After Yao Qiyun left that night, Situ Jie searched every corner of the room before bed, but couldn’t find the pills Wu Jiang had brought her. Frustrated, she collapsed onto the bed—and, remarkably, fell into a sound sleep without the help of any medication at all.
When she woke, the room was dim behind its heavy curtains. Checking the time, she realized it was already past noon. As she rolled out of bed, something felt off; touching her pillow, she found a small damp patch, as if tears had fallen in her sleep. Yet she couldn’t recall any sadness in the dream she’d just surfaced from—if anything, it had felt gentler than many of her actual memories.
She’d dreamed of herself and the Yao Qiyun of years ago, playing in some empty room, both blindfolded, wandering and groping around. She reached out, searching and searching—his laughter was right there at her ear, yet she could never quite touch him. Bright light seeped in around the edges of the blindfold, blurring into a hazy halo.
She knew he was right there, yet in the end she never found him, because she woke up.
Wu Jiang had called her several times; with her phone on silent, she’d naturally missed them all. There was also a text from Yao Qiyun.
“I told them you’d be coming home today.”
Situ Jie had long since fallen out of the habit of texting—too much trouble, when a few spoken words could say it just as well, why bother the fingers. Yao Qiyun wasn’t exactly a man of idle leisure either; Situ Jie suspected it was simply his stiff, awkward nature at work. However sociable he pretended to be, hiding behind the cold formality of written words probably felt safer to him. He was a coward. After last night’s humiliation, she’d half expected his fury to be enough to kill her—yet in the end all he’d managed was calling her “shameless” before slamming the door on his way out. In both nerve and brute force, he’d come up short. If there was one thing worth noting, it was his sheer forbearance. Wasn’t that supposedly his proudest quality? Even if he’d castrated himself, so to speak, in pursuit of some inner discipline, Situ Jie wouldn’t have found it the least bit surprising.
Wu Jiang’s wedding was set for tomorrow, and the conference came later still, which meant Situ Jie still had half a day of empty time today. There was no avoiding it—going back was unavoidable. Before heading out, she made a point of calling Wu Jiang to ask if he had time for dinner together, so she could hand over the gift she’d brought for the future Mrs. Wu. Wu Jiang said that worked, just a bit later, and he’d pick the place. In truth, Situ Jie just wanted a solid excuse to leave quickly after visiting her parents, to avoid any potential family dinner. A lie would have worked well enough too, but having genuinely arranged something with Wu Jiang beforehand eased her conscience a little.
Going from the West District to the East, Situ Jie deliberately chose to take the bus, a route that crossed the entire city, past scenery both familiar and subtly changed. Seven years was more than enough to transform a city beyond recognition—how much sturdier could people’s hearts really be than a city’s streets?
As the bus rolled into the East District, a deepening sense of familiarity gradually woke her memories. Situ Jie had been born, raised, and educated in this district; the old part of town hadn’t changed all that much. She realized, with a certain sadness, that every place that still felt dear to her was tied to one particular person.
It was under this very bus stop sign that they’d waited countless times for the No. 6 bus together. When it got crowded, he’d never hold her hand, but he’d always, grudgingly, stand up and give her his seat.
The same old department store—him walking ahead of her, arms loaded with bags. She’d say, “Yao Qiyun, would it kill you to walk a little slower?” He’d turn back and snap right back, “Situ Jie, would it kill you to shop a little less?”
At the next congested intersection, they’d once pretended they had no choice but to hold hands to cross the street, then argued, fell out, and stormed off in opposite directions, swearing never to speak to each other again. And within no time at all, they’d turn up together once more, repeating that same aggravating little scene all over again.
…
Memories too deep became a kind of psychological affliction. Even back when Situ Jie had first arrived abroad—foreign land, unfamiliar faces and scenery all around—the occasional silhouette glimpsed on a street corner, or a half-heard murmur in her native accent, could send her into uncontrollable trembling, followed by grief beyond measure. Her psychological dependence on medication had probably started around then; otherwise, lying awake all night, eyes open or closed, was pure agony. She couldn’t help thinking about it, yet she mustn’t think about it, mustn’t remember any of it at all—the tightness in her chest never eased, and she’d been convinced she would never get past it. So how had she gotten past it, eventually? She couldn’t say. Perhaps she’d simply grown used to it; whether she’d truly overcome it or not no longer seemed to matter. From then on, Situ Jie only dated foreign men. She liked that they were gentlemanly, warm, honest—on their faces, she never had to see that damned suppressed expression again, that hesitation on the verge of speech, that infuriating gap between word and heart.
