When the car entered the residential complex, Shen Qingyu opened her eyes.
She hadn’t actually fallen asleep—she just didn’t feel like talking. Leaning back in her seat, she watched her family’s small building come into view, and an indescribable weariness suddenly washed over her.
Old Zhang parked the car steadily at the entrance.
“We’re here, Mr. Shen.”
Shen Huaiting unbuckled his seatbelt and glanced back at the mother and daughter in the back seat. Manlin Jiang was tidying her handbag, while Shen Qingyu straightened up and adjusted her coat.
“Thank you for your hard work, Old Zhang. Head back and rest early,” Shen Huaiting said before pushing the door open and stepping out.
The three of them entered the house, where warm yellow light illuminated the sofa and coffee table, making the entire space feel quiet and soft. Shen Qingyu changed into slippers, hung her coat on the rack in the entryway, and was about to head upstairs.
“Qingyu,” Manlin Jiang’s voice called out. “Don’t go upstairs just yet. Come sit for a while. I want to talk to you.”
Shen Qingyu paused mid-step, then turned and walked to the living room, sitting down at the other end of the sofa. Shen Huaiting glanced at them and tactfully said, “I’ll go to the study to make a call,” before heading upstairs.
Only the mother and daughter remained in the living room.
Manlin Jiang took off her coat and draped it over the armrest of the sofa before sitting down beside Shen Qingyu. She didn’t speak immediately but instead reached out and pushed the fruit bowl on the coffee table toward her daughter.
“Qingyu, would you like some fruit?”
“No, thank you, Mom. Just say what you want to say,” Shen Qingyu replied, leaning back on the sofa, her tone flat.
Manlin Jiang looked at her and smiled, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Alright, then I won’t beat around the bush,” she said, leaning back against the sofa and turning her head to look at her daughter. “Qingyu, what did you think of meeting Pei Huaijin tonight?”
Shen Qingyu was silent for a moment.
“He’s fine.”
“What does ‘fine’ mean?” Manlin Jiang pressed. “Do you think he’s not good-looking? Or did something about him make you uncomfortable?”
“No… he’s just fine.”
Manlin Jiang looked at her and didn’t respond immediately, leaving the living room quiet for a few seconds.
“Qingyu,” Manlin Jiang’s voice softened slightly. “You know the Pei family’s circumstances, and you’ve seen Pei Huaijin for yourself. His looks, abilities, family background, and character—none of them are lacking. Plus, it’s a family we know well. Where else would you find a marriage like this?”
Shen Qingyu didn’t speak, her fingers unconsciously tracing the armrest of the sofa.
“Since you’ve already exchanged WeChat contacts,” Manlin Jiang continued, “you should chat more with Huaijin. If he invites you out, go with him. Don’t keep making excuses to turn him down. Nurture your feelings properly, and when the time is right, we can start discussing marriage.”
Shen Qingyu’s fingers stopped moving.
“Mom,” she said, looking at Manlin Jiang. “How did we get to talking about marriage again?”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but there was a suppressed impatience in her tone.
“I just went to dinner and met him once tonight. And here you are, already planning the marriage after just one meal?”
Manlin Jiang’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t lose her temper.
“Qingyu, that’s not what I meant—”
“That’s exactly what you meant,” Shen Qingyu interrupted her. “From the moment you told me on the phone to ‘come back and meet him,’ that’s what you meant. Meet once, have a meal, and then get married.”
“Mom, I don’t have to get married, do I?” Her voice was slightly louder when she said this.
The atmosphere in the living room instantly shifted.
Manlin Jiang’s expression darkened. She turned around to face Shen Qingyu squarely.
“That’s right,” she said, her voice not loud but each word enunciated clearly. “You do have to get married.”
Shen Qingyu opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Manlin Jiang continued.
“Qingyu, listen to your mother. Mom won’t steer you wrong. The people I introduce to you are all very suitable for you. If you really don’t like Pei Huaijin, Mom knows many other outstanding young men from good families. We can look at others.”
She paused, her tone softening a little, but her gaze remained firm.
