She's a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist's Halo-Chapter 67

Four people carried boxes upstairs as Yan listened to Xiao Bao grumbling beside her.

"I told Da Bao we should’ve bought a stair-climbing trolley. Lugging these boxes up and down every time is such a pain."

The heavy metal unit door slammed shut behind them. Yan looked at the apartment building she hadn’t seen in half a year, its motion-activated hallway lights flickering on with their voices.

"Huh? The walls got repainted?" Yan remarked, surprised at the fresh coat covering what had been peeling and aged walls when they left Ning City.

This batch of faculty housing was built in the 1990s, now over thirty years old. From the outside, the building bore the weight of time, and the interior had seen better days too.

But most of the old neighbors still lived here—everyone had grown accustomed to the place, and with the convenience of being close to Ning University, only those forced to move due to declining mobility had left. Many of the neighbors Yan and Zhu Jue had grown up with remained.

"Yeah, this year the residents pooled funds for a big cleanup—repainting the walls, checking fire hazards, stuff like that. After all, most of the grandparents here are getting on in years," Tan Xiaobao explained.

Yan nodded. Back when Ning University assigned these apartments to professors, there had never been any property management, let alone now—everything was handled collectively.

Over the years, nearly every unit in the complex had been renovated, with accessibility and elderly-friendly features added.

The old building had six floors, with just two large units per floor.

Yan and Zhu Jue’s families lived on the fifth floor, while Aunt Tan’s was on the fourth.

"This year, I’m donating elevators to this complex no matter what. They’re getting installed—technical difficulties be damned," Tan Dabao declared, panting as he reached the fifth floor with his box.

Yan chuckled. "It’s not that elevators are too expensive—it’s the retrofitting that’s the problem."

On the fifth floor, both families’ security doors bore identical red-paper couplets, though the handwriting differed.

By now, the doors were already open.

"We could hear you from inside!"

"Dabao, Xiaobao, why’d you have to wait downstairs in this freezing weather?"

Yan’s mother, Yu Feiwan, stood at the doorway in just a thin shirt, four pairs of slippers already laid out.

Her short, curly hair framed a no-nonsense face, one hand on her hip, her smoky voice teasing as she watched the four of them step inside.

Luggage was left by the door, backpacks shrugged off.

As Yan and Zhu Jue shed their down jackets, they noticed everyone’s eyes on them.

"You’ve lost weight!"

"Look how thin these kids are! Must’ve shrunk from the cold down south. A couple months back home with the heating, and they’ll plump right up."

"Mom!" Yan groaned.

"I gained two pounds, Jue gained three—we didn’t lose a single ounce!"

Yu Feiwan immediately scoffed. "Impossible! Yang, what do you think?"

Zhu Yang stepped forward, pinching Yan’s cheeks before agreeing. "Of course she’s thinner! Our girl’s face is practically sunken in."

"Son, have you grown taller again?" Zhu Yang eyed Zhu Jue’s height skeptically.

"One centimeter, Mom," Zhu Jue admitted.

Faced with their mothers’ insistence that they’d lost weight, Yan and Zhu Jue could only exchange resigned glances.

Fine. There’s a kind of thinness only your mother can see.

After changing out of their outdoor pants and washing their hands, they leaned against the radiator, letting the warmth seep in until they adjusted to the indoor heat.

The living room coffee table had been pushed aside, replaced by a fully extended round dining table laden with steaming dishes. The two fathers bustled in the kitchen, but Yan and Zhu Jue barely got a "Hi, Dad" out before being shooed to the sofa.

"Kids stay out of the kitchen—sit and wait," Aunt Tan chided, herding them away.

"I’m kinda hungry," Yan admitted, rubbing her stomach.

No sooner had she spoken than two small bowls of noodles appeared before them.

Tan Dabao and Xiaobao materialized at their sides, chopsticks already in hand.

"Freshly cooked by Father Yan."