From the outside, the house looked the same as ever, only the key to it had long since been discarded the day she’d left home. Situ Jie stood outside the door and rang the bell. During her years alone abroad, she’d cried more than once remembering the warmth of once being close to her parents—but now, standing just one door away from home, some small dark part of her hoped, absurdly, that this was simply bad timing, that no one would be home.
That faint, guilty hope was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps behind the door. It opened, and standing before Situ Jie was her mother, Xue Shaoping. Mother and daughter, seven years without setting eyes on each other in the flesh, now stood face to face at last. Perhaps because the once-bright, playful girl who’d left had become a poised woman nearing thirty, her mother’s first look carried, alongside the shock, an unmistakable flicker of unfamiliarity—though that feeling was quickly swept away by rising tears once she’d gathered herself.
“Mom.” Situ Jie’s voice broke on the word. She held herself in check, afraid of crying too hard, afraid that in the next instant she might throw herself, heedless, into her mother’s arms.
But in the next instant, Xue Shaoping only nodded and said, “You’re back,” before turning and walking into the house, before the tears could fall.
Situ Jie hesitated at the door.
“Come in. Have you forgotten the way around your own home?” Xue Shaoping called from inside. She’d apparently forgotten that her daughter, however much she carried herself like someone who could shoulder the sky falling down, was in fact a very literal-minded child at heart. Years ago, when her parents told her to “get out,” she had, and she’d gotten out far, far away. Now, until her mother invited her in, she wouldn’t dare cross the threshold even standing right at the door.
“Right.” Situ Jie stepped inside, turning her back to her mother as she changed into slippers, using the moment to wipe away the last traces of tears. The shoe cabinet had been moved—the house had clearly been renovated at some point, given a whole new look. Fitting, she thought; she could barely find a trace of her old life here anymore either.
Her mother went straight to the kitchen the moment they were inside. Situ Jie sat carefully on the sofa. It was dusk by now; the living room’s raised ceiling gave the space a more open, airy feel, decorated with a richer, more lavish touch than she remembered. Out abroad, she hadn’t kept up much with developments in the domestic pharmaceutical industry, and their weekly obligatory phone calls hadn’t covered much ground either. It looked like the household had only grown more prosperous—Yao Qiyun clearly hadn’t disappointed her parents at Jiu’an Tang.
Besides her mother, no one else seemed to be downstairs; her father evidently hadn’t come home yet. His absence surprised her somewhat, but it suited her just fine. After last night in the hotel room, he now knew he couldn’t get away with anything where she was concerned—he’d probably rein himself in a bit.
Just as she was thinking this, Xue Shaoping came out and handed her daughter a cup of tea. “Drink up. I made this herbal tea myself—the weather’s been so dry and hot lately, this’ll cool you down.”
Touched and a little overwhelmed, Situ Jie stood to take the cup and quickly took a big sip. She hadn’t had anything like it in so long that the bitterness caught her completely off guard, but she didn’t dare let it show on her face, forcing herself to swallow it down.
Mother and daughter both sat. As Situ Jie recovered from the bitterness, she noticed her mother, seated across from her, had also fallen into a wary silence. Time had finally carved an unbridgeable distance between a mother and her own daughter; both of them felt that faintly desolate strangeness. Yet sitting there in silence like this was far too awkward—someone had to say something.
Situ Jie set down her cup and, glancing around the room once more, offered, “The renovation turned out beautifully.”
Xue Shaoping said, “Your father and I don’t have much energy left for these things these days. Qiyun handled all of it—put in a lot of effort.”
“Is Dad still that busy with the company?”
“Same as always, always something that needs doing. If Qiyun hadn’t taken so much off his plate, I don’t know if his health could’ve kept up.”
“Mm, that’s a lot to ask of him.”
