A month before the college entrance exam, Jiang Mu accidentally discovered that Jiang Yinghan had a foreign boyfriend and was already discussing marriage. She was in the process of arranging immigration papers. Until then, Jiang Yinghan had kept it completely secret, planning to tell her after the exam, but some documents from abroad had caught Jiang Mu’s attention.
This created a major rift between them. Jiang Mu refused to follow Jiang Yinghan abroad for university. She knew nothing about her potential stepfather and internally rejected this suddenly appearing man.
Especially after meeting Chris, this balding, greasy man, she became even more resistant to his presence. She couldn’t understand how her usually proper and dignified mother could marry a rotund, wrinkled foreigner. More importantly, they had known each other for less than six months—it was a completely unreliable rushed marriage. Yet Jiang Yinghan was prepared to leave everything behind and follow this old man, as if under a spell.
She tried everything to persuade her mother, but this time Jiang Yinghan was resolute. During that month, Jiang Mu could hardly focus on her college entrance exam. On the day of the English test, she had a high fever and lay slumped over her desk, her mind in a fog. In the end, she didn’t even reach the minimum score for second-tier universities.
Jiang Yinghan felt guilty, but Jiang Mu showed no signs of disappointment. With these scores, she could only attend foundation courses in Australia or enter some subpar university. This wasn’t reflective of her true ability. She proposed repeating her senior year, thinking this might keep Jiang Yinghan in China, preventing her from being deceived by that old man.
But to her shock, that night Jiang Yinghan told her, “I’ve accompanied you all these years, and you’re an adult now. I won’t oppose you staying in China to repeat the year, but I will still proceed with my plans to live in Melbourne with Chris. Mu Mu, I need to have my own life too.”
Jiang Yinghan’s final compromise was to allow Jiang Mu to stay in China and repeat the year, but only if she stayed with her father. Jiang Yinghan wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.
This long-unused term suddenly reappeared in Jiang Mu’s life. She realized that Jiang Yinghan had maintained contact information for Jin Qiang all along. Perhaps not wanting her to have any connection with that side, Jiang Yinghan had kept this from her all these years.
According to the plan, Jiang Yinghan and Chris would go to Australia in July to handle procedures, then return to deal with her shop. During that time, they would stop by Tonggang to visit Jiang Mu.
Before then, Jiang Mu had to go to her father’s home alone, in that fourth or fifth-tier northern city called Tonggang, and arrange her school enrollment. Before leaving the country, Jiang Yinghan packed two boxes of Jiang Mu’s belongings and sent them ahead to Jin Qiang’s house.
Jiang Yinghan had arranged everything for her. Jiang Mu didn’t know how her mother and father had communicated, but the night before Jiang Yinghan’s departure, she suddenly revealed something shocking to Jiang Mu.
…
Jiang Mu had never imagined that the brother who had indulged her since childhood—who would save the best food for her, patiently teach her pinyin, read her bedtime stories, and tirelessly carry her around on his back—had no blood relation to her at all.
In the fifth year of Jiang Yinghan and Jin Qiang’s marriage, Jiang Yinghan still hadn’t conceived. That year, when Jin Qiang returned home to visit his parents, Jiang Yinghan stayed in Suzhou. Due to her infertility, Jin Qiang’s family cursed her as a hen who couldn’t lay eggs, deteriorating their relationship beyond repair.
It was during that visit, without Jiang Yinghan’s knowledge, that Jin Qiang’s family had tricked him into meeting a girl from their village. After getting him drunk, things happened in his confusion. Only upon waking did Jin Qiang realize what he had done.
He had returned to Suzhou that night, filled with guilt. Watching Jiang Yinghan force herself to drink bitter Chinese medicine daily, he finally suggested adopting a child.
But Jiang Yinghan had always felt that an adopted child would still be someone else’s child, not her own. She hadn’t agreed.
Soon after, the village girl showed up at their door, along with Jin Qiang’s parents, clearly intending to force Jiang Yinghan out.
Years of grievances and anger had exploded at once. Standing in the house her parents had left her, Jiang Yinghan had told the Jin family to get out. Jin Qiang had begged for forgiveness with tears streaming down his face while his parents desperately pulled at him, demanding he divorce Jiang Yinghan. Behind them, the young village woman had wiped her tears while calling out, “Brother Qiang.”
