I Still Miss Her [Rebirth] - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: But Fang Rulian Refused to Give Up

“I’m serious, Mom. You be my mom, and I’ll be your mom too. Wouldn’t ‘conjugate mother-daughter’ be great?”

“You’re getting more and more ridiculous,” Fang Hong said, pulling her daughter’s hand off her face. The skin around her eyes was flushed red. “I’m going to the bathroom to wash my face.”

Grabbing a tissue from the table, Fang Hong wiped her nose as she walked. It wasn’t until she flicked on the bathroom light that she realized something was off. She turned around and, sure enough, found Fang Rulian tailing her, clinging to the doorframe like a lizard.

“I’m just washing my face and you still follow me?” Fang Hong took a deep breath as she ran a towel under the water.

“I was afraid you’d be secretly sad.” In the bathroom, the woman covered her entire face with the wet towel. Under the light, her shoulders trembled slightly, and the sound of her inhalations was noticeably sharp. Fang Rulian’s voice dropped—light as a feather, yet heavy as a stone. “I am your daughter. I will always love you, and you will always love me. So Mom… you don’t have to be afraid to cry in front of me.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Fang Rulian said, leaning against the doorframe, watching the woman’s throat bob in the mirror. “I don’t want you to be sad over those people.”

She had grown up under Fang Hong’s protection, and subconsciously, she had always viewed Fang Hong as someone tall and strong. But she wasn’t—Fang Hong did have muscle, the kind forged by years of manual labor, but her frame was actually quite thin.

At her neck, only a thin layer of skin covered the protruding Adam’s apple and veins.

Fang Hong wasn’t even as tall as she was.

Fang Rulian had surpassed her mother in height back in the ninth grade, but in front of Fang Hong, she always felt small. It never felt out of place to curl up in Fang Hong’s arms to complain or act spoiled.

“Stop staring. Come wash your face too.”

“Oh.” Fang Rulian obeyed and walked over. The moment she looked into the mirror, Fang Hong grabbed the towel and started scrubbing her face.

She used so much force that Fang Rulian winced in pain. “Mom, take it easy! My skin is going to peel off.”

Fang Hong softened her movements slightly. “In the future, if your uncles or aunts come by, just say I’m not home. Tell them to come back later or call me. You don’t need to say anything else to them, and you don’t need to listen to them.”

Fang Rulian didn’t respond. She looked at Fang Hong and, judging by her mother’s dodging gaze, she could tell her mom probably still couldn’t bring herself to make a clean break.

She felt a momentary sense of frustration and genuine heartache for Fang Hong, but she knew this was likely the limit—using today’s events as a warning was one thing, but expecting Fang Hong to cut off all contact with that side of the family was impossible.

But Fang Rulian was not satisfied.

…

After washing up, Fang Hong tidied the sofa. Seeing that Fang Rulian still looked gloomy, she thought for a moment and urged her to go to bed.

She knew her daughter was indignant and that she had always been stubborn; she would likely find more ways to bring this up later. But Fang Hong was truly exhausted and sad today; she didn’t want to talk about it or think about anything.

She let out a deflated sigh. “It’s late. Go to bed.”

She heard her daughter murmur an “okay,” walk obediently into her room, and close the door.

For a split second, Fang Hong felt a sense of loss, thinking to herself: I think I just disappointed my daughter.

She had taught her daughter to love herself, to be strong, to explore the world, to never run away, and to face challenges head-on. Now, as a mother, she was the one choosing to escape.

In truth, it wasn’t just escape—there was a faint underlying irritation from having her scars exposed.

The living room light reflected off the floor, piercingly bright. Fang Hong slowly came to her senses and touched the cold water on her face. She turned toward the balcony, her breathing heavy.

She went into her bedroom to calm down for a while, but feeling stifled, she sat back down in the living room to stare into space.

Her head was throbbing.

Migraines were a common ailment for middle-aged people. She slumped on the sofa for a while, but eventually, the pain became unbearable. She rummaged through the cabinet and found a few packets of headache powder.

She was still in a daze as she stood up to get water. If it hadn’t been for a familiar “Be careful, it’s hot,” she wouldn’t have even realized someone was standing next to her.

