I Still Miss Her [Rebirth] - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Distracted Minds.

“Is Zhiyi home?”

The plump woman’s eyes scanned the room. She placed a white plastic bag containing a few apples on the girl’s desk and asked with forced tenderness, “Doing homework? How hardworking.”

The girl looked up, her gaze fixing on the uninvited guests. Her dark eyebrows stood out against her snowy skin, slightly furrowing.

From behind the plump woman emerged a scrawny woman, followed by a man as thin as a stray dog who coughed up some phlegm and sat on the sofa without being asked. “Where’s Fang Hong?”

Seeing the girl warily pick up her phone, the thin woman gave a sheepish smile. “Xiaoyi, don’t you remember us? I’m your Second Aunt, that’s your Third Aunt, and this is your Second Uncle.”

The man grumbled, “Why are you even talking to her? Where’s Xiaolian!”

The plump woman looked toward the closed bedroom door. “Is she still sleeping? A big girl sleeping all day, every day.”

With a shush, the balcony glass door slid open.

Fang Rulian walked into the living room with her arms crossed and brows knit, adopting a somewhat rowdy posture as she looked down at the three of them.

She flicked her wrist, and her soy milk cup traced a perfect arc through the air, brushing past the man’s cheek—startling a flinch out of him—before landing with a clack inside the trash can.

“Second Aunt, what brings you all here?”

Fang Rulian yawned as she walked over, disdainfully lifting the white plastic bag on the table. “Oh, did you aunts just come back from the market? Picking up rotten apples to feed the chickens?”

She let out a soft laugh and squeezed Fang Zhiyi’s shoulder. “Be a good girl and go finish your work in the study.”

She couldn’t fully cut loose with Fang Zhiyi watching.

Fang Zhiyi looked up at her, gave a quiet “Oh,” packed up her homework and papers, and retreated into the study with her backpack.

Only after the study door clicked shut did Fang Rulian slowly turn back, raising an eyebrow at her self-invited “relatives” as she pulled out a chair and sat down with her arms crossed.

“Xiaolian,” the man said, withdrawing his gaze from the study, “you’re certainly good to that little girl.”

Fang Rulian: “Of course. She’s the sister I grew up with.”

“Being good to people doesn’t mean they’ll be good to you. Things like that change easily. If you ask me, blood relations are the only reliable thing.” The plump woman looked at her. “You don’t visit your actual blood brothers and sisters enough. You’re just like your mother—spending all your energy on outsiders.”

The thin woman chimed in, “Exactly. No matter how close an outsider is, can they be closer than siblings sharing the same blood?”

“My mom really is in the wrong.” Fang Rulian poured herself a cup of tea and giggled. “She should be like you, Second Aunt—putting all her energy into Third Aunt instead.”

She tilted her head toward the thin woman, her gaze pausing for a beat. “Where has Third Uncle been making his fortune lately? Auntie, you’re wearing such a big gold bracelet. Let me see…” She leaned in, then looked at the man beside her. “It’s much bigger than Second Aunt’s.”

The plump woman instinctively covered her wrist and hurried to say, “I took mine off for a shower and forgot to put it back on.”

The man quickly changed the subject. “Never mind that. Where’s your mother? She won’t answer her phone. Who knows what she’s busy with all day.”

Fang Rulian’s eyelid twitched. She smiled brightly. “Uncle, don’t tell me you want to borrow money again?”

The man tsked. “How can you speak like that… Hmph, I’m not talking to you. I’ll talk to her when she gets back.”

Fang Rulian looked at him and thought: You dead man.

The fake smile vanished. The warmth in her eyes turned to ice. She tilted her chin slightly, her gaze like a blade tempered in frost, scraping inch by inch across the man’s face.

The man felt his skin crawl under her stare. He instinctively shuffled back, laughing dryly. “Xiaolian, why are you looking at your uncle like that all of a sudden…”

She remained silent, still staring. After a moment, she managed to find a faint trace of her mother’s features in his messy, unkempt face.

There was no doubt that Fang Hong was a good person.

But it was precisely because she was too good that these “dead people” could point guns at her, and these parasites could cling to her to suck her blood.

Unlike many other rural women, Fang Hong was not only good but clear-headed. After getting married, she decisively kicked out her irresponsible husband and returned to her parents’ home despite the village gossip. She had fought her parents and the village committee to win back what belonged to her: a piece of land.

It was a small plot, but for her back then, it was her greatest rebellion.

Over the last decade, the rent for the first floor had skyrocketed, and Fang Hong’s supermarket did well. Consequently, the brothers who had once cut ties with her over the land dispute came crawling back with flattering smiles, using “blood” as an excuse to fleece her for money.

Fang Rulian hadn’t known any of this in her past life.

She only knew the relationship wasn’t great. Fang Hong didn’t let her associate with them, and her grandparents didn’t care for her.

Fang Rulian hadn’t minded. She had her mother’s love, and that was enough.

