Hating Her, While Still Having to Address Her as Mother - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Shen Manci

Chapter Brief: A Woman Putting on Airs

Jizhou was a cold town.

In Jizhou, people seemed to bustle about for the sake of survival, living lives that were busy yet utterly meaningless. Su Zhixi had lived in this town for eighteen years. She found this way of life both tedious and source-lessly annoying.

She hated Jizhou’s frequent rainy seasons. She hated the feeling of sticky shoes whenever it rained, and the way a soaked school uniform clung to her skin. She hated how the entire town became impossibly congested the moment the rain started. Battery-powered scooters and private cars would cram into narrow roads, horns blaring incessantly, while pedestrians struggled to survive in the gaps between vehicles.

There were too many things Su Zhixi hated, but out of those thousand grievances, the person she hated most was her stepmother, Shen Manci.

Shen Manci was a woman who put on a lot of airs. Su Zhixi rarely used the word “fake” to describe people—she believed that if you called someone fake, you weren’t exactly a good person yourself—but for Shen Manci, it fit.

Every gesture Shen Manci made revealed a refined upbringing. Her movements were elegant, her words decent and generous. She seemed completely out of place in this flat, drab town, like she belonged to a different world entirely.

Even when Su Zhixi scrutinized her with crude and petty thoughts, the woman would only return a gaze that was gentle and maternal. In that soft reflection, Su Zhixi would often catch a glimpse of her own “bad roots.”

But that gentle gaze didn’t make Su Zhixi like her. Instead, it only reinforced the idea that this person was “acting.”

The court had awarded her custody to her father. Since she couldn’t move out on her own, she had to endure the discomfort of living under the same roof as this stranger. She expected to live with Shen Manci for many, many years, but she never imagined that this woman she once detested would occupy such a vital place in her life. When she opened her diary ten years later, the past tasted entirely different.

The ten-year-older Su Zhixi looked back at her bold, unreserved comments about how “fake” Shen Manci was. She couldn’t help but chuckle, finding her younger self adorable yet incredibly rebellious and stubborn. Back then, she had smugly categorized her own petty traits as “having a personality,” a term her teacher once used.

The younger Su Zhixi had stuffed her flawed self into a glass jar and pretended to be blind to her own shortcomings. Ten years later, she decided to rewrite this story. Armed with a yellowed, damp old diary and the last embers of those golden years, she titled the first page: The Jizhou Chronicles.

It was a story about the 90s, an era of surviving in the cracks, and the story of her and Shen Manci.

…

00

Every morning at 6:10 AM, the aroma of fried eggs would fill every corner of the alley, and smoke would swirl out from every household.

Before the sky even began to brighten, the smell of cooking oil drifted through the lanes. On winter mornings, dim incandescent lights would flicker on one after another as parents busied themselves with their children’s breakfast.

By 6:30 AM, Su Zhixi would be fully dressed. The moment she zipped up her backpack, the knock on the door would arrive exactly as scheduled.

A woman’s gentle voice would come through: “A-Xi, breakfast is ready. The corn and eggs are in the pot—I didn’t take them out so they wouldn’t get cold. The milk has been warmed and is covered in the small saucepan; remember to pour it.”

If her own mother had done this every morning, Su Zhixi would have cherished the reminder. But the care she had craved all her life from her biological mother was instead provided by her stepmother, Shen Manci.

Her parents had been together for over a decade. They hadn’t met through a matchmaker but had fallen in love naturally. In the early years, before the marriage reached its twilight, they were a very loving couple. But marriage is like stuffing love full of firewood, rice, oil, and salt. Even the smallest things can cause ripples. Few can withstand the test. Su Zhixi remembered her mother being gentle once, but slowly, her personality changed until no one remembered who she used to be.

A gentle mother was a dream Su Zhixi could never reach. Her reality was a mother with a distorted face, sobbing at the corner of the dining table.

