TPIL - 1

Luo Andi grew up reading the foreign classic A Little Princess . Her parents doted on her like a precious gem, holding her so carefully they were afraid she might break, keeping her close for fear she might melt away. They shielded her from hardship all her life, right up until she entered high school.

With her innocent and carefree personality, paired with her resemblance to Charlene Choi’s portrayal of Zilan the Fairy, Luo Andi became the object of admiration wherever she went. In this way, she truly became a princess in every sense of the word.

But this was precisely what Qi Xiaochuan despised most about her.

To be fair, if you put yourself in his shoes, there were countless reasons for him to dislike her. Simply disliking her felt almost too polite.

They had met when they were around eleven or twelve years old. Don’t think only adults are capable of scheming; wherever there are people, there is comparison—even among children. If Luo Andi was the pinnacle of the pyramid, then Qi Xiaochuan was the dust at its base. It would have been fine if their paths never crossed, but fate had it that he repeatedly got dragged into turmoil because of her, suffering more than his share of hardships.

Strictly speaking, though, Qi Xiaochuan wasn’t entirely without affection for her—he just didn’t dare show it. After all, whether his family could eat depended on hers.

Qi Xiaochuan’s father was a humorous and cheerful old man who used to drive for an employer who was later investigated and imprisoned, never to return. After two years of unemployment, through connections and after careful consideration, he eventually became Luo Andi’s father’s chauffeur. Not only that, Qi Xiaochuan’s mother also came to work as a housekeeper for the Luo family. The entire Qi family—father, mother, and son—moved into the Luo household.

If this were a fictional story, it would likely follow the plot of Parasite . But reality wasn’t like that.

Mr. Luo was an impeccable good man—there wasn’t even a single bone to pick with him. Qi Xiaochuan’s parents harbored no ulterior motives and were genuinely grateful to Mr. Luo and his wife. Although the two families had an employer-employee relationship, their bond was harmonious beyond words.

It would have been even better if the children could get along just as well.

The first time Qi Xiaochuan met Luo Andi, she was already surrounded by a group of people. He, on the other hand, was an outsider.

And then, she accidentally dropped a ball into the pond.

Under Luo Andi’s gaze, Qi Xiaochuan felt his throat tighten. He was three years older than her, after all.

Then, the children around her began to tease.

Everyone knew he was the child of their hired help, and they surely acted this way because they were aware of it.

“The ball fell in.”

“Who’s going to retrieve it? Should we call an adult?”

“No need for all that trouble. Look.” By the shimmering lake, a young boy of about ten raised his chin, gesturing toward Qi Xiaochuan standing foolishly there. “Why don’t we let him do it?”

The ones who dive into the water to fetch balls aren’t princes or princesses—it’s always the servants and underlings.

Here, he was the sole latter.

Before they could reach a decision, the water splashed.

It was winter, and the lake water was icy cold. While the pampered flowers who had lived in a greenhouse since birth crowded around, the weed that had grown wild in comparison had already climbed out.

Looking back now, even in childhood, Qi Xiaochuan’s approach to life—”speak less, do more,” and “action over words”—had already taken shape.

Drenched and disheveled, his eyes remained calm and resolute as he handed her the ball.

Luo Andi took it and finally spoke the first words to him since their meeting. One couldn’t call it precocious; at most, it was naive, shockingly inappropriate: “When I grow up, can I marry you?”

At that moment, Qi Xiaochuan was still a child and couldn’t suppress his bewilderment: “Huh?”

Later, this became his nightmare.

A very bad nightmare.

That morning, Qi Xiaochuan sat on his bed, lost in thought.

Their family had parted ways with their former employer when Qi Xiaochuan was in his senior year of high school. His father’s friend had formed a fleet, and the stable shifts were much easier than being on call 24/7. When they left, Mr. Luo treated them to a farewell dinner, wishing them well and hoping to stay in touch.

Of course, they never did.

Dreaming suddenly of the past didn’t feel like a good omen.

When he arrived at the office, one of the male employees from the finance department asked, “Did President Qi not sleep well?”

“…”

The subordinate pressed on, making an utterly tactless comment: “Looks like you’re about to have some bad luck.”

Early in the morning, and already unwilling to discuss anything unrelated to work, Qi Xiaochuan found himself contemplating whether firing the guy for being “annoying” would lead to labor arbitration. By the time he reached his office and sat down, his secretary, ever oblivious, brought up the topic again: “Didn’t take your Eszopiclone last night?”

“…I’ve seen reports about its many side effects.”

“That’s true,” the secretary interjected while sorting through documents. “Taking pills all the time isn’t healthy. You’re under too much stress. Maybe try finding a hobby outside of work.”

“This meeting will definitely fail.” He stared at his computer, trying to steer the conversation back to business.

“Which one? Should I ask them to revise it now?” The topic successfully shifted.

During college, unlike his classmates who focused solely on academics, Qi Xiaochuan had sold goods at a stall for a while before diving into women’s fashion online. At one point, his business grew so large that he rented an entire apartment—the ground floor for storage and the upper floors for employees to work and live.

