Chapter 42: The Twenty-Ninth Day of the Twelfth Lunar Month

The appearance of Xiao Ran and Yan Junzhu did not bring Bai Lengci any trouble.

To Bai Lengci, they were nothing more than guests, just like Sister Li.

If it weren’t for suspecting that the little girl was truly special and might bring her trouble, Bai Lengci would never have bothered to stop Xiao Ran.

Time passed quickly, in the days of practicing test papers during the day and earning money at night.

Bai Lengci actually still wanted to visit that dream place, but she realized she hadn’t been able to dream these past few days, so the matter was left unsettled.

On the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, the people of Huaxia followed tradition and had the custom of ancestor worship.

To treat the dead as if they were alive was not only an important sign of filial piety, but also a virtue of respecting the elderly.

Those who could go to the cemetery would bring their entire family to worship at the graves.

If it was truly impossible, they would also place an incense table and ancestral tablet in the main hall, the whole family offering wine and burning incense.

This day was also called Little New Year’s Eve.

Families held banquets, and people visiting one another was also called “bidding farewell to the year.”

As for our Bai Xiaoci, naturally, she had no one to worship.

If she really had to, there was only one person—her orphanage director.

When Bai Lengci walked to the bus stop, she held a thick envelope in her hand.

Inside was ten thousand yuan in cash, freshly withdrawn from the bank.

After waiting for a while, the bus arrived.

She got on, dropped the coins.

There weren’t many people on the bus, it was rather empty.

She found a seat by the window and sat down.

The northern district of Jiangcheng was the old city.

Its development was far inferior to the eastern district where she now lived, carrying a sense of oldness forgotten by time.

The Northern City Orphanage was at the end of a secluded street in this old district.

When the bus reached the stop, Bai Lengci got off, then walked another five or six minutes before she saw that familiar iron gate.

New spring couplets had been pasted on the gate—red paper with black characters, words of good fortune.

At the entrance, two people in blue cleaning uniforms were sweeping up fallen leaves and firecracker debris.

Although fireworks were banned in the city, there were always people secretly setting them off in the old district.

When the two saw Bai Lengci approaching, they paused, casting curious glances at her.

Few people ever came here, especially at year’s end.

“Who are you looking for?”

One of the older aunties asked.

Bai Lengci stopped in her tracks.

“I grew up here. Came back to take a look.”

“Oh… so you came back.”

The auntie’s expression softened, and she gave Bai Lengci a once-over.

She seemed to want to find some familiar trace in that overly outstanding appearance and cool temperament, but obviously failed.

“Go on in. Someone’s in the office.”

“Thank you.”

Bai Lengci nodded slightly, pushed open the iron gate, and stepped inside.

The courtyard was still the same courtyard, except the old locust tree in the corner seemed a bit sturdier, its branches bare.

The exterior walls of several old buildings had been repainted beige, looking a bit tidier, though the layout remained unchanged.

A few children of different ages were chasing each other in the yard.

Their clothes were half new, half old, but clean.

When they saw the unfamiliar Bai Lengci, they all stopped, staring curiously at her and whispering among themselves.

Bai Lengci’s gaze swept over their faces, not finding a single familiar one.

Of course, she had left here more than two years ago.

The orphanage’s rule was that at sixteen, one had to leave and make one’s own living.

Two years was enough time for a full change of faces here.

She headed straight for that familiar administrative building.

In the lobby on the first floor, a long table was set up, scattered with fruit, pastries, and milk—gifts that had already been delivered.

She went up to the second floor and found the room with the “Administration Office” sign.

The door was open.

Inside, a woman in her forties, wearing glasses and looking rather tired, was sitting at a computer checking forms.

Bai Lengci knocked on the open door.

The woman looked up, adjusting her glasses.

“Hello, what is it?”

“I came to deliver something.”

Bai Lengci walked in and placed the thick envelope on the desk.

“For the children—to add some New Year’s goods.”

The woman froze for a moment, then picked up the envelope, opened it, and took a quick look at its thickness.

A warm yet formulaic smile instantly spread across her face.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have! Thank you so much! On behalf of the children, I thank you! May I ask your name, so I can register it?”

“Bai Lengci, I used to be here too.”

The woman flipped open a thick register, her finger scanning down rows of names, finally stopping at one.

“Bai Lengci… here it is. Left in July 2022.”

She looked up again at Bai Lengci, her tone softening.

“It’s good you came back to take a look. The orphanage has changed quite a bit.”

“I can see that.”

Bai Lengci’s gaze swept over the lobby.

