Chapter 62: Everyone Has Their Own Thoughts

Lin Lishan, completely unaware, let Zhang’s mother pull her down to sit. She looked at her daughter in front of her, scooted a little closer to Zhou Jiao, glanced at her face, and, seeing no sign of displeasure, edged even closer. Beside her, Zhang’s mother watched Lin Lishan inch forward again and again but said nothing, just glanced at her son, Zhang Guoqing.

Zhang Guoqing saw his mother looking at him expectantly and shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to intervene; he also wanted to see what Zhou Jiao thought. Some things can’t be concluded just by analyzing a few letters or words—many feelings depend on fate and can’t be forced. He respected his wife’s attitude and felt for her hardships. In both her lives, Zhou Jiao had suffered greatly as a child and endured much injustice. Parental love was a luxury for her. In her past life, she hadn’t given up hope on her parents at first, but later she became disheartened. For her, fatherly and motherly love were too hard to come by. She often said she was fated to have little connection with her parents and no close relatives to rely on.

Lin Lishan gathered her courage, reached out with trembling hands, and gently held her daughter’s thin, bony hand. Tears dripped onto it. She took a deep breath, looked up at her daughter’s sallow face, and, holding back her heartache and tears, asked softly, “Jiaojiao, my Jiaojiao, you’ve grown so big, and I haven’t come to see you. I let you suffer so much—Mom is sorry, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have given birth to you, making you feel as if you have no mother at all. I shouldn’t have done that. If your father could see you now, how heartbroken would he be? How could I face him? Jiaojiao, you must hate me, don’t you? It’s all my fault—I didn’t take care of you, let you suffer so much at such a young age. How could they treat my daughter like this? They all said you were doing well—is this what they call ‘well’? How could they treat you like this? It’s all because your mother was foolish, all because I didn’t come to see you. If I had come, they wouldn’t have dared. My Jiaojiao, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to your grandfather. None of the Zhou family are good people, none of them. Even if you hate me, I won’t blame you—it’s all my fault, my fault as your mother. Why did I go looking for your father? Why? Even our only daughter almost couldn’t survive. Why didn’t I find a way to see you, even just once? That would have been better than seeing you suffer like this.” With that, Lin Lishan bowed her head and sobbed uncontrollably.

Zhou Jiao sighed. Did she dare to hate her? The tears were about to flood the whole hall. She wondered how her mother got through it when her father was reported dead. No wonder she couldn’t raise her. With how cautious and hesitant she was, anyone who didn’t know would think she was the daughter.

Zhou Jiao gently patted Lin Lishan, took the handkerchief Zhang Guoqing handed over, and wiped her mother’s face. Seeing her still crying with her head down, Zhou Jiao sighed again. Her mother was too straightforward, too emotional, and cried so easily. Zhou Jiao was afraid her mother would get lost in her own melancholy. But if she spoke too tactfully, her mother might not understand and could get the wrong idea. “Don’t cry. Listen to me. I really don’t blame you—not before, and certainly not now. Other than not coming to see me, did I ever lack food or clothing? You gave birth to me and raised me—how could I hate you? What kind of person would that make me? The suffering I endured wasn’t your fault. Maybe you’ll say it would’ve been better if you hadn’t let the Zhou family raise me, but what’s done is done. I’m married now and even have a child. Let’s look on the bright side.

If you want to talk about resentment, when I was little—before I turned ten—I did resent you. In the Zhou family, they all said you didn’t want me, that I’d brought bad luck and caused my father’s death. Even my grandparents didn’t defend me. I resented you then. I didn’t care about food or clothes, but seeing other kids pampered by their mothers, able to be spoiled, I did resent you. I missed you so much then—even if I had to go hungry or wear rags, I just wanted to be with you. Even if you hated me for my father’s death, I would’ve behaved and not made you angry, because you were all I had left. With my father gone, I only had you. I thought that when I grew up, learned some skills, I could go find you and tell you I could support myself, that you wouldn’t have to send money. I just wanted to be with you, because you were all I had.

