TPIL - EXTRA 1

Qi Xiaochuan never believed in nonsense like “If you don’t succeed, you become a martyr.” He had long forgotten the names of his biological parents, making him a modern-day version of Sun Wukong born from a stone.

His adoptive parents, however, were good people. They provided him with a nurturing environment to grow up in, simply hoping he would attend a decent university, find a decent job, marry a decent wife, live a decent life, and become an average man content with scraping by at sixty percent effort.

But they never expected their child to have such strong convictions from a young age. By middle school, he was already earning money by collecting phones at school. In high school, he brought home earnings from patent fees that equaled a year’s income of his father. And as for college—well, there was no need to even mention it.

While his peers were still enjoying the last bits of campus life before entering society, during the Lunar New Year, Qi Xiaochuan received two red envelopes from his parents as a token gesture, only to reciprocate by gifting them the property deed.

For a long time, Luo Andi neither knew nor cared about any of this.

She was born just a few minutes earlier than her younger brother.

In an era when test-tube babies and other forms of artificial intervention in pregnancy were not yet popular, having a pair of dragon-phoenix twins was enough to spark conversation.

Mrs. Luo took great pride in this.

Though she didn’t go so far as to boast, “What a fruitful womb I have,” like in feudal TV dramas, it was indeed a joyous occasion.

Especially in a family like theirs.

A son was someone who could carry on the family name, the hope of the family, and the first heir to the family fortune.

Of course, daughters were also good.

Also.

When Luo Chuishun was born, routine intelligence tests were conducted, and the results immediately caught the attention of the medical staff.

Later, when he entered kindergarten and was compared with other children, his exceptional talent became impossible to hide. He skipped several grades in elementary and middle school and eventually became a teenage college student.

He was so outstanding that he surpassed the category of “other people's children.” When adults mentioned him, they would never dare compare him to their own kids.

After all, even adults couldn’t match his intelligence if they tried.

Whether it was a flaw or a stroke of luck, Luo Andi, his twin sister who shared the same DNA, wasn’t particularly smart.

As the American animated series put it, girls are made of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Mr. Luo’s parenting philosophy had always been, “Raise sons frugally, raise daughters generously.”

Since Luo Andi was born a girl, many issues didn’t need to be considered. She could rely on her father and brother, and the family business had nothing to do with her.

Her future lay in marrying into a good family—that would be her destiny.

Since she was a girl, she could happily wear dresses, hug dolls, watch TV, and eat cream cakes.

Luo Andi had the fortunate self-awareness to recognize her role.

She had never carried any expectations, and thus had never borne any pressure.

Everything about her lifestyle—food, clothing, housing, and transportation—was the best, even surpassing what her brother received.

Mr. Luo placed great importance on broadening his children’s horizons and cultivating their hobbies. He often took the two of them golfing, tea tasting, and visiting museums.

In some activities, Luo Andi performed better than Luo Chuishun. When she was younger and didn’t know better, she had thoughts of trying to attract more attention from her parents than her brother.

Naturally, she chose to play to her strengths, seeking approval in areas where she excelled.

Tea art and flower arrangement, skiing and ice dancing, violin and ballet.

And indeed, she received praise.

But the reality was far from what she had imagined.

Mr. Luo praised her profusely.

Before she could even feel elated, her father added another sentence: “It’s good for girls to cultivate themselves, but boys can’t afford to waste time like this.”

Her parents had treated her well enough.

The local customs of treating boys and girls differently were infamous nationwide—patriarchal values, dowries given to married-off daughters, and similar ideas ran rampant.

In comparison, Mr. and Mrs. Luo were already very good parents.

Even after starting elementary school, Luo Chuishun and Luo Andi often slept together.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have separate bedrooms—it was just that they were used to being with each other.

The nanny hired to take care of them was an elderly woman who resembled the Bernese Mountain Dog character in Disney’s Peter Pan —the one wearing a maid’s cap, using her mouth to carry children to their cribs, tucking them in, and acting as a “nurse.”

She often felt drowsy and could fall asleep leaning against the door, even snoring softly at times.

Luo Andi and Luo Chuishun would often secretly giggle, then use this opportunity to climb onto one of their beds, set up a checkers board, or read an English comic book together.

They would gently bump heads, eat scones with cranberries in the middle, and laugh quietly, trying to suppress their giggles.

If someone had asked Luo Chuishun back then why he—someone who could already understand A Brief History of Time , effortlessly identify the constellation Orion, and build an AC generator at home—still played childish games with his sister like a regular kid, he would have confidently replied that it was one of the rare moments when he still felt like a child.

Adults didn’t like them sticking together.

Their father and mother were good to them—better than most parents.

But more than anything else, they disliked it when their children acted without boundaries.

A boy should act like a boy, and a girl should act like a girl.

Luo Andi could be willful and spoiled. She could make mistakes, but she couldn’t hold Luo Chuishun back.