It wasn’t until she reached adulthood that the tension seemed to ease. The aunts and uncles visited occasionally, and Fang Hong would take her to see her grandmother.

Rulian was good at reading the room. She would use her sweet words to make the old lady happy just to make her mother’s life a little easier.

After Rulian started working, her grandmother fell seriously ill. Fang Hong spent her days at the hospital caretaking. The brothers refused to help, so the expenses naturally fell on Fang Hong. Rulian didn’t want her mother to suffer, so she hired a professional caregiver.

The grandmother felt it was shameful to have a caregiver when she had sons. She cursed the caregiver out on the first day. Later, upon learning from her sons that Rulian had paid for it and the money couldn’t be cashed out for her sons if the caregiver left, she accepted the service with a clear conscience.

Fang Rulian was busy filming at the time and didn’t know the details. She only called her mom every few days to complain about the bad food on set and act like a spoiled child, saying she missed her mother’s cooking.

Fang Hong would occasionally reply: “Mom misses her mom too.”

Rulian would laugh. “That’s so unfair. I can only call my mom, but you get to see yours.”

She couldn’t remember her mother’s answer. That phone call had blurred into a gray mist in her memory.

The next time she saw her, Fang Hong was lying silently on a metal table in the funeral parlor, her pale face touched by unmelting frost. The staff handed her gloves and said, “The family may perform final grooming.”

The diagnosis: sudden cardiac death.

In the hospital’s surveillance footage, a group of people had surrounded her mother at the bedside. Her grandfather’s cane struck the floor heavily, her uncle’s finger was nearly in her face, and her aunt stood by with arms crossed, sneering. There was no sound, but the waving arms and encroaching figures looked like a flock of vultures picking at prey.

Her mother’s shoulders were shaking, yet she kept her back stubbornly straight, like a reed being torn by a gale that refused to bend. And then—the spine finally snapped.

She had collapsed, screaming and sobbing, falling heavily during the scuffle like a withered branch. Crack. She never stood up again.

The caregiver had secretly recorded the conversation.

In the recording, Fang Hong’s last two distinct sentences were piercing:

One was a tearful question: “Mom, why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to me!”

The other was a sharp reprimand: “Don’t you dare talk about my daughter!”

Fang Hong had been angered to death.

Fang Rulian had watched the body covered in white cloth be pushed into the crematorium. Not long after, a whole person became a small box of ashes in her hand.

She had calmly carried the ashes home, shaking her head at Mu Yunshu and Fang Zhiyi, who accompanied her, signaling that they didn’t need to worry.

On the day of the funeral, Rulian realized how many “relatives” she actually had.

Pale and expressionless, she sat through the night as guests departed. Mu Yunshu told her later that her two uncles had gotten drunk and been dragged into an alleyway, where they were beaten into a semi-crippled state.

She was young then and didn’t act carefully enough. The company used that incident as leverage to force her into a predatory contract.

…

The sunlight flickered before her eyes, and Rulian suddenly snapped back to the present.

She followed the beam of light and realized it wasn’t sunlight, just a reflection on the floor. She tilted her head, her gaze landing on the man again.

Rulian laughed coldly to herself—life had truly worn down her edges if she could still put on a smile for these “dead people.”

Seeing the awkward atmosphere, the thin woman tried to play peacemaker. “Right, Xiaolian, I heard you jumped off the balcony yesterday. Are you okay?”

As she spoke, the plump woman glanced at Rulian’s stomach.

Rulian couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She instinctively started to put on her fake smile, then decided against it. Why maintain dignity or save face? Why should I give these dogs a good look?

“Is Third Aunt pregnant?” Fang Rulian crossed her arms. “I heard pregnant women always look at other people’s stomachs. I guess the rumors are true.”

“You… what nonsense are you saying?” The plump woman frowned. “We came here out of concern. Why would a grown girl like you be so dramatic as to jump off a building? And an university student, no less. Don’t you find it embarrassing?”

Rulian had only said it in passing, but seeing Third Aunt’s reaction and her uncle’s unnatural expression, she sensed she had accidentally stumbled upon the truth.

Two years after Fang Hong died in her previous life, the third uncle and aunt had divorced. The reason: Uncle discovered Aunt was having an affair. He took the two children for a paternity test, and the cousin who was about to enter high school turned out not to be his biological son.

So, now…

She glanced toward Third Aunt’s stomach and suddenly smiled.

True or false, it was a settled fact that the kid wasn’t his. Let them fight. It would be satisfying to watch them tear each other apart.

“I didn’t jump. I accidentally fell. Who told you I jumped?” She leaned forward, meeting the plump woman’s gaze with a radiant smile. “Which long-tongued gossip has been wagging their tail? I’ll go cut it off.”

The thin woman said, “Let’s not talk about that. Are you okay? What did the doctor say?”

“Something is wrong,” Rulian said, nodding solemnly. “The doctor said I might have crossed paths with a ghost. How else could I just fall off such a high balcony for no reason? My mom performed the ‘standing chopsticks’ ritual for me last night. The ancestors said no outsiders are allowed in the house today, or that ‘unclean thing’ will transfer to them.”

