For a split second, Lu Qi’s mind went blank—he blinked, then found the whole thing utterly ridiculous.
Lu Qi looked at him with the gaze one reserves for a simple-minded child. “Old Xu, since when did you develop this habit of spouting confident conclusions with absolutely nothing to back them up? She’s barely more than a kid. If I took a fancy to her, what would that make me? No better than a beast.”
His tongue was sharp as poison; in his irritation, he’d practically damned himself along with everyone else.
Xu Qianjin chuckled. “I’m just making sure you don’t turn into a beast! Consider it a preventive dose I’m giving you ahead of time.”
Lu Qi scoffed, not bothering to dignify that with a reply. “Why are you in such a rush to get home anyway?”
“Lu Ze invited Director Cheng’s grandson over for dinner.”
Old Cheng had been their superior and mentor; both men had risen through the ranks under his personal patronage, and their bond ran deep. That said, Old Cheng had a notoriously eccentric temperament—since retiring, he’d kept mostly to himself. On holidays and special occasions, if they dropped by, he’d tolerate their presence for a while before grumbling that they were too loud. On ordinary days? He’d as soon not see them at all.
“Give me five minutes. I’ll come with you.”
When Lu Ze walked through the door, Aunt Liu told him that Cheng Fang had called earlier to say he’d been called away suddenly on business—dinner would have to be rescheduled to another time.
Song Yuhua frowned, puzzled. “Cheng Fang barely has anything to do with you. Why on earth would he suddenly ask himself over for dinner?”
“Simple enough—he wants to cozy up to Dad.”
“Your father’s star is certainly rising fast,” Song Yuhua said, lowering her voice. “I was playing mahjong with General Wu’s wife the other day. She said the higher-ups hold your father in very high regard, and that he’s due for another promotion soon. Cheng Fang is Old Cheng’s grandson—Old Cheng must have gotten wind of it, and is telling his boy to keep close ties with your father.”
“He’s only a police station chief,” Lu Ze said dismissively. “What good will all that currying favor do?”
“Quick to judge others, but never see your own faults!” Song Yuhua chided him, frustration thick in her tone. “Here you are, still nothing more than a company commander after all this time. Even distant relatives know enough to nurture ties with your father—what about you? You keep him at arm’s length like he’s a stranger, and all you ever do is disappoint him.”
Lu Ze sighed inwardly. As if it’s my choice to keep my distance. Lu Qi won’t even let me get close enough to try.
“Mom, don’t worry—I know what I’m doing,” he said soothingly. “I’m his son. He won’t turn his back on me. Right now your only job is to get better and take care of yourself. Look at you—you’ve lost weight these past few days, and you look so pale.”
“I’m perfectly fine!” Song Yuhua insisted, though she punctuated the words with a deliberate, performative cough.
“Coughing like that and you call it fine?” Lu Ze grew alarmed. “Has a doctor come to see you at home?”
Aunt Liu nodded gravely. “The doctor came. He says your condition, Comrade Song, comes partly from holding in anger, and partly from constant worry. If I may speak plainly—ever since Comrade Jiang moved in, or rather, ever since we learned of your engagement to her, you haven’t slept a full night. You’ve worried yourself sick.”
Lu Ze looked at his mother, heart aching. “Mom, all that talk is just old superstition. Yuanyuan is truly a wonderful person—and she treats me so well. She’s been difficult lately only because she’s upset that I didn’t marry her when we agreed. She’s just throwing a tantrum. I’ll speak to her about it. Please—don’t hold it against her.”
On her lips, Song Yuhua murmured, “As an elder, why would I hold anything against her?” But inside, she was seething with rage. Even now, he was defending that vile Jiang Yuan. Let him defend her now—when Jiang Yuan’s true colors finally show themselves, he’ll realize just how foolish he’s been.
With that thought fixed firmly in mind, Song Yuhua’s entire attitude toward Jiang Yuan shifted.
When Jiang Yuan arrived home, dinner was already laid out on the table.
Cheng Fang hadn’t shown up, but neither had Xu Qianjin left. He and Lu Ze were seated in the living room, playing chess. Lu Qi sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, his arm resting along the back cushion. His forearms were strong and well-defined, and through the drifting wisp of smoke, he looked unfairly handsome.
