The lively and harmonious birthday banquet ended the moment the seafood restaurant closed for the night. The waitstaff came to urge them, and everyone was sprawled about, thoroughly drunk. Yu Kaixuan waved toward the door, saying okay, settle the bill, we’re leaving.

Yu Jiuqi hadn’t drunk much. After getting outside and catching some cold wind, half the effects dissipated. Because they’d been drinking, no one had driven. Xiao Jiu called cars to arrange for everyone to get home separately. Yu Kaixuan and Auntie Hong left first in one car. Zhu Duomei lived far away, took one by herself. Finally, after waiting forever, they managed to snag a taxi that was about to change shifts. Ge Fan said might as well go together, drop off Xiao Jiu and Wen Wen first, then he’d go back.

After everyone dispersed, Yu Jiuqi sat in the back seat of the taxi with her arms around the blackout-drunk Wen Wen, watching the seafood restaurant gradually retreat and disappear. She realized this day of false harmony had completely passed, and what she would face next was a new round of challenges and tearing apart.

She didn’t know if all families were like this—no matter how big the problems and conflicts, when important holidays and birthdays came around, everything had to be set aside first, endured, pretending to put on a harmonious appearance. Once the big day passed, rules that needed setting would be set, accounts that needed settling would be settled. The thorn lodged in each other’s hearts would eventually have to be faced and pulled out.

For the entire family now, that thorn was obviously Sun Xi.

No, Xiao Jiu suddenly felt a moment of sadness—perhaps she herself was about to become that thorn too.

“You okay, Xiao Jiu?”

Ge Fan, sitting in front, turned around, reeking of alcohol. After drinking, he loved to flush red, making those peach-blossom eyes of his look even more moist.

“I’m fine, I didn’t drink much.”

“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked casually.

“Mm. Working.”

“I heard from Wang Huan that you get three days off for New Year’s.”

“Yes.” Yu Jiuqi thought of the lie she’d told in the group chat and looked at him sensitively. “How did you get in touch with Huan Huan? She’s married with a family, you know.”

“Just ran into her at lunch today at the dumpling restaurant, exchanged a few words.” He glanced at Xiao Jiu.

Xiao Jiu lowered her eyes, looking at Wen Wen on her lap, seeing she was still sleeping deeply.

She made an affirmative sound and said nothing more. She felt it was best to leave it at that.

Ge Fan turned back around, then quickly turned back again, his gaze sharper: “She said this afternoon your boss gave you time off?”

Xiao Jiu looked up, meeting his probing gaze. Her brain habitually and quickly fabricated an excuse—this loophole wasn’t big, too simple for her—but the lie reached her lips and suddenly stopped. She wanted to try saying it and see what would happen, what could happen. So she answered flatly: “Yes.”

Ge Fan’s peach-blossom eyes, reddened by alcohol, slowly slid downward, not knowing where to land. He couldn’t figure out what he was expecting. It seemed he’d checkmated himself, wanting to ask further but not daring to ask again.

“But you still worked until evening.”

“Really something.”

“This year’s model bank employee has to be you.”

He turned back around, his voice growing smaller and smaller.

On the road, Wen Wen was woken by a phone call from Boss Xiao Fu. Boss Xiao Fu was helping the mall negotiate two Japanese brands and had been on a business trip abroad these past few days. Seeing Wen Wen was drunk, he asked a few concerned questions. Wen Wen just mumbled incoherent responses. Boss Xiao Fu couldn’t make sense of it with her, so he had Xiao Jiu take the phone. He said there was hangover and liver-protection medicine he’d bought last time in the living room drawer at home, give some to Wen Wen. After she sobered up she’d have a headache—nothing else worked, only the head massage at that therapy center behind Fu’an Mall was effective. He’d already made an appointment, asking Xiao Jiu to please take her there tomorrow.

