As a day student, I was anything but a quiet ghost drifting unnoticed through the hallways.

For starters, right at the beginning of high school, I threw my hat into the ring and ran for class president. Before the academic tracks were split, my grades consistently hovered in the top fifty of the entire grade, while locking down the number one spot in the standard class. Whenever a competition popped up, if there was a sign-up sheet, my name was guaranteed to be on it. Even in a school crawling with academic monsters, I was considered a force to be named.

While most high schoolers boarded on campus, I carried my breakfast from home into the classroom every single morning. The breakfast cooked by my uncle compared to the cafeteria food was like night and day—one was paradise, the other was pure survival mode.

Bit by bit, my entire class began placing orders with me as their unofficial “breakfast agent,” and before long, kids from the neighboring class were sneaking over to place orders, too. Seeing this trend take off, my uncle immediately hired a courier dedicated exclusively to delivering hot morning meals to students on campus, before giving me a stern, no-nonsense warning:

“I’ll handle the business side of things. You just focus on studying. Understood?”

When I came home in the evening, he hired private tutors to coach me in my weaker subjects. No matter how packed the diner got, my four daily meals were served with the lavish precision of a five-star hotel spread. As for commuting—no matter how busy he was, he always personally rode his bike to pick me up and drop me off at school. On the way home, he’d listen to me chatter about school drama, occasionally tossing in a few gems of “life philosophy.”

Time flowed on, quiet and unhurried, yet subtly changing everything in its wake. By the second semester of my sophomore year, I successfully earned a spot in the elite STEM honors class, ranking first in the entire grade.

During those days, I fell in love with a few lines from our Political Science textbook: “The path toward the future is bright yet winding.” “Development is an upward spiral.” “Quantitative changes lead to qualitative transformation.” I studied, ground through practice exams, made mistakes, corrected them, and studied again… until my pens ran dry and my textbooks looked battered by life itself.

The day the College Entrance Exam results were released, I finally understood what “qualitative transformation” truly felt like.

My uncle’s hands trembled violently as if he’d just hit the ultimate lottery jackpot. Seeing the final score, a fully grown man burst into tears, weeping even louder than I did. Ms. Lee came rushing over to our house, her face ghostly pale because she assumed I’d failed. But after staring at the score report, she froze on the spot for three full seconds.

The next thing I knew, my uncle and Ms. Lee were sobbing in each other’s arms like long-lost relatives reunited after a tragedy.

Unable to take the racket any longer, a neighbor poked his head out the window and hollered, “Is somebody dead in there?! What’s with all the damn crying?!”

My uncle snapped right back without missing a beat: “What do you know?! My girl got a 690! A 690! Tsinghua, Peking University—she can pick whichever the hell she wants!”

Ms. Lee wasn’t about to be outdone, either, shouting at the top of her lungs: “That’s right! That’s my student! Bui Chi is MY student! I finally have my moment of glory!”

I stood there watching the two of them, silently thinking: Yep, they’ve both officially lost their minds.

The neighbor popped his head out one more time, his voice instantly dropping three octaves into sheer reverence. “Well… congratulations, then…”

…

In the high-stakes tug-of-war between top universities trying to recruit me, I chose Peking University.

During the summer after submitting my college preferences, my uncle handed the diner’s management over to a trusted team and took me straight to Beijing. We went sightseeing, gorged on local food, and toured the campus.

He even tossed out the idea of opening a new diner in Beijing. Hearing that, I nodded like a woodpecker.

“I’m all for it! I don’t want to be away from you anyway!”

I casually added, “My high school classmate—the provincial top scorer—is also moving up to Beijing for college. His family is actually relocating their entire business base up there, too.”

My uncle heard that and instantly dropped the gavel. “Then our family is moving, too!”

I blinked, thoroughly stunned. “…I was just making conversation?”

But he wasn’t joking. And just like that, because of a random offhand remark of mine, our entire household began prepping for a move to the capital.

