Yang Zhiyan looked at them, her gaze turning cold.
Back then, she had truly believed they were family. She thought that if borrowing money could help the household, then it was worth it.
She had believed this was her home.
Even though her parents had always favored sons over daughters, they were still her biological parents. Giving them one hundred thousand yuan in exchange for having a family—it had seemed like a fair bargain.
But she had been wrong.
This had never been her home.
And these people had never once treated her like family.
She remembered something her college roommate had once said.
“No matter what, save enough money to buy yourself a small apartment. Otherwise, one day after you get married, if you have an argument and your husband tells you to get out of his house, you won’t even have the confidence to talk back.”
She never imagined she would experience that feeling before she was even married.
From the sofa, her mother chimed in to support the others.
“That’s right, Yanyan. That money was your way of honoring your parents. You said so yourself.”
There was urgency in her voice, eager to settle the matter once and for all.
Yang Zhiyan turned to look at her.
Her mother sat at the edge of the sofa, unconsciously clutching the towel blanket in her hands until it had become a tight ball.
“Do you remember what you said back then?” her mother continued. “You said the money was for your parents to use however we saw fit. Buying your brother a house is a major family matter. What’s wrong with using that money to help him?”
What’s wrong with it?
Everything.
When you’re the child who is never favored, whatever you do is wrong.
Yang Zhiyan opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She remembered that night.
She had placed the bank card in her mother’s hand and said the one hundred thousand yuan was for the down payment on the family’s new home.
Her mother’s eyes had reddened as she held her hand.
“Yanyan is so sensible… such a filial daughter.”
Her brother had sat nearby without saying a word, only smiling awkwardly.
At the time, she had honestly believed it didn’t matter who used the money.
They were family.
Why should there be yours and mine?
Only now did she understand what that really meant.
“Why separate yours from mine?” actually meant:
Yours belongs to everyone.
Everyone else’s belongs to her brother.
Just then, her father walked out of the bedroom.
She wasn’t sure whether he’d been listening behind the door the whole time or had simply been awakened by the noise.
He wore a faded striped pajama set. His uncombed hair stuck up unevenly as he frowned at the tense scene in the living room.
“Why are you all yelling in the middle of the night?” he said impatiently. “Can’t you have a proper conversation?”
No one answered.
He glanced at Yang Zhiyan, then at the phone lying on the coffee table.
The screen was still lit, displaying the smiling face of that balding man.
“Your sister-in-law introduced him because she wants what’s best for you,” her father declared, as though delivering the final verdict. “You’re a girl. Sooner or later you’ll get married. What future can you possibly have making qipaos?”
Yang Zhiyan stood alone in the center of the living room.
The ceiling light shone directly above her, shrinking her shadow into a tiny patch beneath her feet.
The wounds inflicted by one’s family…
They took a lifetime to heal.
No one in this world loves me anymore, she thought.
From now on… I’ll just have to learn to love myself.
“Fine,” she said, her voice calm but distant. “Then consider that one hundred thousand yuan my repayment for raising me.”
She turned and headed toward her room.
“Stop right there!”
Her sister-in-law’s shrill voice chased after her.
“So you’re just moving out? Absolutely not! If you leave, everyone will think I forced you out! How am I supposed to face people on this street?”
Yang Zhiyan stopped without turning around.
She answered with quiet sarcasm.
“Didn’t you?”
The cool April breeze slipped through the gap in the balcony door and brushed across her back, sending a chill through her.
Silence lingered behind her for a few seconds.
Then her sister-in-law’s voice rose again, louder and faster, sounding as though she were the one suffering an injustice.
“Yang Zhiyan, have you no conscience? I married into the Yang family, gave birth to children, and now I’m carrying another one. Do you think that’s easy? I introduced that man because I care about you! He has wonderful qualifications—a government employee with a secure, lifelong job! Countless girls would love to marry someone like him. If he weren’t a little older and a little bald, do you think it would ever be your turn?”
Yang Zhiyan slowly turned around.
She looked at her sister-in-law’s flushed face.
Her lips moved nonstop.
“I’m doing this for your own good.”
“So many girls are desperate to marry him.”
“You should be grateful it’s your turn.”
What was there to say to someone who believed that being a civil servant was the modern equivalent of becoming an imperial official, and that a woman’s entire worth lay in giving birth to sons?
When you reasoned with her, she talked about conscience.
When you talked about conscience, she talked about sacrifice.
When you acknowledged her sacrifices, she accused you of being ungrateful.
It was an endless loop with no way out.
Talking to someone without education was exhausting.
Sure enough, the less educated a person was, the more stubbornly they clung to their own beliefs.
She finally understood how true that saying was.
“I’ve already started looking for a place,” Yang Zhiyan said. “I’ll move out in a few days. That way I won’t delay you from turning my room into the nursery.”
This time, she didn’t stop again.
She walked into her room.
And closed the door.
Yet the insults—
“Heartless.”
“Ungrateful.”
“Serves you right that no one wants to marry you.”
—still seeped through the thin walls and into her ears.
Yang Zhiyan leaned her back against the door and slowly slid down until she was crouching on the floor.
She hadn’t turned on the light.
The curtains were drawn, and only a sliver of streetlight filtered through, casting a narrow strip of light across the floor.
Half her shadow lay in the light.
The other half disappeared into darkness.
She remained there for a long time.
Eventually, the living room grew quiet.
The television was switched off.
Footsteps faded away.
Bedroom doors closed one after another.
Only then did Yang Zhiyan stand up, her legs tingling from numbness.
She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up her phone, and opened a rental app.
The bluish glow illuminated her face, revealing the dark circles beneath her eyes with startling clarity.
Listings of every kind filled the screen.
An ordinary one-bedroom apartment generally rented for between 2,500 and 3,500 yuan a month.
If I move out, I won’t have to pay the five thousand yuan I give my family every month. Even if I spend three thousand on rent, I’ll still have five thousand left. I can even save a little, especially with my commissions.
Maybe one day… I’ll really be able to own a little home of my own.
And living alone…
That would probably feel peaceful.
And free.
She bookmarked several apartments she liked.
Tomorrow she’d ask her teacher for a day off to go view them.
The sooner she moved out, the better.
Teacher Mu would probably scold her first.
But after that, she’d most likely help her find a place.
Teacher Mu had lived in Haicheng for most of her life and knew many people. Perhaps she could help her find somewhere both affordable and safe.
Back when Yang Zhiyan had borrowed money from Teacher Mu so her brother, Yang Yaohua, could make the down payment on his apartment, Teacher Mu had warned her.
“Your family clearly favors sons over daughters. Be careful. You’re a young woman. If you hand over every cent you earn, what will you do if you suddenly need money someday?”
Later, following Teacher Mu’s advice, Yang Zhiyan secretly opened another bank account without telling anyone.
Every commission she earned from making qipaos was deposited directly into that account by Teacher Mu.
It was her only source of security.
I’m so lucky, Yang Zhiyan thought.
Lucky to have met a teacher as wonderful as Teacher Mu.
As she lay there thinking, her eyelids gradually grew heavy.
Her phone suddenly vibrated.
She picked it up.
It was a message from Teacher Mu.
It was already almost eleven o’clock, yet her teacher was still awake.
Yanyan, remember that haute couture order we talked about today? The client added three more qipaos. That’s six in total now. Your commission will be 3,600 yuan. I’ll transfer it to your account at the end of the month.
“Thank you, Teacher.”
Another message followed.
And how are the preparations for Saturday’s Qipao Culture Exhibition going?
Yang Zhiyan replied immediately.
Don’t worry, Teacher. Everything’s ready.