Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I was born in a small county town where development is slow and life lacks the frantic pace of the big cities.

My grandmother, now over eighty years old, gripped my hand tightly the moment she saw me. She looked me over again and again, her voice a constant stream of scolding about how I hadn’t been eating properly and had grown so thin.

I slowed my pace, walking home with her through the golden glow of the setting sun.

It was just like when I was young.

Watching her white hair and her back, so hunched she could no longer stand straight, a sudden, delayed ache spread through my heart.

During all those years I spent chasing after Zhou Yisheng, how many times had my dear grandmother lingered at the entrance of the village, waiting to see if that familiar figure would step off the bus?

I was raised by my grandmother and wasn’t particularly close to my parents. I hadn’t even told them about my return or the divorce.

On my twelfth day back, a neighbor came over with a cell phone to find my grandmother. Her expression was complicated as she looked at me, and I instantly understood-it was a call from my parents.

When my grandmother handed me the phone, the woman on the other end was already roaring in anger.

I hung up without a word. Less than a minute later, the phone rang again. I had barely uttered a “hello” when the shouting on the other side became even louder than before.

I hung up again.

After four or five repetitions of this, the woman on the other end finally calmed down. She stopped screaming and simply demanded my new phone number, asking what on earth was going through my head to not tell her about something as significant as a divorce.

I pursed my lips and replied flatly, “I was thinking that I’ve been divorced for nearly two months, and it took you less time to remember me this time than it did the last.”

The line went silent as she choked on her words.

When I was a child, our family’s financial situation was poor. After my parents had me, they decided to go out and make a living, leaving me behind with my grandmother.

A few years later, they had indeed made some money, but they also had a new child by their side. I had a younger sister.

The reason they gave for having another child was that I wasn’t close to them.

Later, during summer vacations, they tried to bring me to live with them to foster a bond. At that time, my sister was six and I was eleven.

At that age, I no longer cared about fighting with a child over toys, but my sister-whom I had only met a handful of times-was full of hostility toward me.

I once picked up a Barbie doll she had carelessly tossed onto the sofa and placed it neatly on the table. By the time our parents returned from work, those dolls had somehow lost their arms and legs.

My sister clutched the broken dolls, pouting and sobbing quietly. She knew that acting this way would earn her more sympathy.

My parents looked at me with complicated expressions. I tried desperately to explain that I hadn’t done it.

I still remember the feeling of helplessness I felt in that moment.

My mother waved her hand, her attitude dismissive. “Fine, fine, I know it wasn’t you.”

Then, turning to my father when she thought I couldn’t hear, she said, “How did your mother raise this child to be like this?”

My father said nothing, clearly silently agreeing that I was the culprit.

Later, they bought even more beautiful Barbie dolls and locked them in a storage room. Only the three of them had the key.

I am allergic to seafood, something my grandmother remembered vividly; seafood never appeared on our dining table. Before I visited my parents, my grandmother had specifically reminded my mother not to let me touch any seafood, and my mother had nodded in agreement.

Yet, on my third day at their house, I ended up in the hospital because of a bowl of seafood porridge. As I struggled to breathe in the emergency room, I could hear my parents’ noisy bickering through the door.

My mother said, “How was I supposed to know she’s allergic to seafood?”

My father’s voice sounded helpless. “Didn’t Mom tell you when she came over?”

“She said so many things, how am I supposed to remember it all?” my mother’s voice rose sharply. “Besides, she’s so old now. Doesn’t she know what she can and can’t eat? I think she’s just greedy. Her sister was eating it, and she probably felt like she was missing out if she didn’t have some too…”

…

Now, the reason they were so angry was likely because the Zhou Yisheng they once looked down upon had become a rising star in the business world.

I had let go of a Golden goose who could have brought advantages to their business. Otherwise, how else would they have remembered to call me?