Mu Yunshu pressed the button to stop the water. “What are you thinking about so intently?” When she turned to look at Fang Hong, she easily noticed the woman’s swollen eyelids and the traces of tears on her face.

“Headache. Taking some medicine,” Fang Hong said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I just had a few words with Xiaolian.”

The two sat side-by-side on the sofa. Fang Hong asked Mu Yunshu when she had returned.

“I got back quite early. I was exhausted, so I went to my room for a nap. Who knew I’d sleep until now? I woke up thirsty and saw the lights were on, so I came to check.” Mu Yunshu gulped down half a glass of water. “Did you have a fight with Xiaolian?”

Fang Hong didn’t know how to explain.

Mu Yunshu offered comfort: “It’s just a late adolescent rebellion. Occasionally they’ll talk back to their parents. It’ll get better once the phase passes. Xiaolian has always been a good kid.”

Fang Hong shook her head, reaching out to brush a stray hair off Mu Yunshu’s shoulder. “It’s not that she’s having a late puberty; it’s that I’m having a late ‘Electra complex’.”

“Cough—”

Mu Yunshu nearly dropped her glass.

“That… what was it…” Fang Hong tried to recall her limited knowledge. “Was it… Archimedes’ theory?”

Mu Yunshu looked at her with a smile. “Freud.”

“Right, Freud.” Fang Hong asked, “Yunshu, what was your mother like?”

Mu Yunshu rested her chin on her hand, exhaling softly. “She passed away very early. I can’t remember her face clearly, but I think she must have looked a lot like Xiaoyi.”

Noticing the dip in her mood, Mu Yunshu asked, “Did something happen with Xiaolian’s maternal grandmother’s side?”

“Nothing major,” Fang Hong shook her head. “It’s just… the child I once held in my arms, waiting to be fed, has suddenly grown up. She’s become an adult who is taller than me, smarter than me, and more capable than me, with her own strong opinions.”

“The child becoming an adult is a great thing.”

Fang Hong sniffled but didn’t say anything.

A few seconds later, she realized Mu Yunshu hadn’t eaten. Mu Yunshu waved her off, saying she had eaten in the afternoon; it was too late now, and she was afraid of indigestion.

The conversation naturally drifted back to the two children.

Fang Hong mentioned that Fang Rulian had been acting a bit strange lately—especially that eerie makeup she wore when she “jumped.” Last night, Fang Hong had performed the “standing chopsticks” ritual for her, but it didn’t seem like the situation had improved today. She asked Mu Yunshu if they should find a spiritual medium.

“Let’s hold off on that. Maybe it really is just rebellion. And about that makeup, didn’t Xiaolian say it was ‘special effects makeup’? Young people do that kind of stuff these days.”

Fang Hong hesitated. “Then… should I try standing the chopsticks for her again later?”

“Xiaolian is probably asleep. She was shaken up yesterday anyway; it’s better not to disturb her.”

Fang Hong thought that made sense. “Alright.”

Tomorrow was Monday and Mu Yunshu had early self-study, so Fang Hong didn’t keep her chatting and urged her to get some rest. After turning off the living room lights, Fang Hong also returned to her bedroom.

The living room fell into silence. In the dark night, the gloom was quietly held at bay outside the door.

Behind the door, Fang Rulian pulled her ear away from the wood.

She knew her mother was soft-hearted; a little bit of guilt and she’d be easily manipulated by cold-hearted people. Fang Rulian was anxious—she absolutely did not want her mother to have anything to do with those people again.

She didn’t want to go to the funeral home to pick up Fang Hong’s ashes ever again.

Fang Rulian flopped onto her bed, dejected.

The light was still on and she wasn’t sleepy. On the contrary, her excessive worrying had triggered a bout of diarrhea. She had to tiptoe out of her room and clutch her stomach as she headed for the bathroom.

She was pondering how to get Fang Hong to make a firm decision. Distracted, she sat on the toilet for too long, and her legs fell asleep. When she tried to stand up using the wall for support, the pain felt like an electric current hitting every cell in her calves.

With a stumble, Fang Rulian fell to her knees, her elbow slamming into the toiletry basket on the wall.

Shampoo, body wash, and conditioner all came crashing down, setting off a series of ear-piercing clatters in the dead of night.

Two seconds later, a panicked Fang Hong arrived on the scene:

“Fang Rulian!”