Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was young back then, and there were things I hadn’t quite figured out yet, even as I acted on pure instinct.

But figuring things out isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Back to my story.

My name is He Jia. I was just starting eighth grade the year I met Chen Zhen.

Rewinding to many years ago, my parents divorced when I was in second grade.

I ended up with my father because his financial situation was better. That was the reason I was willing to admit.

The real reason was that my mother didn’t want me.

My mother looked soft and fragile, but she had a backbone of steel and couldn’t tolerate a single speck of dust in her eyes. Because of my father’s infidelity-and the fact that I had helped cover it up-she left us without a moment’s hesitation.

I told her that I only covered for Dad because I was afraid they would get divorced, not because I was being intentionally dishonest. I told her I had a good personality, got good grades, was handsome, could endure hardships, and would be a filial son to her in the future…

I listed all sorts of virtues, trying to prove my worth so she would fight for custody, but she refused.

Because I missed her so much, I often cried at home, clutching the clothes she had left behind.

My dad said I didn’t have an ounce of masculinity in me. He snatched her clothes away, threw them out, and locked me in my room to reflect on my behavior. From the window, I watched the sanitation truck haul her clothes away.

When my dad cooked, I said it tasted bad. He didn’t indulge me; he just dumped the food out and tossed a hundred-yuan bill at me. If I was hungry, I’d naturally go downstairs to buy something to eat.

My dad was a businessman and didn’t have the spare time to fuss over me. Most of the time, I was left to my own devices.

I staked out my mother’s office and followed her to find out where she lived. Then, I knocked on her door.

She was shocked. She pulled me inside and looked me up and down. She said my face was filthy and covered in sweat, my hair hadn’t been cut in ages, my clothes stank, and my collar had turned yellow.

She made me take a bath, cooked a bowl of noodles for me, and then took me to get a haircut and a stroll through the park.

I wrote about that day in an essay titled “An Unforgettable Day.” My teacher couldn’t understand what was so unforgettable about it.

After that, I went to see her every week. Sometimes I even intentionally made myself look dirty just so she would nag me a bit more.

But as time went on, she grew tired. She told me I was older now and needed to learn to take care of myself.

By the time I was in fourth grade, my mother had grown cold toward me. Where she used to spend the whole day with me, I eventually became like a guest; after I’d been there for a few minutes, she would make an excuse to go out and tell me to go home.

Sometimes she wasn’t even there. I’d knock and, getting no answer, would have no choice but to go back home.

Later, my mother remarried. She moved away, changed jobs, and changed her phone number.

I didn’t see her once during the entire year of fifth grade.

I was depressed that year. I didn’t comb my hair or wash my face. I wore the same clothes for a month, going to school looking like a complete slob.

I stopped studying and became hypersensitive, swearing and picking fights over the smallest things. My classmates all hated being around me.

The teacher contacted my father to report the issues. Setting aside my behavior for a moment, the teacher first said, “At least clean the boy up; he looks like a street urchin.” My dad nodded in agreement, gave me a brief lecture when he got home, and then forgot about it the next day.

He was too busy to manage me. At most, he’d give me a few hundred yuan to take my clothes to the dry cleaners or buy some snacks to smooth things over with my classmates. I still had to face most of my problems alone.

Actually, when it came down to it, there weren’t really any “problems.” I was just lost, with no sense of direction for the future and nothing to look forward to.

Once, I overheard a classmate’s mother describe me as “uncouth-you can tell he’s a child with no mother.” I was suddenly terrified and didn’t want to go to school anymore.

I started skipping class, wandering the streets, playing games at shady internet cafes, and I even learned how to smoke.

Sometimes I would go to the park where my mother used to take me and sit there idly for half the day.

Life went on like that.

Until one day during the Lunar New Year, I saw my mother from a distance, leading a little girl through the park.

I rubbed my eyes. I wasn’t mistaken; it really was her.

I sprang up immediately, brushed the grass off my rear, and was about to run over when I couldn’t help but notice the little girl beside her.

She wasn’t my mother’s biological child; she was the “baggage” her current husband had brought into the marriage. Yet my mother treated her as her own, dressing the child up to look delicate and adorable.

The girl was bundled in a puffy pink down jacket, looking like a little ball. She held a candied hawthorn stick in her hand, skipping along with a face that radiated the look of being loved.

Blood rushed to my head in a fit of rage. I lunged in front of them, kicked the girl over, and snatched her candied hawthorns.

The girl wailed. My mother rushed to pick her up, checking her over while soothing her. Then, she turned around and slapped me.

My face stung instantly. My chilblains were broken open; they were itchy and painful all at once.

I always remembered my mother saying that the skin on the face is delicate and shouldn’t be scratched, lest it leave a scar.

So, after I developed chilblains, even though the itching on my cheeks drove me mad every day, I didn’t dare touch them.

Now, having been slapped, the pain reached deep into my heart, yet it brought a strange sense of relief.

It was as if everything finally had a definitive answer.

