“Do you really think so?”
“Mhm,”
Xu Zhitao forced her eyes to brim with admiration and reluctance,
“During these few days in the hospital, I’ve thought through everything that happened since I came to Shanghai. While other families can’t even eat their fill, Uncle Qin was willing to take me in, provide for my education, and give me a life free from worries about food and clothing—this is an opportunity many people never have in their entire lives, and I wasted it all.
Moreover, my behavior over these years has caused Mom a lot of difficulties. It even made others think Uncle Qin couldn’t manage his household properly, and they laughed at him. It was all my fault for being so unruly, and I truly have no face to stay any longer. If Lele had a sister like me, he would also be laughed at.
Mom, please let me go back. Let me return to a familiar place, become self-reliant, work hard and sweat more. Consider it as accumulating virtue for Chang’an and also for Lele.”
Guo Hongying had given birth to three children: Xu Zhitao, thirteen years old; Xu Chang’an, five years old, who was just a month old when they divorced and stayed with the elderly in their hometown; and the youngest, Qin Yunle, three years old, born after she came to the Qin family.
She didn’t care much for this daughter, nor did she have any feelings left for the child back home. But this youngest one, Yunle, was her treasure. Guo Hongying’s heart softened, and her tone gentled a little,
“If you really think so, you’ve truly grown up.
When do you want to leave?”
Xu Zhitao breathed a sigh of relief. It was best to part peacefully without tearing up the facade,
“Mom, I want to leave as soon as possible. The journey involves transfers, and it might take three or four days to get home.”
Seeing her truly sensible, Guo Hongying became uncharacteristically gentle again,
“Alright, alright, you’re thinking things through now. But you’re still so young. Should I send a telegram and have your uncle come pick you up?”
“No need, Mom. I can manage on my own. I’ll send a telegram when I’m about to board the train so they can estimate the time and come pick me up.”
Guo Hongying’s patience only went so far. Seeing that she had thought it through, she didn’t press further.
Back in her small room, Xu Zhitao heaved a deep sigh of relief. The second hurdle was cleared!
She didn’t have many belongings—clothes and books. Since she was leaving openly, she picked out the important items and documents to store in Kongjian, while the rest could be packed into a single bundle.
Perhaps the shadow Guo Hongying had cast over her in her past life was so profound that even now, after being reborn, facing Guo Hongying filled her with an invisible pressure, making it difficult to speak smoothly.
In truth, she didn’t even know what she had done in these years to provoke such resentment, to the point where Guo Hongying would set such a trap for a thirteen-year-old girl—her own daughter—just to ruin her.
Did she hate them? Of course she did.
As a rural child entering a wealthy household, reading people’s expressions was instinctive. She had been cautious, pretending to be obedient, trying to please, doing more and eating less, just to remain invisible. Yet even that hadn’t shielded her from the overwhelming malice.
The heartless and biased Guo Hongying, Qin Tingting, who was accustomed to sowing discord and framing others, the fool from the Shen family, the Shen family’s young master, and several other wealthy youths—she would never forget what they had done.
Thinking of the nightmares from her past life, she took a deep breath, blinked away the moisture in her eyes, and gently unclenched her fists.
Did she want revenge? Of course she did.
She wanted to watch those people suffer in agony, see them get their retribution. She wanted to slap them hard across the face, watch them kneel and beg for mercy, make them endure everything she had gone through. She wanted to savor the sweetness of revenge.
But was it realistic?
Given the rare chance to live a second life, she didn’t want to waste this precious opportunity on such people. Throwing an egg against a stone was foolishness. What she urgently longed for was to see the family who truly cared for her.
Guo Hongying was no good person, and the Qin family was no charity. Even the Shen, Li, Xu, and Lu families were far from virtuous. In her previous life, when she was trampled into the mud, none of these families were innocent.
While she couldn’t exact satisfying revenge, nor could she bear to watch them once again take their wealth to Hong Kong and live the good life they had before, she also refused to simply resign herself. Yet, secretly venting her anger and making them pay a small price—that seemed achievable.
Guo Hongying was reassured and even gave her some money and ration coupons, telling her to go out and explore. After all, if she really went back, the chances of returning here would be slim to none—this farewell would likely be permanent.
Xu Zhitao didn’t hold back either. Over two days, she roamed the alleyways and markets, buying seeds, fruit saplings, candies, as well as tools and daily necessities useful in the countryside, along with farming tools for cultivating the land in Kongjian—all of which she quietly stored away in Kongjian.
Guo Hongying was a contradictory person. One moment, she could destroy her own daughter for having no use, and the next, she could let her go simply because she knew her place and yielded. In a good mood, she generously bought many of the things Xu Zhitao wanted.
Before leaving, Xu Zhitao walked boldly past the old Western-style houses in the neighborhood, her eyes icy cold. The Qin, Shen, Li, Xu, and Lu families all lived in this area—none were innocent, and she felt no need for guilt.
She had planted the seeds of trouble. How turbulent the waters would become was now up to fate.
Carrying a simple cloth bag, Xu Zhitao boarded the train. The moment it began to move, she couldn’t hold back her tears.
She was just that timid, just that cautious—all she wanted was to live well.
She told herself that from now on, it would be a new life, a fresh start. These people, along with the filth of her past life, would have nothing more to do with her.
Xujiaao was a remote village in the northeast. The journey from Shanghai to the northeast meant crossing the Yangtze River, with no direct route available.
From Shanghai, she took the train to Xiaguan at the ferry terminal. There, both passengers and the train had to board a ferry to cross the river. Once on the other side at Pukou, she reboarded the train to Beijing, then transferred again, passing through multiple stops before finally reaching her destination.
The trip, if on schedule, took two days and two nights. But delays were common, and three to four days was normal.
The difficulty wasn’t the ride itself but the transfers in between—uncertain timing, unfamiliar places, changing climates, surrounded by strangers, and the unpredictability of what might happen along the way. In her previous life, Xu Zhitao had never traveled alone, so all of this was new to her.
Yet, being far from Guo Hongying, even the air felt fresh. How could she be afraid?
This season, there weren’t many travelers. She sat carefully in her seat, watching the passengers in the carriage and the fields flashing by outside the window. Even the withered, yellowed trees and crops seemed vibrant in her eyes.
When Guo Hongying divorced, she was not yet eight years old—old enough to remember.
Her biological father, Xu Yongqing, was the fourth son in the family, with three older brothers and three younger ones. The elderly couple was still alive. Xujiaao was nestled in a remote mountain hollow, a place so poor that the whole family could hardly scrape together a single new piece of clothing.
In winter, a single tattered cotton-padded jacket was shared among the whole family. Xu Yongjiang sent half of his monthly allowance back home to help with expenses—starting at three yuan and fifty cents, gradually increasing to five yuan, and later to seven yuan and fifty cents. With two elderly parents, a wife to marry, children to raise, and a growing household full of half-grown boys, it was difficult enough just to fill their bellies, let alone afford schooling.
After Xu Chang’an was born, Guo Hongying’s breast milk was insufficient during the postpartum month. She wanted to buy some fine grains to make rice soup for the child but couldn’t scrape together the money.
Once the postpartum month ended, she brought up divorce.
In her memory, the two elderly parents were decent people—not the type to torment their daughter-in-law. Whenever they had something good, they were willing to share it with her.
Her brother-in-law, who was only a few years older than her, often secretly gave her food—sometimes a piece of candy he had saved, sometimes wild berries from the mountains, or hard-earned bird eggs he had found. He was the one with whom she shared the most little secrets.
With people like these, surely this old home wouldn’t turn her away, would it?