Chapter 5

I shook my head.

The hospital lobby was enormous. Taking a detour would make it look as though I owed her something.

Su Mian approached, her voice quiet.

“Ning Zhao.”

I stopped.

“What is it?”

She looked down at the two coins in her hand. Only after a long time did she speak.

“I'm not here to make trouble. I just want to ask how Xia Wenzhou is.”

“Can't you contact him?”

“He blocked me.”

She smiled bitterly.

“A rare thing. He could never bear to block me before.”

“He finally learned how.”

She looked up.

The clinging grievance had left her eyes. Only weariness remained.

“Is he really doing so badly?”

“He works at a logistics depot and rents a place. His family still pays his basic living allowance. He can't live as he used to, so of course he's unhappy. But he won't starve.”

She fell silent.

The vending machine cast a cold white light.

She inserted the coins and pressed a button twice. Nothing happened.

Cheng Yu stepped over to inspect the slot.

“Jammed.”

He didn't buy her a drink. He only pressed the coin-return button.

The two coins fell out and rolled to her feet.

She bent to collect them, looking terrible.

Clenching them, she stood still.

Someone had always paid for her before. Perhaps she hadn't adjusted to dealing with a jammed machine herself.

“You two seem to be doing well.”

I looked at Cheng Yu beside me and smiled.

“Yes. We're doing quite well.”

Her fingers curled slightly.

“Were you never afraid? That day in the garage, when Xia Wenzhou pressured you—weren't you frightened at all?”

I looked at her.

“Of course I was. Afraid Mr. Luo wouldn't survive. Afraid you'd pin everything on me. That's why I recorded you and called my parents and lawyer. When you were afraid, you thought of finding someone to take your place. When I was afraid, I thought of keeping myself out of the pit.”

She opened her mouth as though to argue.

In the end, nothing came out.

Cheng Yu and I left the lobby.

Behind us came the faint sound of a drink can falling.

Neither of us turned.

After that, Su Mian never sought me out again.

Later, I heard she'd moved to another city and become a sales assistant at a beauty store.

She spoke sweetly and knew how to coax customers. Her initial results were quite good.

I couldn't be bothered to guess what life she'd lead afterward.

Xia Wenzhou appeared once more.

As a volunteer at an event for Luo Kaiming's project.

At first, staff thought he'd come to cause trouble and nearly showed him out.

Then he produced his registration, saying he wanted to transport supplies. No publicity, no stipend.

Luo Kaiming told me calmly.

“Chair Ning, I asked why he'd come. He said he wanted to do something useful.”

“What did you assign him?”

“Moving tables and chairs all morning. Then handing out materials to people seeking advice.” He paused. “He didn't leave.”

I nodded.

“Follow the rules, then.”

He agreed, then laughed.

“Someone recognized him while he was handing things out. Asked if he was the internet's ‘take-the-blame guy.’ His face turned red, but he still handed everything out.”

I put down the phone and asked no more.

Whether he distributed all those leaflets afterward, I didn't inquire.

Luo Kaiming scheduled volunteers according to project rules. If he wanted to come, he could follow the procedure.

How long he persevered was something no one could do for him.

On the day I gave birth, dawn was just breaking when Cheng Yu drove me to hospital.

He'd put the maternity bag, thermos, and soft-soled slippers in the trunk two weeks earlier. In the passenger seat, I was in too much pain to praise his thoughtfulness. I could only clutch my seat belt and breathe slowly. He drove steadily. Even stopping at a red light, he remembered to ask whether my water was too hot.

When my parents arrived, Dad took him to the end of the corridor for a talk. After I came out of the delivery room, Ning Bai gave a vivid account: Dad had meant to offer a few words of advice, but Cheng Yu looked as tense as though making a defense argument in court, standing straighter than the corridor's potted plants.

Exhausted, I could barely open my eyes. I still laughed.

After our daughter's birth, Cheng Yu named her Cheng An. The nurse brought over a tiny bundle, frowning, little fingers clenched into fists. He stood watching for a long time, even touching her with utmost care.

“I hope she has your temperament.”

His voice was soft.

Leaning against the pillows, I asked, “Would yours be so bad?”

“Mine would be fine too.” He considered. “But she should be better with words.”

Everyone laughed, even Dad turning away to cover his mouth.

Aunt Xia brought Yuanyuan to visit. Taller now, she placed a paper flower beside the cradle and whispered to ask whether her little sister liked it. Aunt Xia sat by the bed talking with Mom. When she mentioned Xia Wenzhou, she sounded much calmer.

“He came home for dinner last month. Not empty-handed. Picture books for Yuanyuan, blood-pressure medicine for his father. He stayed half an hour and washed the dishes before leaving.”

Mom nodded. “Willing to wash dishes. That's progress.”

