"So you're saying you're still useless except for getting fatter?"
Little Hei fell silent for a few seconds. "I wouldn't call this fat..."
"You bastard." After a pause, Fang Zhiyi said, "I think my emotions have stabilized quite a bit."
Little Hei nodded. "Because they stayed in your original body." It offered an analogy, "It's like going out to collect scrap, then coming back home to store it when your bag gets full—something like that."
"..." Fang Zhiyi found it hard to imagine what might happen if he ever returned.
Little Hei noticed his concern. "Relax, when you go back this time, all those emotions will be taken by the satisfied versions of you. Otherwise, why do you think they’re content?"
Slowly opening his eyes, Fang Zhiyi first glanced around his surroundings.
Little Hei's voice sounded in his ear: "Want to see the plot?"
Fang Zhiyi shot it a sidelong glance, only to find it had shrunk into a tiny ball, looking like a fly.
"You..."
"The Heavenly Dao of this world is a bit too fierce. Better lay low when you can't win." Little Hei knew when to bend. "So, wanna see the plot or not?"
"Obviously. How else would I know which story this is?"
A segment of the plot flooded his mind.
Fang Jianguo and his wife Chen Meihua were famously kind-hearted. Fang Jianguo worked as an office clerk at a modest company, while Chen Meihua held a clerical job at a factory. They shared one defining trait: a love for doing good deeds. They had met during one such act of kindness and later married, raising three children—their eldest son Fang Xiao, second son Fang Yang, and youngest daughter Fang Yue.
On paper, such a family should have been the envy of many. But reality told a different story.
Fang Jianguo and Chen Meihua were renowned for their generosity. If an elderly neighbor fell ill, they rushed to buy medicine or arrange medical care. If a tenant couldn’t pay rent, they willingly lent money. But their charity grew so vast that their own children could barely endure it.
After receiving gratitude from visitors and minor media coverage, the couple resolved to expand their goodwill further. They were no longer satisfied with small acts like online fundraising or helping elderly neighbors air their quilts.
Chen Meihua’s social media was perpetually filled with screenshots of donations to struggling students, care packages delivered to impoverished families, and thank-you letters—all showered with likes and praise. This validation left them both glowing with satisfaction.
Fang Xiao, in the midst of his most demanding academic year—11th grade—approached his parents with a payment slip in hand. "Dad, Mom, the school needs the materials and tutoring fees next week. It’s 800 yuan total." His head hung low, his voice barely audible, as if he already knew the outcome.
Chen Meihua didn’t look up, busy folding a nearly new men’s shirt. "Got it. Go finish your homework. We’ll figure out the money."
Fang Jianguo, however, paid no attention to his son. Instead, he sighed while staring at his phone. "Ah, Meihua, look—this college student’s father is seriously ill. The kid’s working part-time while taking care of his family. How heartbreaking."
Chen Meihua leaned over to look, her eyes soon welling with tears. "So tragic. Should we donate to him?"
Fang Jianguo pondered. "We should give more. Otherwise, it won’t be enough to help."
Fang Xiao’s grip tightened on the crumpled slip. Only then did Fang Jianguo notice him. "Why are you still standing there? Go study. I promised Uncle Lin you’d tutor his daughter later."
They didn’t just perform good deeds themselves—they constantly demanded their children follow suit.
Only the youngest, Fang Yue, idolized them, thrilled when classmates and teachers praised her parents as "good people."
Fang Xiao never handed in the fee. When his teacher questioned him, he mumbled that his family couldn’t afford it yet. On his way out, he overheard the teacher mutter, "They’re doing charity in this financial state? Can’t even take care of themselves! How absurd."
Fang Xiao’s face burned with shame.
Returning home, he tried asking for the money again but overheard his parents talking.
"...Did you transfer that 2,000 yuan?" his mother asked.
"Done. They just texted their thanks—said it came just in time," his father replied, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "That kid’s had it rough. We did a good thing."
"Yeah," his mother sighed. "But what about Xiaoxiao’s tuition... Maybe I’ll ask the teacher for an extension tomorrow?"
"Go ahead. It’s our own kid—the teacher will understand. Helping others is more urgent. He’ll manage. He’s sensible."
"They’re sensible"—this was Fang Jianguo and Chen Meihua’s mantra. As if being "their own children" meant they should inherently understand their parents’ "greater love" and always yield to their "noble acts."
Fang Yang fared no better. When his school required new uniforms, he pleaded for days before his parents half-heartedly agreed. But the money never came. Instead, he watched his mother return home, beaming, with a large bag of brand-new clothes—for a struggling tenant who had just moved into their neighborhood. Among the items were women’s coats, seemingly more generously chosen than anything she’d ever bought him.
He opened his mouth to ask about his uniform money, but under his mother’s reproachful gaze—"How can you be so selfish? They need it more than we do"—he swallowed his words. In the end, he wore his faded old uniform, sitting silently in a corner while his classmates flaunted their crisp new ones.
Little Fang Yue once came home near tears, begging for a cartoon backpack like her desk mate’s. Chen Meihua hugged her gently. "Sweetheart, I know you want it. But remember that child on the news? The one who carried books in a plastic bag because she had no backpack? Let’s save our money to buy her one instead, okay? You’re a good girl—you’ll agree, won’t you?"
Fang Yue didn’t fully understand, but her chest ached with unfairness. Why did that stranger’s backpack matter more than hers? She craved the praise of being a "good girl," not endless demands to "be sensible" and "step aside." Yet under her mother’s hopeful gaze, she nodded faintly, as if grasping something unspoken.
The tragedy struck on a frigid night.
Years of malnutrition and anxiety had left one child’s body frail. Shivering under a threadbare blanket during the temperature drop, he spiked a fever by morning.
Chen Meihua took him to a nearby clinic, where the doctor warned it might be pneumonia and urged hospitalization. But she hesitated.