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“I’m always home alone during the day. Mom doesn’t come back until eight or nine at night. I always feel like there’s something in the house…”
As she spoke, He Niaoniao’s voice trembled, tears already welling up. “Grandma He Yuan keeps saying Dad will come back to see me, that he’s worried about me. But whenever I hear that, I get scared… I’m scared he’ll come back and take me away.”
Zhuang Jie didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.
At night, she ended up telling her how people die, and where they go after death. Then she described what “heaven” was like in a soft, imagined way.
He Niaoniao’s eyes lit up with longing. “Then… can we go there too?”
Zhuang Jie scolded her lightly, saying she was talking nonsense. She added that there were schools in heaven too—if you went at the wrong time, you’d still have to study.
That immediately stunned He Niaoniao.
To her, school was the most painful place in the world.
Then she started complaining about Lü Tao instead. She said Lü Tao had a bad temper, couldn’t separate issues from emotions, and whenever she made one mistake, she would drag up all the old ones and settle scores later.
“It’s called being rational,” Zhuang Jie corrected her.
“I don’t care, it’s all the same,” He Niaoniao said stubbornly. Then, in a sudden burst of childish ambition, she declared, “When I grow up, I’m going to be the gentlest mom in the world. Even if my kid gets zero on a test and is a total idiot, I won’t scold her. I won’t even hit her.”
She paused, then suddenly remembered her essay and got angry again. “My composition even got zero once!”
“Why zero?” Zhuang Jie asked.
“Because the teacher said write ‘My Dream.’ So I wrote my dream was to become a demolition team leader. In the future I’d point at all the schools and say: demolish, demolish, demolish—illegal buildings, all of them!”
Zhuang Jie burst out laughing, head tilted back.
After He Niaoniao fell asleep, Zhuang Jie went outside and called Lü Tao.
“I quit my job,” she said. “I’ll come back and help you for a year first. Once things stabilize, I’ll return to Shanghai.”
Lü Tao agreed. “Half a year is enough.”
Zhuang Jie told her the luggage was already packed and being shipped back. “Don’t open the boxes randomly. There are fragile items inside.”
They chatted briefly about He Niaoniao again.
Lü Tao said the child was too playful, too naive—didn’t understand anything. At Zhuang Jie’s age, she was already helping with housework.
Zhuang Jie frowned slightly. “Kids are supposed to be naive. Being ‘mature early’ isn’t something to praise.”
Lü Tao didn’t respond.
Zhuang Jie realized her tone might’ve been off, but she didn’t explain further.
Zhuang Jie took He Niaoniao to Disneyland. They stayed at a themed hotel and played wildly for two days before returning to Nanting Town with their luggage.
Lü Tao came to pick them up. She glanced at He Niaoniao but didn’t speak to her. He Niaoniao pursed her lips—she had someone backing her now, she wasn’t afraid.
Lü Tao loaded the luggage into the van and said, “Tomorrow go look at an automatic car. It’ll be easier for you to drive.”
“Okay,” Zhuang Jie replied.
They talked about business direction—online promotion, and whether they could get their products into city supermarkets. One handled production, the other sales.
Lü Tao also reminded her about rural social rules: adapt, don’t talk too “urban.”
She even told a story. A girl who’d just returned from abroad ran into a relative on the road and politely said in Mandarin, “Uncle, have you eaten?”
Zhuang Jie laughed so hard she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Uncle, have you eaten?” she repeated, laughing again.
Lü Tao parked the car. “Everyone’s from the same village. You come back speaking like that, of course people laugh at you. Just speak normally.”
As she spoke, she greeted someone outside the window.
Zhuang Jie looked over—
It was Chen Maidong.
He didn’t look at her. He only spoke briefly with Lü Tao, then rode off on his motorcycle toward the funeral home.
“That young man’s not bad,” Zhuang Jie said casually.
Lü Tao replied flatly, “He’s fine. Just not broad-minded.”
That evening, Chen Maidong’s grandmother mentioned meeting Zhuang Jie in town. Her shopfront had expanded from two units to three.
“She and her mother are capable people,” the old lady said. “Her father’s just passed the seventh day, and they’ve already started business again.”
She added that they had even spent over a hundred thousand yuan on medical expenses for a relative.
“Not easy at all,” she sighed. “They’ve got younger kids to raise too. We should invite that girl over for a meal sometime.”
