Lightning flashed outside the window, lighting up the living room for an instant before it went dark again.
Ziwei did not answer. She simply sat on the sofa, watching the girl curled up across from her.
"Teacher, did you know?"
Ye Qingqing's voice was quiet, but she spoke faster and faster. "Ever since I was little, an allowance has been deposited into my bank account every month. So much that even the rich girls in my class would be jealous."
"By the time I was in middle school, the balance had passed a million."
"But I never enjoyed spending it. No one ever taught me how. No one told me my first dress looked nice, and no one asked what I wanted to eat on my birthday."
She counted the memories off on her fingers.
"In third grade, I came first in my year. I took a photo of my report card and sent it to the number saved as 'Father' in my contacts. I waited all day. When the reply came, it was two words: 'Seen it.'"
"Later, I found out his secretary had sent it."
Su Bai sat on the sofa, maintaining Ziwei's attentive posture, but inwardly he clicked his tongue.
Good grief. Rich people's troubles really are something else.
"In eighth grade, I came down with a high fever. Thirty-nine point eight degrees."
Ye Qingqing went on. "I lay in bed thinking someone would finally come this time. Someone did: a private doctor with two nurses."
"Once my fever broke, the doctor packed up and left. On his way out, he told me, 'Miss Ye, keep warm.'"
"Miss Ye."
She repeated it with a short laugh. "In my own home, they called me Miss Ye."
Rain spattered against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"I tried again in high school.