My sister, whom I raised, has turned evil after faking her death for three years.

She spoke these words in a very calm tone, as if she had rehearsed them countless times in her mind.

However, the system detected her heart rate and breathing, and those data showed a very subtle fluctuation when she said the words "better person".

In data analysis, this kind of fluctuation has a specific name: [the peak of self-denial pain].

The system remained silent for a long time.

So long that Su Qing thought it would never speak again.

"[Host,]" the system's voice sounded again. This time, a very subtle change seemed to appear in that usually emotionless electronic voice, as if something was slightly warming beneath the cold machine exterior. "[Of all the mysteries in this world, love is the one that is most difficult to quantify and explain.]"

Data analysis can tell you the dependency ratio of a relationship, measure the degree of emotional projection, and break down a person's heartbeat and breathing into countless cold numbers, but love cannot. True love is never measured on any scale.

Some love is like spring rain falling on flower petals, so gentle it leaves no trace.

Some loves are like the deep currents of the ocean, surging silently, only bursting into towering waves when they crash against the rocks.

Love doesn't necessarily conform to anyone's expectations; it only follows its own shape.

[You can say it's inappropriate, you can say it's against the rules, you can say it's not what you imagined,] the system's voice paused, [but you can't deny its existence.]

[But host, your heart—it has already given you the answer.]

Su Qing did not speak.

She sat on the sofa, her gaze fixed on her clenched, white fingertips.

The curtains were blown by the wind, and the spot of light moved back and forth on the coffee table, sliding from the edge of the cup to the side of the remote control, and finally landing on the carpet, slowly dissipating.

She sat there for a very long time.

After a long while, she raised her hand, wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, and then patted her cheeks hard with both hands.

*Slap. Slap.*

The sound was crisp and clear, and it seemed particularly loud in the quiet living room.

"Alright, alright, why think so much..." she muttered, standing up and stretching vigorously. "No matter what, Xiao Ran is still Xiao Ran, and I am still me. I just need to make sure Xiao Ran is alright. As for the rest... we can talk about the rest later."

  

Unbeknownst to Su Qing, a tiny camera was quietly operating within the exquisite chandelier above the living room.

Every word she uttered, every moment of silence she fell, every time she clenched and unclenched her fingers, and every tear that remained in her eyes, all traveled along that invisible signal to the other side of the city.

Jiang Ran sat behind her desk, the laptop screen in front of her displaying a live feed of the living room.

She rested her chin on one hand and placed the other hand on the table, her fingers spread and her fingertips lightly tapping the table.

Her gaze was fixed on the figure curled up on the sofa on the screen, her eyes swirling with emotions that no one else could understand.

When Su Qing asked, "Threatening suicide?", Jiang Ran's fingers stopped.

When the system said, "If she bets wrong, she can come to see you," Jiang Ran lowered her eyes.

When Su Qing said, "How could I hate Xiao Ran?", she suddenly looked up at the screen, and something in her eyes lit up, so bright it was almost blinding.

But when Su Qing said she was "not good enough", Jiang Ran's fingers tightened, her knuckles turned white, and she pressed a shallow mark on the table.

A gloomy look rose between her brows, like dark clouds hanging low before a storm, and a dangerous emotion surged in her eyes.

She is afraid.

She was afraid that if her sister sensed something, she would start thinking about leaving her.

She was afraid that her careful probing would be exposed, afraid that her sister would look at her with a surprised and incomprehensible gaze, afraid that her sister would push her hand away and say, "Xiao Ran, how could you do this?"

What should she do if her sister really wants to leave her?

she does not know.

All she knew was that she couldn't let go, no matter what method she used.

If my sister really wants to leave... then she'll have to resort to another plan.

A solution she never wanted to think about, never wanted to touch.

Because that plan would hurt her sister, and she didn't want to see her sister get hurt, not even in the slightest.

But just as that chilling emotion was about to engulf her completely.

"How could I possibly hate Xiao Ran..."

The older sister's voice came from the laptop's speakers, slightly trembling, but without any hesitation.

Like a gentle hand, it softly parted the dark clouds.

Jiang Ran stared blankly at the screen, watching Su Qing, with red eyes, utter that rebuttal without hesitation, watching her lower her head, clench her fingers, and say that she wasn't good enough, that Xiao Ran deserved better, watching her smile bitterly and say that she couldn't even do elementary school math problems properly.

Jiang Ran knew that her sister was still the same sister.

Her sister is always thinking of her.

But my sister doesn't know.

The older sister had no idea.

Without her sister, she would never be sitting here.

Without her sister, she would still be living in that dilapidated apartment building, being treated as a burden by those so-called "adoptive parents," being abused and bullied, or perhaps already sold off for money.

No sister pulled her out of that hell, no sister shielded her with her frail body, no sister risked her life to protect her... Her life had long since rotted away in that dark, damp building.

It was her older sister's appearance that allowed her to learn and grow.

It was her older sister who made her realize that there is still warmth and light in this world, and that there is someone who will treat her unconditionally well, who will shield her when she is bullied, who will stay up all night by her bedside when she is sick, and who will hold her in his arms and say, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, your sister is here."

Without her older sister, she wouldn't be who she is today.

But the older sister sat there, her eyes red, saying that she felt she wasn't good enough and that Xiao Ran "deserved better."

As Jiang Ran looked at the figure curled up in a ball on the screen, a part of her heart softened, a softness that ached.

She saw her sister sit on the sofa for a long time, then raise her hand to wipe the corner of her eye, and then pat her cheeks hard.

That move was all too familiar.

From childhood to adulthood, whenever my sister wanted to cheer herself up, she would do this—slap, slap, pat her face, take a deep breath, and then put on an effortful smile.

That smile was never perfect; her eyes were still red, and her lips were still trembling, but every time she smiled, she was saying: I'm okay, I can do it, I will get better.

On the screen, Su Qing stood up, stretched, and muttered, "Why think so much?" Then she turned and walked towards the bedroom, probably to change her clothes and get ready to go out.

Jiang Ran's fingers gently traced across the laptop screen, her fingertips lightly brushing against the face of the figure.

The screen was cold, but she could almost feel the slight warmth on her sister's face after the slap.

"Sister," she said softly.

The voice was extremely low, so low that it sounded like a whisper that only the speaker could hear.