That topic, too, ran its course and died out. Situ Jie suddenly remembered she’d brought gifts—a designer handbag she’d picked out for her mother abroad, and a watch for her father. She’d put real thought into choosing them. She earned a decent living abroad, though nowhere near what her parents made; she knew perfectly well they lacked for nothing. But given how long it had been, and that she was no longer the little girl who could win her parents over with a playful pout, she couldn’t very well show up empty-handed.
Sure enough, Xue Shaoping accepted them, gave them a quick, indifferent glance, and set them back down on the coffee table.
“Thank you.”
Situ Jie smiled. Her chest ached, but she no longer felt like crying. That was how it always went—expect nothing unrealistic, and you’d never be disappointed. There was something almost freeing in that.
“Your father should be back soon. Today’s not a Friday, so I’m not sure if Qiyun will be home for dinner—I’ll call and check later. Let me go see what needs preparing in the kitchen.” Xue Shaoping rose and headed that way.
“Uh… don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ve got dinner plans tonight, I’ll just stay and chat a bit once Dad’s home, then head off. I just wanted to see you both—as long as you’re doing well, that’s enough.”
Xue Shaoping’s back stiffened for a moment, then she kept walking. “Suit yourself. Even if you’re not eating, the rest of us still have to.”
Situ Jie watched her mother start preparing dinner and walked over, asking, “Why isn’t Auntie Yao here to help out anymore?”
“My back’s been bad since last year, and I stopped keeping up with the company after that—just stay home now. There’s only two or three of us here most days, barely enough for me to keep myself busy, let alone need her help. Besides, she is Qiyun’s aunt after all, and Qiyun’s basically like a son to your father and me now—it wouldn’t feel right ordering his own relative around. So Qiyun sent her back to her hometown to enjoy her retirement. We just hire an hourly cleaner now and then,” Xue Shaoping said.
Hearing this, Situ Jie thought: on matters like this, her parents were exactly the same as always—always so scrupulously considerate, never looking down on anyone no matter their own status or wealth. Kindness, decency, integrity, self-discipline—these were the values her parents had instilled in her through strict upbringing since childhood. Though she and her parents had never quite reconciled, she’d always been grateful, deep down, for these qualities they’d given her. Even if they were generous to nearly everyone except, somehow, uniquely harsh with their own daughter—wasn’t that also a kind of love turned severe out of high expectation? Look for the fault in yourself first, hold your own to the highest standard, because you can’t control other people, only yourself—that was exactly their guiding principle in life.
“Let me help.” The thought melted a good deal of the ice in Situ Jie’s chest. She took the half-washed greens from her mother’s hands, and Xue Shaoping didn’t protest further.
She couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had stood side by side in the kitchen, trading small talk. In truth, back when Situ Jie was young, her parents had doted on their only daughter endlessly. They’d always stressed that a girl needed to be independent and sensible, that she absolutely mustn’t grow up helpless in the kitchen—but in practice, they’d never really been willing to let her do actual housework either. Situ Jie’s time in the kitchen back then had amounted to little more than playful mischief, an excuse to gossip with her mother. During her studies in America, she’d had no real standards about food, usually getting by on a sandwich or a burger, occasionally cooking spaghetti with meat sauce when the mood struck. Once she started working, life sped up, and cooking became even less of a thing—so “helping wash vegetables” now mostly meant splashing water everywhere with no idea what she was doing.
Seeing her flailing about, Xue Shaoping quickly turned down the faucet and sighed. “Look at you. We regret spoiling you so much back then.”
Situ Jie kept her head down, gathering up the water spinach floating in the sink, pushing it back and forth. On some inexplicable impulse, she asked, her voice hoarse, “Mom, do you really believe what happened back then was my fault? And even if it was—was it really bad enough that you couldn’t forgive me after all these years?”
It was a topic everyone had tacitly agreed to avoid—even last night’s gathering of a dozen-plus old friends had sidestepped it entirely, as if nothing had ever happened. But for Situ Jie’s family, it was an obstacle impossible to simply walk around.
“If you truly hoped for our forgiveness, would you have stayed away for seven years and never come back? Do your father and I even mean anything to you anymore?”
