She knelt before her like a big dog with its soft belly exposed

“…Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with me. They’ve been causing trouble outside the company lately, but I ignored them.”

“I had it looked into. After Liu Tingsong forced them out of S City, they went back to their hometown. They couldn’t hold jobs, burned through their savings, and, desperate, returned to S City.”

Xu Nanzhu, standing by the window, paused, flicking ash from her cigarette into a paper box.

She continued, “Maybe they hit rock bottom. Driven by extreme emotions, they came after you.”

“Good thing you’re okay.”

The figure opposite stood in shadow, a sharp silhouette, cigarette in hand, its ember flickering with the breeze.

Xu Nanzhu took a deep drag. “I’ll handle the mess outside.”

“Your grandfather’s worried about you… he called me. Li Jianbai, too. If you have time, let them know you’re safe,” she said haltingly, struggling to finish.

Xu Fengluan didn’t respond, silent from start to finish.

Until her cigarette burned halfway, she spoke slowly, “What were you thinking when you were pregnant with me?”

The abrupt question caught Xu Nanzhu off guard. She took a sluggish drag, saying, “It was strange, wasn’t it?”

Xu Fengluan looked up, her face unreadable in the dark, but her gaze fixed on Xu Nanzhu.

“Really strange. Even after all the planning and decisions.”

“The hospital, the surgery, even the donor’s genes—I chose them myself. But when you were in my belly, it still felt strange,” Xu Nanzhu said, tugging her lips.

“You like green eyes?” Xu Fengluan’s question seemed random but was calculated.

As a child craving maternal love, she’d dissected every detail, searching for signs of being cherished.

Xu Nanzhu nodded, adding, “His looks and credentials were outstanding. The type I’d choose if I ever married.”

She gave a helpless look, sighing, “I was selfish then, picking a business school student. No connection to music, and he was tone-deaf…”

Xu Fengluan’s lips curved faintly. “Did you ever sing?”

“In college, I performed on stage,” Xu Nanzhu smiled.

Xu Fengluan froze, unaware of this, then shook her head.

She didn’t know why she asked—perhaps a fleeting openness near death’s door. The answer loosened something inside her, a sour, tingling relief.

“Thanks for helping,” she said.

As she’d admitted, Xu Fengluan was soft-hearted, starved for love. Despite Xu Nanzhu’s wrongs, a few kind gestures softened her.

Xu Nanzhu went quiet, looking out the window, her tone complex. “It’s what I should do.”

“The root cause is me,” she knew.

Xu Fengluan’s cigarette was nearly gone. She’d been chain-smoking lately, as if addicted, but now, she lit it and didn’t inhale, letting it burn as a prop. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Like Xu Nanzhu, she looked outside. The garden was barren, autumn’s dead leaves all that remained, hard to imagine spring’s vibrance.

She spoke slowly, “But I still can’t forgive you.”

Xu Nanzhu paused, her expression unsurprised.

The festering wound lingered; no one’s change could heal it instantly, let alone erase it.

“If you need anything later, come to me.”

“Thanks.”

The conversation ended. This mother and daughter, bound by blood, meant to share the closest bond, had their first calm exchange in over twenty years. Whether there’d be another was uncertain. Time could shift many things but not everything.

Chu Cheng, waiting nearby, rushed forward as Xu Nanzhu left. “What happened? What’d she say?”

Xu Fengluan shook her head, saying little. “Orange, I need you to do something for me…”

Chu Cheng blinked, puzzled, then her face shifted from confusion to resignation, finally to sad understanding. She patted Xu’s shoulder, voice heavy, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“But you better come back.”

“We’re always here.”

Xu Fengluan smiled, her voice earnest, “Thanks.”

—

The wind grew sharp, the night darker.

With Xu Nanzhu and Chu Qingyan’s help, the paparazzi were driven off. Chu Cheng and the others managed the fallout, and the car accident’s buzz faded.

But some posts, from unknown sources, dug up Xu Fengluan’s summer hospitalization, posting vague timelines.

To avoid trouble, they had the trending topic pulled.