She blinked and said with a grin, “Third Aunt, you don’t look so good. What’s wrong? Scared? Why are you scared? You’re not ‘outsiders’—”

At this moment, Rulian was incredibly grateful for the superstitions of the older generation. “You’re family, blood of our blood. If you catch something, it’s just the ancestors showing themselves. Family taking on disasters for family, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Uncle, don’t you agree?”

The man chuckled nervously but didn’t speak.

Rulian was wondering how to steer the conversation back to the kids—she couldn’t wait for them to start tearing into each other—when someone gave her the perfect opening.

The “Old Guard Trio” of questions: How’s work? Do you have a boyfriend? When are you getting married?

“No job. After graduation, I plan to be a beggar.” She sneered. “Unless Uncle and Aunt want to fund my startup? When I hit it big, I’ll help you make a fortune.”

“You child…”

“Oh, right, I forgot. You have your own families to support.” She pressed her fingers to her temple as if remembering something. “Xiaohuan has grown up. I saw him the other day and almost didn’t recognize him. They say sons take after their mothers, and it’s true—Xiaohuan really doesn’t look like you, Uncle.”

“Boys change a lot as they grow. It’s normal.”

“Oh, he’s changed quite a bit then. I can’t even see your genes in him.” She propped her chin on her hand, thinking. “Speaking of marriage, I feel like men these days are too materialistic. They want a divorce just because a child isn’t theirs. Getting a free son for eighteen years is such a bargain, yet they’re still not satisfied.”

The man coughed uncomfortably, frowning at Rulian. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about…”

“It’s not nonsense. Haven’t you seen the news, Uncle? A man raised a son for eighteen years, only to do a DNA test and find out the kid wasn’t his. He actually wanted a divorce over that—”

Before she could finish, the man stood up with a zing.

The plump woman’s face turned white instantly. The thin woman sitting on the other side of the sofa pursed her lips.

“Uncle, what are you doing? Aren’t you waiting for my mom?”

“I have an emergency. We’re leaving.” The man grabbed the plump woman and strode out.

The thin woman looked at the girl and couldn’t help but ask with a twitch of her lips, “How did you find out?”

The elders had forbidden anyone from talking about the third wife’s affair since the couple had reconciled. How did this kid find out so quickly… and bring up such a huge question?

The girl frowned in confusion. “In the news. I forgot which one. I think it was Sohu News. Wait—no, I can’t remember.”

The thin woman looked disappointed. “Oh. Xiaolian, rest well. I have things to do.”

“Auntie, wait.” The girl called her back suddenly.

The thin woman turned around, hand on the doorframe. Before she could react, a bag of apples was shoved into her hands.

“You dropped something.” The girl smiled sweetly. “Take them back to feed the chickens.”

The door closed.

Fang Rulian sat back on the sofa, grabbed the mosquito repellent spray from the table, and sprayed the spot where they had been sitting. “Come out. You’ve been eavesdropping at the door for so long, aren’t you tired?”

The light through the door crack shifted slightly, and then the door swung wide.

Fang Zhiyi stood there, smiling slightly. “It was quite fun. Like watching a story session.”

“You claim it’s fun like a story session? Did you even understand it?”

Rulian smiled and beckoned. The girl walked over, then turned back to grab her backpack and papers from the study.

“I didn’t understand, but it was more fun than homework.”

As she helped Zhiyi clear the table and spread out the papers, Rulian noticed the top paper was blank except for the name. She laughed. “You really haven’t written a single word.”

Zhiyi slumped, leaning half-prone on the table, and looked at Rulian. “What does Sister plan to do after graduation?”

“Plan to be a beggar.” Rulian leaned back against the sofa cushions, hands behind her head. “I’ll see what kind of job I can find.”

“Are you going to be a model? Or…” Zhiyi half-lowered her eyes. “Sister is prettier than the stars on TV. Maybe you could be a big star?”

Fang Rulian stared at the ceiling and shook her head.

A moment later, she realized something and turned sharply toward Zhiyi. “What did you just say?”

Zhiyi didn’t hear clearly. “What?”

“You said I’m pretty?” Rulian sat up straight and leaned toward Zhiyi, asking teasingly: “How pretty is your sister?”

Zhiyi lowered her head, her eyelashes fluttering like startled butterfly wings. After a few seconds, she finally calmed down. Her lashes curled up, and her clear dark pupils reflected Rulian’s gaze entirely.

“Very pretty.” Those dark eyes stared at her unblinkingly. “After all, you’ve received so many love letters since we were little.”

The girl’s body heat radiated toward her, mixed with a faint, lingering fragrance.

By accident, they were too close. A simple look, a common movement—and Fang Rulian was distracted again. She shrunk back, guiltily looking away.

“You’re not studying properly, you’re too busy keeping track of how many love letters I get.”