May 23, 1994, Monday. Overcast turning cloudy.
I knew the heavens wouldn’t favor me – the rain didn’t come. But it didn’t matter. What was meant to happen had happened, and I’d finally done what I’d long wanted to do.
It’s geography class now. Since my grades have always been good, Teacher Yao believes I’ll easily pass the geography exam. Kindly, allow me to do other things during class, which is why I can write this diary entry.
For me, writing in my diary is less a habit and more a form of confession. I have no one to confide in; only this diary has been my lifelong companion. Moreover, today’s events must be recorded.
When I woke this morning and saw the gloomy sky and dry ground outside my window, I wasn’t disappointed or dejected. It was just another unfulfilled wish among countless others. My real concerns were the flattened toothpaste tube and the uncertain fate of my white sneakers.
The shoes were manageable – toothpaste and chalk temporarily concealed the ink stains. The downside was a thick, hard crust had formed on the shoes’ surface, cracking and flaking at the slightest touch. I stared at these fragile “white” sneakers, at a loss. While I hesitated, Mom’s shouts echoed from the bathroom. She’d discovered the wasted toothpaste. Not wanting another scolding when I was already troubled enough, I changed into casual shoes, wrapped the sneakers in the newspaper, shouldered my backpack, and dashed out. Passing the communal kitchen, I glimpsed the two stacked plates but had no time to spare.
At the school’s Youth League Committee office, I changed into white sneakers. Teacher Zhou Weiguo took the flag from the cabinet, urging us to hurry to the playground. I dared not walk quickly, fearing the hard crust would disintegrate. Teacher Zhou soon noticed my odd gait, and before he could ask, he spotted the white debris around my feet.
“Good heavens!” His eyes widened. “What are you wearing? Plaster?”
There was no time to explain, nor any way to. Red-faced and head down, I shuffled to the playground. But a bigger problem awaited: the other three flag bearers and I had to march in step before the entire school to reach the flagpole.
I closed my eyes as I took the first step.
Seconds later, I heard whispers ripple through the crowd, followed by increasingly loud laughter. I knew the most grating sound would come from Ma Na. She was surely pointing at the white debris scattering with each step and my shoes gradually revealing their true, mottled colors, laughing with Song Shuang and Zhao Lingling.
Fine, fine.
And so, under hundreds of bewildered, disapproving, and mocking gazes, I marched on, kicking up white dust, expressionless, to the flagpole. As the flag unfurled, my face was temporarily hidden behind a sea of red. I couldn’t help but open my eyes, and within half a second, I found his face.
Yang Le wasn’t laughing or staring at my shoes. He gazed solemnly at the flag. I knew he wasn’t thinking about how many martyrs’ blood had dyed this flag red; he simply didn’t want to be one of those embarrassing me.
The national anthem played as the flag slowly rose to the top of the pole. I looked up at the flag in salute, watching the dark clouds slowly gathering above the fluttering red banner.
After the flag-raising ceremony, I changed back into my casual shoes. However, those “white” sneakers remained a hot topic among my classmates. Many even rushed to my seat during breaks just to see the crumbling shoes under my chair. I wanted to throw them away, but I couldn’t. As long as these shoes didn’t come unglued or fall apart completely, my parents wouldn’t buy me new ones. To them, shoes were for wearing – as long as they could be worn, they were fine. Those spots and stains weren’t a problem at all. Of course, I could deliberately damage the shoes, but that would lead to another math problem: How many truckloads of glass would Dad have to unload to afford a new pair of sneakers?
The “star effect” brought by these shoes didn’t last long. By lunchtime, everyone had lost interest. I was relieved, but a new trouble awaited: in my rush to leave that morning, I’d forgotten to bring lunch. From last night until now, I hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice. My stomach growled, and I found myself longing for those two stacked plates in the kitchen. As my classmates began opening their lunchboxes, filling the classroom with the aroma of various dishes, I quietly slipped away.
In the bathroom, I filled my stomach with cold water. Though it didn’t solve any real problems, it at least dulled the hunger pangs a bit. I wiped my mouth and slowly walked towards the auditorium.
