The drama was over, and Jiang Nan returned to her bedroom in high spirits. She carefully sorted the debts she had collected, recalculated them at face value, and counted again—four hundred twenty-nine yuan and seven and a half jiao in total. Though the original host had given far more over the years, this was the maximum Jiang Nan could claw back.
After all, in this era it was customary for sons to support their parents. As long as the Cheng family claimed the extra money had been spent on Father Cheng, Jiang Nan had no grounds to press further. If she kept pushing, it might jeopardize her job and even her upcoming college entrance exam registration.
The college entrance exam was the crucial first step in her retirement plan—there could be no mistakes.
With only a trace of regret, Jiang Nan stood up, fetched an old pair of trousers and some needle and thread, divided the money into two portions, and stitched them into the rolled-up cuffs. She folded the trousers neatly and tucked them back into the pile of clothes in the trunk.
With the money issue settled, it was time to prepare for divorce negotiations with Cheng Denglin. Her gaze fell on the desk in the room. She walked over, opened each drawer one by one, emptied them, then replaced the contents exactly as they were. Finally, beneath a tin of biscuits in the far-right drawer, she found what she was looking for.
It was a volume of *Selected Works of Mao*, wrapped in a kraft-paper cover. On the title page, in delicate handwriting, was the line: “At dawn I watch the sky, at dusk I watch the clouds.” Below it sat a single character: *Qu*—the surname of Cheng Denglin’s second wife.
Jiangnan’s lips curled in mockery. “At dawn I watch the sky, at dusk I watch the clouds; whether walking or sitting, I think of you.” The meaning was plain: from morning till night, whatever one did, one thought of the beloved. And that woman’s name happened to be *Si Jun*—“thinking of you.” A perfect pun. Who was longing for whom, she wondered?
The original host had never studied this poem and didn’t know the second half. Since Cheng Denglin had casually said it was a gift from a classmate, she hadn’t paid it much mind. Who could have guessed it was actually a token of love, treasured for half a lifetime, brought out even after marriage to reminisce?
*Tch. Did the great man know you were using his work for your little romance? How distasteful!*
Jiang Nan tossed the book onto the desk, rubbing her hands as if they had been dirtied. She had found her bargaining chip. Turning back to her own priorities, she pulled out her high school textbooks and began reviewing for the exam.
As for Cheng Denglin—just as Jiang Nan expected, he did not take leave to come home. At this point in time, the original host and Cheng Denglin’s marriage was still outwardly affectionate and harmonious.
They married young, at eighteen or nineteen, when their looks were at their peak—one lively and beautiful, the other gentle and handsome. Their newlywed days were sweet as honey, and before long they became new parents, stumbling through the chaos of caring for an infant together. That “revolutionary bond” only deepened.
After the honeymoon period, Cheng Denglin went off to attend the Workers–Peasants–Soldiers University, where he met his “soulmate,” Qu Sijun. Though he managed to keep to the physical boundaries, he returned home after graduation feeling guilty toward the original wife, and treated her doubly well. She remained unaware, and their brief separation only rekindled the spark, carrying their marriage forward to the present. In recent years, though they quarreled over trivial matters, both worked hard for the sake of family and a better life, which only strengthened their relationship. This was why, in the television drama, the “eldest sister-in-law” character—upon learning that her husband had strayed emotionally at the very height of their love—was so devastated she left town and never returned to that place of heartbreak.
So, at this point in time, if Mother Cheng told Cheng Denglin that “Jiang Nan” wanted a divorce, he simply wouldn’t believe it.
And indeed, that was the case.
When Mother Cheng stepped outside, she was immediately surrounded by curious neighbors. Unable to explain in detail, she put on a show—shaking her head, sighing twice—and went off to borrow the phone at the gatehouse. Her performance only piqued people’s curiosity further, and many followed to eavesdrop. She couldn’t reveal the reasons behind Jiang Nan’s demand for divorce, so she kept urging Cheng Denglin to hurry home, saying Jiang Nan was making a terrible scene.
Cheng Denglin’s first reaction was disbelief. After confirming that no one at home was sick or injured, he decided not to take leave. He had already asked for leave several times during the New Year when family troubles arose. Now that everything at home seemed fine, another request would surely draw his leader’s disapproval. So after hanging up, he simply went back to work.