Her mother’s most frequent words were: “Zhixi, no family is without friction. Every family has a difficult sutra to read.”

As her mother said, their home was like thousands of others—friction, clashes, but also moments of happiness. Usually, they’d have a small fight every two or three days, then return to calm. Her parents would reconcile, only to clash again a few days later over something trivial.

Su Zhixi believed her mother: no family was as perfect as it appeared.

So, when she saw her parents’ names on the divorce papers, she was bewildered. She didn’t understand why they had reached this point. Her mother had said every family endures and tolerates.

Before she could understand the complexities of adult emotions, a new woman entered their home. Naturally, Su Zhixi concluded that Shen Manci had destroyed her family. It was this woman—with her breezy smile and the beauty mark under her left eye—who had seduced her father.

Shen Manci had ruined her life. Therefore, Su Zhixi would never accept this new family member. If Shen Manci wouldn’t let her be happy, she wouldn’t let Shen Manci have a peaceful life either.

Su Zhixi glanced coldly at the kitchen, slung her bag over one shoulder, and walked out the door. She wouldn’t touch that woman’s breakfast if her life depended on it.

…

01

Shen Manci glanced at her wristwatch. It was 11:30 AM. She stretched her back, finally finishing her manuscript for the morning.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar number paged her. Shen Manci narrowed her eyes; she didn’t recognize it. She found a landline and called back.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Hello, are you Su Zhixi’s…” The person hesitated, choosing their words. “You are Su Zhixi’s guardian, correct?”

Shen Manci guessed the purpose of the call immediately. “I am.”

“I am Su Zhixi’s homeroom teacher. Could you please come to the school? There’s a situation.”

Shen Manci checked her watch again. There was half an hour before her shift ended, but she could leave. “Certainly. Is something wrong with Zhixi?”

“Yes, she got into a fight with another student. We need you here.”

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Shen Manci asked instinctively.

“She’s fine. It’s the student she fought with who has issues,” the teacher replied, sounding surprised by Shen Manci’s concern. The teacher felt a momentary pang of guilt for letting societal prejudice color her view of a “stepmother.”

That guilt lasted less than two seconds, vanished by Shen Manci’s next question.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Which class is she in?”

Hearing her ask which class the girl was in, the teacher, Wang Yuan, realized Shen Manci’s concern might only be skin-deep. If a parent really cared, how could they not know their child’s class? But then the teacher remembered her status—for a stepmother, maintaining surface-level politeness was already a sign of a great “face.”

“Class 4. You can come directly to my office on the second floor. The other parent is already here.”

Shen Manci hung up, grabbed her brown coat from the chair, and told a colleague: “Today is the deadline. Send the manuscript to the editorial department on time.”

“Sister Shen, are you leaving? What will I do without you? I’ve never finished a draft on my own,” Chen Nian asked.

“Xiao Chen, you’ve been in the reporting department for three months. It’s time to try. It’s just a small report; take it as training.” Shen Manci gave a trusting smile.

“Where are you going?”

Shen Manci swung her coat over her shoulder and waved. “My kid caused trouble at school. I’m going to clean up the mess.”

…

02

When Shen Manci arrived, the office door was surrounded by curious students trying to catch a glimpse of the drama. She squeezed through and entered.

Inside, she saw a boy with tissues stuffed up his nose. He was holding his head back to stop the bleeding, which had already stained his uniform in dark patches. His parents sat nearby, arms crossed and legs hooked, looking ready for a fight.

Shen Manci scanned the room. The “culprit,” Su Zhixi, looked completely indifferent. The teacher was playing the peacemaker, and the other parent clearly wasn’t interested in a peaceful resolution. Shen Manci realized the “Mahjong game” was just waiting for her—the “punching bag” parent.

The boy’s parents looked Shen Manci up and down, letting out a snort of contempt.

“Since Su Zhixi’s mother is here, let’s settle this,” the teacher began. “In the last class, Su Zhixi argued with Wang Yi, and during the fight, she hit him.”