Today we were rehearsing “The Little Mermaid” – an English musical and the grand finale of this year’s English Festival. It was lunchtime, so the rehearsal hall should be empty. Hiding there would spare me the embarrassment of being discovered without lunch and allow for some quiet solitude.
The auditorium was indeed deserted. I walked along the marble-paved aisle, past rows of seats, towards the stage. Climbing onto the wooden stage, treading on creaking floorboards, I went behind the curtains, through a narrow corridor, and into the rehearsal hall.
Pitch black. I fumbled for the light switch. After my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, the empty rehearsal hall appeared before me. Hunger made my heart race and left my limbs weak. I sat on a prop box to rest briefly. Then I opened the wardrobe and, among the rows of red dresses, found and put on the one marked with my name.
I play one of the prince’s maids, appearing only after the fourth act with just a few lines. Even so, I dug out the script from the prop box and carefully went over my part once more. Within minutes, I’d recited the lines I already knew by heart. I closed the script, shut my eyes, and began to rehearse in my imagination.
I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Yang Le, even though I’d already humiliated myself enough at this morning’s flag-raising ceremony.
So I needed a chance to look him straight in the eye and say a few words, not as that poor, shabby girl whose color was as indistinguishable as an old dishrag, but as “Maid C” – proud and dignified.
Moreover, I’d receive his response and smile. Though we’d still have a relationship of nobility and lowliness, it wouldn’t be Yang Le and Su Lin.
How wonderful that would be.
I started to smile, then felt dejected.
I tossed the script back into the box, where it landed on another script covered in clear plastic. Without looking, I knew it was Ma Na’s. Oh, right, she insisted we call her the mermaid princess on set because she was playing the little mermaid. I picked up the mermaid princess’s script – she had far more lines than me, all marked with a red ballpoint pen. However, the long English passages would be the death of Ma Na, so she had written Chinese phonetic approximations after many of the lines.
“Ai dong te fei er! (I don’t fear!)” I read softly, unable to hold back a laugh, maliciously imagining Ma Na speaking such awkward English in scenes with Yang Le.
She liked him – the whole school knew. That’s why she kept insisting on playing the little mermaid. Who knows how much influence her rich father exerted before Ma Na finally got the role she wanted? Yes, she was pretty with a good figure, and her curly chestnut hair made her look more foreign.
But did she deserve to be the little mermaid?
I turned my head to look at myself in the practice mirror. A dark red dress with white lace trim, script in one hand, the other hand resting on the prop box beneath me. Pale face, single eyelids, narrow eyes, and black straight hair falling on my shoulders.
During one rehearsal, after delivering my lines, I stood slightly behind and to the side of the prince, openly staring at Yang Le. Only when Director Zhou called cut did I look away. At the same time, I noticed Zhou looking at me.
“Come here for a moment,” he said, raising the camera in his hand, indicating I should watch the playback.
I didn’t dare touch the expensive device, just peering at the small screen from the side.
In the frame, I stood slightly left of center, with only half of Ma Na’s face visible.
“Your expression looks more like the little mermaid’s,” Zhou smiled at me. “What a shame.”
I didn’t feel it was a shame. Being able to do something with him, to look at him openly – I couldn’t ask for more.
Yet, why must I be Maid C? Why couldn’t I be the mermaid?
I turned my gaze to the last wardrobe.
In the next second, I sprang into action.
It was a pure white dress, made of gauze with a simple style. In Zhou’s words, when the little mermaid wore it standing among the maids, she was “like a white stamen among red petals.”
Now, the red petal lay discarded on the floor. Wearing only my bra and underwear, I took the white stamen down from its hanger. The moment my fingertips touched the gauzy dress, I began to tremble, as if an electric current ran through the light fabric. At the same time, waves of dizziness washed over me, making my teeth chatter.
Thus, pale and shaking, I slipped the white dress over my head. As I shook my hair free of the collar, a fragrance wafted out. I knew this scent well – it was Ma Na’s favorite perfume. As much as I disliked her, the scent was truly enchanting. It immediately plunged me into a strange mood.
I am the stamen. I am the mermaid singing in the air. I am the daughter of the sea who traded her beautiful voice for a pair of human legs. I am the mute orphan in the prince’s heart.