“I know you’re twins, and you’re naturally closer to each other than other siblings.

But,” their mother privately told Luo Andi, “Chuishun often goes out with your father for business gatherings and learns a lot about the company.

He needs to grow into a man.

And you also have things you need to learn.

The most important thing for a girl is to be gentle, understanding, and likable. That’s what matters most.

You two are different, do you understand?”

Luo Andi and Luo Chuishun were forced to grow up.

They each had roles they needed to fulfill, even if no one wanted to.

Middle schooler Luo Chuishun consoled her: “We’re who we are. Adults always try to control kids, but we just need to pretend to listen while secretly staying unaffected.

Do you know what ‘hypocrisy’ means?”

Elementary schooler Luo Andi puffed up her cheeks and replied, “Of course I do.

I definitely know what ‘hypocrisy’ means.”

In the traditional model of “men handling the outside, women managing the inside,” the responsibilities of women extended beyond household chores to social settings.

Building relationships was an obligation for accomplished women. Being personable was a necessary skill, and not offending others while earning their favor was an honor akin to receiving a medal.

Luo Andi likely had a natural talent for this.

Her appearance, speech, and innate demeanor certainly played a significant role. But in her own view, Luo Andi believed that winning people over wasn’t particularly difficult.

This secret, however, she never shared with anyone, nor did she often think about it herself.

Everyone craves to be treated gently—some are better at hiding it, while others are more straightforward.

Kindness is a virtue.

This was the most important lesson Luo Andi learned in life.

She was always surrounded by many, many people.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful and came from a wealthy family—it was also because she welcomed everyone and treated all with kindness.

What was most surprising was that the majority of friends who came into her circle would become calmer, shedding their hostility and becoming more accepting of others.

Rather than saying gentleness was contagious, it might be better to say that deep down, perhaps everyone subconsciously still wanted to be a good person. As long as they were with Luo Andi, this desire seemed justified and actionable.

However, there were also those who, after getting close to her, wanted more—even to the point of monopolizing her.

People are greedy, and there is indeed the concept of inherent evil in human nature. Luo Andi had also faced criticism, with the most frequent words being “convenient” and “hypocritical.”

Some found it convenient to ask her for help, while others simply accused her of being pretentious.

Even so, people still flocked to her side in droves.

By the time something seemed off, Luo Chuishun had already entered university, often following his mentor or staying on campus, rarely returning home.

He vaguely felt that his sister was putting on airs too much, but he didn’t offer much commentary.

He was still a novice when it came to growing up. A sharp mind didn’t mean his emotional maturity was extraordinary.

At that time, Luo Chuishun had his own troubles.

The children of his parents’ friends were the closest members around her, forming the first ring of defense in her castle.

They weren’t inherently bad, but having grown up wealthy, raised amidst the deference of many adults, and exposed to extraordinary experiences, they inevitably developed a sense of class consciousness.

They also projected this mindset onto Luo Andi, harboring a budding sense of protectiveness and developing animosity toward outsiders.

It was a warm afternoon.

After a short nap, Luo Andi went downstairs. Friends arrived one after another, setting up tables, chairs, and umbrellas in the garden, doing homework while enjoying snacks.

Luo Andi had already finished her share and was helping others write theirs.

Her fountain pen ran out of ink, and they were waiting for ink to arrive. Meanwhile, some of the “princes and princesses” grew impatient and got up to play.

No matter how expensive their outfits or how high the tuition fees of their private schools, they were still children at heart, playing the simplest game of dodgeball.

No one would throw the ball at Luo Andi, so she was always safe, only needing to smile and follow the person holding the ball with a symbolic turn of her body.

The round ball bathed in sunlight looked golden and radiant from afar.

The golden ball flew out, rolling toward the son of the maid.

They shouted rudely, ordering him to return it.

But Qi Xiaochuan, tactless as ever, failed to grasp the expectation that he should respectfully hand it over himself, instead throwing it back carelessly.

The ball was supposed to hit another child, but he nimbly dodged it, letting out a relieved gasp.

Because of his evasion, the ball struck Luo Andi and then rolled into the pond.

That was their first meeting.

The first time Luo Andi saw Qi Xiaochuan, he was the outsider, while she was surrounded by a group of people.

“The ball fell in.”

Someone asked, “Should we call an adult?”

“There’s no need to bother.

Here.”

Another child tilted their chin, gesturing toward Qi Xiaochuan, who was swallowing nervously. “Just let him get it, right?”

Luo Andi liked his face and expression.

Qi Xiaochuan was always resisting something, looking like he hated compromise.

His appearance matched her fantasy of the rebellious male lead from Titanic , though he was less frivolous and carried a sharper edge.

Without a word, he jumped into the water, startling everyone present.

She was the first to rush to the shore.

Luo Andi wasn’t sure whether she was more worried or more excited at that moment.

Though not particularly intelligent, she had always been more mature than her peers.