It had been renovated, brighter than before.

“Is Granny Zhang… gone?”

She remembered the one in charge used to be an old caregiver surnamed Zhang.

Very strict, but kind-hearted.

The woman sighed.

“Granny Zhang retired last year. Teacher Li got married and moved away with the army. Auntie Wang’s health is poor, so she went home to recover… Since the old director passed away, the original elders either left or retired. Now it’s basically run by the government, and we’re all newly recruited.”

The old director.

That referred to the old orphanage head.

Bai Lengci fell silent.

She knew the old director had passed away, three years ago.

A heart attack, sudden.

She had still been in the orphanage at that time.

The Northern City Orphanage, in this part of the old district, even in all of Jiangcheng’s welfare institutions, was an oddity.

Though the children were orphans, life here wasn’t as bitter as outsiders imagined.

Every Spring Festival, each child would receive a red envelope with lucky money inside, though not much.

On birthdays, there would be a small cake.

Those with good grades would get extra rewards.

All of this was thanks to the old director.

He was a somewhat well-known writer, writing essays and children’s literature.

Unlike other institution heads who went around seeking donations, he poured nearly all his royalties from publishing books into the orphanage.

He didn’t like being called “Director.” He preferred the children to call him Grandpa Chen, or the Old Director.

Always dressed in his washed-out Zhongshan suit, wearing reading glasses, smiling kindly, with fruit candies in his pocket.

Bai Lengci still remembered, when she was five or six, timidly accepting her first New Year’s red envelope from the Old Director, his wrinkled face beaming.

The Old Director would also sit in the activity room on winter nights, coal stove burning, reading stories he wrote to the children.

The fire crackling, the old man’s voice gentle and slow—that was one of the few warm hues in Bai Lengci’s grey childhood.

But such warmth, sustained by one man’s strength, was ultimately fragile.

Three years ago, the Old Director suffered a sudden heart attack, and the rescue failed.

He left so suddenly, without a will.

The orphanage’s accounts instantly became strained, the benefits hard to maintain, even staff wages nearly unpaid.

Later, a journalist who had once interviewed him discovered this matter by chance and wrote an article.

Revealing to the public that a “well-known writer spent all his royalties silently supporting an orphanage for over ten years.” It sparked wide attention.

Donations poured in.

The government quickly stepped in, took over, allocated funds, changed staff.

The orphanage survived, even appearing more standardized than when the Old Director was alive.

Bai Lengci asked, her voice still calm.

“How is the orphanage now?”

The woman sighed.

“How could it be? Just so-so. After the government took over, food, clothes, school, and medical care are no problem—no one goes hungry or cold. But don’t expect anything better.”

The female administrator seemed to read Bai Lengci’s thoughts and added.

“The Old Director’s memorial tablet is still in the little memorial room at the back.”

“Many children who come back light incense for him.”

“Thank you.”

Bai Lengci thanked her again, then, guided by memory, walked toward the small independent bungalow behind the administrative building.

It was quiet inside.

She pushed the door open, a faint scent of sandalwood drifting out.

The room was small, arranged simply and solemnly.

On the wall opposite the door hung a black-and-white photograph of the Old Director, still wearing his reading glasses, smiling kindly.

Below was an incense table, with an incense burner and a few simple offerings.

On both sides of the table were pots of green plants.

In front of the incense table were several meditation cushions.

Bai Lengci walked forward, took three sticks of incense from the holder, lit them from the eternal flame, and gently waved out the fire.

Wisps of smoke curled upward.

Holding the incense, she stood silently before the elder’s portrait.

She did not bow like the others.

Instead, she bent her knees, knelt on the cushion, lowered her head, her forehead touching the cold floor.

A proper, solemn kowtow.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Then she rose and placed the three sticks of incense into the burner.

The smoke rose straight upward, blurring the Old Director’s kind smile in the photograph.

She stood quietly for a while, saying nothing.

No prayers, no complaints—just standing in silence.

Leaving the memorial room, she returned to the lobby.

The administrator from before was still waiting at the door.

When she saw Bai Lengci come out, she greeted her warmly again.

“The cafeteria is about to open for dinner. Why not stay and have a simple meal together? It may not be anything fancy, but it’s lively.”

Bai Lengci shook her head.

“No need, thank you.”

She couldn’t eat that food.

Staying would only be awkward.

The administrator seemed a little regretful, but didn’t insist.

“All right, take care on the road.

Come back often.”

“Mm.”

Bai Lengci responded softly, then turned and walked out of the Northern City Orphanage’s gates, along the road she had come.

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