At some point, his mind had become consumed with making money. Perhaps it was because he feared poverty, or maybe it was because he lacked depth. Not intellectual depth—he was academically brilliant, otherwise he wouldn’t have earned a scholarship in his freshman year. But once he discovered how lucrative business could be, he half-abandoned his studies, maintaining the bare minimum GPA while maximizing his earnings.

After graduation, he lost everything in a failed business expansion and had to work for someone else. Less than a year into that job, he partnered with an older friend he’d met at work to start a new venture. In the beginning, he had to do everything himself, even rolling up his sleeves to climb six flights of stairs to install appliances in strangers’ homes. Through hard work, he eventually succeeded, reaching where he was today.

Though financially comfortable and able to provide for his employees’ needs, fulfilling the dreams of his childhood, he still occasionally felt troubled.

Take the current situation, for example.

He had been introduced to his blind date at a dinner with an important client—a person whose presence alone indicated significance. Just as the deal was about to close and he was savoring the rare sense of accomplishment, the client abruptly asked out of nowhere: “Does President Qi have a girlfriend? How about having dinner with my daughter next time?”

Caught off guard, Qi Xiaochuan could only respond politely. Initially, he hoped it was just casual talk, but shortly after the meal ended, the client pushed his daughter’s WeChat contact on him. Since they were business partners, he couldn’t refuse outright, so they arranged a dinner. She turned out to be the kind of girl who suggested absurd things like “Why don’t you eat meat paste?” Her birthday was approaching, and regardless of how he felt, a polite gift was necessary. His secretary dutifully suggested something handmade.

“Too presumptuous,” he shot the idea down, adding sarcastically, “Why don’t I send her a video of my eleventh birthday party?”

“I just saw a handicraft shop downstairs,” the secretary replied, half-joking. Misinterpreting his tone, she assumed he was really considering sacrificing himself for the greater good of their business partnership.

As the elevator doors closed, Qi Xiaochuan vaguely thought to himself—he had never hosted any damn birthday party.

A few years ago, on his birthday, some employees had surprised him by calling him back to the office under the pretense of “lost documents.” Then they screamed “surprise” and showered him with confetti. A sugary cake topped with candles appeared before him, though the candles were far from sanitary.

Expressionless, Qi Xiaochuan’s only response was: “I didn’t authorize you to work overtime.”

Incidentally, the female employee who organized that horrifying event later botched a project and resigned. Back then, their company was far from its current state—they occupied only one floor of an office building. The departing employee came to say goodbye, starting with “Sorry for letting you down.” Busy heading out for dinner, Qi Xiaochuan dismissed her with “I don’t know who you are, nor do I care,” walking away without a second glance. That incident destroyed his image within the company for quite some time.

Birthdays and parties—neither appealed to him. Who even came up with the idea of birthday parties?

Damn it.

That night, he slept poorly again.

First, he dreamed of bankruptcy, then the apocalypse, followed by an alien invasion. Strangers chased him, cursing, “Damn it.” The meaning behind it was unclear—it was madness incarnate.

After his career took off, for a while, he had more and more on his plate. But after a certain point, the workload suddenly decreased, leaving him some free time to focus on personal matters.

In truth, Qi Xiaochuan had no personal life.

He ate when hungry, had no particular favorite foods, dressed neatly enough, unconsciously ran ten kilometers during nightly jogs, didn’t keep pets, knew nothing about music genres, and dismissed any hobbies or leisure activities as unworthy of his time. Aside from his decent looks, he was utterly unremarkable—a thoroughly boring man.

On the weekend, he visited his father.

Old Master Qi, who had once driven for a living, could never have imagined that his son would rise to become someone others called “President Qi.” Now retired, he and his wife spent their days growing vegetables and raising chickens, living leisurely. Occasionally, he reminisced about the past—his fellow drivers, the big and small figures they chauffeured, and Mr. Luo, who had taken such good care of them.

Qi Xiaochuan often brushed these conversations aside with a curt “I don’t remember.” He wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. The past held little importance—it couldn’t be changed, nor was it worth remembering.

After leaving, he decided to head back to the office to get some work done.

Having dismissed his driver early, Qi Xiaochuan walked there. He bought a cup of coffee, only to find it scalding hot. Irritated, he asked for a redo, which meant waiting a few more minutes. Glancing at the time, he grew impatient and turned to leave.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shop with a long line of people outside.

The sign was wooden, and the interior was lit with soft yellow light. The furniture and decor were made of pure cotton, unlike a typical restaurant. Qi Xiaochuan couldn’t help but glance inside, spotting some small crafts scattered about. Observing the customers hunched over their work, he deduced it was the handicraft store he’d heard about.

He was about to walk away when something caught his peripheral vision and pulled him back.

A woman in a beige knitted uniform leaned down to inspect a customer’s decorative piece. She looked up, smiling. Her face overlapped with the nightmare.

Qi Xiaochuan abruptly turned around, colliding with a hurried passerby. Even so, he instinctively stepped back. Across the street, he saw Luo Andi.

The Luo Andi who had caused him endless trouble in his youth. The Luo Andi who, even when he said, “I won’t marry you when I grow up,” still smiled and replied, “Think about it again.” The Luo Andi who had vanished without a trace for so many years.

As if receiving a signal, she suddenly glanced toward the shop window.