Tears rippled the surface of the water in front of Situ Jie. There had been a time when she’d dreamed of nothing more than her parents’ forgiveness, but every time she gathered the courage, their coldness made her retreat, so she’d learned to answer with the same distance and formality—only that way could she keep up her once-weekly phone calls at all. She didn’t quite understand it herself; perhaps the whole family shared the same stubborn streak, twisting tighter and tighter until it knotted into something impossible to undo.
“Think about it yourself—what have you actually done for this family all these years, besides one call every Friday that barely says anything? Oh, and one wire transfer, which we sent right back to you.”
Situ Jie froze. She had, in fact, sent money home—more than just one transfer. Even knowing full well her parents’ income made her modest contributions utterly negligible to them, some traditional part of her core still felt it was a daughter’s duty, however strained the relationship. So starting from her very first paycheck, she’d wired money home every month. Whether they used it or not was their business; whether she sent it was hers. As far as she knew, only that very first transfer had ever been returned—every one after that had gone through. She’d kept up the habit for years now. Why would her mother say something like that?
She had questions, but she also knew that bringing up money now would only worsen a situation that had barely begun to improve—because money wasn’t really the heart of this knot anyway.
“Mom, then tell me—what do you want me to do?” Situ Jie looked up through her tears, only then noticing her mother’s eyes were already wet too.
“That you’re not causing more trouble than you already have is a blessing in itself—what more could I possibly ask of you? Your father and I don’t need you fretting over us. You’re a girl—is it really so hard to just settle down and behave? I don’t want to dredge up the past again, but honestly, what’s the point of you running around with all those foreigners now? Don’t tell me it’s different abroad—even in Western society, being fickle isn’t exactly a virtue.”
Situ Jie wanted to argue, “I’m not running around with anyone.” But she knew there’d be no convincing her mother, and fury flared up inside her instead. How on earth would her parents even know about any of this, unless someone had gone running their mouth—it didn’t take a genius to guess who. That two-faced, backstabbing hypocrite, so vile and contemptible—he’d only picked up some scraps of gossip from Wu Jiang and the others just last night, and already he’d rushed to embellish and report it straight to her parents. She’d always known he was shameless, she just hadn’t realized quite how far that shamelessness went.
“Did Yao Qiyun tell you this? When has he ever said a good word about me? None of it’s even true, and you two just take his word for it?”
“And how would you know what Qiyun told me, exactly? I’ve told you time and again not to view people through a lens of prejudice. Even if it was him, he only meant well for you,” Xue Shaoping said.
Situ Jie could only give a silent, bitter laugh.
Seeing the conversation had already gone this far, Xue Shaoping set down what she was doing entirely. “You’re back this time for Wu Jiang’s wedding? You two grew up practically joined at the hip, and now here he is, finally settling down, ready to marry and start a family. What about you?”
“Marriage isn’t about just muddling through life together. I’ll consider it when I find the right person—I’m not going to marry just for the sake of marrying.” Situ Jie didn’t want to tell her mother that she’d long since lost all faith in love; one bout of despair had been more than enough.
“You’ll never find ‘the right person’ with an attitude like that.” Xue Shaoping hesitated a moment, then suddenly lowered her voice and asked, gravely, “Tell me honestly—is the person Qiyun’s been waiting for, all these years, you? Was there really something between you two back then?”
Situ Jie stiffened, turning her face away. “Him, waiting for me? What a joke. There’s nothing between us at all.”
“Is that so?” Xue Shaoping sounded only half convinced. “It’s precisely this matter that’s kept your father and me uneasy all these years. He’s lived alone this whole time—no telling when he’ll show up for dinner most days—but every single Friday night, without fail, he comes home. And it always happens to line up with when you call. This time you came back, he even went to the airport specially to pick you up…”
“Because the time I call happens to line up with when he comes home for dinner, that means he’s waiting for me? That’s a pretty low bar for ‘waiting.’ His dinner time lines up with the evening news broadcast every night too—why not say he’s still unmarried because he’s waiting for the news anchor?” Situ Jie said mockingly.
“There was one time, a Friday, he had something going on outside, pouring rain, the whole area flooding badly, cars stalling out everywhere—he came home wading through the water, right at the time you always call. He sat for a little while, then went right back out, wading through the flood again, because he still had things to finish. That’s when your father and I really started to wonder.”
“He’s twisted. Can you really analyze a twisted person’s mind using normal logic?”