At that moment, Jiang Yinghan felt the world spinning. Sharp mockery had pierced her ears from all directions. Enduring the Jin family’s insults, she suddenly felt that years of patience had been wasted. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to divorce Jin Qiang—she was unwilling to watch him marry a younger woman, let his parents have their wished-for grandson, and see them live happily while her life was ruined.
So she had crouched down and whispered in Jin Qiang’s ear: “If you cut ties with your family, I’ll agree to adopt a child with you.”
It had been an incredibly difficult choice for Jin Qiang—between the parents who had raised him and the wife he had lived with for years. But he had already left his hometown for many years and couldn’t return. If they divorced, he would have nothing. More importantly, he couldn’t let go of Jiang Yinghan. Moreover, he was angry about his parents and sister tricking him home. So he had immediately persuaded his parents to leave and rarely visited afterward.
That same year, they adopted a two-year-old boy and named him Jin Zhao.
In the first few years, they had focused all their energy on this little boy. Though their relationship had cracks, they seemed to have no desire to mention them.
But unexpectedly, when Jin Zhao was four, Jiang Yinghan had accidentally become pregnant. From the moment she learned of her pregnancy, all her attention had turned to her flesh and blood. After Jin Mu’s birth, Jiang Yinghan had been unwilling to spend any energy on Jin Zhao.
To Jiang Yinghan, Jin Zhao wasn’t a likable boy. He was an abandoned child Jin Qiang had arranged to bring from his hometown. Unlike other little boys, he wasn’t cheerful and outgoing. From his first day, he had watched her with defensive, resistant eyes. Despite being only two years old and quite good-looking, Jiang Yinghan could still sense the roughness and crudeness of northern men in his tiny frame.
Jin Qiang’s family had made it impossible for Jiang Yinghan to change her prejudice against northerners, just as she could never bring herself to like Jin Zhao. He wasn’t her child, after all, just a compromise made to force Jin Qiang’s choice. His presence constantly reminded her of Jin Qiang’s betrayal and years of humiliation.
Especially after Jin Mu’s birth, Jiang Yinghan had found Jin Zhao increasingly bothersome. Jin Qiang’s salary wasn’t high, and they had to support two children, making their lives increasingly tight.
Jiang Yinghan had given all her love to her biological daughter, growing increasingly cold and even irritated with Jin Zhao. Poverty breeds contempt—Jin Qiang had argued with her about this several times. Gradually, their former feelings had worn away under increasingly intense conflicts. The temporarily covered cracks had quickly resurfaced and grown wider, eventually becoming irreparable and leading to divorce. When Jiang Mu’s maternal grandfather passed away, Jiang Yinghan hadn’t even notified Jin Qiang and his son.
Jiang Yinghan had chosen to tell Jiang Mu these old stories before leaving the country because she understood that after all these years, her daughter still thought about those two. In corners Jiang Yinghan couldn’t see, Jiang Mu might still hope for familial love from them. But Jiang Yinghan knew that Jin Qiang was a man who appeared strong but was weak inside—he would only cause the mountain of fatherly love in his mature daughter’s heart to collapse. As for that boy, his eyes had shown ambition since childhood, always reminding her of an untameable wolf cub. He had no blood relation to Jiang Mu, and she didn’t want her daughter to have any involvement with him. So she had to tell Jiang Mu these things before leaving the country, letting her focus on her studies without harboring any expectations.
After Jiang Yinghan’s departure, Jiang Mu didn’t immediately set out to find her father and brother. She stayed home alone, processing this shocking past, until August when she finally set out for Tonggang with just a single suitcase.
As dusk fell, the train finally stopped at Tonggang North Station. Jiang Mu got off among the crowded passengers and followed the flow of people out of the station.
Before boarding the train, she had called the number Jiang Yinghan had left her. Jin Qiang answered. After years without contact, suddenly hearing her father’s voice felt strange to Jiang Mu, even making her nervous. She had been speechless for a moment until Jin Qiang had asked first: “Is that Mu Mu? Have you boarded yet?”
Jiang Mu had only managed an “Mm.”
Jin Qiang had asked about her arrival time, saying he would pick her up at the station, and reminded her to be careful on the journey.
Just half an hour ago, she had received a text from an unknown number saying: South Square exit.