My mother looked down at me and said something coldly.

I couldn’t hear her; my ears were ringing. I just watched her pick up the child and walk away. She didn’t look back, not even once.
After I finished my candied haws, I paced around for a while before leaving as well.

After that, I never dared to go back to that park.

When I got home, I came down with a severe cold, and my fever was so bad that I lost consciousness. In a haze between dreams and reality, I heard my mother’s footsteps right by my ear.

I cried out for her, reaching out to grab her, sobbing and babbling a lot of nonsense through my tears. But the mother in my nightmare would not stay for me.

In the end, I struggled to crawl out of bed and called my father, who was away at a meeting. He rushed back overnight, and only then was I saved.

During the summer break before middle school, I started learning how to take care of myself.

I cooked my own meals, did my own laundry, ironed my clothes, scrubbed my collars, and got my hair cut regularly.

Before school started, I washed my backpack, replaced my stationery, and learned how to cover my textbooks with protective film.

I stopped fighting, swearing, smoking, and skipping class. I knew exactly how to behave to appear well-bred.

I would bring a nutritionally balanced breakfast to school and take out a container of pre-cut fruit during breaks to share with my classmates.

Making sure no one discovered I didn’t have a mother was more important to me than my studies.

Maintaining this facade was not easy. When I went home, besides doing homework, I had to do many other things just to make it look like I was the apple of my parents’ eye.

Yet many people obtained all of this without lifting a finger.

They had long since grown accustomed to the things they were born with, as natural as breathing air. They would naturally talk about things their mothers said, snacks their mothers prepared, and new clothes their mothers bought, never considering it a divine blessing.

Things my classmates said in passing would leave me miserable for a long time.

But I wasn’t going to stay fragile forever. Regarding the other students, I slowly let it go.

I only cared about the girl sitting in front of me.

The girl in the front row had the kind of illness that could never be cured in a lifetime. She had a strange personality, terrible grades, and lacked any ability to care for herself. She was simply a disaster.

And yet, her hair was always combed so neatly, her neck was scrubbed clean, her collars never turned yellow, and her clothes were never wrinkled-they even smelled wonderful…

All these details were the physical manifestation of being loved. Her mother raised her so well.

Why? Why would her mother still want such a terrible child…

While my mother didn’t want me?

I finally understood.

The reason I couldn’t help but approach Chen Zhen wasn’t because I liked her, but because I liked the way she was loved wholeheartedly.

What I envied was never the meticulous care-I could take care of myself. What I envied was that she could be as unpopular as she wanted, as flawed as she wanted, and she didn’t have to be afraid because she had a mother who loved her.

During breaks, I often watched Teacher Lu walk over to Chen Zhen’s desk, squat down, speak to her softly, and stroke her hair. I would watch from behind, my eyes nearly bursting with envy.

Once Teacher Lu left, I would quickly tap Chen Zhen on the shoulder.

I kept trying to play nice to someone who didn’t care, attempting to pry into their lives as mother and daughter. But she always acted as if it were her birthright, expressionless and silent.

I couldn’t stop obsessing over her, trying to talk to her, but talking to her only made me angry.

It was like performing a monologue while she watched coldly from the sidelines, probably mocking me in her heart.

Sometimes while talking, dark thoughts would pop into my head. I wanted to slap her a few times, to make that annoying poker face crack, to beat her until she was weeping bitterly.

But I didn’t dare.

I would reflexively remember what happened in the park that year.

She had a mother to protect her. She had an innate confidence that I lacked.

I didn’t want to endure this torment every day.

I thought about it carefully; every problem has a solution.

Why should Chen Zhen be so lucky? Is this really something that only depends on fate?

Can’t I fight for it myself?

How wonderful it would be if Teacher Lu could be my mother.

At a certain moment, I had a sudden epiphany-

Since my mother could replace me with another child, I could also replace her with another mother.

Teacher Lu was divorced, and so was my dad. They could easily form a new family.

Teacher Lu’s financial situation wasn’t great, while my dad was very wealthy. Since my mom left, my dad had become a disheveled, greasy man who even developed stomach problems because he didn’t eat properly. Teacher Lu should be able to look after him.

Teacher Lu had so much love, but pouring it all into Chen Zhen yielded no positive response. Chen Zhen was cold, detached, ignorant of the world, and cruelly naive. She wouldn’t even call her “Mom.” It was a waste.

The things Chen Zhen wasted were exactly what I had craved for so long. If Teacher Lu became my mother, I could have a share of her love.

Perhaps Teacher Lu wouldn’t treat me sincerely at first, but I would always be good to her, show her filial piety, and repay her. My sincerity would eventually earn her love.

If Chen Zhen and I became siblings, I would find her much more tolerable. I would fulfill my duties as an older brother and take good care of my younger sister.

It was a perfect plan. I had to find a way to get them married.

Even though my mind was dark, in the beginning, my thoughts were still quite normal.

Things hadn’t yet reached the point of no return.