What was going on?
It must be the original owner’s muscle memory, right?
Shen Qinghuan didn’t dwell on it. She finished entering the number and typed out a message.
“Mom, it’s Qinghuan. It’s gotten chilly lately. Are you and Dad doing well? I’m fine—no need to worry.”
After typing it, she deleted it.
Shen Qinghuan felt it was too stiff, so she typed again.
“Mom, the weather’s turned cold lately. Remember to dress warmly. Everything’s going well for me at school.”
That would do.
She took a deep breath and pressed send.
The moment the message went out, Shen Qinghuan suddenly felt a little absurd.
She was an orphan who had lived over twenty years in her previous life, and she had never once sent a message like this to any elder.
There was no one to greet on holidays, no one to tell when she was sick.
She thought she had long since gotten used to it.
But while composing that message just now, Shen Qinghuan realized she had actually been envious of the original owner.
She set her phone by the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Back when she read the book, what she hated most was the original owner.
A beautiful, talented girl holding such a good hand of cards— family background, talent, looks, a loving family—and in the end, it had all been ruined because of some worthless man.
At the time, Shen Qinghuan couldn’t understand how anyone could abandon such a wonderful family for a man.
Now that she had transmigrated into this person, she understood the original owner even less.
Her phone suddenly vibrated.
The caller ID read: Mom.
Shen Qinghuan turned her head to look, and her fingers moved faster than her brain—out of pure reflex, she answered the call.
Oh no!
Hesitantly, she raised the phone to her ear, momentarily unsure of what to say.
A woman’s voice came through, trembling noticeably, thick with congestion—as if she were crying but holding it back.
“Huanhuan, is that you? Was it you who sent Mommy that message?”
Shen Qinghuan’s heart suddenly ached.
Her eyes stung, and her throat felt blocked by something.
She opened her mouth, swallowed down the sob, and forced her voice to sound steady.
“…Mom.”
Just one word, yet it seemed to take all her strength.
Shen Qinghuan silently mocked herself. These were someone else’s parents—why was she getting so sentimental?
The other end of the line went quiet for a moment, then came a suppressed sob.
The scene shifts to the Shen family villa.
Jiang Bihua sat alone on the edge of her bedroom bed, a cup of long-cold tea beside her.
Father Shen was still in the study, unaware of whose text message she had received alone in her room.
After she came out of the shower, she picked up her phone out of habit and saw a new message.
She opened it—it was from her daughter.
Jiang Bihua read it twice.
The first time, she thought she’d misread it. The second time, she confirmed it was her daughter’s tone of voice, and then the tears fell.
The last time her daughter had reached out to her first seemed like it was ages and ages ago.
So long ago that she’d believed it would never happen again in this lifetime.
Without a second thought, she dialed back, worried something had happened to her daughter.
The moment the call connected, she heard her daughter’s breathing.
Jiang Bihua gripped the phone tightly, her other hand covering her mouth to keep herself from crying out loud.
“Huanhuan, have you… have you been doing well lately? Are you eating enough? Is it cold where you’re staying?”
Shen Qinghuan leaned against the headboard, listening to her mother’s voice on the other end.
Even through the static, the voice felt so close—close enough that it seemed only a door stood between them.
She lowered her eyes, her voice much softer than usual, choosing her words carefully.
What was she supposed to do? She had no idea how to talk to her mother as her daughter!
“Mom, you’re still up?”
Jiang Bihua paused for a moment, then smiled. “I’m up. Your dad’s in the study, and I… I was just about to go to bed.”
Mother and daughter each held their phones, silent for a few seconds.
Outside, the streetlights were still on, and in the Jingda dormitory building, lights were going out one by one.
The night wind stirred the ginkgo trees outside the window, the leaves rustling as if sighing softly on someone’s behalf.
Inside.
Shen Qinghuan leaned against the headboard, her voice soft, struggling to find something to say:
“It’s just—Mom, I wanted to tell you… I signed up for a show today, and I passed the auditions.”
