Su Minzhi bent down and gently touched her daughter’s head, her voice soft yet firm.
“Niannian, go pack your things. You’re coming home with Mama tonight.”
Then she turned, her gaze turning icy as it landed on Fang Yuming.
“You stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning—we’ll meet at the Civil Affairs Bureau.”
Su Niannian’s heart thumped. Her eyes sparkled, and she couldn’t help thinking two admiring words:
So cool.
When Niannian came out with her little schoolbag, mother and daughter turned and walked toward the courtyard.
Fang Yuming panicked and rushed after them. He grabbed Minzhi’s arm, his voice trembling with fear and pleading.
“Minzhi, I’ll tell them to leave! The child—fine, I won’t acknowledge him. Just… don’t be angry, please?”
Inside the house, Liu Xianglan instantly shot to her feet, her expression twisting.
“No! He must acknowledge his son!”
She glanced at Liu Xiaolei, gritted her teeth, and said resolutely,
“I’ll go back tomorrow, but Xiaolei—I won’t take him with me. If you’re all that heartless, then let him sleep on the streets!”
Then she rushed to the doorway and shouted at Minzhi, her voice breaking with tears and accusation:
“Sister, how can you be so cruel? You’re threatening divorce just to keep Yuming from recognizing his own son!”
Minzhi paused mid-step and shot her a frigid look.
It was absurd—there was no way to communicate with someone whose logic was from another planet.
“Let’s go, Niannian.”
She took her daughter’s hand and left without looking back.
Seeing them walk farther away, Fang Yuming panicked and tried to chase after them.
But before he could move, Liu Xianglan seized his sleeve, crying and begging,
“Yuming, you can’t! How can you just abandon your own son?”
The shouting behind them gradually faded. The alley’s dim lights cast long shadows as Minzhi led her daughter away quickly.
Niannian clasped her mother’s hand tightly—her palm damp, her grip firm. She didn’t speak, but every step she took felt like silent support for her mother.
Minzhi lowered her gaze and saw her daughter’s stubborn little expression. Her chest warmed, and she soothed softly:
“Mama’s fine.”
Niannian felt a surge of admiration.
Mama was exactly the future powerhouse she knew—decisive, sharp, never dragging her feet.
But when she remembered Liu Xiaolei inside the house, unease crept in.
“Mama,” she whispered, “I think that Liu Xiaolei… is a little strange.”
Minzhi’s brow twitched, but her tone remained calm.
“It doesn’t matter. Whether he stays with the Fang family or not—none of it concerns us anymore. From now on, we stay far away from him.”
She paused, then turned to her daughter.
“Niannian, Mama wants to transfer you to another school. Shifan Elementary is too far from home. I’m planning to move you to Jianxiang Elementary in Xuhui—closer and safer for you.”
Niannian’s eyes lit up immediately.
“Okay! I’ll listen to Mama!”
Minzhi reached over and ruffled her hair, the corners of her eyes softening with a rare smile.
“Good girl.”
Under the dim street lamps, the mother and daughter walked hand in hand, their stretched shadows leaning toward each other—each other’s strongest support.
Their home in Xuhui District was the apartment allocated to Minzhi’s work unit.
Back then, housing was assigned to families. Because Minzhi had seniority and outstanding performance, the apartment she qualified for was better than what Fang Yuming could’ve gotten.
So the unit had used her quota when applying.
The red-brick building was a typical 70s–80s design, with narrow corridors and peeling cement walls—but clean and orderly.
Clothes hung from the poles downstairs; neighbors occasionally poked their heads out to greet one another.
Minzhi led her daughter upstairs. Their footsteps echoed through the third-floor corridor. She unlocked the door—the small apartment was spotless, with a few green plants on the windowsill.
“Niannian, rest for a bit. Mama will make dinner.”
She set down her bag and headed into the kitchen. From a package sent by her mother in Guangzhou, she took out some cured sausage, sliced it, and cooked it in a clay pot with rice.
There were only a few tomatoes left, so she cracked some eggs and stir-fried them. Soon, the aroma of sausage clay-pot rice filled the apartment, blending with the sweet scent of tomato and egg.
“Niannian, dinner’s ready!” Minzhi called gently.
Niannian hopped over, eyes sparkling.
“Wow, it smells so good!”
Minzhi served her a bowl.
“This sausage is from your grandma in Guangzhou. Try it.”
Niannian took one bite—oily, fragrant sausage with perfectly separated rice grains. She grinned, then tried the tomato egg.
“Mama, your cooking is amazing!”
Warmth flickered in Minzhi’s eyes.
“Niannian really knows how to sweet-talk Mama.”
They were eating peacefully when a sound came from outside— click—the key turning in the lock.
The door opened.
Minzhi’s chopsticks froze. Her expression darkened instantly.
She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Sure enough—Fang Yuming.
He stepped inside, changed his shoes, and glanced at them eating. He tried to sound casual.
“Is there any food left? I haven’t eaten yet.”
Minzhi didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned to Niannian, her voice gentle.
“Niannian, are you full?”
Niannian stiffened, quickly stuffed the last bite into her mouth, cheeks puffed.
“Full!”
She set down her bowl and hurried back to her room.
Watching her small back retreat, Fang Yuming’s chest ached. He still tried to maintain dignity, murmuring, “Slow down.”
Minzhi withdrew her gaze coldly.
“Say what you came to say.”
He hesitated, then finally spoke, voice low:
“Minzhi… I don’t agree to the divorce. Liu Xianglan—she’s just the past. That child… he was an accident. You can’t ruin our home because of my mistake…”
Minzhi let out a cold, sharp laugh.
“But you lied to me.”
Her stare pierced through him.
“When we first met, you said only that you’d gone to the countryside. You never mentioned that you had been married there.”
Fang Yuming’s expression faltered.
“That wasn’t marriage! We never registered!”
Minzhi’s lips curled coldly.
“Oh? Not marriage? Then what was it?”
Her words cracked through the room like a whip—
“Playing the rogue?”
Each word struck Fang Yuming like a hammer to the chest, knocking the breath from him.