Daliang went to the village chief’s office, not to report his mother, of course. Though he was angry at her actions, she was still his birth mother—how could he bear to see her suffer the pain of a beating? Instead, he requested a division of the family in his father’s name. Dividing the household required re-registering the family’s census records and updating property deeds, which had to go through the village chief.
Today, Daliang finally understood: no matter how much he and his wife yielded, the end result would still be them being branded as unfilial. So, he decided to embrace that label fully.
“Ah, Daliang, your father has finally shown mercy and agreed to divide the family. If you’d continued living together, your household would’ve ended up with a few dead bodies,” said the village chief, a large, jiggling man who had studied with Daliang in the same school as children. They had a decent relationship, and as they walked, the chief continued chatting with him.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t know? Well, no wonder—you’re rarely home, so news doesn’t reach you. My wife delivered your Wen’er. When your wife was in labor and bleeding heavily, your mother just panicked and screamed instead of calling for a doctor. It was my wife who shouted for help in the courtyard, and it was your aunt who heard and saved your wife. My wife said your mother had given birth to over a dozen children—she’s seen it all. There’s no way she’d panic like that unless it was deliberate.”
Daliang’s heart clenched. His wife had never mentioned this. His aunt had only said the birth was difficult—he had no idea there was such a twist. He stopped in his tracks. “Is this true?”
The chief shot him a look. “Your wife never told you? Well, no wonder—she was unconscious at the time. How would she know?”
They resumed walking, and the chief wasn’t done. “Since we’ve started, I might as well tell you everything. When your wife gave birth to Wu’er, she suffered a hemorrhage. My wife said it left her with a bleeding condition. One night, she bled so heavily she sent Wen’er to fetch your aunt or Dr. Wang. But the main gate was locked from the inside, and Wen’er was too small to reach it. He called for his grandparents to open it, but no one came out, no matter how much he cried and screamed. The neighbors heard and pounded on the door, and only then did your mother finally come out. Any later, and it would’ve been a disaster.”
“Are you sure about all this?”
Daliang felt his blood run cold—both from the pain of what his wife had endured and the shock that such major events, known to the whole village, had been kept from him, the husband. No wonder Wen’er was distant with him, and his wife often seemed indifferent. She had just been going through the motions—her resentment had never faded.
“Daliang, snap out of it! Look at Fang’er—what’s wrong with her?”
The chief shook the dazed Daliang hard. Coming to his senses, Daliang noticed his daughter trembling uncontrollably, her eyes wide with terror, lips turning purple. Before he could react, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into his arms. Without another thought, he scooped her up and sprinted toward his aunt’s house.
The chief’s account had reawakened the nightmares in Lin Fang’s heart—rage, fear, sorrow, grievance, and defiance all surged at once. Though her soul was that of an adult, her body was barely a year old and couldn’t handle the emotional overload, causing her to faint. When she woke the next day, everything was over: the family had split, most of her mother’s dowry had been reclaimed, and her parents had moved out of the main house the day before, temporarily settling in the middle courtyard. The tenants had already left for the New Year.
“Mild heart condition—won’t affect normal life. She can marry and have children, but must avoid overexertion and severe stress. Previously undetected, likely due to minimal symptoms. This episode was likely triggered by fright.”
Half-asleep, Lin Fang heard her grandmother’s diagnosis, her mother’s sobs, and her father’s sighs. *A heart condition again?* she thought bitterly. *Why can’t I escape it? If fate gave me a second chance, why hasn’t anything changed?* Still, she supposed she should be grateful—this time, it was only mild, far better than her previous life, where she couldn’t even walk quickly.
*Mother—she mustn’t cry anymore. Her eyes just healed, and her body is still weak. She can’t keep crying.*
“Ah? Ma… Ma…”
“Fang’er, you’re awake! Was that you calling me? Say it again—can Fang’er say ‘Mama’ now?” Li Cuimei lifted her daughter, wondering if she’d misheard.
“Ma, ma, ma… pfft.” Even Lin Fang was surprised. Had she just spoken early? Was this a transmigrator’s perk? But when she tried to say “Don’t cry,” only bubbles came out. *Ah, so it’s just this one sound. No golden finger for me.*
“Yes, yes, yes!” Overjoyed, Cuimei couldn’t stop her tears.
“Pfft.” Lin Fang blew bubbles and reached a tiny hand to wipe her mother’s face.
“Fang’er, come—say ‘Dada,’” Daliang said, taking her from his wife.
“Deh… deh.”
“Yes, good girl! Hahaha!”
Lin Fang cringed internally. *That sounded more like ‘didi’ (little brother).* But her father was over the moon.
“Say ‘Gege’ (big brother)! I’m your gege!” Little Lin Wu craned his neck eagerly.
“Uh… uh.” *Well, ‘er’ (two) is hard to pronounce.*
“Haha! I’m a gege now! And him—he’s your ‘Dage’ (eldest brother)!” Wu pointed at Lin Wen, who was equally excited, eyes shining.
“Da… da.” *This one’s easier.*
“Fang’er, call me ‘Grandma,’” said her aunt, cradling her.
“Ma… ma.” *Oops. ‘Zu’ (grand) is too hard. Now she’s just ‘Mama.’*
“Good girl.” Her aunt kissed her cheek.
“Me too! Me too!” Wu tugged at his great-aunt’s sleeve, begging for a kiss.
*No way—your face is dirty!* Lin Fang clung to her aunt’s neck, burying her face in the woman’s shoulder and refusing to kiss her brother. Wu’s face fell.
“Hahahaha!” The room erupted in laughter.
At that moment, Lin Fang’s heart swelled with happiness. No matter what, she was still her family’s treasure, just like in her past life. But this time, armed with hard-earned lessons, she vowed not to repeat her mistakes—and to ensure her family thrived.
Before Cuimei could send word to her parents, the Li family had already heard about the division. Li Qingyun and his wife, Pan, arrived in a flurry with maids and servants, hauling in everything from furniture to embroidery needles, herbs, and even offering to leave behind some servants.
Daliang knelt before them. “Father-in-law, Mother-in-law, I am only staying here temporarily. These gifts are too much—please take them back.”
Pan didn’t let him rise. “Hmph. These are for my daughter, not you. Wherever you move later, you’ll take them with you.”
“Father-in-law, Mother-in-law, I’ve been blind all these years. My wife has suffered greatly, and your resentment toward me is justified. But I swear from now on, I will cherish and protect her, never letting her endure hardship again. You’ve supported her all this time—I’ve been useless. But now that I’m staying to build a business, I will provide for her and the children. I *will* succeed. Please believe me and take these things back.” He bowed again.
“Enough!” Qingyun cut in impatiently. “You’ve made these promises a thousand times. Had Cuimei not feared the children suffering from a broken home, I’d have had her leave you long ago. Save your words—they mean nothing. These are for my daughter and grandchildren, *not* you. If you truly have the ability, prove it by building a livelihood. Empty words are worthless. Now rise.”
“Yes.” Knowing further pleas were futile, Daliang stood, bitter but resigned. He *had* failed them.
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