Chapter 379: Father and Daughter

Ziqi had once been uncomfortable with this kind of service, but she had grown accustomed to it. As a certain Senator auntie had once said, “A personal secretary is just your father’s concubine—not your mother. What’s there to be polite about? If you don’t enjoy your blessings, you’ll be struck by lightning!”

“Hmm, I’ll wash up now. It’s a bit hot outside.” Lin Ziqi sank into the living room sofa. Meng Lan would naturally fetch her a change of clothes. At first, she had been uneasy with another woman rummaging through her underwear drawer, but after a while, it no longer felt strange.

Meng Lan had already brought her a bottle of kvass, chilled in well water. The soaking time was perfect, cool but not too cold—it was only May, after all. Besides her habit of not knocking, the maid training class had indeed done an extraordinary job of educating her!

The house was quiet. Lin Fatian was likely busy in some field or plantation. Lin Ziqi hadn’t expected him to be home early. Since coming to Lingao, these men had been “full of passion,” like characters from “The Passionate Years.” They all wore the four-pocketed Zhongshan suit, a relic from TV dramas, with a fountain pen clipped to their pockets. They were all “walking with the wind, speaking like a bell, shaking hands with a shake, and full of comrades.” When they stood still, they habitually put their hands on their hips, a habit whose origin was a mystery.

Ziqi had once been very uncomfortable with people calling her father “comrade,” and it had taken her a while to get used to it.

Looking around, the house was immaculate. The furnishings were neat, the glass recently wiped. The flowers on the table were fresh, and even the sofa cover looked newly washed.

Compared to the messy dormitory she and her father used to share, Meng Lan had brought a sense of home to the house. This was why Ziqi hadn’t objected to her father taking a personal secretary—a house truly needed a mistress to feel like a home.

Meng Lan hurried to add firewood to the stove. She had scrubbed the bathroom and bathtub with dilute hydrochloric acid that morning, rinsing them clean. Now, the sanitary ware and tiles sparkled, not a single hair in sight. The Senators were all fastidious about hygiene, and the young lady even more so. As a result, she spent most of her energy on cleaning.

Besides this, Meng Lan was very satisfied with her life. The living conditions alone—though the house was a bit small—were beyond anything the wealthy landowners in her hometown could imagine. Meng Lan had served a landlord’s family with her parents as a child, so she knew. Forget everything else, just the floor, the glass windows—the landlord’s family had none of that. The food was a luxury she couldn’t have dreamed of. In her village, even the landlord ate miscellaneous grains every day.

Therefore, Meng Lan was devoted to this family. To satisfy the chief and the young lady, to ensure this life could continue forever—that was her greatest hope.

Unfortunately, her belly had not been cooperative. She had not yet become pregnant. Every time she saw other personal secretaries with their babies, she felt a pang of disappointment. Last time she was at Shop 43, she had overheard a personal secretary named Sun say that a childless personal secretary was never secure. One day, the chief would tire of them and “send them away.”

The health doctor from the General Office had checked her pulse and prescribed medicine. She had consumed countless nourishing remedies from Runshitang, but there was still no news. The chief was almost fifty—her own father had passed away before he reached that age. If she couldn’t bear him a son or daughter, what would become of her if something happened to him? The young lady was kind, but she couldn’t take her to her husband’s family when she married.

With these complicated thoughts, Meng Lan finished adding firewood, washed her hands, and went to the young lady’s room to fetch her underwear. The first time she had worn such undergarments in the training class, she had blushed—the chiefs were truly lecherous. Now she knew they were just ordinary clothes for the Australians, nothing special.

“Miss, you can take a bath now.” After placing the clothes in the bathroom and preparing a large towel, Meng Lan checked the water temperature and called out.

After helping Lin Ziqi into the bath, she quickly put the discarded clothes in the laundry basket. The laundry would have to wait until evening. She still had to prepare dinner.

Because Ziqi was home, tonight’s dinner was far more sumptuous than usual. She had ordered the ingredients from the special supply store the day before. The young lady’s favorite was sashimi, a particularly difficult dish to prepare, requiring a cold chain from start to finish. Ordinary Senators rarely ate it at home due to the hassle. Meng Lan had borrowed the Venus Type 0 from Wu Nanhai’s house next door to pick up the goods. She had rushed back with an insulated box filled with sawdust and ice, just in time to store it in her own “earthen refrigerator.”

Because his daughter was home, Lin Fatian finished his work a little early. As soon as he entered, he saw his daughter at the dinner table, waiting for him. The fatigue of the day miraculously vanished. While Meng Lan helped him change his clothes and slippers, he asked, “How many days off this time?”

