunging the family into heavy debt. ‘
Unforeseen misfortune struck again shortly after when her mother lost her stable job and had to work tirelessly to make ends meet.
They moved to the Old Town, no longer able to afford the luxury of nurturing spiritual needs, and even the most basic familial bonds lacked the energy to be properly maintained.
Pinching pennies, working hard, exhaustion, and quarrels became the sum of her life after middle school.
Looking back, she admitted she had been immature.
She had blamed all problems on “money,” naively believing that if she worked hard enough to afford the Art Studio and university fees, everything would improve.
It wasn’t until much later, when she reunited with Lin Yuan in Parnaki and became half his mentor, watching him grow from a naive boy under her protection, and one day he suddenly told her: he wanted to venture far away.
“I can’t live under your protection forever. My parents were like you once, but one day I have to leave. I want to see the world. I want to know how far I can go, what I can achieve, relying only on myself without anyone’s help.”
“I’ll come back.” When he left, he smiled and said, “I am your Knight of the Sanctuary, now and forever. When I’m stronger, then…”
Lin Yuan’s words were carried away by the wind, never reaching her ears. Yet in that moment, Yu Zhi’s heart strangely resonated with her parents far away on Earth.
She suddenly understood why her parents repeatedly discouraged her from pursuing art.
Just like her worries over Lin Yuan’s journey— both feared the unseen future.
Her parents had never touched painting, didn’t understand its prospects, but knew how much sweat it demanded.
Yet no matter how hard one worked day after day, in front of the towering mountain called “talent,” effort became worthless.
Her parents believed that by learning from those who went into business, she could similarly prosper riding the wave of the times, but in the end, they lost everything.
They faced their own ordinariness and wanted her to see hers—to stop dreaming of a bright future while stumbling and falling headlong.
Business at least could take off with the right timing, but what about art?
To study like a normal student, take the Gaokao, then grad school or civil service exams… though still hard, countless people had proven this path was correct and stable.
This was also the best future her parents had fought for through blood and tears.
“Why are you just standing there like a fool?”
A familiar female voice interrupted Yu Zhi’s melancholy. Without her realizing, she had already walked up to her mother.
The woman, tired from a day’s work, shrugged off her fatigue, naturally taking Yu Zhi’s schoolbag onto her shoulder, touching her hand and frowning slightly. “Look at your hands, so cold. Don’t rely on the daytime heat and skip wearing your jacket. With your frail body, how many days of class would you miss if you got sick?”
Her mother was still the same nagging woman from memory, unconcerned whether Yu Zhi was listening, pouring out her emotions alone, ending with: “I made some soup for you—drink a warm bowl when you get home.”
Yu Zhi followed Tao Xiaochun through the crowd, obediently nodding at the words, deep longing surfacing in her eyes.
In Parnaki, that woman occasionally spoke in such a gentle tone to her, usually when rewarded by that man or after a great victory in palace intrigue against other women in the harem.
At those moments, even to her “unworthy” daughter, she wouldn’t hesitate to show kindness.
But more often, it was to present an image of maternal affection and filial piety before her lofty King father, seeking his favor and pity.
A feudal, deeply male-preferential island nation, even more so than some patriarchal countries, the “Princess” had only two purposes: one, political marriage; two, serving the Goddess.
The former still had a glimmer of hope; the latter…
Yu Zhi exhaled a trembling breath of murky air.
Even after five centuries, even after ascending to the status of “Goddess,” Yu Zhi still couldn’t recall those memories calmly.
Perhaps because both family-related memories were harsh, even brutal, she unconsciously poured all her hopes for family onto Lin Yuan after their reunion.
Tonight’s moonlight was dim. She sat on the back of an electric bike, arms wrapped around her mother’s waist, resting her face against her back.
The forty-year-old woman was slender but stood taller and grander than any deity in Parnaki.
The road home was long and far, yet not lonely.
The night wind was strong, cold—but infinitely warm.
It had taken her five hundred years to finally learn to make peace with herself.
……
The dim corridor lights in the old apartment complex flickered with a strange rhythm, accompanied by the crackling hum of electricity as if taken straight from a horror film set.
Yu Zhi used to detest and feel ashamed of all this. She dared not let her classmates know where she lived and was ostracized and mocked in her first year of high school because of the lingering stench.
Returning home after a century, everything she once despised now felt full of charm, and she involuntarily relaxed her body.
Tao Xiaochun took a key from her pocket, skillfully unlocked the security lock, cautiously pushed open the door, and led Yu Zhi inside.
“Your father’s already asleep,” she whispered, “Keep it down when you drink your soup. He has a long run at 4:30 tomorrow morning— don’t wake him.”
Yu Zhi nodded and sat down with her mother in the dining room, watching her rise and walk to the stove to ladle a bowl of hot soup from the rice cooker that had been warming all night.
She inhaled the familiar salty aroma— the winter melon and salted pork soup.
Winter melon in summer and autumn, radish in winter and spring—these were the most common ingredients on the Yu family’s table.