The moment Jiang Yuan stepped through the door, Song Yuhua hurried over to greet her—unusually, even warmly.
“You’re back! Must be exhausted after running around all day. Dinner’s ready, we were just waiting for you. Go wash up quickly, and we’ll eat.”
If Jiang Yuan hadn’t known better, she’d have thought she’d walked into the wrong house.
Lu Ze, for his part, was absolutely delighted by this sudden change in his mother. Abandoning a game he was on the verge of winning, he jumped up and hurried to Jiang Yuan’s side. He reached for her hand—she subtly pulled it away. The smile on Lu Ze’s face faltered for the briefest instant before he recovered easily.
“Yuanyuan! Mom not only personally cooked all your favorite dishes, she insisted we wait until you got back before serving. I’ve been starving this whole time, and she wouldn’t let me touch a thing. Seems like once you have a daughter-in-law, you forget your own son exists!”
Jiang Yuan rolled her eyes inwardly. Truly—one puts on a performance, the other makes up fantasies in his head. Mother and son, cut from the exact same cloth.
She stepped past him without a word and headed to the washroom. Fine—let her act. But the food is real, and I’m certainly not going to starve myself just because she’s playing a part. Never let a grudge ruin your appetite.
At the dinner table, Lu Ze kept piling food onto Jiang Yuan’s bowl. If they’d been alone, she’d have snapped at him already. Mindful that they had a guest, she settled for rolling her eyes so hard it hurt.
“Put one more thing in my bowl,” she warned quietly, “and I’ll tell everyone exactly what I think of your mother.”
Lu Ze shrank back, chastened. Things had only just started to improve—he certainly didn’t want to ruin all progress in one evening.
Xu Qianjin had never seen the proud, capable Lu Ze so thoroughly cowed by anyone. He laughed out loud. Then he caught Lu Qi’s glare cutting straight through him.
Fine, you’re his superior at work—but we’re all back in the family compound now. Must you still carry on like a commander? Xu Qianjin thought, irked.
He raised an eyebrow, unrepentant. “What? Does your family have a rule against laughing at the dinner table? We’ve only just finished eating, and here you come dragging out all those stuffy, old-fashioned hypocrisies again?”
Lu Qi’s face remained stony, silent. It was a rare sight—seeing him lost for words. Xu Qianjin’s mood brightened considerably.
Curious, he turned his gaze to Jiang Yuan. “Jiang Yuan, is it?”
“That’s right.” She looked up and nodded.
“Word is—you’re quite famous now in the police system.”
Jiang Yuan blinked, confused. Is there? How have I not heard a thing?
“That theory of yours—that ‘victims are not to blame’—Director Cheng wrote it all up in an official report, and had it circulated across every police station in the entire city for study. Every comrade in the Beijing police is wondering exactly who this remarkable young woman is.”
Jiang Yuan sized him up. He and Lu Qi were cut from the same cloth—both sharp, both probing. His tone sounded casual, but it was anything but. Deep down, they suspected her background wasn’t as simple as it seemed—that she’d approached Lu Ze, and even Lu Qi, with some hidden purpose.
She knew better than to ramble or make things up. Last time she’d spoken her mind freely, Lu Qi had locked her in the house for three days. She had no desire to find out what punishment awaited her if she spoke out of turn again.
After a brief, careful pause, she spoke:
“The great men said: women hold up half the sky. Back where I come from, in the countryside, women work the same fields, perform the same labor, and earn the exact same work points as men. When there are disputes over water or land, and fists fly—women do not step aside.
“What I do not understand is this: why, in the city, are women treated as a fragile group in need of constant extra protection? And what does this so-called ‘protection’ actually amount to? It boils down to telling women: do not go where there are crowds, do not go out after dark.
“Yet—look at all the crimes committed in the streets. Are all victims women? And of those crimes where the victim is a woman—was she always out late, or always in a crowd? What of the crimes where the victim was a man? Does anyone ever tell them to stay home, or avoid crowds?
“To speak to us like that—to restrict us like that—isn’t just failing to treat women as equals. It sounds suspiciously like making excuses, and shifting the blame for work that the authorities themselves have failed to do properly.”