It wasn’t until he returned home after his shift that he realized something was wrong. The three children, watching their grandfather’s expression, hardly dared to breathe. His younger sister was absent, her door tightly shut. His mother was in the kitchen cooking; when she heard him come in, she called out, “Denglin’s back,” then turned away—as if wiping tears.
“What’s going on?” Cheng Denglin set down his briefcase and parcels, and asked his father.
Father Cheng’s face was thunderous. He slapped the newspaper onto the table. “Ask your wife!”
Then he kicked the stool aside and stormed back into his room, slamming the door so hard it rattled, leaving no doubt about the depth of his anger.
Cheng Denglin looked at the three children in puzzlement, but they only shook their heads at him. He was just about to go inside to ask his wife when he heard— “Denglin!” his mother called out. Turning on his heel, sleeves rolled up, he headed toward the kitchen.
Of course, Mother Cheng couldn’t allow her son to speak with his wife first; she had to pull him to her side. As she poured water for him to wash his hands, she gave her own slanted account of everything Jiang Nan had done that day, then said, “Denglin, Mother knows you and Xiao Nan have worked hard these past two years. But your younger sister has had it rough too. It’s our fault—we married her off too hastily back then, to Lu Lin, that short‑lived man, leaving her to struggle with two children. And now we can’t even help you and your wife… But you know, the money from Yixin selling her job was meant to be kept by her, for her own security. I never imagined Xiao Nan would keep brooding over it, even threatening divorce because of it. Yixin is terrified—if you really divorce over this, she’ll be drowned in spit the moment she steps outside…”
Mother Cheng spoke as she wiped her tears. She truly pitied her daughter, and in her heart she was convinced that Jiang Nan’s entire uproar was just about those 650 yuan from selling the job. No matter how many times Jiang Nan explained the details, her mother never changed her mind. Nor did her father or Yixin.
Cheng Denglin listened silently, splashed water on his face, then took the towel his mother handed him and dried off. Finally he said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll go talk to Xiao Nan.”
He understood what his mother meant. Back then, either he or Yixin had to go down to the countryside. Yixin had voluntarily given up the chance to take over their mother’s job, brought Lu Lin back, and quickly filed for marriage.
In the first two years, Lu Lin’s rank wasn’t high enough, so Yixin couldn’t live with the army. His mother said she suffered plenty at the Lu household. Later, when she could finally join the army, the good days didn’t last long—Lu Lin, still in his prime, was killed.
Cheng Denglin had always felt guilty toward his sister. He often wondered: if she had taken the job instead, would she never have met Lu Lin, never lost her husband so young, never been scorned as a widow with two burdens in tow? So he truly wanted to support her.
“Don’t blame me for being partial,” Mother Cheng said as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Yixin is about to go to university. Soon you two will have it easier. For these past two years, Mother thanks you and Xiao Nan on her behalf.”
Cheng Denglin said nothing and went straight back to the room, where he saw his wife bent over her desk, reading and jotting things down. If not for his mother’s words, he would have been glad to see his wife pulling herself together from the grief of losing their daughter. But now he pushed that thought aside and asked directly, “Did you ask my sister for money?”
Jiang Nan didn’t even look up. “Mm,” she replied, continuing to sketch out her mind map. She had already heard him come in.
“Why? That was money from my sister selling her job. How could you take it?”
Only then did Jiang Nan raise her head. “Didn’t your mother explain it clearly? I only took back the living expenses I’ve been covering these past two years. Of course, I didn’t ask for your share, so it’s none of your business.”
Cheng Denglin nearly laughed in anger. He pressed further: “Why suddenly demand so much money from her? What do you need it for?”
“Didn’t your mother tell you?” Jiang Nan was speechless. So what had mother and son been talking about all this time?
She slapped a copy of *Selected Works of Mao* onto the table in front of him, flipped it open, and pointed to a line. Sure enough, Cheng Denglin’s face darkened instantly.
“Divorce,” Jiang Nan said with a curl of her lips.
“I haven’t wronged you.” Realizing his wife had discovered it, Cheng Denglin explained that nothing improper had ever happened between them.
Jiang Nan caught the fleeting emotion on his face and felt sick to her stomach, pitying the original wife. Was simply not cheating physically supposed to count as being faithful?
