◎ Watching from the Sidelines ◎

Orders came flooding in from all directions. Distributors who had previously agonized over whether to order even two hundred units were now asking Gu Qiao if she could ship a thousand units as soon as possible, with advance payment open to negotiation.

Worried about problems arising, Gu Qiao went straight to the factory the moment she left the shop, keeping watch over the production line. She sat there holding a takeaway lunch box, chopsticks not yet lifted, when her mobile phone rang again. Thinking it was another order call, she smiled and answered — then heard the voice on the other end, and the smile froze on her face.

Gu Qiao heard from Qiu Shuang that while she was away from the shop, Professor Zhou from their university had come in and bought fifty sets of game software. Qiu Shuang was baffled — she genuinely couldn’t imagine why Professor Zhou would buy that many game software sets. She had expected him to be the type who would equate playing games with wasting one’s potential.

Gu Qiao paused, then said: “Our game bundles are in very high demand right now. If you don’t actually need them, I’d suggest returning them promptly — we’ll refund at full price.” Perhaps because the shop was close to Z University, Gu Qiao had run into Zhou Zan in the store more than once. She was a competent businesswoman with no habit of turning away customers.

The last time Zhou Zan had called her, it had been to warn her to be wary of Luo Peiyin — that he was not a reliable man, and that their relationship was not headed toward marriage. Gu Qiao had found Zhou Zan’s words utterly ridiculous and had actually laughed out loud on the phone. By then, she had already called Luo Peiyin to break up, and was preparing to make another bold trip to Erlian Haote.

“I simply wanted to support your work.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need it.” Gu Qiao made no further attempt to use the exposure of their relationship as leverage against Zhou Zan. She knew that since he was now coming into her store more than once, he was clearly not afraid of her saying anything. She hadn’t used that as a threat against him even during her most difficult times — she certainly wouldn’t now.

Gu Qiao moved away from the crowd and found a quiet spot to call him back. She had decided to lay everything out clearly, once and for all.

“Gu Qiao, I have wronged you and your mother. I want you to give me a chance to make amends.”

“Make amends?” Gu Qiao suddenly laughed. “During my hardest period, there was a brief moment when I did consider it — I thought about demanding eighteen years of child support from you. That was what you owed my parents. But then I realized that the moment I asked for it, I’d be entangling myself with you. I let go of that idea immediately.” Back then, she had heard from Chen Qing that Zhou Zan had prepared tens of thousands of dollars for his daughter to go abroad. It would have been only right and proper for him to pay her mother child support in return. Gu Qiao didn’t feel that demanding this from Zhou Zan would cost her any dignity — she thought it was entirely reasonable. She could ask him for every yuan he owed, claim it all without hesitation, and still think nothing of him at the same time.

But Gu Qiao thought of her mother’s partner — Lou Deyu, father of her two younger sisters. If Lou Deyu found out she had asked Zhou Zan for child support, he would find the nearest crack in the floor and disappear into it forever.

Silence on the other end. Gu Qiao continued: “When I first came to the city, there was a part of me that envied your daughter for having a father like you. She spoke of you as though you were the finest father in the world. I later realized what a laughable thought that was.” At the time, she had genuinely thought having a father like Zhou Zan would be wonderful — someone who arranged everything and was so close to his daughter. She had even thought, for one fleeting second, that her aunt would never have kept reminding Zhou Zan’s daughter to keep her distance from her cousin. Then, when Gu Qiao learned that Zhou Zan was her biological father, the whole thing became grotesque and absurd.

After a brief silence, Zhou Zan offered his defense: “At the time, I didn’t know your mother was pregnant with you…”

Gu Qiao made no effort to hide her laughter. “If you had known, you would have hated the very existence of me, wouldn’t you? I would have stood in the way of your bright future. Why didn’t my mother tell you? Because she could already see clearly what you would do. She had decided then and there to have nothing more to do with you. And of course, I have nothing to do with you either.” A year before her birth, she could well imagine what the attitudes were like in the countryside. In that environment, her mother’s relationship with Zhou Zan would only have happened if her mother had believed in a lifelong future together — and yet her mother had not told him she was pregnant. That could only mean she had already lost all hope in him.

From that point on, she had been her mother’s child, and her mother’s alone. Whoever was her mother’s partner, whoever treated her mother well — that person was her father.

Zhou Zan offered no rebuttal, because there was none to give. When Gu Jinghui had made the decision to handle everything on her own, she had already placed no hope in him whatsoever.