So after leaving the station, Jiang Mu searched for direction signs, then followed another wave of people up the escalator. As soon as she reached ground level, the unfamiliar street scene and dry air in the atmosphere had dazed her for a moment. There were no skyscrapers; opposite the station stood a huge billboard advertising “Asia’s Strongest Motorcycle Steel Cables” along with various sealing strips and gasket advertisements. Looking around, everything seemed somewhat chaotic—this was her first impression of Tonggang, and it wasn’t particularly good.
Around her, passengers streamed out of the station. In the distance were passenger buses, with a few scattered red taxis and motorcycle taxis parked along the street.
Standing amid the flow of people, Jiang Mu looked around helplessly, searching for her father’s remembered face. Suddenly, a small boy ran up to her unexpectedly, grinning as he said, “Sister, give me some money for food.”
Jiang Mu looked down. The boy was no more than ten, wearing worn sneakers, his skin dark and rough, his eyes showing a mischievous sort of arrogance. She immediately stepped away, telling him, “I don’t have cash.”
Unexpectedly, the boy grabbed her directly and pulled out a QR code: “Just give something, sister.”
Jiang Mu hadn’t expected the boy’s grip to be so strong, pulling her chiffon blouse out of shape. She quickly grabbed her collar and was about to turn to glare at him when she noticed four or five young men either crouching or standing nearby, cigarettes dangling from their mouths as they smiled maliciously. One even shot her a threatening glare. The boy beside her spoke again: “Just give something, and we’ll let you go.”
Jiang Mu’s expression grew cold as she realized the group and the boy were working together, which explained the child’s brazenness. She had likely been targeted. Fear flashed through her mind—in this unfamiliar place if that group followed her, she didn’t know what might happen. She took out her phone, preparing to scan the code and cut her losses, when suddenly a lighter flew through the air, hitting the boy’s forehead before falling to the ground with a cracking sound.
Not just the boy, but even Jiang Mu was startled. They both looked left to see a white Volkswagen parked at the curb, with a tall man leaning against the door, expressionlessly staring at the boy.
Upon recognizing the man, the boy’s face suddenly stiffened. He instinctively looked back at the group behind him. The man leaning against the car slowly shifted his gaze to the youths, casually saying, “Patrol police are coming.”
The delinquents cursed and ran, with the boy quickly following, abandoning Jiang Mu. The South Square returned to calm.
Jiang Mu paused, her gaze returning to the man leaning against the car door. If she remembered correctly, this car had been parked there since she left the station. She didn’t know how long this man had been watching her, observing her confusion turn to disappointment and then panic—was he watching it like some kind of show?
Their eyes met for several seconds before the man suddenly opened the driver’s door, glancing at her: “How long are you planning to stand there before getting in?”
The voice was unfamiliar, the appearance strange, yet something ineffably familiar emanated from the man. Jiang Mu could hardly believe it, widening her eyes as if trying to take in every detail of him.
She pushed her luggage forward in large strides. As soon as she reached the curb, the man picked up her suitcase and headed straight for the trunk to store it.
Jiang Mu didn’t get in, instead standing at the curb, staring at him unblinkingly. The man wore a slightly tight white T-shirt; as he lifted the suitcase, his arm muscles showed clear, strong lines. Below his short, messy hair was a handsome, chiseled profile—completely that of a mature man, seemingly impossible to reconcile with her memories.
The man closed the trunk and, seeing Jiang Mu still rooted by the car door, slightly raised his narrow eyelids, walked a few steps toward her, and casually remarked, “Why aren’t you getting in? Want me to open the door for you?”
He pulled open the passenger door, one hand resting on it, giving her a bland look: “Please.”
That “please” was utterly ungentlemanly, even carrying a sort of lackadaisical sarcasm. Jiang Mu stared at him intently, her palms sweating. Just as she was about to speak, her voice caught. She cleared her throat awkwardly. The man stood motionless, his gaze meeting hers, as if he too was observing her every move.
Finally, Jiang Mu spoke again, cautiously asking, “Are you… are you Jin Zhao?”
Hearing her question, the man first lowered his head, then slightly tugged at the corner of his mouth before raising his gaze again, his eyes direct and powerful: “Don’t recognize me?”
The question made Jiang Mu’s cheeks flush. Jin Zhao decided not to let her embarrassment continue, saying directly, “Jin Qiang sent me to pick you up.”