When I finally turned ten, I couldn’t stand the Zhou family anymore. Missing you was one thing, but I also saw through their words. I learned a lot on my own—how to treat illnesses, how to embroider, ways to make money. I thought I could go find you. I swallowed my pride and tried every day to get Grandpa to let me call you. When I finally got through, I was so excited. I thought I was amazing, that I’d see you soon. But on the phone, you refused. You said you couldn’t take care of me, told me to wait, to be good at home, that you’d come get me. Hearing your cold voice, refusing to let me come, I felt chilled to the bone, my whole body numb. I bit my finger hard and realized I could only rely on myself—I really had no one.

For six years, I got your letters but never opened them. The new clothes and pants the others wore—I knew they were from your money, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to learn quickly, grow up fast, and leave the Zhou family. After two more years, reading more books and learning about the world, I started to calculate the years. I was born in 1940, during the darkest time before dawn. Leaving me in my hometown was understandable then, but when I was ten, it was right after liberation. Why did you refuse to take me back then? Did you give up on me, or was there something you couldn’t say? If it were me, I’d do anything to see my child, even if knives were falling from the sky. But I never got an answer.

Do I hate you? No. I’m not someone who likes to blame or hate others—it’s too exhausting. I told myself it’s fine to be alone. No one to worry about, no one to worry for. Once I grew up, I could live however I wanted. No one cared about me, so I’d care for myself. No one loved me, so I’d love myself. That’s how I lived for years. I got married, started a family, and you still didn’t appear. I didn’t expect anything anymore. I just wanted to live well.

When I heard Xiao Wu’s cry in the delivery room, I thought of my father, and of you. I wondered what you felt when you gave birth to me. After all that pain, why didn’t you miss your only daughter? Even just seeing me once would have been better than sending things.

I thought about the money you sent every month, how you never remarried and only had me. But why didn’t you ever come see me? Not even once. I never saw anyone from the Lin family either, and my father must have had a friend or two, but I never met them. I didn’t notice these things before, but thinking it over, it’s not normal. Later, I opened the letters you’d sent—over thirty of them, kept unopened for six or seven years. Maybe at ten I couldn’t understand, but now I see you were always searching for my father. Looking at the different return addresses and the dates, I realized that even if I’d gone to you, I couldn’t have followed you everywhere. I felt a bit better. For me, even if you never thought much of me, as long as you loved my father, that was enough. If you had remarried, no matter the reason, it would have been a betrayal. The fact that you stayed true to my father makes me feel better.

The other day, Xiao Wu went to tell Grandpa and Grandma the good news and found a lot of things didn’t add up. He insisted on getting some addresses from the Lin family, planning to send them some local specialties as thanks, and to tell them not to send anything again. Some unpleasant things happened, and he brought back a few empty envelopes from the Lin family. When he told me, we thought it over and realized that Grandpa and the others had been hiding things from me about you abandoning me. After learning some of the truth, I felt angry these past two days, but now that I’ve let it out, I’m not mad anymore.

Don’t cry. I really never hated you. You didn’t just give birth to me—I survived on the money you sent every month. You didn’t come for me because you were always looking for my father, weren’t you? So don’t be sad. I don’t blame you. I can understand—my father meant everything to you, and finding him became your only obsession.”

Before Zhou Jiao finished, Lin Lishan hugged her tightly, silently crying and stroking her daughter’s hair. For a moment, she didn’t know how to express her heartache.

Tears fell onto Zhou Jiao’s neck, burning her heart and making it ache. Deep down, she still longed for her mother’s love—otherwise, where would her sadness and secret joy come from? Whether it was her or the original Zhou Jiao, both would have chosen to forgive. She hoped her father would come back to a home waiting for him. She trusted her intuition—her mother did care about her."