Once tired of the soup, it had become the flavor she missed most in Parnaki.
Tao Xiaochun sat across from Yu Zhi, smiling as she watched her daughter drink, eyes scrutinizing every movement with growing undisguised admiration.
Who said my daughter isn’t outstanding?
Tao Xiaochun proudly thought: Look at her poise and demeanor—more elegant than any rich lady in the dramas.
Yu Zhi had no idea of her mother’s mood. Compared to the deliberately poised demeanor she maintained as a Goddess for five centuries, now she gulped down soup like a ravenous beast.
Yet years of forced habits lent her an unintentional elegance in every gesture. Meanwhile, her mind was busy with a crucial matter, unaware of the change in her mother’s expression.
Only when the bowl was empty and her body warmed did Yu Zhi find her answer.
“Mom,” she said softly, putting down the bowl, “there’s something I want to tell you.”
“What is it?” Tao Xiaochun’s mood was good, her tone gentle.
“I went to see Wang Teacher today.”
Tao Xiaochun naturally knew who “Wang Teacher” was. Her daughter had been running around for art, and that Wang Teacher had even called home, urging them to seriously consider Yu Zhi’s future.
The smile in Tao Xiaochun’s eyes faded slightly. Before she could adopt her usual lecturing tone, Yu Zhi said, “I told her I’m not switching classes.”
The unexpected answer stunned Tao Xiaochun. Although it was the reply she’d long hoped for, she knew Yu Zhi’s temper and had already prepared for a long tug-of-war.
They’d even had a big fight over this just a few days ago. How could she change her mind so quickly?
Before Tao Xiaochun could feel joy, Yu Zhi added, “But Mom, I don’t want to give up painting.”
“When you get into university, you can paint however you want. I won’t stop you,” Tao Xiaochun instinctively used her go-to response from past arguments. “You’re a student now. Since you’re giving up the Art College Entrance Examination, focus on getting into university first.”
“I know,” Yu Zhi nodded. “But I want to try again—one last time.”
Tao Xiaochun frowned, “I thought you weren’t going to art class anymore?”
“Wang Teacher said there’s a spot for the Provincial Competition at the studio in a few days. I want to give it a shot.”
Yu Zhi knew what her mother’s reaction would be, so she used Wang Shuyue as an excuse to deflect for now. The competition wasn’t just a careless lie either. Before her transmigration, Wang Shuyue had mentioned it, and Yu Zhi had kept it in mind.
Sure enough, Tao Xiaochun immediately said, “You need to focus on studying now. How do you have so much time for painting?”
“Mom, I know you want the best for me, so I gave up switching to art class. But I don’t want to just give up on my dream. Even if it’s just to see how my talent compares to others— to kill my passion for painting once and for all— I want to participate in this competition. One last time.” Yu Zhi looked into her mother’s eyes, sincere and earnest.
Before speaking, Yu Zhi had already anticipated her mother’s reaction.
From a rational perspective, the best approach would be to secretly submit the painting, wait for the results and any prize money, then reveal everything to her parents: “See, I have talent in art.”
But after much thought, Yu Zhi chose to lay all her thoughts bare.
She didn’t want to flaunt or “take revenge” through achievements.
She knew her parents would praise her repeatedly and truly be happy for her success, but in the quiet nights, they’d sigh in regret, “We almost ruined our daughter’s life.”
Yu Zhi wanted them to participate in her life decisions, even if she was quietly pushing the waves behind the scenes.
At least she wanted her parents to believe their daughter’s future success depended on their thoughtful guidance at every turning point.
“That it would ‘kill my passion for painting once and for all’” struck a chord with Tao Xiaochun.
University art was merely a consolation to pacify Yu Zhi. The plan for grad school and civil service exams had long been set. Who had time to waste on art unrelated to Gaokao?
If Yu Zhi could give up painting completely, spending some time on the competition didn’t seem too bad.
Let her see her true talent and the harshness of society. Such competitions always involved human relationships. How could someone with no background win?
Tao Xiaochun thought seriously for a long moment, then finally nodded and said vaguely, “After your father returns from his run, we’ll discuss it.”
Seeing her mother finally relent, Yu Zhi smiled genuinely.
“Okay.”
Yu Zhi had initially planned to keep her submission simple and focus on technical skill, painting as quickly as possible just to qualify for the competition.
But when she returned to her room and put pen to paper, an endless stream of inspiration flowed through her hand, the brush seemingly taking on a mind of its own, no longer controlled by her.
She emptied her mind, entrusting everything to her subconscious and brush.
In the silent room, only the delicate rustling of brushstrokes on paper could be heard.
As dawn broke, gentle sunlight sneaked through the curtains, becoming playful sprites dancing across the desk.
Light spots illuminated the girl’s sleeping face, then spun onto the canvas, where vivid colors brightened the dim room.
On the canvas, a girl in a pale yellow dress leaned peacefully against her mother’s embrace, sleeping soundly.
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