In early May, Xu Yan returned to Tai’an once. The school had reinstated Qiao Jianbin’s job, paying him according to the benefits of a retired teacher. It was said that the episode of *Legal Focus* had alarmed some big figures in Beijing, who made phone calls to intervene.
However, Qiao Jianbin and Wang Yazhen were not satisfied with the outcome, as the matter of compensation had not been resolved. They continued to petition.
Since the program aired, they had given many interviews. Qiao Jianbin’s eloquence had improved significantly, and his eyes lit up whenever he saw a camera lens.
He proudly told Xu Yan that the reporters admired him, saying society needed people like him who were a bit stubborn.
Wang Yazhen had started a Weibo account, where she wrote about their family’s experiences over the years.
Several well-known journalists and scholars had reposted her posts, and many people left comments below.
Wang Yazhen replied to every comment, and for those she got along with, she even added them on QQ.
This external attention kept them busy day and night, temporarily easing the pain of losing their daughter.
But once they returned to their daily lives and realized that Qiao Lin was gone forever, their emotions would collapse again.
The light in the house was broken, and no one fixed it.
The refrigerator was foul-smelling, still holding the cake and yogurt Qiao Lin had bought.
The baby formula on the table had its lid open and had clumped together. At night, cockroaches grew bold, crawling all over the table.
And so, Wang Yazhen would start crying again. Qiao Jianbin’s emotions were polarized. Sometimes he sat quietly, staring blankly at the liquor bottle on the table.
Other times, he would fly into a rage, cursing Qiao Lin for being heartless, saying they had raised her for nothing.
After crying, Wang Yazhen would sit at the old computer and start writing on Weibo:
“You don’t know how wonderful my eldest daughter was—so beautiful, sensible, and lively. Everyone loved her. When I was sad, she always comforted me, saying, ‘Mom, everything will pass. There’s nothing in this world that can’t be overcome…’”
As she wrote, she began to cry again. Xu Yan walked over and sat beside her.
Wang Yazhen turned and hugged Xu Yan. Xu Yan gently patted her back, calming her down. The computer dinged, and Wang Yazhen sat up from Xu Yan’s embrace, wiped her tears, and said, “Someone replied to me.” She quickly grabbed the mouse and clicked twice.
For the first two days of her return, Xu Yan stayed at a nearby guesthouse. On the third night, Qiao Lin’s child had a slight fever, so Xu Yan stayed to look after her, sleeping on Qiao Lin’s bed.
The pillowcase hadn’t been changed, still carrying the scent of the shampoo Qiao Lin left behind. As Xu Yan lay on it, she recalled a childhood wish—one she had never admitted to—that she could sleep in this bed. Not with Qiao Lin, but by herself.
This dilapidated home held a strange allure for her. She longed to live in this house as a legitimate daughter.
Throughout her long childhood and adolescence, she had met many outstanding girls—wealthy, beautiful, intelligent—but she never wanted to be them. She only wanted to be Qiao Lin. She wanted to replace her, to possess everything she had.
Even if those things included pain and misfortune, it didn’t matter. Because she felt they were rightfully hers.
If there were no Qiao Lin… She had thought this countless times. As children, she and Qiao Lin stood by the river, the same sun shining on them, but she felt Qiao Lin was in the sunlight while she stood in the shadows. If there were no Qiao Lin… she could take two steps to the right and stand in the light.
That childhood wish was so sincere and terrifying, kept hidden in her heart, slowly releasing its poison to the outside world.
Many years later, it came true. Qiao Lin was gone. Now Xu Yan slept in Qiao Lin’s bed, as her parents’ only daughter. Xu Yan buried her face in the pillowcase and sobbed uncontrollably.
Could she take back that wish? Would things have been different? Would Qiao Lin have been happier, and could she have grown into someone else? Qiao Lin was gone, but Xu Yan still couldn’t step into the sunlight. She would remain in the shadows forever.
