Late at night, Tang Yan lay on her side and thought over what Aunt Ji had said. The quarrel was partly her fault—those words she hurled were far too harsh. Everyone has pride. Apart from giving her life and never raising her, Mother had always wired tuition and living expenses on time. It wasn’t as if she had committed some unforgivable sin. If any “crime” existed, it was rushing into a pregnancy and leaving Tang Yan fatherless. Yet, looking back, Tang Yan didn’t regret being born; without life she would never have met someone as gentle as Aunt Ji, and all the suffering of those first ten‑plus years could never have been soothed as it was here.
Aunt Ji was the one who mended her wounds and helped her find herself—helped her see who she really was and whom she truly loved.
A single slap was nothing. One good night’s sleep and the skies would clear again.
With that thought, Tang Yan closed her eyes. The last image in her mind was Aunt Ji’s radiant smile.
Ji Yuqing had just finished her shower. Wrapped in a towel, she rubbed her damp hair while the heater kept the bedroom comfortably warm. Partway through her nightly skincare, a call came in. She grabbed the phone.
“So late—what’s up?” she answered with a faint smile.
“I heard… Senior Tang is in Huadu?” Zhang Mi‑ya sounded like a detective; nothing ever escaped her keen senses.
“How did you know?” Ji Yuqing perched on the bed, intrigued.
“Come on, have you forgotten? My husband’s sister works at the airport. She was on break at noon and spotted you. Said Tang Yan and that woman looked like they’d been stamped from the same mold. I knew at once.”
“Ah. Yes—Senior‑sister arrived and I settled her in a hotel,” Ji Yuqing admitted.
“That’s not very sisterly of you. Tang‑jie shows up in Huadu and you don’t tell me? I ought to throw a welcome dinner!”
“That was my oversight…” Ji Yuqing murmured.
“Tell you what: I’ll book a restaurant for tomorrow. We can all catch up. It’s been years.”
“All right. I’ll phone her in a bit—she won’t refuse.”
“Settled then. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
Call ended, Ji Yuqing immediately rang Tang Hui‑yi.
Leaning against the headboard, Tang Hui‑yi scrolled through the handful of childhood photos of Tang Yan while her little boy, freshly bathed, slept beside her. That once‑naïve girl had grown into a graceful young woman. There were so few pictures—proof of too many regrets. In her youth she’d seen the child as the source of every painful memory; by the time she realized her mistake, mother and daughter were already estranged.
The phone lit up with Ji Yuqing’s name. She answered calmly.
“Yuqing, what is it?”
“Sorry to bother you so late, Senior‑sister.”
“It’s fine—I’m still awake.”
“Mi‑ya wants us all to have lunch tomorrow. You remember her?”
Silence, then: “Zhang Mi‑ya—the girl from drama club who was always with you?”
“That’s her.”
“All right. Since I’m here, we should meet.”
Next morning at breakfast, Ji Yuqing casually mentioned the plan, watching Tang Yan’s reaction.
“Aunt Mi‑ya’s treating your mom. Let’s all go, okay?”
Tang Yan paused over her steamed egg custard, then looked up with a smile. “Okay.”
Ji Yuqing grinned and ruffled her hair. “Our Yan‑yan’s really grown up.”
Heavy snow had fallen overnight. Outside, the compound was a vast whiteness; workers were clearing the paths. Ji Yuqing tied her scarf at the door while Tang Yan fetched the car keys and waited.
“You missed a spot.” Ji Yuqing stepped behind her, fingers brushing the back of her neck to straighten the collar and scarf. Tang Yan stiffened in surprise—the aunt’s hands were soft and carried the fragrance of hand cream. She breathed it in and smiled secretly.
“Yan‑yan?”
When she looked up, Aunt Ji was already by the car. Tang Yan flushed. “Coming!”
Awkward.
All the way to the hotel she wondered how to face her mother—force a smile or keep a blank face? Yesterday had been so embarrassing.
They arrived. As Tang Yan unbuckled, Aunt Ji turned. “Stay in the car—it’s warm. No need to come up.”
Tang Yan nodded and settled back. Aunt Ji solved her dilemma as if she could read her mind.
Ten minutes passed, a few songs played, and the group returned. Tang Hui‑yi loaded her little boy first, then got in. Mother and daughter’s eyes met in the rear‑view mirror; Tang Yan looked away.
“Yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have hit you. Will you forgive me?” her mother asked softly.
Staring out the window, Tang Yan answered in a light tone, “I’m not that petty.”
Ji Yuqing got in last, checked the doors, and drove off.
The restaurant Zhang Mi‑ya booked wasn’t far; with light holiday traffic they arrived in twenty minutes. A waiter led them to a private room where Zhang Mi‑ya waited with her one‑year‑old daughter, Doudou. The toddling girl was adorable—perfect playmate for Xuan‑xuan, who took to her at once.
“Senior‑sister! Long time no see.” Zhang Mi‑ya embraced Tang Hui‑yi warmly.
“It really has been years,” Tang Hui‑yi replied with a smile.
“How many…” Zhang Mi‑ya counted on her fingers until Ji Yuqing prompted, “Eighteen.”
“Right—eighteen years! And you’re still as lovely as ever,” she gushed.
“I’m old now. You and Yuqing have kept yourselves up. I’m just a housewife,” Tang Hui‑yi said self‑deprecatingly.
Eighteen years—it was etched in Ji Yuqing’s mind. Back then, Senior‑sister had left Huadu heavily pregnant, couldn’t stay in school, and hurriedly withdrew. After that she never set foot in the city again.
They’d had almost no contact—not because Ji Yuqing was unwilling, but because Senior‑sister changed her number. Only last year, days before Tang Yan’s university entrance, did the call finally come. Ji Yuqing had kept the same phone all these years, waiting for the chance to make amends.
It was late August, office air‑con humming, when the unexpected call came.
“Is that Yuqing?” the uncertain voice asked.
“It’s me—Senior‑sister, you finally called!” Ji Yuqing clenched her fist, pacing with excitement.
“So many years have passed. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I have no one else. I had the baby—her name’s Tang Yan, she took my surname. She’s a lovely, sensible girl. She just finished her university entrance exams and got into Huadu University—our old school! Imagine that.”
“Tell me what you need, I’ll help.���
“I remarried last year—good man, treats me well. We have a baby boy who can’t be without me, so… I have to entrust Yan‑yan to you. Please, look after her.”
“Of course. It’s the least I can do.”
“She’ll arrive in two days; I’ll send the train details and her photo.”
Soon after, a picture arrived: a slender girl in school uniform and ponytail, neat bangs, skin tanned a healthy wheat‑brown. Facing the camera, she looked stiff, arms hanging awkwardly—clearly reluctant.
That afternoon, Ji Yuqing studied the photo for a long time, feeling an inexplicable anticipation.