PSE - 57 (Final)

Feng Yun only discovered the existence of Xue Tianze earlier this year.

Ever since their son began graduate school in China, Feng Yun and her husband’s relationship with their child had deteriorated rapidly. Xue Lianwu dismissed Xue Jing’s “career” as mere posturing, and Feng Yun repeatedly tried to mediate between father and son, urging Xue Jing to reconcile with his father. However, Xue Jing not only refused further financial support from his parents but also stopped setting foot in their home entirely after a major argument with his father.

On New Year’s Eve, as usual, Xue Lianwu came home late. Feng Yun sat alone in front of the TV, waiting and waiting, surrounded by a lavish feast. Li Guyi, aged 78, was absent from the Spring Festival Gala, and so was Xue Lianwu, who was over 60.

At 1 a.m., Xue Lianwu, reeking of alcohol, was helped home by his driver. Feng Yun, dozing on the couch, quickly got up to attend to him.

In the bedroom, Feng Yun first removed her husband’s leather shoes and socks, then climbed onto the bed to unbuckle his belt. As she leaned down to untie his tie, she caught a whiff of a strong, feminine perfume. Over the years, she had turned a blind eye to Xue Lianwu’s “wine-and-lights” nightlife, so she maintained her composure.

Before sending his clothes to the laundry room for the housekeeper to wash, Feng Yun routinely checked Xue Lianwu’s pockets for important items. When she pulled out his phone, she had no intention of prying, but as soon as she placed it on the bedside table, a message lit up the screen.

Over the years, as his wife, Feng Yun had adhered to the rules of their early courtship, never imposing excessive control over Xue Lianwu, who also didn’t set a password on his phone.

But that night, almost possessed, Feng Yun tapped on the voice message from someone named “Fangfang.” Expecting to hear a flirtatious female voice cooing at her husband, she was stunned by what she heard instead—a child’s voice.

The little boy called Xue Lianwu “Dad” and said, “Dad, Happy New Year! Today, Mom and I ate dumplings at Grandma’s house!”

After the holiday, following two months of covert investigation, Feng Yun gathered all the information about Xue Tianze and his mother, “Fangfang.”

Li Fangfang was 25 years old and had joined Xue Lianwu’s company five years ago through an interview. Although her position was officially listed under the general office and she received social security benefits, she hadn’t worked a single day since her first day on the job.

To put it bluntly, Xue Lianwu provided a job for the young, beautiful, and impoverished Fangfang—but the nature of the job was to be kept hidden away as his mistress.

To cover their tracks, Xue Lianwu arranged for one of his subordinates to marry Fangfang on paper. Less than a year later, Fangfang gave birth to a son at a maternity center in Philadelphia. The child was born with American citizenship and bore the surname Xue.

If not for the pandemic forcing the mother and son to return to China for refuge, Feng Yun might never have had the chance to confront Fangfang face-to-face—or even discover that her husband had another son.

Yet, despite knowing their address and lying in wait near their usual routes for an entire week, Feng Yun remained paralyzed in her car, unable to muster the courage to approach them. Hunched over, she compulsively picked at the dead skin around her nails, watching numbly as Li Fangfang walked home hand-in-hand with Xue Tianze, laughing and chatting.

During those hundred or so moments of hesitation, she had considered running them over with her car—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Looking at them, she saw a reflection of herself from decades ago.

And Xue Lianwu’s genes were so powerful that Xue Tianze, delicate and refined, looked exactly like her own son had when he was a child.

Sleepless nights, anxiety gnawing at her heart, and excruciating pain in her liver and gallbladder followed. Not long after, one morning while applying skincare, Feng Yun discovered a patch of missing hair on her scalp.

She sat in front of the vanity, clutching the handfuls of hair that had fallen from her head, and finally woke her snoring husband to confront him. “Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded. She had always known about his infidelity and had endured it all for the sake of their family. But what she couldn’t bear was the fact that her son was no longer his only heir.

The existence of Xue Tianze rendered all her years of effort meaningless.