“If I had wanted to contact you, I would have done so during my difficult times. Though perhaps back then you were secretly anxious — afraid that this girl, a high school graduate with barely any money, might latch onto you, insist on claiming you as her father, and make public what you had done. Every gesture of amends and support you’ve made has been built entirely on the premise that you are absolutely safe — that your reputation would never be at risk. Don’t you find that a little cheap? I didn’t need it before, and I won’t need it now or in the future.”

Zhou Zan nearly laughed. This precocious girl was truly his blood — she had seen every dark, hidden corner of his former self with perfect clarity. His parents were aging, and they had always lamented that he had no real bloodline of his own. He had not been without regret himself. But today he discovered that there was something more regrettable than having no bloodline — and that was having a child who did not acknowledge him, and who held him in contempt. When his child had needed him most, he had been raising someone else’s daughter.

So many people respected him. Yet the only bloodline he had in this world despised him and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him.

He had given his daughter nothing — just as his own father had given him nothing.

Zhou Zan momentarily forgot his dignity: “You are making your way alone in the world. Having one more person to help you is always better. Except for not being able to acknowledge our relationship publicly — whatever you want, I will do my best to fulfill it.”

“The only relationship between us is that of customer and merchant. If you genuinely need software, I welcome any customer. But if you don’t, please return your purchase as soon as possible — our stock is in very high demand.” Gu Qiao had long since stopped addressing him as “Uncle Zhou.” She reminded him, with full courtesy, to think of her as “Professor Zhou.” “I have only one father — my mother’s partner. My mother is doing very well now, and we will only do better. You have only one daughter — your adopted daughter. Recognizing this clearly is the only thing I expect of you.”

Zhou Zan’s wife watched her husband sitting there, utterly despondent. The last time his face had looked like that was after that argument with their daughter. The argument had been completely baffling — all over two strangers. When Zhou Zhining came home from abroad, she had brought up over dinner that the young man from the Luo family and Gu Qiao had broken up. She’d said she’d always known those two would split — they needed to have things in common, and a girl like Gu Qiao, whose head was entirely filled with money, was more than any man of ambition could tolerate, let alone someone like young Luo.

Zhou Zan had suddenly flared into a rage. What was so remarkable about the Luo boy, that he could look down on anyone? What ambitions did he have? He was nothing but someone coasting on his parents. If he had been raised in the countryside from childhood like Gu Qiao, who knows how he would have turned out — he might have been the most mercenary person of all. What right did he have to look down on Gu Qiao? A girl who had built everything with her own two hands, planting herself firmly in this city — how was she not good enough for him? Saying things like that was shallow and ridiculous to the extreme.

Even in private, Zhou Zan rarely lost his temper that viciously. The Luo and Zhou families were old acquaintances — openly condemning the son of a friend in such terms was entirely unexpected, both to her and to their daughter. He didn’t just criticize Luo Peiyin; he dragged their own daughter into it as well, since she too was dependent on her parents at the time. Zhou Zhining’s face turned red with indignation — she couldn’t help saying resentfully: *Young Luo hasn’t done anything to offend you. People would think Gu Qiao was your actual daughter.*

Zhou Zan had gone pale at those words and erupted: *What nonsense are you saying!* She had stepped between husband and daughter to mediate, telling Zhou Zhining: you’re always saying “Young Luo this, Young Luo that” — no matter how warmly you speak of him, he’s still an outsider. You’ve known each other since you were children; if something was going to happen between you, it would have happened by now. Since it hasn’t, it never will. There’s no point picking a fight with your own father over someone else. Your father is standing up for you — Luo Peiyin gives you nothing but cold indifference while you make your fondness for him so obvious. What father would be satisfied with that? He’s criticizing Luo Peiyin on your behalf, and here you are defending the man — of course your father is upset. She guided her daughter with these words, yet in her own heart, a quiet suspicion had already begun to form.

That suspicion grew day by day. Zhou Zan — a man with zero interest in computers or software — had begun subscribing to a number of computer-related newspapers. The software promotional leaflets he brought home bore a very prominent character: the character Gu. His wife had also visited that software specialty shop once. It was a large store, and when she was there, the young woman was busy explaining her products to a customer with great enthusiasm.

It was because of this Gu Qiao that she suddenly became curious about Gu Qiao’s mother. Both of them, at their most difficult moments, had chosen to resign from the jobs Zhou Zan had arranged for them — and by now, they certainly would not come looking for him.