“But to be honest, the best choice is definitely Pei Huaijin. Your Aunt Lin is gentle, reasonable, and easy to get along with. The Pei family’s values are also excellent. Pei Cheng’an has never had any messy affairs outside all these years. As for Pei Huaijin, there’s even less to say—a thirty-year-old man who’s clean and has never been involved in any scandals. With a family like that, you won’t suffer any grievances if you marry into it.”
Listening to her mother’s lengthy speech, Shen Qingyu felt a knot of frustration in her chest, unable to rise or fall.
She knew what she should say. She should calmly tell her mother that she had just returned to the country and hadn’t yet decided whether she wanted to get married, let alone marry a man she had only met once. She should reason with her, present the facts, and use the legal thinking she had studied for so many years to argue for the importance of marriage freedom.
But she was too tired tonight.
Too tired to reason.
“What if I don’t listen?” she said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, even somewhat calm. But the weight of those words was heavier than any loud argument.
“If you don’t listen,” Manlin Jiang said, her tone as steady as if she were stating a legal provision, “I’ll freeze those two cards of yours tomorrow.”
Shen Qingyu was stunned.
“Mom—”
“No more allowance,” Manlin Jiang added.
Shen Qingyu stared at her mother, her mouth opening and closing, closing and opening, before finally squeezing out, “Mom, you resort to threatening to cut off my money at the slightest disagreement. How many years have you been using this trick? Can’t you change it up?”
Manlin Jiang looked at her, the corners of her lips curling slightly. The expression hovered between “smug” and “matter-of-fact.”
“Who says it works on you?”
Shen Qingyu was left speechless.
She wanted to retort, but she opened her mouth and realized she truly couldn’t say, “I don’t need your money.”
She spent at least seven figures every year on bags, jewelry, and limited-edition clothes. She couldn’t bear the thought of her mother cutting off her allowance, and she certainly didn’t have her mother’s ability to earn a year’s worth of allowance from just one case.
Her mother still knew exactly how to threaten her.
Shen Qingyu took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Mom,” she said, her voice tinged with a resigned helplessness, “can’t you give me some time to adjust? I just got back, and I haven’t even recovered from the jet lag yet.”
Manlin Jiang looked at her, the cold hardness in her gaze slowly fading, replaced by the soft, motherly expression only a mother could have.
“Mom isn’t forcing you.” She reached out and patted Shen Qingyu’s hand. “Mom is thinking of you. For a girl, the best years are just these few—once they’re gone, they’re gone. With conditions like Pei Huaijin’s, if you don’t seize the opportunity, there are plenty of people lining up waiting.”
Shen Qingyu: “…”
“Mom isn’t asking you to marry him tomorrow.” Manlin Jiang’s tone softened completely. “I just want you to spend more time with Huaijin—chat, have meals, watch movies, things like that. Start by getting to know each other, and feelings will develop over time. If you really don’t like him at all later on, Mom won’t force you to marry him, okay?”
Shen Qingyu looked at her mother, her lips twitching as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she remained silent.
“Alright,” Manlin Jiang stood up, picking up the coat draped over the armrest. “You must be tired today. Go upstairs and rest early. Don’t overthink anything—you can sleep in tomorrow.”
As Manlin Jiang reached the staircase, she glanced back at Shen Qingyu, who was still sitting on the sofa.
“Qingyu.”
“Hmm?”
“Mom truly has your best interests at heart.”
“I know, Mom,” she said.
Manlin Jiang nodded and turned to go upstairs.
Only Shen Qingyu remained in the living room. She leaned back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought for a long time.
After a while, she slowly stood up, went upstairs, and returned to her room.
Shen Qingyu took a shower, changed into her pajamas, and lay down on the bed. The room was quiet—so quiet she could hear the wind rustling the branches outside the window.
She picked up her phone.
There was an unread message on WeChat—the automatic notification after Pei Huaijin’s friend request was accepted: “You have added Pei. You can now start chatting.”
On the main screen, she also noticed the chat history with her mother—the message that read: “Rest well, don’t overthink it. Just treat it like making a friend.”
Just treat it like making a friend.
She smiled bitterly.
What kind of friend-making involves threats of cutting off financial support?
She placed her phone on the nightstand, turned over, and buried her face in the pillow.
Her mind was a jumbled mess—thinking about everything, yet understanding nothing.