"‘Dumplings when leaving, noodles when returning,’" Tan Xiaobao recited cheerfully, grinning.

Now indoors and free of her fluffy hat, her youthful face glowed with vitality. Yan couldn’t resist pinching her cheeks.

Ah, that softness—how she’d missed it.

"Jie! I’m not a kid anymore! I’ll be seventeen this New Year!" Tan Xiaobao protested, her big eyes full of exasperation.

Yan stuck out her tongue playfully. "Heh."

Seizing the chance, Xiaobao poked Yan’s cheek, only for Yan to retaliate by tickling her ribs.

"No respect for your elders!"

"Ack! Jie, jiejie, I surrender!" Xiaobao squealed, squirming away.

The girls dissolved into giggles while Dabao huddled with Zhu Jue over something on his phone. The three mothers watched fondly.

The room was thick with warmth, the kitchen’s sizzling aromas weaving through the air.

With the kids home, the house truly felt alive again.

From tiny children to adults now taller than their parents—time had flown, but in their elders’ eyes, they’d always be their babies.

"Okay, okay, jie, eat your noodles before they get soggy. Just a little to tide you over."

Yan sat up, and she and Zhu Jue dutifully took a few bites.

"Just a few bites" meant exactly that—a symbolic couple of mouthfuls. Coming home wasn’t complete without this ritual; skipping it would’ve felt off.

After roughhousing with Xiaobao, Yan was flushed, her forehead damp. She ruffled her hair, overheating.

"Mom, is the heating stronger this year?" she asked, tugging at her sweater. Unlike her mother’s light attire, she hadn’t dared strip down too much, wary of the temperature shock.

Zhu Jue gently gathered her hair, swiftly twisting it into a neat bun.

"It’s so warm—must be like 25 or 26 degrees in here," Yan sighed, half-sprawled against Jue with her legs draped over Xiaobao’s lap, basking in her human cushions.

"Home really is best," Zhu Jue murmured.

"Temperature’s the same as always. You two just got used to freezing in Bin City," Yu Feiwan retorted.

"Bin University should’ve added more heaters in the dorms," she grumbled.

Since the kids had chosen their college, she couldn’t blame them—only the school.

"Right, right," Dabao chimed in.

"At our University of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, any reasonable request gets approved."

Yan felt a stab of envy. Both top-tier schools, yet worlds apart in comfort.

Sure, her dorm had AC, but an extra heater would’ve been heavenly.

"Dabao, fetch me strawberries," Yan ordered shamelessly.

"At your service, Your Highness," Dabao deadpanned, eyeing the two trapped under her before obediently heading for the fruit.

The household hierarchy was clear. After years of this, they’d all accepted their roles.

The fruit had been washed earlier; Dabao merely retrieved it from the coffee table.

At that moment, he deliberately sat on the floor holding a fruit bowl filled with freshly washed strawberries, cherries, and blueberries.

"Your Highness, need me to feed you?"

"Just hold the bowl, my loyal fruit bearer." Yan casually bestowed a title upon him.

Tan Dabao, the newly dubbed "fruit bearer," raised the bowl with one hand.

Nearby, Madam Yu covered half her face with her hand—these kids were too ridiculous to watch.

As for her own daughter’s smug, domineering expression… Well, it wasn’t entirely her and her husband’s doing.

Yan picked up a strawberry and fed everyone one by one, only managing to eat a single one herself before the fathers called them to the table with dishes in hand.

"Save the fruit for after dinner. Kids, come eat!"

Yan’s parents and Zhu Jue’s parents were two completely different couples in temperament, yet their dynamics as spouses were strikingly similar.

Yan’s mother, Yu Feiwan, was an only child born in the Northeast during the 1970s. Straightforward and strong-willed, she was the backbone of the family. At home, Mother Yan gave the orders, and Father Yan obeyed with a smile, carrying out her instructions without question.