I stood before the mirror, quietly examining myself. At that moment, I believed a beam of light had descended from heaven, illuminating me. I gathered my hair, kneaded it, then let it fall. My normally limp, straight hair now had a slight curl. I turned my face to the side, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Heavens, how could this be me?
I rose onto my tiptoes and twirled. The skirt flared out, releasing more of the fragrance. It felt as if countless tiny bubbles were rising around me, then bursting. The air became clear seawater; in the distance, I could faintly hear whales singing. I smelled the sweet fragrance of seaweed…
“What are you doing?”
The shrill scream, filled with both shock and anger, pulled me back to the surface. I turned around to see a group of people standing at the rehearsal room door, all eyes focused on me. At the front stood Ma Na and Yang Le.
I froze, feeling the spotlight above me grow increasingly scorching.
Yang Le looked at me with surprise, his gaze moving from my bare feet to my long dress and then my hair. Meeting my eyes, he smiled, “Why are you here so early?”
Ma Na stepped forward, her usually delicate features contorted with rage. “Take it off!” she demanded.
“Oh.” I snapped back to reality, feeling like a thief caught red-handed, my heart filled with terror. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I hurriedly walked towards the changing room, suddenly realizing the red dress was still on the floor.
“I…”
Ma Na stood with her arms crossed, looking at me with disgust. The red dress lay at her feet. I lowered my head, took a few quick steps, and bent down to pick up the dress. However, Ma Na flicked the red dress away with her toe, as if it were something utterly filthy.
I said nothing, nor did I resist. I simply picked up the dress and quickly ran into the changing room.
After closing the door and sitting on the chair, I suddenly felt drained of all energy.
My heart was still pounding, blood rushing back from my extremities to the rest of my body. I clutched the red dress tightly, staring motionless at the deep brown wooden door of the changing room.
I suddenly felt regretful, not for wearing Ma Na’s dress without permission, but for my panic and submission in front of her. Why couldn’t I have arrogantly said, “What’s wrong with trying it on?” Why did I revert to that meek and insignificant version of myself the moment our eyes met?
I sat for a full five minutes, maybe longer, before slowly taking off the white dress and changing into the dusty, wrinkled red one.
Leaving the changing room, I lowered my eyelids, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. In my limited field of vision, I noticed everyone except Ma Na had changed into their costumes. Song Shuang and Zhao Lingling were with her, seemingly trying to comfort her in hushed tones.
Head bowed, I walked up to Ma Na and held out the white dress. She turned away, refusing to take it.
“Not even an apology?” Song Shuang’s voice rang in my ears. “How thick-skinned.”
I kept my arm outstretched, maintaining my previous posture, saying nothing.
Yang Le stood up from the prop box, putting down his script. “Let’s get on with the rehearsal. We still have class this afternoon.”
His words had an effect. Ma Na finally turned around. Without looking, I knew she shot me a vicious glare before snatching the white dress from my hand.
I quietly let out a sigh of relief, wanting to find a corner to hide. As I raised my head, I met Yang Le’s gaze. He smiled at me, and I forced my lips into a smile in return.
At that moment, I heard Ma Na utter a curse, followed by something being thrown at me.
It was a white dress.
Everyone was stunned, including Teacher Zhou who had just walked in.
“What’s going on here?” Teacher Zhou put the camera on the table, picked up the dress, and looked bewildered at Ma Na, then followed her gaze to me. “You two…”
“She stole my clothes!” Ma Na pointed at me. “She made it stink. I won’t wear it!”
“What?” Teacher Zhou’s eyes widened in surprise. He instinctively wanted to smell the dress but thought better of it. “It’s just been worn once. It’s not that bad. Hurry up and change so we can rehearse. The performance is in two weeks…”
“How is it not that bad?” Ma Na turned and shouted at Teacher Zhou. “She doesn’t even change clothes or shower!”
To this day, I don’t remember how I raised my arm, swung it, and let my palm land heavily on Ma Na’s face. I only remember her expression changing from surprise to fear to fury after that sharp slap. Then, she lunged at me like a lioness. If Teacher Zhou, Yang Le, and the other classmates hadn’t held her back, I might have been torn to pieces, let alone be able to write this diary entry in geography class.
