Lin's father had been sitting slumped in his seat. At the sound of the door, he immediately looked up. When he saw Lin Wan, his eyes lit up. He jumped to his feet and called out in delight,
"Wanwan."
Her steps faltered. That strange mixture of distance and familiarity washed over her again. She sniffed, her voice tinged with nasal softness.
"Dad…"
Joy and sorrow flashed across his face at once. He beckoned eagerly.
"Wanwan, come sit."
A tangle of emotions churned in her chest as she walked over. After a moment's hesitation, she chose the seat opposite him. From this angle, she could see clearly just how much he had aged. Her throat tightened.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have stayed mad at you. I should've gone to see you…"
His eyes reddened at once. He reached across the table and gripped her hand.
"No, Wanwan. It's your father who failed you. I wasn't worthy of being a parent. You went through something that big, and I wasn't even there."
"It's all in the past," she said, shaking her head.
"Wanwan, I'm truly sorry," he said, guilt heavy on every word. "I lay in that hospital bed for two years, and I finally figured it out. This is retribution…"
"Don't say that," she cut in, hurriedly tightening her grip on his hand.
"The old saying's right," he went on, his voice hoarse. "Heaven sees what we do. Your mother and I never fulfilled our duty as parents. We abandoned our own child. Now fate's settling the accounts. My body's pretty much finished. If A Jin hadn't helped find foreign specialists for my surgery, I wouldn't have even lived to see the New Year. And your mother…" His voice trembled. "She didn't escape either. Died before her time…"
Lin Wan jolted at the sound of Chen Jin's name, but before she could dwell on it, his next words stunned her.
"She was still so young," he murmured.
Her lips trembled.
"What did you say? What happened to her?"
He froze, clearly torn about whether to go on. She pressed him again, more urgently.
"What happened to her?"
"Your mother died five years ago," he said at last, each word heavy. "She immigrated to the States with that Hong Kong man more than ten years ago. He offended someone in business. They planted a bomb in his car…"
He choked on the last word. It took a long moment before he could continue, his eyes fixed on hers, full of sorrow.
"Wanwan, your mother died horribly. There was nothing left to bury. Don't hate her anymore, alright?"
Lin Wan said nothing. She couldn't yet digest what she'd just heard.
A bomb.
That kind of killing method belonged in movies, not real life. How could it possibly have happened to her mother? She couldn't even put a name to what she felt. It was like hearing a news anchor report some human-induced catastrophe on TV—except now, along with the distant pity, there was a sharper ache.
Yes. Pain.
Somewhere deep in her body, a hidden corner had been tugged open, strands of pain being pulled loose one by one.
Her father watched her sitting there, hollow-eyed. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and carefully took out a neatly folded handkerchief bundle. Unwrapping it, he pulled out a photograph and passed it across the table.
"The housekeeper saved this when they were sorting through the belongings," he said gently.
Lin Wan used a fingertip to drag the photo toward her.
It wasn't entirely unfamiliar. There had been a version of it on their old family album—except a third of it had been torn away. It was her hundred-day photo, and the only complete family portrait they'd ever had. In the picture, the man looked refined, the woman glamorous, and the baby cradled in their arms was plump and fair…
Her father's voice shook as he went on,
"I've been stubborn all these years. I resented your mother. I thought she was heartless, that she'd even dragged you down with her. Until A Jin started making inquiries about her a while back, and we found out she was already gone. When I saw this photo, I finally understood that… at least in some corner of her heart, she still kept us."
Lin Wan stared blankly down at the image. A soft plip sounded, and she realized a tear had fallen—right onto the woman's face.
She hastily brushed it away with her fingertip, revealing those delicate brows and eyes again. The woman looked so much like her—and yet somehow more vivid, more striking.
A tissue appeared in front of her. The hand holding it was pale and thin, blue veins rising under the skin. The sight made her chest twist. She took the tissue quickly.
She hadn't yet wiped her tears when the door opened. Father and daughter looked up at the same time.
Chen Jin had returned.
He strode over and frowned slightly when he saw the photo on the table.
"Uncle Lin, we agreed—"
"I got carried away," Lin's father said, sounding sheepish. "I couldn't help it."
Chen Jin's gaze shifted back to Lin Wan. The sight of the tears clinging to her lashes and trailing down her cheeks made his heart clench.
"Wanwan, are you alright?"
She nodded.
He reached out and gently wiped her tears away with his thumb, then sat down beside her and looked across at her father.
"Uncle, you're still recovering. You shouldn't get too worked up. It's Wanwan's birthday today, and you haven't seen each other in years. Let's keep things a little lighter, hm?"
Lin's father put the photo away and nodded quickly.
"Right, right. Wanwan, I haven't even wished you a happy birthday yet."
He reached into the bag beside him and took out a small, exquisite box, pushing it across the table with a sigh.
