Chapter 257 I'll Do It Myself
It shows some traces of the past.
The lines of his shoulders were clearly visible, strong and powerful, yet inexplicably reassuring, like a small mountain one could lean on.
"Hmm...it gives me the creeps."
She responded softly, her voice trembling slightly.
She slowly sat down next to him, curling her legs up on the edge of the bed, her hands unconsciously twisting the hem of her nightgown.
"What if the kids don't like our playground?"
She murmured, her voice full of worry, "We've prepared for so long, what if no one comes?"
He reached out and took her hand, his movements natural yet firm. His palm was hot, and his fingertips were rough, bearing calluses from years of hard work.
He gently stroked the back of her hand with his fingertips, as if to soothe her or to encourage her: "Silly girl, how many all-nighters have you stayed up? You revised the blueprints more than a dozen times, wrote a thick stack of lesson plans, and even the murals on the wall were painted stroke by stroke by you."
He paused, his voice low but powerful, "If we fail, it will be an injustice to heaven."
The kitchen was filled with a constant clanging and clattering sound; the spatula struck the edge of the pot with a crisp, rapid thud, like a symphony in the early morning.
The fire roared in the stove, and steam escaped from the gaps in the pot lid, filling the entire house with the aroma of food.
Song Yazhi had been busy for a long time. She got up before dawn, tied on her apron, and tiptoed to take the rice container down from the top of the cabinet.
Since she came back, she has been cooking different kinds of porridge, steamed buns, and fried eggs every morning. She even insists on grinding the soybeans and adding the brine herself when making tofu pudding.
She said that the food bought outside was not clean and would upset the children's stomachs if they ate it.
She hummed an old song as she flipped the fried eggs in the pan. Oil occasionally splattered out, but she didn't dodge; she just smiled and wiped the oil off her sleeves.
"Wanyin! Come and eat! The red date porridge has been simmering for two hours, and it's cooked just right—sweet but not cloying!"
She called out loudly, her voice booming with an undeniable eagerness, "The steamed buns are fresh out of the steamer, filled with cabbage and pork, eat them while they're hot!"
Qiao Wanyin's heart was not stirred; it was as if something was blocking it, and her emotions weighed heavily on her chest.
But she still managed to raise the corners of her mouth, revealing a gentle smile, and softly replied, "Okay, I'll be right there."
At the dinner table, Song Yazhi kept eating with her chopsticks, busy as if devouring a whirlwind.
She placed a piping hot meat bun into Qiao Wanyin's bowl, and added half a bowl of steaming red date porridge. Several plump red dates floated on the surface of the porridge, looking incredibly tempting.
"Eat more, you'll be very busy today."
As she spoke, she stuffed another steamed bun into Qiao Wanyin's bowl, "How can you stand all day without energy?"
"Mom, I can do it myself."
Qiao Wanyin spoke softly, her tone calm but with a hint of stubbornness.
But when she looked down, she saw that there were already three buns stacked in the bowl, not a single one left, and the porridge was almost full.
She didn't refuse anymore, but simply lowered her head and gently stirred the porridge in the bowl, watching the red dates slowly rise and fall.
"Oh, right," Song Yazhi suddenly slapped her forehead, turned around, tiptoed, and took down a stack of colorful little aprons from the top of the cabinet, unfolding them on the table as if by magic.
"I sewed it last night in the middle of the night. I was afraid you would be too busy today and the child would get the clothes dirty while drawing."
She said with a smile, "It's okay if it gets dirty, I can wash it."
Qiao Wanyin took it, and her heart skipped a beat the moment her fingertips touched the fabric.
When she unfolded it, the stitches were so fine they resembled a spider web, each stitch and thread revealing meticulous care.
Each apron is embroidered with a different pattern—a bear wearing a straw hat, a rabbit carrying a basket, and a toy car puffing out smoke. The colors are bright and lively, as if they jumped out of a fairy tale book.
She could tell at a glance that these were not the product of a whim, but the result of staying up all night.
"Thank you, Mom."
She spoke softly, her voice still not loud, but this time, there was a touch of gentle warmth in the end of her voice, like a warm current quietly flowing beneath the ice.
After breakfast, the three of them walked to the kindergarten together.
The streets were still damp in the early morning, and dewdrops clung to the wildflowers by the roadside. Sunlight slanted across the stone pavement, casting soft golden patches of light.
They walked side by side, Fu Li'an carrying a tool bag, Song Yazhi carrying a basket of freshly steamed snacks, and Qiao Wanyin holding a stack of newly printed park admission notices.
From afar, you could see the kindergarten entrance was packed with people.
Parents held their children's hands, some of them carrying small backpacks, while some children clutched milk bottles, their eyes filled with curiosity and unease.
Grandma, carrying a bag of baby formula, squatted on the ground to comfort her granddaughter, while Dad, holding a bag of snacks, promised, "I'll give you some when you get to kindergarten."
Neighbors who had come to watch the commotion stood by the roadside, discussing the noise. Laughter, shouts, and children's cries mingled together, and the iron gate was completely surrounded.
"Director Qiao is here!"
A loud-voiced mother suddenly shouted, her voice piercing through the noise like a stone thrown into a lake.
Everyone turned their heads at the sound, and their eyes all fell on Qiao Wanyin.
Qiao Wanyin's heart skipped a beat, as if she had been hit hard by something, and her eardrums buzzed.
She subconsciously gripped the admission notice in her hand, the edges of the paper wrinkling slightly from her grip.
Her steps quickened involuntarily, as if she wanted to rush through the iron gate and into the little world she had created herself before her emotions completely spiraled out of control.
Upon closer inspection, it became clear that in addition to the seventy or eighty children registering, there were another twenty or thirty people densely packed around the perimeter, all standing on tiptoe, craning their necks, and holding their phones high, with the cameras pointed at the park, as if they were participating in a silent photo contest.
Flashes of light went off intermittently, and hushed whispers and gasps of amazement mingled among the crowd.
Good morning, parents!
She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and spoke in a clear, bright voice, like a morning bell, piercing through the noisy crowd, "Welcome to Red Sun Kindergarten! Today is the children's first day at kindergarten. Thank you for your trust and support!"
The little ones looked around, their eyes wide open, like bunches of freshly picked grapes.
Some children looked around curiously at the brand-new slide and colorful murals; others held their parents' fingers tightly, hesitant in their steps, turning back every few steps, afraid of being left behind if they weren't careful.
Some children peeked from behind their parents' legs, only daring to show half of their faces, their eyes darting around; others were already on tiptoe, leaning forward, wishing they could jump over the fence and plunge into the classroom full of building blocks and plush toys.
"Now, parents, please line up according to your child's class assignment—" She pointed with her hand, her arm outstretched and her movements swift and efficient, "The left side is Class 1, the middle is Class 2, and the right side is Class 3. Please line up in an orderly manner according to your child's class assignment. Thank you for your cooperation."
The line quickly formed, and the parents adjusted their positions in tacit agreement. The children gradually quieted down, clinging tightly to their loved ones with a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Two teachers stood at the front of each class, wearing matching light blue school uniforms, with gentle smiles on their faces.
These were all family members personally selected by Qiao Wanyin. They underwent rigorous screening and training, and she even sent them to a municipal kindergarten for half a month of on-the-job training, just to ensure that every detail was done well.
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