And Li Fangfang was so young—if Xue Ting were still alive, she would be 29 this year. How could Xue Lianwu take a mistress so much younger than his own daughter and have a child with her?

Xue Lianwu was no longer the handsome man he once was. The once elegant gentleman had transformed into a piece of cheese left to ferment and melt in the summer heat, covered in hair—it was utterly repulsive and against all moral decency.

Yet, just as during their first confrontation more than thirty years ago, Xue Lianwu remained cold and almost inhuman. He shoved her body aside and said, “But didn’t our daughter die long ago? Isn’t it your fault that I want another child? Look at your son’s behavior—writing literature, being a writer, acting crazy all day. How can I trust him with such a large business when he’s so emotionally fragile?”

“Do you even know what his latest novel is about? Making money by airing our dirty laundry—he’s completely useless. And how did you raise him? Your only job was to educate him properly. Did you do that? And what about his girlfriend? Isn’t she the same poor girl who tricked him before? Can she really be brought into the family? What help will she be to his future development? You’re both idiots.”

Fuming, Xue Lianwu got out of bed and went to the bathroom to shower. Feng Yun climbed up from the floor and returned to the vanity, attempting to fix her hair. No matter how much she combed it, pinned it, or tried to cover the bald patches at her hairline, the bare spots were glaringly obvious.

Her self-esteem had shrunk to an infinitesimal speck, like a particle of dust invisible to the naked eye.

All the luxury bags, fine clothes, mansions, and cars around her suddenly seemed distant. Her life had become that patch of pale, hairless scalp.

Xue Lianwu must have noticed her humiliation. When he emerged from the bathroom, he didn’t even speak to her. Like the late Li Shulan, Feng Yun immediately stood up, feigning normalcy, and smiled awkwardly at him. She asked, “Should we eat dinner earlier tonight?” She would find a way to make Xue Jing change his mind.

Thus began the barrage of calls and messages.

Over and over, she accused Xue Jing of being unfilial, begged him to work at Xue Lianwu’s company, and urged him to break up with Ha Yue. Her reasoning was always the same: “I’ve endured all these years for your benefit.” But Xue Jing remained unmoved. On the contrary, he told her that he was no longer a child who needed his father. If she truly cared for him, she should divorce Xue Lianwu immediately.

During their last conversation, knowing that communication was futile, Xue Jing didn’t say a word. He simply placed the phone aside and let her vent her anger.

Feng Yun was overcome with sorrow and choked back tears as she asked, “Who are you like to be so heartless? How can you ignore your own mother? You used to be such a considerate and obedient child.”

When she was younger, during a conflict with Xue Lianwu, she had lost control and submerged her young son’s head in the bathtub. That time, when she pulled Xue Jing out of the water, she was terrified by her own actions. Trembling with fear, she hugged him and cried. At just four years old, Xue Jing comforted her, patting her shoulder and saying, “Mommy, I held my breath. I won’t die, so don’t cry.”

But that tender-hearted little boy was gone. Instead, on the other end of the line, Xue Jing chuckled softly, his voice languid as he said, “Perhaps I’m like you. Grandpa passed away two years ago, and Grandma, who has no income, still scavenges cardboard in the streets to sell for money. Have you ever thought about going back to visit her? Maybe we’re both naturally emotionally detached—our hearts aren’t as warm as others’.”

That was the last time Xue Jing answered her call last month. After that day, he stopped taking her calls, and all her messages went unanswered.

Yesterday, upon learning that Xue Jing had returned to his residence in Jixi, Feng Yun came early this morning to try her luck. She didn’t see Xue Jing but instead met Ha Yue’s sick mother.

In the morning, there was a big meeting; in the afternoon, a small one.

At 7:30 p.m., as the sun was about to set, Xue Jing sat in Zhou Shuang’s office fiddling with his phone.

On the sofa opposite, Zhou Shuang talked nonstop about the contract finalized in the afternoon, throwing out dining options faster than Xue Jing could process. With great enthusiasm, he drafted a guest list for the welcome banquet.

