The Scorching Sun - 24

 When Fang Yiming got home, he still felt unsettled.

The moment he pushed the door open, a strange odor assaulted his nostrils. Who knew what concoction Madam Lu was brewing up this time?

She was always obsessed with all kinds of household tricks she'd picked up from hearsay. Unfortunately, she lacked both skill and judgment. She rarely approached anything scientifically, and it constantly gave him a headache.

Fang Yiming dropped onto the sofa, tossed his keys aside, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes to rest.

Not long afterward, Madam Lu emerged. One glance at the living room was enough to set her off.

"Leaving your clothes all crumpled up again! Can't you spare me a moment's peace? Do you think I'm not busy enough already? Am I supposed to spend all day cleaning up after you?"

Fang Yiming pressed a hand against his forehead, irritation plain on his face.

After tidying up for a while, Madam Lu straightened and said, "Wait a minute. Why are you home so early today? Shouldn't your office have just gotten off work?"

Not wanting another argument, Fang Yiming made up an excuse and retreated into the study, pretending to work.

That night, he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.

Beside him, Madam Lu breathed heavily. Once she drifted into a deep sleep, the snoring started. The loud, rhythmic noise drove away whatever drowsiness he had left.

By the time a marriage reached this stage in middle age, there was rarely much love remaining.

What held it together was responsibility, habit, and family.

He felt that even if he no longer loved his wife, he would still spend the rest of his life with her and continue taking care of their child. At his age, he had no taste for upheaval. More than anything, he valued stability.

He was no longer the reckless young man he had once been.

If Ye Yaoling had met him just a little later in life , perhaps they would never have divorced.

No.

Perhaps they never would have married at all.

They had both been too young then. Neither of them had a real concept of what life truly entailed.

It was strange. He hadn't thought about Ye Yaoling in a very long time.

Fang Yiming believed that what they'd shared had been a sincere, blazing passion, but that insubstantial, fleeting emotion had soon been entirely scoured away by reality.

After the divorce, the only memories that remained were the endless chaos of poverty and hardship. He had forgotten the wonder he'd felt when he first met Ye Yaoling.

All he remembered was that she had been beautiful and simple.

Now, that beauty, that simplicity, seen through the sepia haze of passing years, became vivid and alive once more, bubbling up like a mountain spring finally finding an outlet.

Yes.

Ye Yaoling was beautiful.

She was devoted to the family and admired him in every conceivable way.

She never burdened him with household matters. The home was always spotless.

At the same time, frugality was etched into her bones. She wished she could split every coin in half before spending it. Her tastes were old-fashioned and unfashionable.

She had been too poor, too repressed.

At times she seemed like someone with no character of her own. 

And her insecurity and sensitivity often exhausted Fang Yiming completely.

Back then, young people were obsessed with the pursuit of individuality.

His friends mocked Ye Yaoling for being "soulless," and little by little, he grew distant from her.

When he married Madam Lu, her family held considerable influence in the area.

They were far wealthier than Ye Yaoling's family.

The young woman wore elegant dresses, carried the scent of expensive perfume, and constantly spoke about the lives of overseas Chinese abroad.

Fang Yiming became completely captivated.

Even now, Madam Lu still loves shopping and dressing up.

When meeting outsiders, she could still project an image of poise and grace.

But Fang Yiming no longer cherished these two "strengths" of hers, because he had seen clearly the petty meanness and shortsightedness at her core.

Rolling onto his side, he watched the curtains sway gently by the window.

Then his mind drifted to Fang Zhuo.

Earlier that day, he had felt she wasn't much like Ye Yaoling.

Now he wasn't so sure.

They were both just as stubborn, just as fragile, just as sensitive. Neither knew how to weigh pros and cons before acting.

When Ye Yaoling died in such miserable circumstances, he felt a sliver of pity then.

Now that pity had somehow transferred itself onto Fang Zhuo.

For the first time in years, he found himself thinking:

“She's my daughter.”

Besides, Fang Zhuo was already eighteen, an adult now, sensible enough to manage herself. She wouldn't require his care for much longer. 

Why had he insisted on making things so hostile between them?

Why give people more reasons to criticize him?

The next day after work, Fang Yiming brought some cash and went to find Fang Zhuo again.

They stood beside a flower bed near the school gates, where few people passed by.

Fang Zhuo had idly picked off the bandage on her head herself and was now applying ointment directly to the wound, following the instructions on the prescription sheet.

The scabbed wound looked somewhat gruesome.

Though the wound wasn't large and sat in an inconspicuous spot near her temple, it was still enough to raise the worry of whether it would leave a scar.

Fang Yiming finally thought to ask about her injury.