Situ Jie was indeed in the habit of calling home at a fixed time each week—the routine helped her keep it up. But in seven years, Yao Qiyun had never once said a single word to her over the phone.
“Don’t talk nonsense. As far as I’m concerned, that boy Qiyun is worlds better than you.” Even Xue Shaoping herself was only half sure of what she was saying. This, really, was the tragedy of Chinese parents—whatever had once quietly passed between Situ Jie and Yao Qiyun, their closer friends had all more or less understood, yet the parents themselves had remained completely in the dark.
“If he’s really been waiting for you, that’s your good fortune.”
“Well, I really can’t handle that much good fortune, Mom. Don’t go playing matchmaker where it doesn’t belong. Don’t you know about Yao Qiyun and Tan Shaocheng? If anyone’s worth waiting for, it’s her—weren’t they supposed to be a perfect match?”
The obvious disdain in her daughter’s words rubbed Xue Shaoping the wrong way, and she scolded, “Well, you’re right about one thing—I always did like Shaocheng. Steady, sensible, a good girl. Such a shame it didn’t work out between her and Qiyun.”
Situ Jie said coldly, “Right, such a perfect pair, and it still didn’t work out. Heaven really has no eyes. What a waste.”
“It’s exactly because of that that I worry so much about Qiyun’s future. He’s poured himself into your father’s company, but he can’t sacrifice his whole life for it.”
“He’s a grown man. He can handle his own affairs.”
“Sigh, that’s what I used to think too. But last night, when he stayed over and I was putting away the clothes he’d changed out of, I found sleeping pills in his pocket. And also…”
The thief had finally shown himself. Situ Jie caught her mother’s hesitation and asked, “And also what?”
A faint flush rose on Xue Shaoping’s well-kept face. “I also found some disreputable-looking business card. I figured he must’ve slipped it into his pocket by accident, so I just tossed it in the trash without thinking twice. But then the boy actually came asking me for it back—and he dug it right out of the trash, took the pills back too, while he was at it.”
Situ Jie’s expression turned strange at this. “Hiring an escort is bad enough, but relying on sleeping pills and then still going for that on top of it—that’s downright pathological. Though I suppose a man his age having needs is normal enough… normal enough.”
“Normal, what’s normal about it?” Xue Shaoping snapped. “I keep thinking, if he could just settle down with someone, everything would sort itself out. Daughter, your father and I had a thought yesterday, out of nowhere…”
That word—”daughter”—sent a tremor through Situ Jie’s whole chest. It was the first time in seven years her mother had called her that. At last, in her mother’s heart, she’d become her “daughter” again.
“You’ve come back now. If you still care about your father and me at all, don’t leave again. Stay. Jiu’an Tang needs you too.”
Situ Jie thought of the work and life she’d built for herself in America, the life she’d genuinely grown to love and fit into—but on the other side stood her parents’ long-withheld acceptance and forgiveness. How could that not move her?
“That… let me think about it…”
“And another thing—you’re not getting any younger, and you don’t have anyone steady. It just so happens Qiyun’s ready to settle down too, and you two already know each other so well, so why don’t you two…”
The words hit Situ Jie like a bolt from a clear sky, scorching her through to the bone. She opened her mouth, but for a moment nothing came out at all.
Xue Shaoping, however, took her daughter’s silence—usually so quick with an opinion—as a good sign, and pressed on. “I already asked Qiyun’s opinion last night. He didn’t object…”
The hope that had briefly lit up Situ Jie’s face slowly dimmed. So this was why her parents had wanted her to come back.
“You don’t need to answer right away, think it over properly—this is your whole future, after all. Once you’ve really thought it through, you’ll understand your father and I only want what’s best for you.”
“No need to think it over.” Situ Jie smiled.
“You’re willing?”
“Over my dead body!”
Xue Shaoping’s face went rigid at the flat, uncompromising finality of it.
At that moment, a soft cough sounded from just outside the kitchen. Mother and daughter both turned—it was Yao Qiyun, standing quietly there, no telling when he’d come home. He didn’t look at Situ Jie; his face showed no expression at all. He simply said to Xue Shaoping, “Mom, not objecting doesn’t mean I agreed. Please leave this alone.”
With that, he turned and went upstairs.