But Xue Jing was utterly disinterested. No Chinese food, no Western food, no French cuisine. He didn’t want to see this person or that person. His words were nothing but a buzzkill.

He truly had no interest in attending the welcome dinner that evening. But after being out for ten hours, Ha Yue hadn’t called him to come home for dinner.

Even love-struck minds have their limits. This morning’s rejection by Ha Yue wasn’t forgotten. Was she already tired of him after just six months?

Not only that, but she had ignored him all day and started giving him the silent treatment. He suspected he was being emotionally manipulated.

If Ha Yue didn’t send him a message to break the ice today, he wouldn’t return home before midnight.

Suddenly, his phone was snatched away. Zhou Shuang threw it onto the table with force. “Can you stop looking at your phone? What’s so interesting about it? You’re acting like an internet-addicted teenager. Tell me, what do you want to eat? If you don’t eat soon, it’ll be pitch dark outside, and even dog poop won’t be warm anymore.”

Xue Jing ground his molars twice, retrieved his phone, and muttered darkly, “There’s nothing interesting to look at.” His girlfriend was giving him the cold shoulder, and he had no interest in anyone else’s messages either.

He stuffed the phone into his pocket, got up, and walked straight out. As he reached the elevator, seeing Zhou Shuang still in the office, he shouted impatiently, “Aren’t we eating? Hurry up! You’re the one dragging things out.”

The dining location was finally decided: “Artisan,” a Japanese restaurant on Financial Street with an average spend of three thousand yuan per person. Even two-person seats required reservations six months in advance.

But Zhou Shuang was the “social butterfly” of Financial Street and always found a way to squeeze in. Besides a few close friends, he also invited two die-hard fans to support Xue Jing. Since Xue Jing refused to meet women, he settled for inviting two men. As soon as the two fans sat down, they began gushing praise for Xue Jing’s talent, squeezing compliments into every gap in the conversation. One of them, a graduate student at Jixi University and a junior from Xue Jing’s Chinese literature department, was currently preparing his own poetry collection.

After hearing Xue Jing modestly deflect and then lower his head to look at the menu without responding further, 

the young man tried a different approach, attempting to engage Xue Jing in a profound discussion about literary insights—such as the meter of modern poetry or the successes and failures of Chinese literature over the century. 

He meticulously dissected words for quite some time, forcing Xue Jing, out of politeness, to respond. With a gentle smile, Xue Jing said, “Sorry, I don’t understand poetry. In fact, my understanding of literature isn’t very deep either. My writing is mostly just random scribbling. Sometimes, I feel like I’m practically illiterate. So, there’s really no point in us discussing this. Let’s skip it.” 

As soon as Xue Jing finished speaking, those around him burst into laughter. 

The younger student, already nervous, turned even redder and muttered softly, “Teacher Xue, you’re so funny. Please stop teasing me.” 

Xue Jing frowned, his previously pleasant expression turning sour. He thought to himself, I barely know you—why would I bother joking with you? Fortunately, he hadn’t fully unleashed his eccentric temper yet, as his phone vibrated in his pocket. 

Ha Yue had finally sent him a message: “Did you see the group chat? Xiaoyu gave birth. Mother and daughter are safe.” 

Half an hour later, Xue Jing unlocked the electronic door with his left hand carrying takeout sushi and his right hand holding a large bouquet of jasmine flowers. 

At 11 p.m., the house that was usually empty now had a floor lamp glowing softly. Wu Fangtian and Zhao Chunni had already retired to their rooms. Gifts were placed on the kitchen island, clearly bought specifically for him. And Ha Yue, wearing his T-shirt and silver headphones, sat hunched over her laptop reviewing proposals, her back to him, nestled in the sofa. 

It wasn’t any carefully staged romantic scene, but within seconds of walking in, Xue Jing’s heart inexplicably softened. What was life all about if not having someone waiting for you at home like this? 

The cold war between them instantly melted away. He tiptoed over to Ha Yue, leaned down, and planted a firm kiss on her cheek, smiling brighter than the jasmine in his arms: “Are you hungry? I brought back some late-night snacks.” 