Yu Jiuqi kept nodding, saying don’t worry, chatted politely with him for a couple more sentences. After hanging up, Xiao Jiu brushed aside the messy long hair on her mother’s face, then gently smoothed out the half-twisted wrinkles between her brows, feeling much more at ease.

Arriving at the residential complex, Wen Wen still had difficulty walking after getting out of the car. Ge Fan had the taxi keep the meter running and wait a bit while he helped Xiao Jiu support her upstairs. After getting home, Xiao Jiu urged him to go back. Ge Fan lived in the KTV’s dormitory. Although they were all young guys, coming back too late and disturbing others was never good.

He supported Wen Wen with his arm and placed her on the bedroom bed, muttering: “It’s fine, that crappy dorm won’t be lived in much longer anyway.”

Xiao Jiu remembered he’d mentioned resigning before. Thinking it over, perhaps the reason for his resignation was about to cease existing. She said tactfully: “Take another look at it.”

“Look at what? I said I can’t possibly work for him.” He stated it directly.

Xiao Jiu took off Wen Wen’s shoes and thick clothes, saying: “Anyway, wait a few more days.”

“Wait a few days?”

She pulled the quilt over her mother, saying vaguely: “Wait a little while longer, what’s the rush.”

Ge Fan sized her up, saying: “I heard Old Wang already sold off Lesheng Huang.”

Xiao Jiu’s hand paused for a moment. She didn’t make a sound.

Ge Fan continued: “Seems like the first payment’s already been received, he paid back part of his debts.”

Only then did she glance at Ge Fan, thinking again of those two kraft paper file folders in the hotel suitcase. She blinked, looked at the time, said it’s getting late, you should head back, brother.

Ge Fan didn’t know if it was because he’d been drinking, but his mind was a mess, hesitant and uncertain, some words stuck on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t until Xiao Jiu walked him to the door and was about to close it that he suddenly reached out to block it, ultimately unable to hold back.

“What are your plans for the New Year’s holiday?”

Xiao Jiu thought about it: “Don’t know yet.”

“Can you spare a day?”

“What’s up?”

His peach-blossom eyes lingered on her face for a long time before he said something casual in a roundabout way: “Help me film a video.”

Xiao Jiu said okay.

When she returned to Wen Wen’s bedroom, she discovered her mother had rolled over, her entire head buried in the quilt.

Xiao Jiu tiptoed over, took makeup remover pads and carefully removed her makeup, lingering gently on every line of her skin, wiping tenderly, marveling that Mom’s foundation was really so good—at this age her skin was still tight and delicate, enviable. If only I really looked like you.

After removing the makeup, she went to wash a towel in hot water, wanting to wipe her face. But when she came back, before she could wipe, she saw a teardrop seep from the corner of Wen Wen’s eye—a glistening drop that slowly filled up, then rolled down, sliding across the cool white skin and leaving a trail of light.

She still had her eyes closed heavily, her expression still calm, as if she were having a heartbreaking dream.

Xiao Jiu used the hot towel to dissolve that teardrop away.

The video call was initiated by Sun Xi, but before that, Xiao Jiu had first sent him an ambiguously worded WeChat message.

After Wen Wen fell asleep, after waiting another hour, Yu Jiuqi kept thinking about what Ge Fan had said before leaving, wondering if he really still wanted to buy the KTV, and if he did, what that would mean.

Since that brief and vague communication at the police station that day, two days had already passed. They hadn’t made any plans regarding that agreement, nor had they formally discussed it. It wasn’t about avoiding it—at least Yu Jiuqi didn’t want to avoid anything anymore.

But talking about it still required a rhythm that wasn’t too abrupt.

[How many days do you have left on your leave?] After pondering for a while, Xiao Jiu started by asking this.

After waiting over twenty minutes, Sun Xi didn’t reply, then directly called instead.

Xiao Jiu hadn’t put her phone on silent. The ringtone startled her. She instinctively declined the call, got out of bed and put on a thick coat, simultaneously quickly sending him a WeChat message to explain.