The boy’s father, still sitting arrogantly, demanded: “Give me a number. How much are you paying for medical expenses?”

Shen Manci replied calmly: “30.”

The father nearly exploded. “30? Are you treating us like dogs?”

“In Jizhou, the average monthly salary is between 250 and 300 yuan, Mr. Wang. For such a minor injury, 30 is already very generous of us.”

“Minor injury?” The father stood up, dragging his son in front of Shen Manci. “Look at what your kid did to my son!” He shook the boy aggressively, as if trying to prove the gravity of the assault on his “only seedling.”

Shen Manci glanced at the boy and said, “Before we talk about money, I’d like to know what they were arguing about.”

The boy stuttered and couldn’t speak. His father grew impatient. “Your daughter hit him, and you want my son to explain? You’re going too far.”

The teacher pushed Su Zhixi forward. “Zhixi, tell everyone what happened.”

Su Zhixi asked nonchalantly, “Are you sure you want me to say it?”

“Of course,” the teacher said.

Su Zhixi cleared her throat and began reciting the boy’s words without emotion: “Because Wang Yi said my mother doesn’t love me and my father doesn’t want me. Even a dog has a place to go when chased, and a sow has a pen to return to when tired. Only Su Zhixi is homeless.”

She glanced at Shen Manci while continuing: “He also said he envies my old man… being that age and still getting to play with such a young and beautiful woman.”

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the room. But Su Zhixi wasn’t done. “Then they praised my dad for being ‘good in bed’ and wanting to—” The teacher quickly covered her mouth.

Wang Yi’s father, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, blustered, “My son’s words might be a bit crude, but the logic is sound! Your family business is already notorious; you think people won’t talk? If you have the guts to be a mistress, you should have the guts to hear people talk!”

The teacher tried to intervene. “Mr. Wang, let’s not discuss this in front of the children.”

“Teacher Wang, don’t stop me! I’m telling the truth! The Old Su couple were so happy until this fox seduced him and broke them up!”

Shen Manci suddenly laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of anger, but one of helpless amusement, as if to say, Is that all? Anything else to add?

She pulled a recording pen from her pocket and placed it on the desk.

“This,” Shen Manci explained patiently, “is a recording pen. It’s a tool for recording voices. We reporters always bring one to interviews. Did you know, Mr. Wang? According to Article 246 of the Criminal Law, anyone who publicly insults another or fabricates facts to defame them, if the circumstances are serious, shall be sentenced to fixed-term imprisonment of not more than three years, criminal detention, public surveillance, or deprivation of political rights.”

“I met Mr. Su a year after his divorce. Your baseless, insulting language counts as defamation and rumor-mongering.” She shook the pen twice.

“Wh-what is the recording pen? Don’t try to scare me! I’ve never heard of such a thing. How could this backwater place have that? And don’t act tough, you little girl. You call yourself a reporter?”

Shen Manci tied her hair into a high ponytail and handed him a business card. “Reporter for the Jizhou News Center. My surname is Shen. You can call me Xiao Shen, Mr. Wang.”

The man was struck dumb. His crooked, yellowed teeth were exposed as his mouth hung open, unable to repeat his previous bravado.

Shen Manci didn’t let him off. She added fuel to the fire: “Originally, this was just kids being kids. I can understand a child being foolish. But adults are different. Adults should know the weight of their words.” She smiled brightly.

She took 30 yuan from her bag, knelt down, and stuffed the bills into the boy’s hand. “Even kids know: you can eat whatever you want, but you can’t say whatever you want. Right, Student Wang?”

She held the boy’s hand tight, forcing him to grip the money. She looked at him with a beaming smile that made the boy tremble. She didn’t let go, gently patting his hand while maintaining that terrifying, fake smile. The boy, palms sweating and heart racing, finally whimpered: “Dad, let’s just go.”