Tempura, nigiri, cold noodles, and sashimi were arranged on the coffee table. The jasmine flowers and snack bouquets were placed on the bay window. Neither cared about appearances—they sat barefoot on the carpet, passing half-eaten takeout boxes back and forth. 

As fish roe burst in her mouth, Ha Yue scrolled through photos of the newborn on her phone. Xue Jing leaned in close, resting his head against hers to look down at the screen. Xiaoyu had been two weeks overdue, and before they left, she had cried every day, complaining why the baby wouldn’t come out already. 

Now, the child was finally born, and their hearts could finally settle. 

Though they heard raising a child was harder than pregnancy, this was indeed a blind spot in their knowledge. 

The four eyes stared at the screen for a long while. After pondering silently, Ha Yue didn’t comment. Finally, Xue Jing voiced what she was thinking: “To be honest, why does our goddaughter look so wrinkly, like a Shar Pei dog?” 

“Hey!” Ha Yue laughed and stuffed a rice ball topped with foie gras into his mouth, defending the baby. “She’ll grow into it. Newborns usually aren’t that cute when they’re first born.” 

“Who says?” Xue Jing’s cheeks bulged as he chewed. Seeing Ha Yue’s beer bottle was empty, he walked to the fridge to grab another one for her. Handing it over, he said, “My mom said I was gorgeous when I was born. She took me outside, and everyone gathered around to praise me.” 

Ha Yue accepted the beer from his hand, ignoring his boasting, and took a sip before saying, “Oh, by the way, your mom came by this morning. I figured you were in a meeting, so I didn’t tell you.” 

On his way back to the carpet, Xue Jing tripped over the sofa, nearly falling flat on the ground. “What? Why did she come? What did she say?” 

He didn’t need to think twice—eighty percent of the time, she probably urged Ha Yue to break up with him. 

So Xue Jing skipped straight to the consequences. 

“No, no, you tell me first—what did you say? You didn’t agree with her, did you? Tell me you didn’t!” All his efforts to defend Ha Yue to his mother, portraying her as a national hero, only for her to set fire to his rear flank! 

Watching Xue Jing panic, Ha Yue looked amused, like watching a puppy chase its tail. Calmly, she said, “Stop overthinking. We didn’t say much. We just sat at the island and drank tea for a while.” 

“We talked about your mom’s situation.” After learning that Ha Yue had stayed devoted to her sick mother, Feng Yun fell silent for a long time. 

“Before leaving, she told me to tell you that she went back to Gangcheng last week. She knows you’ve been sending living expenses to your grandmother under her name since you started earning money. She said she’s been considering your suggestion recently.” 

“But she doesn’t know if she can do it anytime soon. She seems… different.” 

Xue Jing froze for a moment, his eyes stinging. Covering his face, he said, “Don’t lie to me, Ha Yue. Bad people don’t change.” He couldn’t believe his mother hadn’t tried everything to sabotage Ha Yue, nor could he believe she’d truly repent. Just like how he still feared that the bad blood running through his veins might mean he’d eventually rot completely. 

Ha Yue knew exactly what he was thinking. She, too, was the child of a bad person, and she had once hated herself just as much. 

Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. Her voice was soft, like a giant feather duster soothing his tense nerves. “In April, when I was on a business trip to Yu City, I secretly visited that address.” 

That day, standing by her father’s hospital bed, looking at the middle-aged man who felt so unfamiliar to her, Ha Yue suddenly gained a kind of enlightenment. 

“My father always existed in my memory as a specific image. But when I saw him again, I realized he didn’t look anything like the person in my memories. His eyes, nose, mouth—all slightly different. Maybe it’s because too much time has passed, and he’s aged. Or maybe it’s because too much time has passed, and my memories were never accurate to begin with.” 

A child’s longing for “parents” often exists within the illusions built during early childhood. 