[Wait a moment, let me change locations.]

[Where to?]

Did that even need asking? Xiao Jiu didn’t reply.

He said: [Don’t you dare.]

Then said: [If you go hide outside to take my call again, I’ll kill you.]

Yu Jiuqi froze there, not moving. It wasn’t that she was frightened by his words—Sun Xi’s harsh threats, she’d heard worse that were even more unbearable. This was nothing. She just suddenly thought, yes, why should she go outside to take his call?

The attic was so cold, and high up, the floor frozen with a layer of ice. She might fall again. It was just a phone call—why did she have to go there?

I don’t want to go there anymore.

Then she saw his new message: [Video call?]

Xiao Jiu thought about it and replied: [Give me five minutes.] Then added, [I’m not going out.]

In those five minutes, Yu Jiuqi shut her door tight, dimmed the lights, then quickly went to the wardrobe to find a wide-collar sweater that flattered her face shape—tender yellow, supposedly the color that best suited her complexion. She let her hair down, casually tousled it, switched her phone to the original camera mode to check. Her complexion seemed a bit off, so she lightly applied a layer of pink lip balm. In the final few seconds, she tried lying down, then sitting, selecting what she considered the best angle facing the phone camera.

The video call came through not a second off.

She thought maybe it had been too long since she’d video called a man late at night—she actually felt a bit of a pounding heart, butterflies fluttering, even more nervous than being trapped in his arms that afternoon without the slightest gap. She just stared at that black avatar for a while before pressing the button.

As soon as it connected, Xiao Jiu couldn’t help but frown. On the screen, a towering nose and half a face were shoved right in front of her eyes, his nostrils crystal clear.

He pulled back a little. Softly: “Sun Xi?”

Hearing her voice, he also pulled back somewhat. It looked like he was lying down, one hand cushioning the back of his head, phone tilted, still pressed close to his face, eyes lazily half-lidded looking at her.

Xiao Jiu resented it—resented how perfunctory he was—and found it strange how even from this death angle he still had some good looks.

Sun Xi was still looking at the screen with drooping eyelids, his brow gradually furrowing: “Did you put on makeup?”

Xiao Jiu was lying on the bed, shook her head: “No.”

Seeing Sun Xi still staring at her, she remembered something: “Oh, it’s just nighttime, skincare, I did a lip mask.”

She thought men were really funny—their brains were simply structured to the point of stupidity in certain aspects. Applying a bit of lip balm meant wearing makeup. Pitiful. Xiao Jiu’s tongue tip moved up and down flexibly, licking around, rolling the lip balm into her mouth.

Seeing him motionless as if frozen, thinking she hadn’t gotten it all off, she applied a bit more force, her tongue sweeping another circle around her lips.

Sun Xi pressed his lips together, as if sighing faintly, his eyes slightly turning to the other side.

Xiao Jiu couldn’t figure out what had suddenly come over him, guessing whether she’d used too much force and made him uncomfortable.

Sun Xi was indeed uncomfortable, thinking pulling this on me in the middle of the night, really something.

Then both sides fell quiet like this for a few seconds. The first late-night call in over three years had just started, yet fell into an ineffable awkwardness.

Finally, Xiao Jiu remembered her purpose for contacting him: “Sun Xi, how much leave did Chen Mulin give you?”

Sun Xi turned back: “Trying to get rid of me again?”

“No.”

“Even if I leave, I can’t just leave like this.”

Xiao Jiu hadn’t expected him to throw a tantrum. Often at times like these, she especially loved teasing him, so she said: “Well, we can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

Sun Xi sensed nothing good was coming.

“I’ll bring you some local specialties—ginseng, mink fur, rice, wood ear mushrooms, you choose.”

Sun Xi glared at her: “Yu Jiuqi.”

Xiao Jiu smiled: “I’m just messing with you.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“I know, I know.”

“Know what.”

Xiao Jiu was playful again: “Know you’re petty and can’t take teasing.”