Heavy footsteps approached, pausing outside. The person stood, lost in thought, before pushing the door open.

“You’re still awake?” they said, surprised.

The figure by the bed shook her head, beckoning.

Due to the doctor’s advice to stay overnight, Liu Tingsong was in the ward.

Her tattered clothes were gone, replaced by loose blue-and-white hospital garb. Her bandaged hand lifted, sleeve slipping to reveal a fragile wrist, brittle as a twig.

Xu Fengluan trudged over, voice low, “You need rest.”

“Xu Nanzhu came by. We talked a bit.”

“I’ll stay with you tonight.”

Emotions jumbled her words, spilling out before Liu could respond.

Luckily, Liu understood, her eyes full of worry, as if asking if Xu Nanzhu had upset her.

Xu stood before her, still in her ruined clothes, sleeves and pants rolled up, scabbed wounds stark, white hair a mess—like a proud stray dog, now fallen, slinking to its owner, pitiful.

Liu reached out, holding her “paw,” shaking it gently.

Xu pursed her lips, voice hoarser, “She didn’t upset me. She helped clear things up.”

Meant as reassurance, it sounded like a sulky complaint.

Perhaps fearing nurse scolding, only a dim lamp lit the room, shadows bold on the floor, overlapping into deeper darkness.

“You need rest to heal,” Xu repeated, like a soulless puppet stuck on loop.

Liu looked up, hair falling to reveal a pale ear with a faint bloodstain, perhaps from the light’s trick. She seemed thinner, her cheeks gaunt, as if a breeze could topple her.

Xu couldn’t pull away, letting Liu’s cool, slender fingers hook hers.

“I’m fine, not as bad as you—just scratches,” Xu said, answering Liu’s unspoken question.

Liu just gazed, her watery eyes reflecting Xu, rippling softly.

Xu took a deep breath, wanting to speak but unable. Her facade crumbled, knees buckling, long legs folding as she knelt by Liu’s uninjured side.

Like a big dog baring its soft belly to its owner.

Liu hugged her, pressing Xu’s head to her waist.

“Liu Tingsong, I’m scared,” Xu’s voice trembled. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

“I’m really scared.”

She clutched Liu’s clothes, wrinkling them, nearly tearing a hole.

“I almost lost you,” she said, each word raw with unmasked fear, the scene replaying, unstoppable.

Liu held her, bandaged hand stroking Xu’s hair, gray strands slipping through.

Xu’s knees inched closer, narrowing the gap, scabs cracking, blood beading.

“Why’d you push me away?” Her voice broke with a sob.

“Why do you always do this? Push me away, treat me like a helpless kid needing protection,” she accused.

“I’m grown.”

“Liu Tingsong, I’m grown,” she stressed, words spilling recklessly.

“You keep protecting me, and look at you now. Why don’t you get it?!” Her voice rose, frantic.

Liu stayed calm, gazing gently.

Xu’s nose stung, stumbling, “If… if you…”

She couldn’t finish.

Instead, she asked, “What about Fat Cat?”

After a pause, deflated, “What about me?” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Tears soaked the fabric, damp warmth against Liu’s waist. Xu’s curved spine was starkly thin, bones visible.

Liu pinched her earlobe, cupping her face, lifting it gently.

[Don’t cry]

She mouthed silent comfort, wiping Xu’s tear-streaked eyes, red spreading like rouge, even her earlobes flushed.

[It’s okay]

[I’m here]

Xu’s green eyes brimmed with mist, tears falling like beans.

“Did it hurt just now?” she asked.

[No pain]

Liu shook her head, forcing a weak, pale smile.

“You’re lying,” Xu didn’t believe her.

[Not lying]

Xu’s reddened knees pressed to the floor as Liu pulled her into an embrace, muffling her words. Liu’s arms tightened, as if merging Xu into her very being.

That night, Liu thought they’d finally reconcile. But the next morning, waking, the bed beside her was cold.

This time, Xu Fengluan was the one who left without a word.

On a bleak autumn morning, she left S City, telling no one, leaving no note, vanishing resolutely.