Aunt Xia laughed, her eyes a little red. “I don't know whether he'll learn to live properly. At least he's finally beginning to do things himself.”

I looked down at Cheng An in her cradle. Sunlight lay across her face as she slept soundly. I had no interest left in asking whether Xia Wenzhou's future would be good or bad. Plenty of feeding bottles waited to be washed.

At the one-month celebration, Cheng Yu carried our daughter while offering tea to the elders. Dad's expression remained solemn, but his smile as he accepted the cup was broader than anyone's. Mom wouldn't let Cheng An go, saying she looked like me, then turning to criticize Cheng Yu's still-inexpert hold.

Ning Bai stood snapping photos. When he caught Cheng Yu fumbling with a diaper, he laughed so hard he nearly sat on the floor.

“I'm keeping this for An'an when she grows up.”

Cheng Yu glared. “Put the camera down.”

“Embarrassed now?” Ning Bai dodged. “You were so calm protecting my sister. How did one diaper bankrupt your image?”

I leaned on the sofa drinking soup. Ning Bai and Cheng Yu tussled over the camera, Mom laughed with the baby in her arms, and Dad complained about the noise while quickly handing over a bottle.

The house was noisy and lively. It made me feel utterly secure.

A few days later, the foundation received an anonymous donation. A brief note read: “For Mr. Luo.”

Luo Kaiming quickly traced it to Xia Wenzhou. He called to ask whether to return it.

After thinking, I said, “It's in the project now. Use it according to the rules. Victims' rehabilitation and legal aid. Don't send him a thank-you letter.”

He chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.”

The money later helped an injured delivery rider complete rehabilitation. We made his story into a short video. Xia Wenzhou's name didn't appear at the end.

Wrongdoing couldn't be easily whitewashed. Making amends didn't need fanfare either. Debts had to be repaid one by one, the road walked step by step.

Once Cheng An could walk, she loved pushing a little wooden cart around the living room.

Afraid she'd strike a table corner, Cheng Yu had padded every sharp edge in advance. Mom disliked the colors and bought new covers. Dad tightened the wheels. Ning Bai made her race around the house, then was chased by Mom to put away the toys.

One weekend, Cheng An pushed her cart into Cheng Yu's leg, looked up, and called, “Daddy.”

He'd been reading documents. He froze for two seconds, set down the computer, and lifted her for a turn in his arms.

Drizzle fell outside. The living-room lights glowed gently. Cheng An giggled, clutching a biscuit and scattering crumbs over his shoulder. He didn't mind, only taking a tissue to wipe her hands.

I watched from the sofa, utterly calm.

That absurd garage farce had long been covered by more tangible days: hot soup, a packet of baby wipes upside down on the table, an umbrella always tilted toward me, family gathered around a child, laughing.

I didn't need to prove to anyone that my life was better.

Once the door closed, everyone at home was here. The lights were on.

Enough.

That evening, after Cheng An fell asleep, Cheng Yu and I gathered the blocks scattered over the rug. Outside, the rain had stopped. Tiny droplets remained on the glass.

He put the last blue block in the box and switched off the main light, leaving only the warm yellow lamp by the entrance.

Beside him, I could still smell soup from the kitchen.

So this was how days worked. One small thing after another, slowly holding a person up.

The hands that had once tried to drag me into the mud could no longer reach here.

I drew the curtains and went to our room with Cheng Yu. At the corridor's end, the baby monitor glowed softly. Cheng An slept soundly. Outside, the city continued, distant streams of headlights passing.

I closed the door and left the noise outside.

Xia Wenzhou never returned to the Xia Group. Uncle Xia placed most of his shares in a trust and appointed a professional manager to run the company day to day.

Xia Wenzhou received a fixed allowance, continued working at the depot, and went home to see Yuanyuan on holidays.

Su Mian moved elsewhere and worked in a cosmetics shop. Sometimes Ning Bai came across her social feed and asked whether I wanted to see. I always told him to scroll past.

She and Xia Wenzhou had left my life. They didn't need to keep using my phone battery.

When Cheng An was two, the foundation moved into new offices. Luo Kaiming, responsible for hotline training, walked much more freely. Showing new colleagues their desks, he placed a box of sweets at reception to help people seeking advice “settle down.”

That afternoon, I carried Cheng An to find Cheng Yu.

She'd just learned to say “Daddy” and called it out all the way.

He came from the meeting room and bent to take her. Soon, a biscuit smudge marked his suit collar.

Outside, the rain had stopped. Droplets slid slowly down the window frame.

Holding our daughter beside me, he asked what I wanted for dinner.

I handed him my bag and took Cheng An's little hand.

As we left the office, the corridor lights came on one after another, stretching the shadows of the three of us long, long ahead.