The students of Fangcaodi rarely had holidays, and the learning institute was no exception.

“Two days. The school is having a cultural festival.”

“What? Are you performing?” After changing into his home clothes and washing his hands and face, he sat down next to his daughter. “Let daddy have a look…”

“What’s there to see? I’m not your stump bonsai, for you to check if the bindings are right…” At this, her face suddenly flushed, recalling a late-night dormitory discussion with her best friend about SM.

Lin Fatian lacked such a vivid imagination. “How can a stump bonsai be as beautiful as you?”

“Dad, you should really upgrade your compliments,” Lin Ziqi said, picking up a piece of sea bream sashimi, dipping it in wasabi and soy sauce, and popping it in her mouth.

Meng Lan brought over a large plate of golden, crispy fried chicken wings. Though not quite the KFC of her memory, they were close enough. It was one of Lin Ziqi’s favorite foods. Unfortunately, the school never served fried food, a policy said to be Chen Sigen’s suggestion.

Lin Ziqi let out a small cheer, eagerly grabbing a piece and starting to chew. “Dad, you’re home early,” she mumbled.

“It’s all for you.”

“I didn’t expect you to love me so much, Dad…”

“Eat your food,” Lin Fatian said as Meng Lan brought over the rice. He went to bed early, so his dinner staple was a miscellaneous grain porridge: a mixture of brown rice, millet, beans, and other grains, cooked with a piece of sweet potato. Meng Lan had never understood why the chief preferred this to white rice and flour.

“You sit down and eat,” Lin Fatian said, seeing Meng Lan hesitate.

“There’s still soup. I’ll bring it over,” Meng Lan said, turning towards the kitchen.

“The chicken soup will be a while. You should eat first, Sister Lan,” Lin Ziqi said, impatient with her “little wife” submissiveness.

Only then did Meng Lan sit down.

“Dad, I want to go to Lingao Cape on Sunday.”

“Are you going to play on the Feiyun?” Lin Fatian ate in large mouthfuls, one chopstick-full clearing a third of a dish.

“Yes. With Zhang Yunmi and Qian Duoduo.” Lin Ziqi was cunning; she didn’t mention the trial run. Her father would have worried himself sick, nagging about safety and danger, and would have done everything to stop her.

“Alright. You can go. I don’t have a holiday these two days either.” Lin Fatian sighed, his gaze complicated.

In the blink of an eye, six years had passed since they had come to this world.

“Are you doing well in school?” her father asked, a question devoid of substance.

In the 21st century, Lin Ziqi would have been playing on her phone, mumbling, “It’s okay.”

Now, without a smartphone, her answer was much the same. “It’s okay, but the academic pressure is immense.”

“You have to study hard…”

Here we go again. He said this every time, before and after transmigration. “I’ll still be a Senator even if I don’t study well,” she said impatiently. “Dad, you should hurry up and have a little brother or sister with Sister Lan to be your heir.”

Lin Fatian actually blushed. “That’s none of your business.” Meng Lan’s face turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Our family has two seats. It would be a huge loss if you don’t give me a little brother or sister,” Lin Ziqi said, successfully deflecting the conversation as she continued to eat her chicken wings.

Lin Fatian nodded lightly. “You think having a little brother or sister is a good thing?”

“Why not? Otherwise, one seat would be wasted.”

“From that perspective, yes, it’s a good thing. But ah—” Lin Fatian said, “Do you have a friend named Zhang Yunmi?”

“Yes, she’s my classmate and roommate.”

“Her father and I were drinking together last time. He said he’s been quite troubled since he had a son for Zhang Yunmi.”

Zhang Yunmi’s father and Lin Fatian were not colleagues, but their daughters’ friendship had brought them together. Two single men who had transmigrated with their children naturally found common ground and often drank and chatted.

“What’s the matter? Dad, tell me.” Since it concerned her best friend, Lin Ziqi put down her chicken wings and turned serious.

Meng Lan, not knowing what Lin Fatian was about to say, instinctively felt she shouldn’t be listening. She excused herself to check on the chicken soup and retreated to the kitchen.

Lin Fatian sighed. “I don’t know if I should say this. Old Zhang has been having a headache over this. You know he has a son…”

“I know that. Zhang Yunmi is very happy about it. She often says how cute her little brother is,” Lin Ziqi said, confused.

“The problem is with this little brother,” Lin Fatian’s expression suddenly turned grave.