Strangely, as I write these words, I’m acutely aware of Ma Na’s venomous gaze from behind me. But I’m happy, even though my right hand is swollen and still aches. I finally know what I’ve always wanted to do. The clear handprint on her face seems to have washed away all my humiliation. So this is what it feels like to be completely satisfied, body and soul. I know I’ll pay a price for this, but for that moment of pleasure, I’m willing to bear any consequences.
Wang Xianjiang leaned over the conference table, both hands pressed against its surface. Before him lay a massive blueprint covered in a chaotic maze of intersecting lines.
The weather was stuffy, and Wang Xianjiang was already drenched in sweat, constantly having to adjust his reading glasses as they slid down to the tip of his nose. There was only one red circle on the blueprint, marking the outlet of the Weihong Canal. Wang Xianjiang had been hesitating with a ballpoint pen for half an hour, still unsure where to make his mark. His frustration mounting, he tossed the pen aside and picked up his teacup, taking a sip of the long-cold jasmine tea.
The tension in his chest eased slightly. Wang Xianjiang collapsed back into his chair, lit a cigarette, and fanned his collar.
In his thirty years of police work, he had never encountered such a heinous case. After a major rainstorm that flooded the entire city, three female corpses were found floating in the Weihong Canal once the skies cleared.
The three victims were unidentified and varied in age, height, and weight. All bodies were completely naked, and preliminary findings suggested death by mechanical asphyxiation, likely from strangulation with a rope or similar object. Other details would require further forensic examination. Based on the residual mud and abrasions on the bodies, they were likely washed out of a sewer by the rainwater. Wang Xianjiang’s task was to determine where the bodies had been dumped into the sewer system. This would allow them to focus their investigation around that area, potentially uncovering valuable evidence. It would also help determine if there were more victims beyond the three already found.
Just then, the conference room door opened. Tai Wei entered, carrying several case files.
“Master, how’s it going on your end?” Tai Wei set the files on top of the blueprint and wiped his brow. “We’ve got some leads on the victims’ identities.”
“Oh?” Wang Xianjiang straightened up, extinguishing his cigarette. “What’s the situation?”
“I cross-referenced missing person reports from this year and found several that match the victims’ physical characteristics.” Tai Wei pointed to the files on the table. “I’ve arranged for identification.”
“How many?”
“Seven.” Tai Wei grimaced. “The bodies are heavily decomposed and facial features are unclear, so we cast a wide net.”
“Alright, follow up on that as quickly as possible.” Wang Xianjiang reached for his cigarette pack. “Once we identify the victims, we can better plan our next steps.”
“Here, use mine.” Tai Wei hastily pulled out his cigarettes, offering one to Wang Xianjiang and lighting it for him. “Is this the sewer system blueprint?”
“Yeah, it’s like hieroglyphics. I can’t make heads or tails of it.” Wang Xianjiang sighed. “We’ll need to factor in rainfall, flow rate, direction — we should get an expert to analyze it.”
“I’ll go to the Urban Planning Institute to find someone.” Tai Wei pulled out his notebook and had just jotted down a few words when Old Du, the forensic pathologist, pushed open the door.
“Old Wang, the autopsies are done,” Old Du said with a yawn, looking exhausted. “Want to come take a look?”
The autopsy room was located in the basement, significantly cooler than upstairs. With the addition of a high-powered air conditioner humming in the corner, Wang Xianjiang’s sweat had mostly dried up by the time they entered. Tai Wei, trailing behind, shivered repeatedly.
The room was well-lit. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the white sheets covering the bodies seemed particularly glaring. Wang Xianjiang and Tai Wei accepted masks and gloves from Old Du and put them on.
“What’s the situation?” Wang Xianjiang asked.
“Victim number one, female, between 30 and 35 years old, body length 162 cm, weight 51 kg. Examination of the pubic symphysis revealed evidence of childbirth…”
“Get to the point, Old Du,” Wang Xianjiang rubbed his face. “I don’t have time for the details.”
“She’s given birth,” Old Du glared at him. “Likely a married woman.”
Wang Xianjiang glanced back at Tai Wei, who understood immediately and took out his notebook to record the information.
“Cause of death for all victims was mechanical asphyxiation, strangulation,” Old Du continued, lifting the sheet from one body and pointing to the swollen, dark green skin on the neck. “The murder weapon was likely something like wire.”