Somehow, the atmosphere suddenly veered off track because of her. Outside the window, bright white moonlight spread coldly across the beige sheets. The heating had been adequate these past few days. She was bare-legged, legs crossed, toes lightly tapping on the sheets, two or three taps, like dancing.

Her heart was also fluttering proudly, especially seeing his stern face unable to take a joke, thinking of an agitated cat that had been teased—it added a few points to his looks.

In the past when she was with Sun Xi, she rarely had the upper hand. The opportunity was rare, so she patiently and proactively coaxed:

“Are you at the hotel?”

“No.” He actually said.

“Then where are you?” Looking carefully, because the camera was pressed to his face, it was indeed hard to discern the environment.

“Checking up on me?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not telling you.”

“Fine.”

Sun Xi glared at her resentfully, also getting into it. He casually sent her a location pin, saying: “Here.”

Yu Jiuqi exited to look and was shocked: “Are you crazy?”

What he’d sent was the location of Wendu Water Spa.

Yu Jiuqi propped herself up from the bed with her hands and feet, no longer caring about her image or angle. Her face filled the screen. A bellyful of questions was just about to spill out when somehow it irritated her throat, suddenly making it itch, and she started coughing.

Afraid of disturbing the next room, Xiao Jiu suppressed her coughing, but couldn’t stop it no matter what. A voice from the phone, tinged with laughter, said, go drink some water first.

Xiao Jiu glared at him and said you wait.

Then she placed the phone face-down on the bed, struggling to suppress her coughing, got out of bed, opened the door.

The door opened gently. The warm, dim light from the room spilled out. Xiao Jiu thought about quickly getting a glass of water and quickly coming back, but her footsteps hadn’t yet stepped out the door when, looking ahead, she suddenly cried out in alarm, then froze there as if struck by lightning, shocked.

Her throat instantly stopped itching. She stood there blankly stunned for a while before gradually regaining the ability to speak.

“Mom.” She said tremblingly in a small voice.

Wen Wen was hugging her shoulders, sitting upright and proper on the living room sofa, only two or three meters away.

The living room was dim. Only the light from Xiao Jiu’s room shone faintly over, illuminating her tense body, her pallid face, and the cold, sharp, desperate gaze looking over.

Wen Wen wasn’t drunk at all, or rather, was far from blackout drunk, and had no sleepiness whatsoever.

Not long after Xiao Jiu returned to her room, she sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed. She hadn’t turned on any lights in the room either. The moonlight outside was bright enough, filtering through the thin, light-colored curtains, casting a hazy white patch on the floor.

She hunched over, two thin arms propping herself up on the bed, staring blankly at that patch of white, staring for a long time. Then unconsciously, unknowingly, she took out that photograph from the bedside table drawer again.

The one of her and Wen Ya, from the past, that already yellowed joint photo.

Looking at this photograph now, it actually couldn’t be called very painful anymore. Pain was like chewing gum—after chewing it over and over repeatedly, it faded. It wasn’t that it didn’t exist, nor had it lessened by even a fraction—it was just temporarily numb.

But she still stared at it for a long time. Apart from Wen Ya’s vitality-filled smile that could bring her distant comfort, she suddenly very much wanted to remind herself what it felt like to lose a crucial person.

She didn’t want to experience it a second time.

In the car coming back and at home, she understood the hidden meaning in those two conversations between Ge Fan and Xiao Jiu. Same as her judgment—that murderer’s son, after all, was using his filthy, base, nauseating methods to once again abduct her daughter.

Of course, she also saw from Xiao Jiu’s words, from her actions caring for her, from her anxious demeanor all evening, that just like many years ago, although she hadn’t yet made her final decision, she would most likely go with him again.

That couldn’t be allowed.

How could that work?

I absolutely will not allow my daughter to jump into the same fire pit a second time. Last time there were Mom and Dad to catch you, not letting you waste your life, but now we may not be able to fight others, and may not be able to protect you anymore.

