“Dad.”
Xie Yucheng walked into the living room and casually called out to the middle-aged man sitting on the sofa.
The living room wasn’t very large, only about twelve or thirteen square meters, and it also served as the dining room.
Xie Guoli sat on the light-gray fabric sofa. A pair of black-framed glasses rested on his high nose. His features were sharp, and the few strands of white hair at his forehead gave him a slightly weathered appearance.
When he saw his son return, his eyebrows lifted slightly. He immediately put down the black thermos in his hand, stood up, and limped over.
“You’re back.”
Xie Yucheng merely answered with an “Mm,” his brows drooping and his face showing little emotion.
There wasn’t much conversation between father and son. Ever since his former wife passed away, his son had treated him with a coldness that was difficult to hide.
Xie Guoli gave his son’s shoulder a heavy pat. His son had already grown much taller than him. He tilted his head back to look at him and said,
“Go wash up and get some rest. I’ll have Auntie Yang make you something good for lunch.”
Yang Ying followed them inside, a smile that never quite reached her eyes on her face.
“That’s right, Yucheng. Long-distance driving is exhausting. I’ll boil a couple of pots of hot water for you. Go wash up and get some sleep first. I’ll wake you when lunch is ready.”
Xie Yucheng shot Yang Ying a cold glance, then nodded at his father before carrying his travel bag into his room.
He had deliberately rushed back today because tomorrow was the anniversary of his mother’s death.
Maybe his father had already forgotten.
After all, his mother had been dead for less than three months when Xie Guoli already had another woman by his side.
Yang Ying gave an awkward smile, completely unfazed by Xie Yucheng’s coldness. She turned to Xie Guoli and said,
“You’ve been reading the newspaper for too long. It’s bad for your eyes. Sit down for a while. I’ll have Shiqing go buy a bottle of baijiu. I’ll stir-fry a few good dishes later, and you two can have a couple of drinks together.”
Xie Guoli looked at Yang Ying’s charming features and nodded in satisfaction.
He liked how gentle and sensible she was.
Eight years ago, after his former wife passed away, he and Yang Ying were introduced through a mutual acquaintance and eventually got together.
They never registered their marriage. They simply held a wedding banquet and began living together.
Both of them understood exactly what this arrangement was.
They each had their own needs, and they were simply getting what they wanted from the relationship.
“Okay, I’ll listen to you. Thanks for all your hard work.”
Xie Guoli gave her a gentle smile.
The bathroom at home wasn’t convenient for bathing, so Xie Yucheng took his clothes and went to the public bathhouse in the alley. After enjoying a long, hot shower, he changed into clean clothes.
When he returned home, he suddenly noticed that the chicken coop in the courtyard stood wide open. Only one little chick remained inside, trembling and huddling in fear.
A horrifying pool of bright-red chicken blood stained the ground beside the well.
Xie Yucheng frowned slightly, a bad feeling suddenly rising in his heart.
At that moment, Yang Ying came out of the kitchen carrying a chicken that had just been scalded in boiling water. She smiled ingratiatingly.
“I’m making braised chicken for lunch.”
The veins on the man’s forehead twitched violently.
“Damn it. Who told you to kill this chicken?”
Yang Ying was intimidated by his fierce gaze. After steadying herself, she raised her voice.
“What’s wrong with you, boy? Why are you talking to me like that? What’s the big deal about me killing a chicken?”
Xie Yucheng irritably rubbed the space between his eyebrows.
The courtyard gate was pushed open, and Wen Shiqing came bouncing back with a bottle of baijiu in her hand.
The next second, she saw the chicken in her mother’s hands.
That was…
Ali?
Wen Shiqing’s breathing suddenly stopped for a moment. Her lips parted slightly, and the smile on her face completely froze.
Then, as though all the strength had drained from her hand, the bottle of baijiu slipped from her fingers.
Crash!
Shattered glass and liquor splashed across the ground.
“Mom, why… why would you…”
Her voice was barely audible, filled with disbelief.
No one could understand what Wen Shiqing was feeling at that moment.
Ever since she was little, she had been controlled by her domineering mother in every aspect of her life. To keep Yang Ying from prying into her private thoughts and feelings, she had learned to hide her emotions and keep her thoughts to herself.
Some people raised cats. Some raised dogs. Others kept birds. Pets were humanity’s most loyal companions.
And Ali was her best friend.
She had carefully cared for her for more than two years. Ali was the little companion who listened whenever she poured out the secrets and worries of a young girl’s heart.
Most importantly—
Ali was a gift Xie Yucheng had given her on her birthday two years ago.
Back then, he had returned from a long-distance trip and pulled a palm-sized chick from his pocket.
“Found it by the roadside. You want it?”