In short, as she looked at the photos on the wall of a once-healthy Ha Jianguo and Jiang Yimei, mother and son, she suddenly realized that her childhood was merely a part of her father’s life, just as the “father” she had long missed was only a part of hers. The possibilities between them, at the moment Ha Jianguo chose to leave, had diverged into parallel universes, each developing its own reality.

Ha Jianguo had already walked into someone else’s scenery—there was no need for her to linger. 

She wouldn’t forgive him on behalf of anyone, but she chose to let herself go. 

Marianne Moore once wrote, “Visible strength is invisible.” 

So that day, she remained quiet. Sitting by her father’s bedside, she calmly felt the invisible forces gathering and flowing around her until they finally settled like dust. She finished the tea Jiang Yimei had prepared for her, then rose to take her leave. 

When Jiang Yimei accompanied her downstairs, she couldn’t help but ask in confusion, “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Wasn’t there even a trace of accusation, resentment, or anger? No matter how Ha Yue might disrespect her, even if she were to lash out physically, Jiang Yimei felt she could accept it. 

After all, she had taken away a little girl’s father—a loss that money couldn’t compensate for. 

But after some thought, Ha Yue only asked her one question: “What kind of person do you think he is?” 

When Jiang Yimei answered without hesitation, “A good person,” Ha Yue’s demeanor remained unruffled. In fact, her tone carried a hint of relief as she said, “That’s good.” 

One person’s villain became another person’s hero. Perhaps the universe was like a snake biting its own tail—beginning and end connected, life within death, death within life. Until the very last second of life, no one knew the ending of the story. Maybe Xue Jing should give himself more time, just as she had given herself plenty of time. 

History might not repeat itself, but they had both been reborn through it. 

Not even ten minutes had passed since they nestled together on the sofa when Xue Jing heard the sound of a mouse clicking nearby. 

Still not recovered from his melancholy, he opened his eyes to find his workaholic girlfriend holding him with one arm while flipping through her laptop with the other. Her eyes were completely glued to the screen, silently mouthing the words of the proposal displayed there. 

“Ha Yue!” 

“What?” 

“Is this proposal so urgent that you have to look at it right now?” 

“It needs to be submitted next week. The sooner I can get it done, the better.” Financing was pressing, and two years still felt too long to Ha Yue. 

Xue Jing frowned and pulled her other arm onto him, his tone plaintive. “Let’s talk openly today. Do you really think work is much more important than me? I know financing is crucial for your company, but you don’t have to sacrifice our relationship like this for money. At the very least, even if it’s not fifty-fifty, it should be sixty-forty, right?” 

Forget sixty-forty—he now felt that Ha Yue had poured ninety-nine percent of herself into work, leaving only a sliver for Zhao Chunni. It was completely unfair. He had tailored a future just for her, but it seemed her blueprint didn’t include him at all. 

“Company growth doesn’t happen overnight. I know you’re in a rush, but try not to be so anxious…” 

Before Xue Jing could finish, Ha Yue cut off his rambling rhetoric. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes twinkling with laughter, her voice sweet as honey. With her long hair hastily tied up into a messy bun on top of her head, she looked refreshingly vibrant, like a summer orange sorbet. “I am in a rush, Xue Jing. Once the milestone is reached, I plan to reward myself by proposing to my boyfriend after the financing succeeds. You don’t know—my boyfriend is handsome, well-mannered, capable in the kitchen and the boardroom, emotionally stable, and excellent at finding ways to save face. He’s also incredibly kind-hearted—he even donated a library this year! I’m very willing to spend the rest of my life with him. If I don’t put a ring on his finger soon, I’m afraid he’ll run away…” 

Before Ha Yue even finished speaking, Xue Jing had already bolted. Before running back to the study, he didn’t forget to shove the laptop back into her hands, his expression serious as he told her she absolutely had to revise the proposal properly—no sleeping until it was done. 

As for why Ha Yue texted him in the living room asking what he was doing in the study? 

He needed to buckle down and finish the novel he’d been dragging his feet on for months. 

To prepare for the possibility of financing failure, he decided to start saving money for his wife’s company from today onward. 

(End of Story)