Chapter 2: "Mama Says You're Slow at Feelings"

The door was still half-open, but Wang Peizhen’s world had already tilted off its axis.

A little girl stood at his feet, her arms stubbornly looped around his waist like she belonged there. Like this was a home she’d been to a hundred times.

“You took forever to open the door, Daddy,” she pouted.

“D-Daddy?” Peizhen’s voice cracked like he’d swallowed air wrong. “I’m sorry, kid, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

The girl looked up, brows furrowed, lips pursed. “Wang. Pei. Zhen. Born November 19. Type O blood. You live alone. Don’t lock your windows at night. And you keep expired milk in your fridge.”

He blinked.

“Wait, how do you know that?”

“Mama told me,” she said confidently, as if it explained everything.

She marched into the apartment, taking off her little red shoes at the door, like she’d done it before. Her tiny pink backpack had a bunny keychain that jingled with every bounce. She hopped onto the couch, hugged her plushie tight, and patted the seat next to her.

“Come on. Sit. You’re acting weird.”

Peizhen stood frozen at the door, brain buffering.

He wasn’t the type to panic. A top med student, level-headed, problem-solver by nature. But this? This was a curveball from a drama script.

“Okay,” he muttered, stepping in and quietly locking the door behind him. “This has to be a prank. Who put you up to this?”

“I already told you. Mama,” she replied, reaching for the TV remote like she owned the place.

Peizhen cautiously sat beside her. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and sunshine. And something in his chest… tightened.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly.

The girl turned to him, tilted her head, and smiled so brightly it almost hurt to look at her.

“Wang Ruoyu,” she said. “Ruoyu like soft rain. Mama picked it because it sounded gentle.”

His lips parted. Wang Ruoyu?

“My surname?”

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “I mean, you are my dad.”

Peizhen stared. “Okay, Ruoyu… where’s your mom?”

“She’s safe,” she said vaguely, curling up on the couch with her plushie. “I’ll tell you more when you’re ready.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Mama says you’re not dumb,” she offered helpfully. “Just slow at feelings.”

Peizhen gawked.

“She also said you’d ask too many questions and forget to offer me dinner.”

His jaw dropped open. “…Dinner! Right.”

He stumbled to the kitchen, opening the fridge with a nervous laugh. “You want noodles? Wait, you’re too young to eat spicy, aren’t you?”

“I like eggs,” she called out. “But not burnt like last time.”

He froze.

“Last time?”

“Oops,” Ruoyu giggled. “Spoiler alert.”

He peeked around the fridge door, narrowing his eyes. “Are you from the future or something?”

She smiled. “If I told you, would you believe me?”

He didn’t answer. His hands moved automatically—cracking eggs, boiling noodles—mind racing. This couldn’t be real. And yet... it didn’t feel fake either. That little girl knew things. Not just random facts. She knew how his apartment smelled. How he always forgot to replace the milk. Even the way he hesitated before adding seasoning to the soup.

She knew him.

He set the bowl down in front of her, and Ruoyu’s eyes lit up.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

The title hit him like a whisper to the soul.

“Don’t call me that,” he said gently.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not... I mean, I don’t have a daughter.”

She tilted her head, scooping noodles into her mouth. “Yet.”

He stared at her.

“Where’s your mother?”

“I told you. Safe.”

“Who is she?”

Ruoyu looked down at her bowl. “She’s... someone you used to know.”

His breath caught.

“I used to know a lot of people.”

“She sat two rows behind you in chemistry class. You never looked back. But she looked at you every day.”

His hands turned cold.

“Her name is An Ruoran,” she whispered. “She’s my mama.”

The name landed in his mind like a long-lost song. Familiar. Quiet. Painfully gentle.

An Ruoran.

The shy girl from his hometown. The one who used to stutter when asking for his notes.

The one who suddenly disappeared from his life after graduation.

They messaged a few times through college. Polite. Distant. She was always warm, but never let him close.

And now this little girl was sitting in his home, claiming to be their child?

>

“This is insane,” Peizhen murmured. “This can’t be real…”

Ruoyu finished her noodles and wiped her mouth with a tissue. Then she walked over, climbed onto his lap, and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“It’s okay, Daddy. Mama said you’d need time.”

He sat frozen.

“She said you’d feel it in your heart before your brain caught up.”

And oddly enough—he did.

Something about the way Ruoyu fit into his arms. The rhythm of her breath. The shape of her smile.

Something deep inside him whispered:

This is your child.

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