“Then I really got the short end of the stick,” she sneered. “While you were off at university, I should have gone strolling in the park with some male coworker, talking poetry and lofty ideals, exchanging little gifts to keep as mementos…”
Jiang Nan studied Cheng Denglin’s increasingly dark expression and deliberately asked, “Doesn’t this count as not wronging you either?”
As expected, Cheng Denglin’s anger flared, his handsome face full of confusion. “What on earth are you making a fuss about?”
This morning, before he left for work, everything had been fine, perfectly normal. How had the world turned upside down in just one day?
“Making a fuss about divorce,” Jiang Nan said seriously, looking him straight in the eye. “Cheng Denglin, you have someone in your heart. I don’t like you, I don’t love you, and I refuse to stay in your family like some old ox, bleeding myself dry for your parents and sister. So let’s divorce.”
Now Cheng Denglin understood—his wife was dissatisfied with the way he had supported his younger sister these past two years. As for her words about “not loving” him, his ears filtered them out automatically. He didn’t believe it. He knew full well how deeply his wife loved him.
“I know you’ve worked hard these past two years. Right now you should take advantage of your confinement period to rest well. Once you’ve recovered, you can go back to work. My sister is about to start university, with state subsidies. After that, we won’t need to…”
“Divorce. I mean it!” Jiang Nan cut him off. In her memory, Cheng Denglin had never been one to talk over people. Why couldn’t he understand plain words now?
She picked up the *Selected Works of Mao*, her expression stern. “Cheng Denglin, if you won’t agree to a peaceful divorce by mutual consent, I don’t mind using other means.”
All she had to do was carry that book around his workplace and Qu Sijun’s unit, and both of them would be ruined. Divorce would come much easier. But unless absolutely necessary, she didn’t want to resort to that.
Cheng Denglin froze, stunned by his wife’s hard and unyielding stance.
“Good heavens—child, how could you cause such trouble!” came Mother Cheng’s exclamation from the living room, followed by two light smacks and Lu Xiaoxiao’s cries.
To Cheng Denglin, it sounded like salvation. Without giving his wife any reply, he abandoned everything and rushed out of the bedroom.
“Denglin, come quickly and look…”
In the living room, Mother Cheng was holding onto Lu Xiaoxiao’s arm. The little girl was wearing the red down jacket that Cheng Denglin had just picked up from the post office today. Now, at the cuff, a small tear had opened, the red fabric fraying, with tufts of white down drifting out.
Cheng Denglin felt as though someone was pounding endlessly at the back of his head—his headache was severe. Was today cursed? One misfortune after another.
“This…” Mother Cheng hesitated. “It’s just a small tear. I can run a decorative stitch over it with the sewing machine to cover it up. That should be fine, right?”
Cheng Denglin rubbed his face with both hands and waved weakly. “Forget it, Mom. Just let Xiaoxiao wear it. I’ll ask someone to buy a new one.”
Mother Cheng grew anxious. “Why spend money on a new one! The tear is small—patching it with a little flower or leaf would look nice. And it’s brand new anyway…”
“How could that possibly be the same!” Cheng Denglin’s impatience showed, his voice rising sharply.
If it weren’t the same style as the Zhou family’s, a little flower would pass as part of the design. But since it was identical, how could he offer them a jacket that was torn and patched as compensation?
Originally, he had planned to reimburse them at cost, but the Zhou family’s little girl had cried and insisted on the jacket itself. He had then asked an old classmate for help, scouring two department stores in Shanghai before finally finding it. His classmate had told him the style was very popular—had Denglin asked any later, he wouldn’t have been able to buy it at all. Just the mailing had taken more than half a month. If he had to buy another, it would take another half month, and there was no guarantee he could even find one.
Mother Cheng dared not say another word.
“Who opened it?” Cheng Denglin suddenly thought to ask, his face cold.
Lu Xiaoxiao, her cheeks streaked with tears, looked toward Cheng Hao. Cheng Hao shrank his neck. A few days ago, his father had given him a harsh beating, and he still hadn’t forgotten the pain. He had only been curious about what his father had brought home. When he opened it and saw it was a girl’s jacket, he lost interest. But his sister liked it and wanted to try it on. While she was twirling around, showing off, the sleeve caught on a nail in the wicker chair, ripping the fabric.
Jiang Nan had followed them out and now leaned against the doorway, unexpectedly getting to watch the drama unfold up close, like a television show.