“Mom, I’m not an invalid. Just let me go to work.”
This was countless times now that Ying Jia’en had pleaded to go back to the office. Staying at home was simply too boring. When Xiao Zetong was looking after her, the days were relatively pleasant, but once Zetong saw that she was out of danger, she went back to work, leaving Jia’en alone to face Ying Yu and Yun Han.
“Your Mommy is watching over the company for you, so just focus on recovering. What do you want for dinner?”
Aiai’s brush with death had truly terrified Yun Han. Ever since she brought her back from Ying Xing’er’s villa, her care had been so meticulous it almost made Jia’en want to run away.
“Mom, I’m used to being busy. Stopping suddenly like this makes me feel restless.”
Jia’en started acting spoiled, clinging to Yun Han’s arm. Her movements were cautious; although the wound on her back was about sixty percent healed, any sudden motion still pulled painfully on the stitches.
“Be gentle! Don’t rip your wound open.” Yun Han quickly steadied her. This little ancestor had never given her a moment’s peace—not as a child, and certainly not now.
“Mom, going to the office isn’t like going to a battlefield. Besides, don’t you want Mommy to come home and spend time with you? Please, Mom?”
Jia’en tried everything—coaxing, logic, even a bit of emotional leverage—but Yun Han was determined not to let her out the door.
“We’ve been an old married couple for years; who cares about her company? You, on the other hand, better stay put and heal properly, or don’t even think about stepping out of this house.”
Yun Han had officially laid down the law. Jia’en pouted and fell silent. In this house, Yun Han’s word was final. She had always been the “strict mother” figure, and though she’d softened over the years, that sternness was back in full force.
“I’m doing this for your own good. Once you start working, you lose track of day and night and skip meals. How can your body recover like that? Do you want to be riddled with ailments when you’re older?”
Yun Han never considered herself a nag, but with Jia’en, she seemed to have an endless supply of lectures.
“Alright, alright! I’ll be a good girl and go back to my room to ‘heal.’ Mom, stop nagging, or be careful—one day Mommy might not be able to stand it and find someone younger on the outside.”
Jia’en finished her sentence and bolted into her room. A second later, she heard the usually poised Yun Han lose her cool and scream, “You brat!” Jia’en clutched her chest, relieved she had moved fast.
Bored out of her mind on her bed, she grabbed her phone and dialed Xiao Zetong. At that moment, Zetong was in a meeting. She had a habit of leaving her phone in her office during meetings so as not to break her train of thought. Although she was the Chairperson, she always gave the head seat to Ying Yu out of respect for her elder—and because Ying Yu was her future mother-in-law.
“Chairperson, your phone in the office has been ringing for a long time. It’s President Little Ying. Do you want to take it?” her assistant whispered.
Zetong frowned. “Turn it off,” she commanded quietly. She was a woman who kept business and personal life strictly separate; when she was working, she was all business.
“Yes, ma’am.”
An hour later, the meeting ended. Zetong stretched her stiff neck and headed out.
“Lele,” Ying Yu called out.
“As a shareholder of Nitian, I’m happy you can separate work from personal matters. But as Jia’en’s mother, let me remind you: turning off your phone is going to infuriate her. Good luck, child.”
Ying Yu spoke with the tone of someone watching a comedy. Life was a bit too quiet; watching these two bicker was good entertainment. A drop of cold sweat appeared on Zetong’s forehead. Like mother, like daughter—Jia’en definitely inherited those genes.
Ying Yu was right. When Zetong got back to her office and called Jia’en, she didn’t hear her voice, only the cold automated message: “The number you have dialed is powered off.” Zetong sighed and put her phone down.
After work, she rushed to the Ying residence. Ying Yu had beaten her there. She opened the door with a “told-you-so” look and pointed toward Jia’en’s room.
“I just checked in. It’s a mess. Good luck, kid.”
Zetong put on her slippers and walked toward the room, feeling genuine trepidation. She swallowed hard and opened the door. Instead of a greeting, a pillow came flying at her face. She dodged expertly.
“Aiai, what are you making a scene for now?” Zetong scolded in a low voice.
“I’m making a scene? Yeah, I am! But what does my ‘scene’ have to do with you? I’m in my own house, in my own room. What right do you have to scold me!” Jia’en stood on the bed like a ruffled cat, looking down at her.
In the kitchen, Yun Han heard the shouting. “Ying Yu, they aren’t actually going to fight, are they?”
“If they were going to fight, they would have done it years ago. Relax,” Ying Yu replied nonchalantly.
Back in the room: “Was it really necessary? I was in a meeting! Why are you acting like this?” Zetong fired back.
“I’ll act however I want! Nobody asked you to look!” Jia’en picked up a porcelain vase, ready to smash it.
Zetong looked at it calmly. “That’s your favorite vase. Smash it if you want; I’m not the one who’ll be heartbroken.”
Jia’en froze, looked at the vase, and then huffily but very gently placed it back. “You always bully me. You’ve bullied me since we were kids. You’re a meanie, a dummy, a jerk!”
She sat on the bed and began to wail. Zetong rolled her eyes, grabbed some tissues, and sat beside her, gently wiping her tears.
“Good thing I’m not a man, or I’d be having a literal headache right now. How did I end up with a handful like you? Your injury hasn’t healed, but your temper sure has grown. You know I don’t take my phone into meetings. If I don’t pick up, it means I’m busy. Why keep calling? Were you trying to see how many hours it would take to kill my battery?”
Despite her lecturing tone, Zetong’s hands were tender. Jia’en stopped crying and looked at her with big, watery, aggrieved eyes. Zetong pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair.
“Alright, don’t feel bad. Once your back is healed, I’ll take you for spicy crawfish, okay?”
After twenty years, Zetong knew exactly how to handle Jia’en: a mix of firm boundaries and soft comfort.
In the kitchen, Ying Yu handed some greens to Yun Han. “See? They won’t fight. Lele is the only one who can handle Aiai. It’s a classic case of ‘one thing being the nemesis of another.'”
“Ying Yu, they’ve been in this ambiguous state for so long without a formal commitment. Aren’t you worried?”
“Worried about what? Your daughter isn’t even worried. Besides, we’ve watched Lele grow up. You’ve considered her your daughter-in-law for ages. Are you afraid she’ll run away? Let the kids worry about their own hearts. You should be thinking about where to buy them a big villa when they get married. Honestly, I finally understand why Grandma insisted I get married at the ancestral home. You only realize how parents feel when you become one yourself—you just want to keep them close.”
Ying Yu sounded sentimental. When children are small, you wonder when they’ll grow up. But once they do, you wonder how to keep them around for a few more years. Humans are truly contradictory creatures.