The baby let out a loud cry. Xu Yan picked her up. In the darkness, the child’s fair face showed no tears or sadness, as if her earlier cries were only to pull Xu Yan out of her pain. She looked at Xu Yan quietly.
Her small eyes seemed to hold a vast sea. Xu Yan wanted to confess to those eyes, but even more, she wanted to give all her blessings to the child. If her blessings had the same power as her childhood wish, she hoped the child could have the happiness that she and Qiao Lin could never attain.
Xu Yan woke up beside Yu Yiming. It was three in the morning. The guesthouse window wouldn’t close properly, letting in a cold breeze. It was the start of winter, and Beijing was freezing. Xu Yan had met Yu Yiming for dinner, then they went drinking.
Toward the end, Qiao Lin suddenly vanished from their conversation. Xu Yan remembered Yu Yiming staring at her blankly. The rest of her memory was a blur.
She couldn’t recall what she said, what Yu Yiming said, or whether they kissed. She felt a slight pain—or maybe she didn’t, but she thought she should.
She woke Yu Yiming up. He rolled off the bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor.
His girlfriend was still waiting for him at home—he had emphasized this before getting drunk. As he dressed, he said to Xu Yan,
“I know it’s because you just arrived in Beijing and you’re a bit homesick. You’ll feel better in a few days.”
At the door, Xu Yan called out to him, picking up her backpack and rummaging through it.
“what was wrong”
“Qiao Lin had something for me to give you. ”
He stood there waiting for a moment, but she still couldn’t find it.
” I really have to go, we’ll talk later”
then opened the door and left.
The pen was always in the compartment of the backpack, but Xu Yan had forgotten to give it to Yu Yiming the last two times they met. Perhaps she wanted a reason to see him again.
But now, she really wanted to give him that pen. She turned on the light and dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor.
Qiao Lin’s child was particularly quiet. After getting through the initial days of being away from her mother, she quickly adapted to her new life.
She fell asleep after every feeding, and when she woke, she only cried softly a few times before waiting quietly.
When Xu Yan picked her up, the child pressed her head against her chest, as if listening to her heartbeat, a faint smile appearing on her face.
Every time Xu Yan put her down, the child would whimper twice, and Xu Yan’s heart would tighten, so she’d pick her up again.
It was already warm outside, and she carried the child into the sunlight. The locust flowers had bloomed, and a thick layer of petals had fallen on the ground, scattered and gathered again by the wind.
She walked to the riverbank and sat on the stone steps, hoping the child would sleep for a bit. But the child didn’t sleep, gazing with her at the river in front of them.
“Did you smell your mom’s scent? “she asked the child. The child smiled.
The child’s name was Qiao Luoqi, a name chosen by Qiao Lin, but it seemed no one remembered her name—her parents just called her “the child.”
Qiao Lin’s child. They still seemed to see her as a part of Qiao Lin. Her round eyes were very much like Qiao Lin’s. Sometimes, looking into them, Xu Yan felt a longing to talk to Qiao Lin.
But she didn’t know what to say—she felt Qiao Lin already knew everything she wanted to say. Now Qiao Lin knew everything in the world. She knew Xu Yan had returned, knew she was with the child, knew how much she missed her.
On the morning of the day she left, Xu Yan took the child out for a walk again.
Passing by the train station.
“There are trains in there, choo-choo, the whistle blows, and then they rumble away. When you grow up, you can take one to come find me, okay?”
The child didn’t smile, just looked at her quietly. Xu Yan’s heart tightened, and she gripped the child’s hand. She couldn’t imagine how the child would grow up in such a rundown home.
Back at the house, Xu Yan folded the baby clothes that had been drying by the door and put them in the cabinet.
She saw the paper box, tucked at the very bottom of the cabinet, with one corner peeking out.
Opening the box, the white dress inside wasn’t as she remembered—the taffeta wasn’t as stiff, and the ruffled edges weren’t as intricate.