"I remember you used to love these hazelnut chocolates. Every time I brought a box back from a business trip, you'd be over the moon. Do you still like them?"
The mention of the past left her a little dazed. She had loved chocolate as a child—but thinking back, it wasn't the chocolate itself, not really. It had been proof—proof that her father still loved her, still thought of her.
Since then, she'd developed a sweet tooth, because sugar brought with it a fleeting illusion of happiness.
One by one, shadowed scenes from childhood unfurled in her mind. For a moment, she forgot the eager look in the man's eyes across from her.
Chen Jin slipped an arm around her shoulders, smiling as he spoke to Lin's father.
"She still loves this sweet, cloying stuff. Lucky for her, it never shows. Otherwise, she'd have turned into a little piglet by now."
Her father's expression finally relaxed. He took out a bank card and set it on top of the box, his voice tinged with apology.
"I don't really know what young women like these days. Buy yourself whatever you want."
Snapping back to the moment, Lin Wan quickly pushed it back.
"There's no need. The money you sent before… there's still a lot left. And my salary's enough."
"Take it," he insisted gently. "This is the only way I can still make it up to you. Young people burn money. Socializing, traveling, having fun—none of that is free. And now that you've got a boyfriend, you should dress up a bit for him, shouldn't you?"
Heat crept up her neck. She couldn't very well correct him.
Chen Jin played along easily.
"That's where you're wrong, Uncle," he said with a grin. "I'd prefer it if she didn't dress up too much. Otherwise, I'm the one who'll be stressed out."
Seeing his daughter bow her head in silence, Lin's father took it as shyness. He smiled, real warmth returning to his pale face.
The mood lightened. Chen Jin asked for the dishes to be served, choosing a mild, light menu to suit Lin's father's health.
During the meal, her father asked about her recent life—steering carefully around the tragedy, since Chen Jin was there—and focused on her work and day-to-day routine instead.
Lin Wan answered only what she was asked. She had taken in too much in one sitting. Her heartfelt heavy, and the whole situation left her deeply, awkwardly ill at ease.
Chen Jin, on the other hand, was perfectly at home. Even when she fell silent, the table never cooled. Back and forth, he and her father slid naturally into talking business. Her father ran a mid-sized garment factory that had long been producing orders for several foreign brands. Lately, he said, the profits had been shrinking.
Chen Jin suggested he switch to independent design and build their own label, promising to introduce some contacts to smooth out the procedures.
When the conversation turned to Zhicheng's current crisis, her father said earnestly,
"A Jin, if you need help, just say so. I don't have huge funds, but I can scrape something together."
Chen Jin refused at once.
"I appreciate it, Uncle. I really do. But this is something we can handle on our own."
Listening to the two of them chatting so warmly made Lin Wan feel even more out of place. When the topic turned, she glanced sideways at Chen Jin and whispered,
"You really don't need it?"
Just a few days ago, she'd read online that Zhicheng had already sold off a plot of land to ease its immediate cash-flow crisis. Some commenters had said it was an understandable contingency plan. Others argued that a developer selling land was a sign of desperation, even a little pathetic. Someone had even joked that it was like "selling the pots and pans."
She didn't really understand the business world. But she could see how late he came home every night, how many dinners he attended. That was proof enough that the crisis wasn't over.
A flicker of discomfort flashed across his face and vanished.
"No," he said, quickly. "I'll manage."
—
The meal, on the whole, went smoothly. Lin's father was the most satisfied, Chen Jin came in second, and Lin Wan's feelings were hardly worth mentioning.
As they left the private room, her father clapped Chen Jin on the shoulder.
"A Jin, I'm at ease knowing Wanwan has you to look after her."
Chen Jin smiled and agreed. Lin Wan kept her head down without a word.
The closer the two men became, the worse she felt—like she was hiding an enormous lie inside her, anxiety and guilt churning. It was as if an invisible hand had closed around her throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. Even her eyelids refused to behave, twitching in time with her heartbeat.
The three of them reached the front doors just as another group walked in. In a daze, Lin Wan heard someone call her name in a voice that rang disturbingly familiar.
She slowly lifted her head. The moment she saw who it was, it felt like a bolt of lightning had struck her. The foot she'd just raised suddenly didn't know where to land. Her whole body swayed, and Chen Jin, walking beside her, hurriedly slipped an arm around her waist to steady her.
Sunlight poured through the tall glass windows, bright and unforgiving. It fell over her, over her face, exposing her completely with nowhere to hide.
She almost wanted to laugh.
What was meant to come would come, sooner or later.
The group on the other side drew nearer. Chen Jin and her father both stopped. It was only a few paces, but to Lin Wan it felt like she had walked across mountains and rivers.
It took everything she had to force her voice out, difficult but clear.
"Uncle. Auntie. Hello."