“What else?”
“All victims were sexually assaulted before death, by someone with type A blood,” Old Du picked up a metal clipboard from the autopsy table and flipped through it. “Based on stomach contents, they were all killed within 10 hours of their last meal.”
Old Du closed the clipboard and added, “Rape, then murder.”
Wang Xianjiang cursed. He bent down, covering his mask, and carefully examined the hands and feet of one of the female corpses.
“Don’t bother, they’re too decomposed,” Old Du knew what he was looking for. “However, there weren’t many defensive or restraint marks.”
“So the victims were subdued quickly?” Tai Wei pondered. “This bastard must be quite strong.”
Wang Xianjiang glanced at Tai Wei, then turned back to Old Du. “Any signs the victims were tortured?”
“Can’t tell,” Old Du shook his head. “Any abrasions were post-mortem.”
He pointed at the body. “Subdue, rape, kill — all in quick succession, no extra steps.”
“Looks like this bastard just wanted a quick thrill,” Wang Xianjiang furrowed his brow. “Probably low-income. Otherwise, finding a woman wouldn’t be so difficult.”
“Should I check the key population records?” Tai Wei interjected. “Those with prior sex offenses?”
“Good idea,” Wang Xianjiang nodded. “Check those with administrative penalties too.”
Tai Wei nodded and jotted it down in his notebook.
Old Du yawned again. “How’s it going on your end?”
“No progress yet,” Wang Xianjiang sighed. “We’ll plan our next steps once we identify the victims.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Old Du frowned. “Apart from knowing the bodies were dumped in the sewer, we don’t even know where the primary crime scenes are. The sewer system is like a spider’s web. How are we supposed to investigate?”
Wang Xianjiang gave a wry smile. “Tomorrow we’ll get someone from the Urban Planning Institute to help with the analysis. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to go down into the sewers ourselves and search inch by inch.”
Two pencils. A two-color ballpoint pen. A black ballpoint pen. An eraser. A ruler. A set square. A protractor.
Jiang Yushu carefully removed these items from the pencil case and arranged them on the table. She then examined the so-called “pencil case.” It was a plastic packaging box for some brand of nutritional liquid, with magnetic clasps on the edges. It was evident that this pencil case had been used for a long time. The brand name and text on the lid had been completely worn off, and the once-sharp edges had become smooth. A long crack ran across the body of the box; with a little force, it would break in two.
Jiang Yushu carefully set the pencil case down and stared at it lost in thought.
The use of a set square and protractor suggested the owner was likely a middle or high school student. Using a medicine box as a pencil case, and continuing to use a protractor with worn-off markings, indicated that the family’s financial situation might not be very good. The two-color pen had cartoon stickers on it, and both pencils were neatly sharpened (though one had a broken tip).
A middle or high school girl from an average family background.
Jiang Yushu sighed softly and put the items back into the medicine box one by one. After closing the precarious lid, she found a newspaper, carefully wrapped the box, and securely bound it with clear tape.
She didn’t know if she’d ever have the chance to return this pencil case to its owner. She wasn’t even sure if “the girl who was dragged away” actually existed. But finding a girl’s pencil case in that place made Jiang Yushu unable to avoid connecting the two.
There were two possibilities. First, her eyes might have been playing tricks on her that evening, and the schoolgirl in uniform didn’t exist; this pencil case was simply left behind by a careless student. Second, a girl had indeed been attacked and dragged away at the corner of the building, struggling with her attacker, causing the pencil case to fall out of her schoolbag onto the grass.
Compass.
The word suddenly popped into Jiang Yushu’s mind. There wasn’t one in the box. If the girl had a geometry class, she should have had a compass. However, when Jiang Yushu picked up the pencil case, she carefully checked the surrounding area and found no other items.
Could she have taken out the compass to defend herself?
Jiang Yushu let out a small gasp. What kind of dangerous situation would a girl need to use a compass for self-defense?
She dared not think further, repeatedly reassuring herself.
Surely she was overthinking. Maybe it was just a careless child who had lost their pencil case. After looking at account books all day, her eyes must have been playing tricks on her…
Jiang Yushu stood up, took the newspaper-wrapped box, and tucked it into her desk drawer.