The first thing he said was, "How's the wound?"

"It's almost completely healed."

Fang Zhuo looked at him.

"Did you still have something to say yesterday?"

The remark grated on Fang Yiming, but he urged himself not to argue.

Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a neatly folded stack of bills. Without counting them, he folded them in half and held them to her.

"Take this for now. Have you already spent the living expenses I gave you before? As long as you don't waste money, if you need more, you can always come to Dad."

A wildly overplayed pop song immediately started playing in Fang Zhuo's head.

Her gaze drifted coldly across the money, despite it being one of her favorite things, before settling on Fang Yiming's face, staring at him silently.

People like him were always the same.

Never bad to the absolute core. The moment they sensed you were about to make a clean break, they'd toss you a scrap of kindness. 

Not enough to fix anything.

Just enough to leave room to maneuver later if they ever needed something.

This was likely not born of any true kindness, but was simply the smooth, worldly pragmatism of adulthood.

A social habit.

Fang Zhuo could practically guess every thought running through Fang Yiming's mind.

That absurd level of understanding might have been the most ironic thing about their father and daughter relationship.

She stared until his scalp tingled with discomfort. Then she said, "No thanks. I have my uncle."

"How's your uncle supposed to support you?"

Fang Yiming had completely forgotten that Ye Yaoling even had a brother. The words slipped out before he could stop them: "Isn't your uncle a cripple?"

The instant he spoke, regret flashed across his face.

He realized the word sounded harsher aloud than it had in his head.

Fang Zhuo's expression instantly darkened, those sharply contrasted black-and-white eyes glaring at him with a directness that, for a split second, sent a jolt of fear through him.

But the chill vanished almost instantly.

When she looked at him again, all he saw was anger and resentment.

A malicious impulse suddenly rose inside Fang Zhuo.

She wanted to know what kind of blade could cut deepest into a man like this.

What could still keep him awake at night?

What could make him regret everything?

She reined in her expression masterfully. The corner of her mouth tugged into a bitter smile.

"I remember asking you once why Mom left."

Fang Zhuo's voice was calm.

"You got very angry back then and never answered me."

Fang Yiming asked, "Did he explain it to you? What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything."Fang Zhuo replied,"But I found Mom's diary."

She looked at him and asked,"Do you know what she wrote about you?"

Fang Yiming braced himself, assuming none of it could be good.

Maybe she had cursed him.

Maybe she had slandered his name at every opportunity.

He prepared to explode, ready to shout his defense at the first opportunity.

But the person across from him said: "She wrote that you... once illuminated her life, that you burned through her life like a blaze of fire."

Fang Zhuo's clear, gentle voice overlapped with the woman preserved in his memories.

Fang Yiming froze.

With an almost innocent expression, Fang Zhuo asked,"You think she was a bad person, don't you?"

"Why?"

"What did she ever do to hurt you?"

Fang Yiming stumbled over his words. For the first time, he couldn't hold his head high in front of Fang Zhuo.

He couldn't even meet her eyes.

"You were able to end that relationship so easily."

Fang Zhuo's tone remained remarkably steady.

"So I guess there's no reason for you to feel attached to me either."

"I haven't done anything wrong, but I stopped being your daughter a long time ago."

Fang Yiming knew, if this was an investment, Fang Zhuo's stock had already halted all trading with him.

To be precise, he first sold off his stake when he divorced Ye Yaoling.

After Ye Yaoling died, he chose not to take her in, and sold off his stake again.

When Fang Zhuo returned, seeking his attention, his selfishness had cost him his very last opportunity.

He had no capital left.

His pettiness seemed to have been completely laid bare before the person in front of him. He fled in an even more wretched state than the day before.

Only after sitting inside the enclosed space of his car did he finally let out a breath of relief.

Fang Zhuo's words refused to leave his mind. 

As memories of Ye Yaoling resurfaced yet again, his phone rang.

Madam Lu's name appeared on the screen.

Fang Yiming took a deep breath and answered.

The moment the call connected, a torrent of abuse exploded from the speaker.

One could only imagine the volume at which she was screaming at him:

"Fang Yiming! Your daughter is out there smearing your name and you're just taking it? How can you be such a spineless coward?"

He wasn't the least bit surprised. Madam Lu was sharp-tongued, mean-spirited, and loved mocking others.

With gossip this juicy, there were bound to be "friends" who couldn't stand her gloating and would rush to throw it in her face.

Fang Yiming had no energy for placation. He simply hung up the phone.

Burying his head in his hands, he raked his fingers through his hair.

Nothing had gone right lately, not at work and not at home.

Compared to Madam Lu, he had far more pressing worries.