Zhu Jue’s mother, Zhu Yang, was from the Jiangnan region, speaking softly yet with unwavering firmness. In their household, her word was law. Zhu Jue took after his father—steady and dependable in everything.

Now, at the dining table, Yan and Zhu Jue watched helplessly as the food piled higher and higher in their bowls. They endured it.

"Ugh, this is too much. I can’t finish all this," Yan whined.

"Eat more! You’re too thin. Come on, hurry up," her mother urged.

Yan sighed. It wasn’t like she couldn’t serve herself—the lazy Susan was right there!

She didn’t even have to roll her own stir-fried vegetables or Peking-style shredded pork—Father Yan had already wrapped them for her.

Steaming braised dishes and sour cabbage rib soup waited in separate bowls, ready for her to taste.

Coming home was like reverting to childhood—no need to lift a finger, just open her mouth and clothes would magically appear on her.

The two were genuinely hungry, but they ate slowly, answering questions from the adults and their younger siblings between bites.

"Roommates? They’re all great. Oh—I forgot to tell Brother Xiao we arrived," Yan suddenly remembered.

She’d been too excited upon getting home and completely neglected to update him.

"I already messaged him," Zhu Jue said, placing a generous piece of braised ribbonfish into her bowl.

"Good." Yan relaxed. It was almost 8 PM—if they hadn’t checked in, Brother Xiao might’ve thought something had happened.

The two briefly introduced their roommates—where they were from, their majors, and so on.

Zhu Jue mentioned Chu Shen in passing, and none of the parents raised any objections.

"We can’t let the poor kid spend the New Year alone. Invite him to come before the holidays—let him enjoy Ning City properly. We Communists don’t believe in that feudal superstition nonsense," Mother Yan declared with a wave.

"It’s not like we don’t have space, but he might feel awkward around us. If he visits, you two can stay out with him. The houses were bought together—there’s plenty of room," Mother Zhu added.

With the heads of both households having spoken, Yan and Zhu Jue nodded—only to notice their younger siblings stealthily observing them.

"Brother—"

"Sis—"

"Can you take us with you when you go out?"

They were practically seventeen, nearly adults.

Yet these two geniuses, revered by outsiders, now gazed at Yan and Zhu Jue like cats and dogs reunited with long-lost owners, desperate to cling to them.

Under the pitiful stares of the teens, Yan and Zhu Jue caved.

"We’ll see. He might not come at a fixed time, and we’re home now anyway," Yan soothed.

"Aren’t you two supposed to be at school over winter break for research?" Zhu Jue asked.

"Brother, you’re so cruel! Half a year apart, and this is what you bring up? Trying to send me back already?" Tan Dabao lamented dramatically.

Yan and Zhu Jue: "..."

Damn. They didn’t even have kids yet, but here they were, already experiencing the guilt-tripping.

"Alright, enough. Tan Dabao, reel it in. Where did you even learn this?" Aunt Tan cut in.

With her fair, almost translucent skin, Aunt Tan looked like a full-time comedian as she exaggeratedly rubbed her arms. "I’m getting goosebumps. Let Yan and Zhu Jue rest for a couple days—they just got back."

"Sis, I wanna sleep with you tonight," Tan Xiaobao whispered, poking Yan.

Yan looked at her, then sighed. "Fine, fine. We’ll share."

Her 1.5-meter bed had accommodated both of them since they were little.

Meanwhile, Tan Dabao stared expectantly at Zhu Jue, who calmly scooped a spoonful of crispy meatballs for Yan before meeting his gaze.

"You take the floor," Zhu Jue said.

"Yessir!" Tan Dabao immediately saluted.

Aunt Tan shook her head in amusement. "Unbelievable. You two just spoil them."

But as she watched the four, her eyes brimmed with warmth.

When Yan couldn’t finish her food, someone naturally took over. Madam Yu sighed nostalgically.

"Old Yan, how many years has it been since you’ve eaten someone’s leftovers?"