She felt frustrated inside. God, why did she sound so stiff?
Jiang Bihua was enthusiastic, though. “I saw your performance. You played beautifully.”
She repeated herself, “Really beautifully!”
Shen Qinghuan didn’t know what to say next. She lowered her head, her fingers absently clutching the corner of the blanket.
On the other end of the line, Jiang Bihua kept talking, as if afraid she might hang up.
“Huanhuan, have you eaten? What did you have for dinner?”
“I ate. French food with a friend, out at a restaurant.”
“…A friend from school?”
“Su You.”
“Ah, Youyou…” Jiang Bihua’s tone lightened a little. “She’s a good girl. You should spend more time with her.”
Shen Qinghuan gave an “mm.”
Jiang Bihua asked again, “Do you have enough clothes? It’s getting cold. You always used to catch a cold when the seasons changed.”
Shen Qinghuan nodded without thinking. “I have enough, Mom.”
“Do you have enough money? You’re out there on your own—don’t skimp.”
“I have enough.”
Jiang Bihua fell silent for a moment, and then her voice suddenly changed, tinged with nervousness.
“Huanhuan, tell Mom the truth. Did something happen?”
Shen Qinghuan froze.
“No, nothing.”
“Then… why did you suddenly message Mom?”
There was a brief silence on the other end. Jiang Bihua’s voice dropped, carrying a faint, careful tremble.
“Are you being mistreated? Are you feeling unwell? You haven’t reached out to Mommy in so long. Tell Mommy—what’s going on?”
Shen Qinghuan opened her mouth, but her throat felt blocked by something.
How could she answer?
She couldn’t exactly say, I’m not your daughter, but I saw how things ended for you, and I wanted to save you.
“…Nothing.” She lowered her eyes. “I just missed you.”
A very soft sob came through the phone, followed by suppressed breathing.
“Huanhuan, Mommy is sorry.”
Shen Qinghuan’s heart clenched. “How could you say that? Before—before… it was all me being too willful!”
“Mommy failed at so many things. When you were little, I was always busy with my own life and never spent enough time with you. Then you grew up, and you were always running off somewhere…”
Jiang Bihua’s voice broke in and out, as if she were crying.
“Huanhuan, I’ve always wanted to tell you—no matter what you’ve done, you are Mommy’s daughter.”
Shen Qinghuan gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white.
She was confused, because in her original expectations, once the call connected, Mother Shen would surely have been surprised, or reproachful.
At the very least, probing.
So why was her mother crying the moment the call started?
Listening to those sobs, Shen Qinghuan thought, forget it—she needed to apologize right away!
“Mom, I…”
Just then, a low male voice suddenly came through the phone, distant but unmistakably displeased.
“Bihua, who are you talking to on the phone?”
It was Father Shen’s voice. Shen Qinghuan instinctively fell silent.
Jiang Bihua turned her head away and lowered her voice: “Qinghuan.”
Father Shen walked in wearing his pajamas, even more displeased: “Calling in the middle of the night? Didn’t she leave of her own accord back then?”
Shen Qinghuan heard every word clearly.
She pressed her lips together and checked the time.
Ten o’clock—for middle-aged people, it really wasn’t early anymore, especially with Mother Shen’s poor health.
She hurried to smooth things over: “Mom, you should get some rest.”
“Huanhuan—”
“Okay, I’ll hang up first.”
She moved the phone away from her ear.
Only afterward did the guilty, evasive feeling of calling someone else’s parents for the first time come flooding back. Shen Qinghuan’s finger trembled above the screen before she pressed the hang-up button.
On the phone, the red button flashed once, then the screen went dark, returning to the contacts page.
After all this, Shen Qinghuan placed the phone face-down on the bed, tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, and breathed in great gulps.
Only then did she notice a wet streak on her cheek.
So this was what it felt like—to have a mother.