You’re still young, you don’t understand how evil human nature is, nor how fickle love is, but I have an obligation to tell you.

Right, I should be more patient, patiently share my chaotic, failed life experience with you honestly, even if it serves as a cautionary tale. This is my responsibility.

You’ve always been a smart, sensible child. You won’t laugh at Mom. You’ll understand Mom’s painstaking efforts. You’ll wake up.

Mom is going to tell you right now.

Wen Wen didn’t wait a moment. She put down the photograph, stepped barefoot onto the floor and went out. Before reaching Xiao Jiu’s door, she saw light coming from under the door crack, heard the faint sound of talking inside.

Her voice wasn’t loud, even deliberately suppressed somewhat, but Wen Wen standing in the center of the living room could still tell she was having an intimate video chat with a man.

That man—just a few indistinct tones, and she knew who it was.

Almost instantly, hatred and jealousy welling up from who knows where filled her chest and brain, making her whole body tremble, unable to breathe, forcing her to clench her fists hard to avoid losing control and rushing in.

Rationality instantly disappeared for the most part. She felt deeply wounded, betrayed. She’d been mentally prepared, she knew all this was happening, but this voice brimming with intimacy and happiness was so piercing, like sharp knives mercilessly stabbing through her thin body.

That’s right, Wen Wen admitted, at this moment her daughter’s irrepressible happiness pierced her heart with ten thousand arrows.

Fortunately, a trace of rationality still remained. She wanted to hear more, understand more, so she sat on the sofa only two or three meters away, nerves taut, carefully catching every word and sentence faintly transmitted from inside that door.

Still, pierced by ten thousand arrows.

She felt it was so pitiful—her daughter she’d raised with her own hands actually truly liked that person’s son.

And felt it was so laughable—their appearance at this moment was actually so similar to certain moments many years ago.

How can you do this to me?

Wen Wen suddenly silently let out a soundless cry, crying out against this damned fate—how can you do this to me? Unfair heavens, how can you do this to me? Yu Jiuqi, how can you do this to me?

She heard Xiao Jiu’s coughing, also heard her get out of bed and walk toward the door. She knew she was coming out, knew they would confront each other face to face, but she didn’t hide.

She thought like in the past, she’d encounter a flustered, ashamed face.

So she sat there, staring at the daughter before her who had quietly dressed up to video call that murderer’s son, waiting for her to explain, waiting for her to apologize, waiting for her to have no place to hide her shame.

But her panic lasted only an instant, calling out tremblingly, “Mom.”

Then she suddenly calmed down, turned her head to look at the phone on the bed in the room, as if looking at someone, lips pressed together, then turned back, looking over calmly.

She said: “Mom, did you just hear…”

“No!”

Wen Wen suddenly interrupted her shrilly.

Hastily adding, “Hear what? I didn’t!”

She suddenly felt herself so pitiful, so helpless. In her mind, muddled and chaotic, there was only one voice, making her despairingly surrender.

So breathe, breathe again. Her tone steadied, and she said again: “I just had a headache, was thirsty, came out wanting to drink some water. Somehow just wanted to sit here for a bit.”

Looking up at Yu Jiuqi again, her voice trembled, as if afraid of something: “Jiu, my head hurts badly, I’m dizzy. Every time I drink it’s like this, today especially severe. Will you come with me to the therapy center tomorrow?”

Xiao Jiu, astonished, said okay.

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then remembered something: “I want to get my head checked after a while, see if there’s any problem. Will you come with Mom? After Spring Festival, in the spring, will you come with Mom?”

Xiao Jiu was silent for a while, said okay.

Wen Wen lowered her head, heavily lowered it. She felt powerless throughout her body, utterly defeated.

But she finally calmed down. That voice in her head also gradually became clear. After a brief failed struggle, jealousy and anger instantly transformed into fear, converging into a humble yet firm plea—

You cannot leave me.

I cannot lose you again.

Absolutely cannot!