Yan shot her mother an indignant look. Leftovers? Really?!

"This is called thriftiness. Clean Plate Campaign, ever heard of it?" she argued righteously.

Father Yan smiled without comment, while Zhu Yang picked up the thread, teasing her own husband:

"Father Zhu was exactly the same back then. Never said he was still hungry when we ate out—just waited for me to leave something so he could finish it."

"I almost thought he couldn’t afford food, so I started ordering extra."

"Then people started calling him a freeloader and a gold-digger."

Father Zhu set down his teacup leisurely. After a thoughtful pause, the tall man spoke: "That gold-digging life was pretty good, though."

The parents’ banter drew quiet laughter from the younger ones. The women relocated to the living room sofa while the men handled cleanup. Yan led Tan Xiaobao to her room.

After meticulously wiping down the suitcase wheels with disinfectant wipes and a cloth, Tan Xiaobao sat on the bed, watching Yan swiftly unpack.

"Sis, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‍after you and Brother Zhu Jue left for Bin University, Uncle and Auntie were gloomy for days. You could tell they were really down."

"It got so bad we didn’t even want to come home—worried we’d make it worse," Tan Xiaobao admitted, hugging her knees.

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"You make it sound like something terrible happened to us," Yan said.

"Even in high school, Zhu Jue and I only came back every week or two. It wasn’t this bad, was it?"

"Well, you don’t get it. People in the compound kept asking if you two had a falling out with the family—why else would you skip Ning University for Bin City?"

"Uncle and Auntie just said they respected your choices, that you wanted to explore. But some folks refused to believe it, thought they were just saving face," Tan Xiaobao explained.

"Bin City’s nice, though. Totally different vibe from Ning City. Just… winter sucks," Yan mused.

Yan and Zhu Jue had decided long before the college entrance exams that they wouldn’t attend university in Ning City. They had long prepared their parents for this, so all four parents had already accepted it as a settled matter.

Since childhood, once they made a decision, they never changed it. Their parents had never tried to persuade them otherwise—never said how nice it would be to study close to home, surrounded by familiar neighbors, or even to skip dorm life and return home after classes.

When Yan and Zhu Jue informed them of their college applications and eventual acceptances, their parents’ attitude remained consistent: “That’s great. Go wherever you want.”

At the time, Yan was still lost in the relief of finally leaving Ning City—a place of endless gossip and drama. And given how their parents had always given them freedom—like when they turned down their high school’s affiliated program to attend a private school on scholarship, surely causing their parents some gossip—they never brought up staying closer to home or criticized Bin City as lesser. No endless nagging, no repetition—just their usual respect for their children’s choices.

“I think it’s good to experience different places, different atmospheres. Let people talk. We know our own business best,” Yan said, though her heart felt heavy.

Most of the next eight years would be spent in Bin City. With their parents busy with research projects, academic trips, and mentoring students even during holidays, Yan realized the time she had left with them was dwindling.

She pulled open her desk drawer. The desk surface was spotless, the freshly organized closet carried a faint scent of freshness, the floor gleamed without a speck of dirt, the bedsheets were soft, and the electric blanket was already warming the covers. Even the humidifier beside the bed had been filled in advance.

Yan sniffed lightly. *This* was home.

*Knock, knock, knock—* A sound came from the door.

“Can I come in now?” Zhu Jue’s voice asked.

“Come in,” Yan called.

She saw Zhu Jue and Da Bao enter—one carrying a fruit platter and snacks, the other holding a warmed bottle of sweet almond milk.

On the floor of Yan’s room sat a *kotatsu*, a square heated table just spacious enough for four people to sit around with their legs tucked underneath.

As the door opened, Yan heard her mother’s infectious laughter from outside, though she had no idea what the adults were chatting about.

Her eyes curved into crescents as she accepted the blueberry Zhu Jue fed her. Her legs were warm, and so was her heart.