His expression had been so impatient that it seemed as though, if she said no, he would immediately throw the little chick away.
Naturally, Wen Shiqing had accepted it with delight.
She had unilaterally decided that it was Xie Yucheng’s birthday present to her. From that day on, she had lovingly cared for Ali, watching her grow day by day until she eventually hatched chicks of her own.
“Your brother finally came home after such a long time. I killed the chicken so we could eat it for lunch.”
A trace of displeasure flashed across Yang Ying’s face.
It was just a chicken.
She impatiently urged her daughter,
“What’s gotten into you? You fuss over a chicken every single day, acting like it’s some precious thing. You raise a chick just so you can eat the meat eventually. And look, you even dropped the liquor. Hurry up and go buy another bottle. Your Uncle Xie is going to drink later.”
Yang Ying continued talking to herself, completely unaware that the light in her daughter’s eyes was slowly fading away.
Wen Shiqing loved her mother very much.
Before she turned ten, most of her childhood memories were unpleasant ones.
Yang Ying had fallen in love with Wen Shiqing’s biological father and married him. His family had been extremely poor, and after they married, he became an alcoholic. He was lazy and frequently beat his wife.
Yang Ying had been young and beautiful, yet she was constantly left with bruises on her face from his beatings.
She could have abandoned her daughter and left that poor, miserable household behind, striking out on her own.
But instead, Yang Ying had taken her little burden with her and fled all the way from their hometown in Suzhou to Jicheng in the north. Through an introduction, she met Xie Guoli, and the two began living together.
They never registered their marriage. They simply brought their children together, shared meals, and helped each other get by.
Yang Ying had planned everything for her.
She sent her to school, enrolled her in dance classes, bought her pretty dresses, and gave her the chance to grow up in a comfortable, well-off household without worries.
This year, Shiqing had failed the college entrance examination and hadn’t been accepted into a university.
Yang Ying immediately began looking for a suitable husband for her.
She knew almost every eligible young man from the families in the city. She knew which families were wealthy and powerful and which ones were merely putting on a show.
Yang Ying had once told her,
“A girl is like a flower at eighteen. You need to make use of your youth and beauty to find yourself a good husband. In another couple of years, when you’re in your twenties, you’ll be an old maid. Who’s going to want you then?”
She practically wished she could hang a sign around Wen Shiqing’s neck that said For Sale—Highest Bidder Wins.
Wen Shiqing had grown up under the weight of her mother’s expectations and domineering control.
She regarded Ali as her best friend, the outlet for all her emotions—
the only friend who knew she was secretly in love with Xie Yucheng.
The girl glanced at the hen lying there with its head drooping, already dead. Her voice trembled as she choked back tears.
“Mom, you shouldn’t have touched Ali. I’ve raised her for two years…”
Before she could finish, Yang Ying waved her hand dismissively and snorted.
“I’m your mother! Even if I wanted the flesh off your own body, you’d have to cut it off and give it to me! It’s only a chicken, and you’re actually going to get all high and mighty with me over it. Does everyone think I’m easy to bully? Do you all think I don’t have a temper? I work myself to the bone cooking and washing clothes for you, and I can’t even get a decent look from you…”
Xie Yucheng had returned today, and Yang Ying had already been in a bad mood.
Now, her scolding of her daughter was deliberately meant for others to hear—a way of “killing a chicken to frighten the monkeys,” using the situation to vent her own anger.
Xie Yucheng saw the tears welling up in the girl’s eyes.
She bit her lower lip tightly, her lips so red that it looked as though she might bite them until they bled.
He was about to step forward when he saw her retreat several steps, her eyes red and frightened.
She pushed open the courtyard gate and ran outside.
That thin little figure dressed in white looked stubborn yet heartbroken.
Damn it.
Xie Yucheng’s brows drew tightly together. He glared darkly at Yang Ying, then irritably kicked the metal basin beside him.
Yang Ying assumed that Xie Yucheng had simply been angered by the earlier scene of her “killing the chicken to frighten the monkeys.”
Secretly, she even felt rather pleased with herself.
The bedroom door was slammed shut with a heavy kick.
Xie Yucheng lay back on the bed in frustration, his lips pressed into a straight line.
He had barely come home, and already everything was a mess.
He should have known better than to come back.
If it weren’t for the anniversary of his mother’s death tomorrow, he would never have returned.
He closed his eyes.
Suddenly, that sorrowful little face and stubborn retreating figure flashed through his mind.
“Brother, give the little chick a name.”
“Get lost. Stop bothering me.”
“Brother, how about Ali? She’s a girl, and she’s so cute and pretty. Let’s call her Ali.”
“Whatever.”
“Oh.”