Chen Maidong didn’t respond.
Later, he went out for cigarettes and ran into friends at the night market, who called him to drink. He didn’t. Since working in this field, he never touched alcohol—he needed to be ready at any time for calls from the funeral home.
On his way home, he bought a bowl of Maiye soup. As he stood by the stall, he saw Zhuang Jie arrive with her younger sister and sit down.
They ordered the same dish.
He knew she saw him.
Neither of them spoke.
He smoked quietly while waiting for his takeaway. Then she called out behind him:
“Old classmate?”
He turned.
“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me?”
“I didn’t see you,” he said.
Zhuang Jie smiled meaningfully. “Yeah, right.”
He didn’t argue. After picking up his food, he left.
The shop owner called after him—he hadn’t paid. He came back and scanned to pay.
Just a few steps later, he heard her ask the owner:
“Did he pay for mine?”
“No, he only paid for one bowl.”
“I’ll pay myself then. I’m not short of money,” she said lightly.
She barely touched her food.
She sat waiting for He Niaoniao, watching her eat slowly—one spoonful at a time, always blowing on it first.
After finishing, she took her home. Lü Tao was still busy at the factory—it had only just started production.
Zhuang Jie sat on the bed checking He Niaoniao’s homework. It was… terrible.
After the child fell asleep, she took the papers to the balcony, smoked while correcting them, and scrolled through her phone.
When she saw Wang Baozhu’s post of chickens and ducks, she commented:
“Bring them to my factory for braising later.”
Wang Baozhu replied in private message: “Really can be braised?”
“Yes. I’ll just label your chickens,” Zhuang Jie replied.
“Won’t it be troublesome?”
“No.”
While chatting, ash from her cigarette fell—burning a hole straight through He Niaoniao’s worksheet.
……
How am I supposed to explain this to the teacher tomorrow?
When Lü Tao came back, Zhuang Jie was half asleep. She heated up some food.
“Mum,” she said, “when Wang Baozhu comes to the factory, just help her braise the chickens.”
“Braise chickens?” Lü Tao frowned, confused.
“She raises them herself. Just help her process them. I’ve got something to discuss with her.”
The next morning, Zhuang Jie went to check the shop renovation. Passing a congee shop, she saw Chen Maidong sitting inside eating.
She turned back, went in, scanned the code, and tilted her chin toward his table.
“Boss, how much?”
“Ten yuan.”
After paying, she looked at him.
“Old classmate, I’ve paid. You can continue.”
Look how generous she was.
Later, Chen Maidong came to her shop.
“I need to use your bathroom.”
“For what?”
“To pee.”
He came out, cigarette in his mouth, glancing around the shop.
“You’re not leaving?”
“Not for now. Helping my mom settle things first.”
He nodded.
Then she suddenly asked, “Why did you delete me on WeChat?”
“Accidentally deleted.”
“Nonsense.”
He opened his QR code.
Zhuang Jie originally wanted to refuse—but thinking it over, she scanned it anyway.
“Thanks for helping with my dad’s funeral,” she said. “I’ll treat you to a meal later.”
“Okay,” he replied.
A brief silence.
Then she said, almost awkwardly, “Let’s just call it even. You’re not exactly a good person, and I’m not either.”
He looked at her. “Even for what?”
She froze, then waved it off. “Forget it. From the subway thing… let’s just drop it.”
“You mean the kiss?”
“…Yes. Drop it. I’ve already forgotten anyway.”
Chen Maidong didn’t care. “Fine.”
He said it like it really meant nothing to him.
Zhuang Jie held out her hand. “Truce.”
“I don’t shake hands,” he said.
“What’s wrong with your hands?”
“It’s my job. Some people mind. So I never—”
Before he finished, she grabbed his hand anyway.
“Then it’s restored diplomatic relations.”
He glanced at her. “You’re fine at everything except being broad-minded.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left.
That afternoon, he was called back to the funeral home.
Two groups were already arguing at the entrance—family of the deceased on one side, in-laws on the other. No need to guess which was which.
The woman had died by drinking pesticide the day before, after discovering her husband’s affair.
When the body was found, it was already stiff.
No hospital. No notification. The funeral home was contacted directly.
The family of the woman blocked the procedures, demanding the son-in-law show up and give an explanation.
But the son-in-law had already fled, too afraid to appear.
