Zhao Yufang rolled her eyes so hard she nearly choked for breath and fainted right then and there.
Noticing Lu Lin and Li Qing’e beside her casting strange glances her way, she looked thoroughly embarrassed, yet dared not utter a word in rebuttal.
She was terrified that anyone would see the truth: that neither she nor Song Shouyang bore even the slightest resemblance to Song Qinghuan.
Zhao Yufang had endured this for years, harboring a deep, long-held secret.
Years ago, due to an accident, her own daughter had gone missing at the age of two.
Shortly after giving birth, she had developed a mental illness, and the shock of losing her child had left her addled and confused.
All the burdens of the household fell squarely on Song Shouyang’s shoulders alone.
If only the girl had just been lost—after all, she was merely a daughter, worth little in their eyes.
What weighed most heavily on him was how to explain this to his in-laws.
Back when Old Master Song was still alive, the two families had arranged a betrothal in infancy: their daughter would marry Lu Qiming.
Zhao Yufang had given birth to a second child, a son. Now that their daughter was gone, he had no idea how to face the Lu family.
Calling off the engagement was out of the question.
They had worked so hard to forge this connection with the influential Lu clan—they would never throw away this chance to climb the social ladder.
The only way forward was to find some means of keeping the marriage contract intact.
Day after day, Song Shouyang made inquiries everywhere, racking his brains to find his missing eldest daughter. But no matter how hard he searched, there was never a trace of her; the worry had nearly turned his hair white.
He could not speak of this to outsiders. At his wits’ end, he tried to discuss what to do with Zhao Yufang—but by then, she was already mad, unkempt and out of her senses. Far from being of any help, she was nothing but a burden!
Song Shouyang was already at his wits’ end, and so he set his mind to devising another plan.
After three days and nights of thought, an idea struck him: if his real daughter was gone, he would simply get another one in her place.
Children changed so quickly, he reasoned. If he covered his tracks well enough, he could pull the wool over everyone’s eyes and deceive them all!
The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed. He began searching everywhere for a little girl who could pass as his own.
But this was the era of strict crackdowns; buying a child was no longer as easy as it once had been. Besides, he could not bear to spend so much money on a mere girl.
If he could not buy one, he would steal or take one. To a man of Song Shouyang’s low moral character, this was no obstacle at all.
He had a wife and son to care for, so he could not travel far. Instead, he set his sights on families in neighboring villages. To ensure he would not draw the attention of the police after taking the child, he watched and waited for a long time.
Finally, one week before they were to move away, he set his sights on the youngest daughter of the Song family in the next village—Song Qinghuan.
What a perfect child, he thought. She was beautiful, just like the painted dolls on New Year calendars. Gentle and well-behaved, she smiled at everyone she met, and even before she could speak clearly, she would call out to people in her sweet, childish voice. The Lu family would surely adore her.
Song Shouyang was utterly satisfied with his choice. After several days of careful planning, he struck when Song Qinghuan was visiting Song Village with her parents.
He had made every preparation possible. The moment he had her, he covered her eyes, plugged her ears, and rushed her straight to the city. To stop her from crying out and alerting the neighbors, he knocked her unconscious and stuffed cotton and rags into her mouth.
All the way into the city, Song Qinghuan remained unconscious, with no way of knowing where she was or how to get home. She was truly trapped, with nowhere to turn.
Song Shouyang was immensely pleased with his flawless scheme. Not only had he regained a daughter—he had also gotten his revenge on someone he had long despised. It could not have been more perfect.
Ever since they were boys, Song Shouyang had resented Song Qinghuan’s father, Song Yiqing.
They were both country folk—why should Song Yiqing be the only one in the whole village to go to university? He was already the son of the village chief, with every advantage—why should every good thing in the world fall to him alone?
It was unfair—grossly unfair!
Outwardly, Song Shouyang appeared quiet, simple, and honest. Inwardly, he had long harbored a deep hatred for Song Yiqing. Every time Song Yiqing came to visit with his father, the village chief, Song Shouyang would say nothing to his face, but would watch his back from the shadows, brooding over how to cause trouble for this “golden phoenix” who had risen from their mountain village.
Song Yiqing had caught him watching more than once, but had never given it much thought. He assumed Song Shouyang’s discomfort stemmed from his family’s poorer circumstances, and had even tried to comfort him.
“Do not feel pressured because we have been helping your family,” Song Yiqing had said. “My father and I are only doing our duty. We do not think any less of you for your situation. Hardship is only temporary. I believe that with diligence, everyone can build a better life. We grew up together—you need not stand on ceremony with me. If you ever need anything, just ask. We are neighbors and kin; we must help one another where we can.”
Outwardly, Song Shouyang’s family had feigned deep gratitude. Behind closed doors, their hearts were filled with malice. The moment Song Yiqing and his father had left, his smile vanished. He slammed the gate so hard it shook, and cursed under his breath.
“That Song Yiqing—acting so high and mighty just because he has a little authority! Does he really think he is somebody? I know what they are really doing—laughing at us behind our backs for being poor! If he truly cared, why didn’t he hand over all the government aid directly to me? Making excuses that others need it too—what do I care about them? I only need to look after myself; let them fend for themselves!”
Song Shouyang was convinced that Song Yiqing and his whole family were nothing but sanctimonious hypocrites. So when he stole their daughter, he felt not the slightest pang of conscience.
Later, with help from Song Yiqing and other village officials, Song Shouyang’s family escaped poverty and moved to the city. He made a point of asking after Song Yiqing’s family.
He learned that ever since losing Song Qinghuan, Song Yiqing and his wife had never known a moment of peace. They wandered aimlessly searching for their daughter, until tragedy struck and their lives were completely ruined. They would never be in a position to come after him again.