Jiang Ting came home half an hour late again today. As soon as she entered, Jiang Yushu noticed her poor mood. After a few questions, Jiang Ting reluctantly replied that she had run a thousand meters in PE class and was a bit tired. She put down her schoolbag and retreated to her room, only emerging for dinner.
At the dinner table, Jiang Ting remained quiet, just focusing on her food. When Jiang Yushu tried to chat about her day at school, her daughter only responded with “Mm,” “Ah,” and “It was fine.” Jiang Yushu lost interest in the conversation, silently calculating that Jiang Ting shouldn’t be near her menstrual cycle, making this sudden bad mood inexplicable. The two ate in silence. As they were clearing the dishes, Sun Weiming arrived.
Sun Weiming never visited at this time, especially without calling ahead. Jiang Yushu found it strange but still invited him to sit down, asking Jiang Ting to make him a cup of tea.
Father and daughter sat at the dining table, making small talk. Jiang Ting’s mood remained low, her eyes downcast, giving brief answers to Sun Weiming’s questions. When he didn’t speak, she remained silent. Jiang Yushu finished washing the dishes and retreated to the living room to watch TV. After about ten minutes, the conversation at the dining table fell silent. Soon after, Jiang Ting walked to her bedroom with her head down, passing through the living room and saying, “Mom, I’m going to do my homework,” before closing her door and not coming out again.
Sun Weiming sat alone at the dining table. Jiang Yushu thought for a moment, then got up and went over to refill his half-empty teacup.
Sun Weiming asked, “What’s wrong with Tingting today?”
“I don’t know. I asked, but she just said she was tired,” Jiang Yushu put down the thermos. “I’ll ask her again tonight.”
“Oh.” Sun Weiming seemed uninterested in pursuing the topic. “How have you been lately?”
“Fine.”
“Busy with work?”
“It’s manageable.”
“Health is good?”
“Yes, it’s good.”
Jiang Yushu looked up at her ex-husband, who was conversing with her in a stiff posture and expression, as unnatural as his arms laid awkwardly on the table. Not wanting to continue this uncomfortable conversation, she said, “Tingting will be fine. It’s normal for teenagers to have mood swings.” Jiang Yushu stood up. “Don’t worry.”
Sun Weiming remained seated, his smile becoming more forced. “After all these years, have you… considered your situation?”
Jiang Yushu raised her eyebrows in surprise. In the years since their divorce, Sun Weiming had never shown interest in whether she had found a new partner. Why was he suddenly inquiring now?
“A colleague introduced someone, and the conditions were quite good,” Jiang Yushu, unsure of Sun Weiming’s intentions, kept her words vague to maintain her dignity. “We’re taking it slow, seeing how it goes.”
“Mm, you’re not getting any younger, life must go on,” Sun Weiming didn’t press further. “Besides, it can’t be easy for you to raise Tingting alone.”
“It’s fine, we’ve managed this far,” Jiang Yushu smiled. “Thanks for your concern.”
“If he’s a good man, you should marry him,” Sun Weiming seemed quite enthusiastic. “We’ve turned that page in our lives. Everyone should live well. Maybe you could even have another child.”
“At my age…” Jiang Yushu suddenly felt something was off. “Did you come here today for a reason?”
Sun Weiming smiled awkwardly. “Yes, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Go on.” Jiang Yushu straightened up, crossing her arms.
“You know, I’ve been doing quite well these past few years,” Sun Weiming leaned in. “The company recognizes my abilities and plans to transfer me to the Beijing headquarters.”
“That’s good news,” Jiang Yushu watched Sun Weiming, her guard still up. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Sun Weiming nodded. “Once I move, I’ll likely settle down in Beijing.”
“Oh.” Jiang Yushu waited for Sun Weiming to continue, wondering what this had to do with her. Was he just here to show off?
“Beijing, you know, has much better educational resources,” Sun Weiming lowered his head, his fingers sliding across the table. “Tingting is in her second year of high school now, so I thought…”
“You thought what?” Jiang Yushu’s face paled. “You want to take Tingting away from me?”
“How is that taking her away?” Sun Weiming defended. “I’m thinking about the child’s future.”