“Wanna play cards? *Si Yao Si*? Or *Dou Dizhu*?” Tan Xiaobao suggested.

Yan shook her head solemnly. Playing cards with two geniuses was asking for trouble. Though she and Zhu Jue could automatically memorize cards, for Da Bao and Xiao Bao, it was effortless—just a glance, no brainpower needed.

“IMO training is about to start. Let’s solve some problems together?” Da Bao proposed again.

Yan and Zhu Jue: “…”

“There’s a tiny possibility,” Yan said flatly, “that I’m a humanities student who’s never touched the IMO.”

Right now, she didn’t want to talk to someone who had won the *International Mathematical Olympiad*.

A gathering where the entertainment was solving IMO problems or casually writing decryption software—she hadn’t experienced that in half a year.

The gap between herself and true geniuses… it was nostalgic, yet tragic.

“Let’s just watch a drama or variety show,” Yan declared, decisively pressing the projector screen’s switch. She and Xiao Bao settled against the pillows on the bed.

For ordinary people, gatherings meant eating together, sitting around watching TV, and laughing at outrageous moments.

Since it was finals season and Yan didn’t watch much TV normally, she scrolled through her phone for the latest shows.

She considered: a mystery variety show would have Da Bao pointing out plot holes and calling it stupid; a singing competition would have Xiao Bao nitpicking the vocal tuning; a slapstick comedy would just make them cringe. Finally, she picked a supposedly wholesome and fun travel show.

But the moment the show started, the cast began arguing. Yan silently paused it.

She took a deep breath. “Let’s not watch this. How about a video from one of our friends?”

“That travel vlogger we met through the Extreme Riders team.”

Tan Xiaobao immediately lit up. “Ka Ka! Travel Ka Ka! Manager Li and President Qin mentioned her to us!”

“Ka Ka… I’m so jealous she gets to travel with my sister and brother,” Tan Dabao said, his tone dripping with exaggerated envy.

Yan and Zhu Jue: “…”

*Dabao, since when did you get so… dramatic?*

*We only met her once. What’s there to be jealous about?*

“Yeah, I envy that Ka Ka gets to travel after graduation too,” Yan deliberately sidestepped, steering the conversation away.

Tan Dabao pouted, pretending nothing had happened.

With the lights off for the projector, Yan stopped leaning against the wall. She draped herself over the edge of the bed, arms looping around Zhu Jue’s neck, her chin resting on his shoulder.

Xiao Bao, meanwhile, flopped onto his twin brother, playfully tormenting the sibling born just two minutes before him.

“Xiao Bao, massage my back! Feels good!”

“Ow ow ow!”

Yan reached out and flicked Tan Dabao’s forehead before retreating lightning-fast.

“Ack!” Dabao yelped in mock pain.

Xiao Bao burst into laughter.

“Xiao Bao, you sneak-attacked me!”

“Wasn’t me!”

“It was *definitely* you!”

Yan buried her face against Zhu Jue’s shoulder, shaking with laughter. In the darkness, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

The nape of his neck was burning hot. Her hands, dangling down, were enveloped in his larger ones, fingers interlacing tightly.

“Dabao, in a couple days we’re visiting a friend’s kitten. Wanna come?” Yan asked softly.

The wrestling siblings instantly replied in unison: “Obviously! We’re both going.”

“Fine, fine,” Zhu Jue grumbled, his voice hoarse as if the two had given him a headache. *What’s the difference between this and babysitting toddlers?*

“Alright, settle down. Let’s watch the video,” Yan—the instigator of all this—cleared her throat.

The room quieted instantly, leaving only the pixel-art avatar of Ka Ka on the screen.

The animated Ka Ka sat by the window of a green train, snow blanketing the outside world. As the train rumbled forward, tracks of snow stretched behind it.

**[Travel Ka Ka]:** *[Riding the Snow Country Express, I saw forests buried in white—this is winter in the Northeast.]*