When Gu Qiao turned around, she quickly stepped out of sight. A couple of days earlier, the store’s lottery event had been quite the spectacle, and she had found it impossible to ignore.

About all of this she said nothing — not a word. A man like Zhou Zan, who had spent half his life living for his reputation, could go on not knowing forever, as long as she never broke the surface. Her husband wanted his reputation. She wanted her peace.

—

Gu Qiao hung up the phone, drew a long breath, and walked back step by step to where she had been.

The takeaway box she had set down earlier had gone cold. She picked it up and said to the girl beside her: “Go find a camera quickly and take a couple of photos of me eating standing up.”

“Right now?” The girl looked Gu Qiao over, her gaze landing on the lunch box. “Is that… appropriate? It looks a bit grim.”

“Appropriate — very appropriate. Hurry up and take it. Stand over here so you can get my dark circles in the shot.” Gu Qiao already had the rough shape of the headline in mind: *Sales of “The Legend of the Righteous Thief” Hit Record High — Working Through the Night to Prevent Stockouts.* She’d polish it tomorrow — it would make a solid piece of promotional copy.

She could certainly endure hardship, but hardship shouldn’t go to waste. With no time to brew coffee, Gu Qiao shook some instant coffee straight into her thermos, gave it a quick swirl, and tilted her head back to pour down nearly half a cup. She would be up supervising the overnight production run.

Once products came off the line, Gu Qiao called in any willing shop staff to work overtime for extra pay — assembling and packing straight through, because the next day some stock was going on the shelves and the rest was going to logistics. They didn’t finish until deep into the night.

“Manager, you really are capable of everything — even your box-packing is faster than anyone else’s.”

Gu Qiao accepted the compliment with a smile. Back when she had run a single clothing stall by herself, any slowness meant the whole day would be consumed by packing and tidying, with no time left to actually sell anything.

No sooner had she cleared the old orders than new ones arrived.

—

Luo Peiyin read a newspaper in Shanghai. There was Gu Qiao, standing upright with a takeaway box in hand, the little baby bok choy inside it quite eye-catching. This person truly adapted herself to wherever she stood — her outfit was simple and capable, as though she had been rooted on the factory floor for years. When he had left, though she hadn’t slept much either, there had been no dark circles under her eyes. In the newspaper photo, they were unmistakable.

He called her. When Gu Qiao heard that he had also seen the newspaper, she laughed: “It was staged — I only had that one lunch like that.”

“Is that so?”

Gu Qiao laughed: “What news value is there in eating well? Actually — no positive value at all, but quite a lot of negative. If buyers see me feasting on fine food, they’ll only wonder how much I’ve extracted from their wallets. Any discount would look like sleight of hand rather than a genuine concession.”

“You really do have commercial instincts. I’ll have to learn from you.”

Gu Qiao accepted his words as a compliment without hesitation: “No rush — there will be plenty of opportunities to learn in the future.”

“Take it easy. Rest when you’re tired.”

“Didn’t you stay up all night translating those materials from English to Chinese for me? I’m two years younger than you — pulling an all-nighter is even less of a problem for me.”

“We’re not the same.”

“How are we not the same?”

“Physically.”

Gu Qiao paused for two seconds: “Well, you’re underestimating me.”

The photograph in that newspaper had been taken very well — it effectively captured both her fatigue from overseeing the overnight production and her resolute determination not to let stock run out. The only regret was that Luo Peiyin was not a software buyer and would not be moved by her overnight restocking efforts to place an eager order.

“Don’t worry. I’m still a long way from where I want to be. I’m not going to let myself collapse with exhaustion at this stage.”

—

At dinner, the fourth Luo son made a point of relaying to his parents what he had seen in the newspaper.

His older brother and his cousin — he’d always been fonder of the cousin. More than anyone else in the family, he wanted to see her outdo his second brother. His brother’s successes would only become ammunition for his parents to attack him, while his cousin’s would give him something to crow about and prove that his eye for people was excellent.

“The new software from Big Cousin’s shop is selling incredibly well — almost out of stock.” Fourth Luo had already estimated the sales figures for her. “Big Cousin is going to earn at least enough for a Mercedes this time.”

He leaned over and asked his third sister quietly: “How do I make sure Second Brother sees this news?” Fortune doesn’t mean anything if no one witnesses it — it’s like wearing a fine silk robe at night and walking unseen. Second Brother absolutely had to know about his cousin’s success, and had to feel the regret of having let such an outstanding person slip away.

Third Sister shot her little brother a dismissive glance: “Are you out of your mind with boredom?”

—