“We don’t need you to think about that,” Jiang Yushu stood up again. “The child’s surname is Jiang now. You should leave.”
“Yushu, think about it. It’s a Beijing hukou. Do you know how much lower the college entrance exam admission scores are compared to our province?” Sun Weiming’s smile faded. “For example, to get into Tsinghua University, Beijing students only need…”
“Do you know Tingting’s midterm exam scores? Do you know her class ranking?” Jiang Yushu reached out to pull him. “Leave. We don’t want your Beijing hukou.”
“Can’t you be reasonable?” Sun Weiming grew agitated. “How about this, let’s let Tingting decide for herself.”
“I’m her mother, I’ll decide for her,” Jiang Yushu, with strength she didn’t know she had, dragged Sun Weiming to the door. “Leave. No one is taking Tingting away from me.”
“Yushu, please think it over,” Sun Weiming held onto the doorframe, his tone softening. “I’ll contact you again.”
Jiang Yushu unlocked the door and pointed outside. “Get out!”
After chasing away her ex-husband, Jiang Yushu suddenly felt weak all over. She leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Feelings of grievance, anger, and fear washed over her. She quickly slid to the floor, her forehead resting on her knees, quietly sobbing.
After crying for a while, Jiang Yushu vaguely heard her daughter’s bedroom door open. She hurriedly got up, sat at the dining table, and turned her back to the bedroom. A few seconds later, she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
Jiang Ting’s breath was warm and ticklish on Jiang Yushu’s ear, making her want to cry again. Jiang Yushu barely suppressed the lump in her throat, patted her daughter’s hand, and said in a hoarse voice, “It’s nothing. I just had an unpleasant chat with your dad.”
“He’s so annoying. Don’t let him come anymore.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, he’s your father.”
“I don’t care. He can’t bully my mom.” As she spoke, Jiang Ting wrapped her arms around Jiang Yushu’s neck, her cheek pressed against her mother’s, gently nuzzling.
Jiang Yushu raised one hand to stroke her daughter’s head. The thick, long hair brushed against her fingertips, sending a subtle tingling sensation from her extremities throughout her body. Jiang Yushu’s hand gradually tightened, finally embracing her daughter firmly, as if she might lose her in the next second.
Around eleven o’clock that night, mother and daughter went to bed one after the other. Jiang Ting’s mood had improved slightly but was still more subdued than usual. After briefly wishing Jiang Yushu goodnight, she went to sleep. Jiang Yushu prepared ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast, sat alone on the sofa for a while, then returned to her bedroom.
Once in bed, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She knew Sun Weiming’s personality well; although he had left disgruntled today, he certainly wouldn’t give up easily. In a few days, he would surely come back, trying every means to achieve his goal.
Thinking about this, Jiang Yushu felt a tightness in her chest again. Sun Weiming had abandoned his wife and daughter before, starting a new family. After having a son, he grew increasingly indifferent towards his daughter. Now that mother and daughter had finally found some peace in their lives, he was coming to stir up trouble again, wanting to take away Jiang Ting, whom Jiang Yushu regarded as her life — this was too much!
Whatever Sun Weiming’s motives, dreaming of taking Jiang Ting away from her was futile. Jiang Yushu thought angrily, he had already reduced their family from three to two, and now he wanted to leave her all alone. What right did he have to keep destroying her life?
She couldn’t lose Jiang Ting. This was something Jiang Yushu had never even considered. It wasn’t just a matter of habit; Jiang Ting was her entire hope, the only adhesive that could bind her shattered life together, the last reason she had to combat her fear of the future. However, the more she thought this way, the louder a small voice in her heart grew.
Am I being too selfish? Tingting is a child, not my personal property.
No! That can’t be!
Jiang Yushu shook her head vigorously as if trying to drive that voice away.
I’m her mother, she’s still a minor, and I have the right to make decisions for her! Moreover, Tingting would rather live with me!
She couldn’t lie still any longer. She got out of bed and rushed to her daughter’s bedroom.
At this moment, Jiang Yushu desperately wanted to see her daughter. She was even willing to wake Jiang Ting up to have her confirm this point.
However, when she pushed open the door, Jiang Yushu froze.
Jiang Ting’s bed was empty.