When he returned to work, he'd have to face a swarm of gossiping colleagues.

And year-end evaluations were approaching.

He had no idea how much damage all of this might cause.

The peaceful, stable life he had worked so hard to maintain seemed as though it might collapse overnight.

...all because of the astonishing cold-bloodedness his wife had shown all those years ago.

Fang Yiming slammed a fist into the steering wheel.

***

Fang Zhuo ambled back into the classroom at a leisurely pace. Evening self-study had already begun. Yan Lie waited until she sat down, then asked in a hushed voice, "Where did you run off to?"

Fang Zhuo said, "Nothing much. Just chased away a pest."

She'd heard that getting angry gave you more wrinkles. She wondered if it would also cause scars.

Taking out her ointment, she applied a thick layer over the wound.

Yan Lie draped himself over the middle of their shared desk and patted her arm, a mysterious look on his face. "Let me show you a secret."

"What secret?"

Yan Lie pushed up his bangs, revealing a smooth, fair forehead.

The shadows cast by the fluorescent lights made it hard for Fang Zhuo to see where he was pointing, so she had to lean in closer.

After studying it carefully, she finally noticed a scar near his temple.

It sat in almost the same place as hers.

The injury was old and was barely noticeable now. 

She peered at it intently, studying the shape of the scar, her warm breath practically ghosting over Yan Lie's face.

Yan Lie suddenly felt she was far too close. At that distance, he didn't know where to look.

Her straight nose.

Her moist lips.

Her bright eyes.

Fang Zhuo's face was clean and delicate, like a sketch drawn in careful lines. But that dark red scar on her forehead looked jarringly out of place.

He straightened slightly.

Almost without thinking, he raised a hand.

Just as his fingers were about to touch her face, a book suddenly slammed between them, nearly grazing both their noses and startling them apart.

The homeroom teacher, stone-faced, pulled her study guide back. She shot them a long, meaningful sidelong glare and swept past.

It took Fang Zhuo several seconds to recover.

Puzzled, she asked, "Why did she give me the stink-eye?"

Yan Lie swallowed and turned away.

His voice sounded suspiciously calm."How would I know? Probably because you weren't studying."

A week later, Fang Zhuo's scar still hadn't fully healed.

She called Ye Yuncheng and told him that monthly exams were coming up next week, so she wanted to stay on campus over the weekend to study.

Ye Yuncheng agreed and reminded her that the weather was getting colder, so she should stay warm.

Just before hanging up, Ye Yuncheng hesitated for a long moment but finally asked, "Has anyone come looking for you lately?"

Fang Zhuo played dumb.

"Who?"

"You know exactly who."Ye Yuncheng sighed. "Your homeroom teacher already told me."

"Oh," Fang Zhuo said. "He won't dare come again."

"Why wouldn't he dare?" Ye Yuncheng said. "Don't burn your bridges with him completely. If things get too ugly, people will talk about you... Forget it. Just focus on your studies."

"I know," Fang Zhuo said. "Please take good care of my chicken."

"Why are you starting to sound like Lie Lie now?" Ye Yuncheng laughed.

"Baldie is doing great. Don't worry. I got him his own chicken coop. No other rooster can peck at him now."

Listening to this blatant favoritism, Fang Zhuo truly felt indignant on behalf of the other chickens.

The son rises on his father's merit, the chicken rises on its baldness.

Such is the fickleness of the world.

She handed the phone back to Yan Lie. Yet this devoted chicken father didn't mention his beloved mascot even once.

Fang Zhuo sighed inwardly again.

Such is the coldness of human relationships.

During this period, Fang Zhuo had been systematically reviewing the booklets the head teacher had given her and was currently doing targeted practice exercises. She also borrowed several of Yan Lie's old test papers for consolidation.

Science subjects really were fascinating.

Ordinary students could conquer them through endless drills and repetition.

Gifted students, meanwhile, only needed to find the half-open door to scale the ladder to a breakthrough.

Fang Zhuo couldn't yet claim to have had a sudden breakthrough.

Still, the time she spent solving familiar question types had noticeably decreased.

Though that "noticeably" might only amount to a few seconds.

As for English, her weakest subject, Yan Lie had been trying to help her tackle it as well.

He spent a long time drilling vocabulary and correcting her pronunciation.

After repeated attempts, they discovered that this was an exceptionally difficult task, and since the spoken English portion wasn't all that critical during the gaokao anyway, he switched strategies.

He pulled out individual words and phrases, made Fang Zhuo create sentences with them, and then he would annotate and correct them.

Fang Zhuo had no idea whether it was actually effective.

What she did know was that she was unquestionably acquiring new knowledge.

---

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