I Was Smiling Too, But I Didn't Show It

It was the morning of the eighth day of Twelfth Month.

The school's shopping street was bustling.

The sweet smell of roasted sweet potatoes filled the air. Steamed buns had just come out of the shop on the right; as soon as the steamer lid lifted, a cloud of steam billowed up. Many students had already finished their exams and gone home today, but a long line had still formed outside the congee shop.

Why did people have to eat congee on the eighth day of Twelfth Month?

Congee didn't even taste good.

Sweet congee tasted even worse.

Plain congee would be better, or congee with greens, preserved egg, or minced meat. Add the pickles Chen Shu made, and it would do for an unremarkable morning or evening. Ning Qing had spent many breakfasts and dinners that way before.

Ning Qing pondered this as she stood in line. At her feet sat a long-haired White Cat in a red, hooded fleece outfit.

The cat was far too clingy.

Ning Qing hadn't wanted her to come, but she had insisted.

Whenever the cat was with her, someone would come over and strike up a conversation, as if the cat were an opening.

Wearing a mask didn't help.

Staring at the floor didn't help either.

Luckily, Ning Qing had brought an earbud. She put it in and stared straight ahead. If anyone spoke to her, she could pretend not to hear.

Soon it was her turn.

Three cups of Laba Porridge went into one bag. She showed the payment screen, hooked the bag over one hand, tucked the other into her coat pocket, and turned to leave.

Peach's four legs moved in a blur as she followed close behind.

Ning Qing's expression was calm, her steps steady.

Someone followed far behind her.