Upon hearing her father’s name, Jiang Mu stopped hesitating. She sat in the passenger seat, obediently fastening her seatbelt, watching as Jin Zhao strode around the front of the car to the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Beside her was once her most familiar relative, the brother she had thought about for years. Jiang Mu had many questions she wanted to ask him over the years: why hadn’t he contacted her again? How had he been all these years? Had he received her letters? Or had he also moved? And why hadn’t he come back?
He had promised to come back to see her, and he had never broken his word before. Why had he broken it this time?
But since learning that Jin Zhao had no blood relation to her, these questions seemed to gradually answer themselves, and she could no longer bring herself to ask them.
Sitting together in the enclosed space, this sense of unfamiliarity was no less than if Jiang Mu were facing an unknown adult male alone. She sat ramrod straight, hands placed stiffly on her knees, occasionally stealing glances at the man beside her.
He controlled the steering wheel with one hand, appearing very skilled. After several intersections, they hit a red light with a sixty-second countdown. Jin Zhao took out his phone and casually scrolled through it. Jiang Mu gave him an uncomfortable glance. Without looking up, but seemingly sensing her gaze, he asked, “Did you transfer from Beijing?”
Jiang Mu properly “hmm-ed” in response.
“How did you get to Beijing?”
“Also by high-speed rail.”
“What time did you leave?”
“Six-thirty in the morning.”
“Did you lock the door?”
“Ah? Yes.”
Jin Zhao put away his phone and glanced at her, noting her proper posture and obedient question-and-answer manner. He suddenly clicked his tongue before starting the car again.
Jiang Mu didn’t know what that gesture meant and didn’t dare ask, only silently turning her gaze to the window. It should have been rush hour, but the streets here weren’t particularly crowded. Jin Zhao drove very fast the whole way, nearly throwing Jiang Mu’s heart out of her chest as he took several sharp turns to beat the red lights. She silently gripped the door handle, nervously watching the windshield.
At another red light, Jin Zhao glanced sideways at her small hand, knuckles white from gripping, and snorted: “What are you afraid of?”
Jiang Mu embarrassedly released her grip on the door and asked, “Those people at the station earlier, do you know them?”
Jin Zhao countered, “Do I look like I know them?”
Jiang Mu glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The boy’s expression had changed upon seeing Jin Zhao earlier—it was hard to say he didn’t know that group.
In Jiang Mu’s memory, her brother had excellent grades, a top student from elementary through middle school. His room had been full of books; she remembered he could understand many profound classics as early as fifth or sixth grade. He liked reading about World War II and modern Chinese history. He had told her about the Huaihai Campaign and explained the causes of the American Civil War. In her memory, her brother had been an impressive scholar who would surely become someone successful.
In Jiang Mu’s imagination, her brother now might be a university graduate, perhaps preparing for graduate school, wearing a clean white shirt, maybe even glasses—refined and knowledgeable.
But the man beside her wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt with mysterious yellow-black stains on the sleeves. He showed no scholarly refinement, instead radiating a sharp capability—completely different from what she had imagined.
Seemingly noticing Jiang Mu’s gaze on his sleeve, Jin Zhao simply rolled his short sleeve up to his shoulder, making it sleeveless, hiding the yellow-black stains and revealing bronze muscles that exuded a wild strength.
Jiang Mu looked away embarrassedly. Jin Zhao told her, “They’re just a bunch of good-for-nothing thugs, operating like guerrillas around the train station, specifically targeting lone women like you, asking for money to waste on games and food.”
“Don’t the police do anything?”
“How can they? Whether openly asking for money or secretly robbing, didn’t you see they use a child? They only ask for small amounts—ten or twenty yuan. Can they arrest him? At most, they chase them away. If you encounter something like this in the future, be fiercer.”
Jiang Mu was puzzled: “How to be fierce?”
Jin Zhao turned the steering wheel, parking the car at the curb, then answered her: “Call me.”
“—”
After speaking, he directly opened the door and got out. Jiang Mu stared at him blankly, took out her phone found the “South Square exit” message, quietly saved the strange number, labeled it “Brother,” and then looked up to see the man standing at the store entrance. She remembered Jin Zhao was five years older than her, so he should be 23 now. Below his faded jeans were long legs—how tall was he? He had been 170 centimeters at 14, right? Now he looked like he might be 185. That unfamiliar back view gave Jiang Mu a sense of unreality.
So she lowered her head again and quietly changed the contact name from “Brother” to: “Jin Zhao.”