I looked at my uncle, feeling a swell of warmth tangled with amusement. After all, Beijing was the city where he’d spent half his youth…

Suddenly, a sharp pinch zapped my cheek. “Bui Chi, what ridiculous thoughts are running through your head again?”

I winced, startled. “Huh? I wasn’t thinking about anything…”

My uncle shot me a look that plainly said he saw right through me.

“There’s nothing to feel nostalgic about. Without you, that place is just another ordinary city. Wherever you are, that’s home.”

Pausing for a beat, he added with a casual shrug, “Though if there’s really anyone I’d hate to leave behind… Old Lee might be the only one who counts.”

My lips twitched. “Uncle, Ms. Lee has a husband and kids. Don’t go getting weird ideas.”

Before the words were fully out of my mouth, my ear was pinched. “Bui Chi! What kind of filthy thoughts are bouncing around inside that brain of yours?!”

Ah, yes. The heartwarming moment lasted for a whole… three seconds.

…

Just as I’d predicted, my uncle’s new diner in Beijing was packed beyond belief. Once he locked in a steady base of regular customers, he opened a few more branches near the major university campuses. Cheap, delicious, and spotless—it was the ultimate unicorn spot in Beijing.

Whenever I dropped by to help out, I’d even spot international students checking in on social media, nodding enthusiastically as they ate. “Delicious… very delicious…”

Looking at the mounting digits in my uncle’s bank account, I still felt like I was living in a dream. I used to think I was just an ordinary kid from a working-class background—who knew that as time went on, I’d end up becoming a literal rich heiress?

A year later, my uncle bought a house in Beijing. The name printed on the red title deed: mine. This had originally been part of his long-term plan, but the timeline got drastically accelerated. The reason… was fairly simple: I started secretly dating, and he caught me red-handed.

That day, my boyfriend—Lam Thua Dich—was walking me home, right when my uncle happened to be stepping out to throw away the trash. After a few minutes of “gentle, friendly conversation” between the two men, we officially went public.

Fortunately, Lam Thua Dich wasn’t a stranger; he was the older brother of Lam Ngon Hoan, my high school classmate. Since our families were already acquainted, everything went smoothly. My uncle studied him for a long moment before giving a firm nod. “He’ll do.”

And just like that: my future house, car, and life plan were signed off in one single review. My uncle said something that night that burned itself into my memory forever:

“I want you to have your own home in Beijing so you never have to walk on eggshells for anyone. The ‘Chi’ in your name means ‘blessing.’ So your life needs to be a good one.”

I didn’t know what the future held. But in that moment, I believed him with my whole heart.

…

During my senior year of college, my wedding with Lam Thua Dich was being lavishly prepped by both families. A week before graduation, Ms. Lee called me, her voice hesitant over the line. “Your biological parents… are loitering around the old house.”

I went quiet for a few seconds.

Ms. Lee had done some digging and found out that during my senior year, both of them had been dumped by their wealthy partners. One was tossed out by her rich husband when he grew tired of her; the other was kicked to the curb by his heiress wife.

Hearing the news, I only felt a deep sense of irony. What was the point of coming back to look for me now? I couldn’t comprehend it, but they were probably out of options and had nowhere else to go. Just to be safe and settle things once and for all, I decided to make a trip back myself.

The moment Lam Ngon Hoan heard about it, she raised her hand to volunteer. “I’m coming with you! I have plenty of experience dealing with this brand of parental trash!”

Before leaving, I even printed out a full set of legal severance documents. Ms. Lee advised over the phone, “Don’t rush it. Rest up at the hotel for two days before you meet them.”

I agreed.

Two days later, Lam Ngon Hoan and I pulled up to the old neighborhood. The very first sight that met our eyes was the two of them—hair wild and unkempt, clothes rumpled and filthy.

I gently tugged Lam Ngon Hoan behind me, whispering, “Keep your distance. I’m afraid they’re going to get so worked up they’ll start spitting everywhere.”

The two figures froze the moment their eyes landed on me. After a long, heavy silence, my biological mother’s voice trembled into the air:

“Bui Muoi… you… you’ve grown up to be so tall and beautiful?”