Xue Shaoping shook her head. “Honestly, you two. Do you think I’m doing this for myself?”
Situ Jie murmured, “Mom, and is this really for me?”
“You’re nearly thirty. With Qiyun’s standing, he could easily find some fresh young thing far more delicate than you. And you? It’s a wonder he doesn’t even hold your past against you…”
“So you want me to fall on my knees in gratitude and kiss his feet?” Tears spilled down Situ Jie’s face in an instant. She’d rather her parents had gone right back to their usual coldness than face this, which hurt far worse. “Have you forgotten how you used to guard against me and him being together like guarding against a thief?”
“You two were young back then, it’s different now.” Bringing this up clearly left Xue Shaoping a little flustered.
“It’s not about age. It’s because you think your daughter’s so damaged goods that no one else would want her, so you need to hand her off to the man who owes you a debt of gratitude, like disposing of trash. And it’s only Yao Qiyun who binds you together—afraid Jiu’an Tang alone won’t be enough to keep him, afraid he’ll wear himself out chasing women, afraid being like a son to you isn’t intimate enough a tie—so you’re going to package me up and hand me over too?”
“Situ Jie, the moment you’re back you start talking like this.” A middle-aged man’s voice rose sharply with anger—Situ Jiu’an, who must have come home at the same time as Yao Qiyun, strode over in a few steps. “You have absolutely no sense of gratitude.”
“No sense of gratitude, is it. Even he probably doesn’t want this, and I certainly wouldn’t want him no matter how damaged I supposedly am!”
A stinging slap sent Situ Jie’s vision blank for a moment. It took her a while to turn her tilted face back straight. Dead silence all around—her mother, tears welling, too stunned to say a word; her father’s hand still raised in midair, frozen, whether from regret or anguish, hard to say; even Yao Qiyun, who’d gone upstairs, stood halfway up the staircase, staring blankly down at the wreckage below.
Situ Jie touched her lip, tasting pain and blood at once. Whatever smile she managed now must have looked ugly, but at least it beat crying. “Dad, I was going to ask how you’ve been feeling, but I guess I don’t need to now—still going strong, reflexes as sharp as ever. Guess I can leave with a clear conscience. You taught me to always be honest, so I suppose I’ll skip saying ‘see you later.'”
She stepped around Situ Jiu’an and headed for the door.
“I’ll see you out.” Yao Qiyun, ever composed in front of her parents, moved quickly down the stairs to her side.
“No need.”
Situ Jie refused at once. Changing her shoes, she kept her head down, numb with pain.
Just then, the lights in the house flickered a few times and abruptly went out. It was nearly eight in the evening by now, already dark outside, and the old-style house had poor lighting to begin with—without electricity, it plunged instantly into pitch black. Her eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough; she genuinely couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. All Situ Jie could think was: God, just let me get out of here. She reached out, groping, and finally managed to find the door handle.
She turned it—only to find her attempt thwarted, because another hand shot out and clamped down hard over the back of hers. Her palm was crushed between his hand and the metal handle, every bone in it aching.
Situ Jie made up her mind: even in front of her parents, she was going to curse him out loud, call him something filthy. But before she could get the word out, a sudden heat spread through her entire body—it took half a second for her mind to catch up with what was happening. Someone had pulled her tightly into an embrace.
That “filthy” someone held her—or rather, crushed against her; if there’d been any light at that moment, it surely would have looked like the ugliest, roughest posture imaginable, pressed together at nearly every inch, as if trying to fold her entirely into himself. The force of it very nearly knocked all the air from Situ Jie’s lungs. She struggled instinctively, but his face only dropped lower, burying into the curve of her neck, damp there, trembling just as his whole body was.
In that strange, suspended darkness, Situ Jie went quiet for a moment too. As his hand came up to touch her aching cheek, she finally caught her breath back, and murmured against his ear, in the lightest, most satisfying tone she could manage, everything her heart wanted to say in that moment.
She said: “You disgust me.”
At the faint click of a lighter, Yao Qiyun released her—or perhaps it was that whispered line, heard by no one but him, that made him let go. Light appeared from the direction of the kitchen; Situ Jiu’an had found his lighter.
Before they could spread that light across the room, Situ Jie had already opened the front door and walked out without a backward glance.