Forty

Zhang Nianqing and Tang Hao were about to leave the country. Zhang Momo thought that perhaps human emotions truly resembled a mirror—once shattered, they were difficult to restore. She didn’t want Nianqing to leave, and she considered persuading her: “Since those nude photos are no longer your concern, why do you have to go abroad?” But when Nianqing insisted on leaving, her feelings of reluctance were only so deep. It seemed far less than the sorrow she felt when she herself set off overseas for university, and the sisters parted ways.

The house was cluttered with luggage. Nianqing was carefully packing her wardrobe, piece by piece, as Momo sat on the bed, watching her busy, scrutinizing silhouette.

“Sister, you… truly had no conflict with Uncle Hu?”

She didn’t want to dredge up this unsolvable past, but the weight in her heart pressed so heavily she could barely breathe. Nianqing turned her head, gazing around the room—this had once been her home with Xiang Zuo, but now she no longer had the right to claim it. There lingered a trace of longing in her eyes; she composed herself, then looked at Momo.

“Actually—”

“Nianqing!” The bedroom door was suddenly flung open. Tang Hao stood at the threshold, holding a photo frame: a picture of Nianqing and Momo, arms around each other, laughing in delight, their smiles pure and warm. “I’ll put this photo in the checked luggage.”

Tang Hao said this, but made no move to leave. He gazed deeply at Nianqing, waiting until she nodded in acceptance.

“No,” Nianqing answered Momo again. “He’s probably senile, not quite right anymore.” With that, she resumed packing her clothes, and Tang Hao silently slipped out.

Momo had heard this answer countless times already; though she expected it, disappointment still settled in her heart. She pressed her hands into the smooth sheets. “Can’t you wait until after the New Year to leave?” She’d seen the photo in Tang Hao’s hands, and felt a surge of reluctance. Even a broken mirror leaves fragments scattered; it’s impossible to remove every shard.

“No, what’s the point in staying for the Spring Festival? There’ll only be two of us left…” Nianqing set her clothes aside and turned to see Momo’s forlorn expression, her own heart aching. “Besides, hasn’t Song Jiakai invited you to spend the holiday at his house? Momo, cherish it well…”

Cherish it well? Momo kept repeating the phrase as she went downstairs. What did she have left to cherish? Not to mention the night at the banquet, where she splashed orange juice on the Song family, or those indecent photos flying everywhere—what pride could she muster to step into the Song household again?

Upstairs, Tang Hao and Nianqing sat across from each other on the sofa. There was no lightness of a new beginning in the air. Two cups of steaming tea sat on the coffee table; Tang Hao stared into the mist rising from his cup for a long time.

“Are you still unable to let go of him?” he asked, not looking at her, eyes fixed on the tea.

“No,” Nianqing said, turning her head a little awkwardly, as if inspecting whether anything had been left unpacked.

“If not, what were you about to tell Momo?” Tang Hao suddenly spoke loudly, rising from the sofa; his once gentle, handsome face clouded, as if transformed. “What did you want to tell her? What do you want her to know?”

Nianqing was startled by his outburst, her eyes reddening. “What do you mean by that?!” Her tone grew harsh with grief and indignation. “Why must I keep quiet just because Xiang Zuo said, ‘It’s best not to let Momo know’? Why should I bury all this inside me? Why do you all only care about shielding Momo from worry, never considering my feelings? I want to tell her—I just can’t stand how you all protect her!”

Tang Hao snatched the half-pressed phone from her hand and hurled it to the floor; the loud crash stunned Nianqing. She didn’t recognize this Tang Hao, the man whose smile was always gentle and whose words to her were always soft and caring. When had he become like this?

“Nianqing, are you still not satisfied? Momo has carried such a heavy burden for you—her whole life is ruined, can’t you see? It’s not easy for her, truly not easy. I beg you, let her go. What’s wrong with burying these things forever? Why bring trouble to others by speaking of them? She’s your sister, your own sister!”

The chaotic room gradually returned to silence; only the muffled sobs of a woman could be heard. “I was harassed by Hu Xiaosong, nearly assaulted by him once. None of you came to comfort or care for me—you only told me not to let Momo know. Is her pain really greater than mine? Xiang Zuo only cares about Momo, I have nothing more to say; Tang Hao, do you only care about Momo too?!”

Finally, Tang Hao’s helpless sigh broke the silence; he rubbed his brow in agony, taking deep breaths to gather his composure once more. He walked over and gently helped Nianqing to sit on the sofa.

“Nianqing, Xiang Zuo was right. It’s been three years, and Hu Xiaosong never succeeded. Didn’t your father transfer him to another province soon after? There’s really no need to bring this up again. Hu Xiaosong is no longer in this world, and Hu Yongnian is hiding, living in anonymity—he’ll be caught sooner or later. But Momo is your sister. Even putting everything else aside, she took all the blame for those photos herself. Out of gratitude alone, don’t let these unchangeable facts trouble her further. Isn’t that enough?”

Nianqing lowered her head, tears falling silently, and said no more. Tang Hao sat beside her, powerless, uncertain what shape the future would take for them.

On New Year’s Eve morning, Song Jiakai brought Zhang Momo to his home. He kept a gloomy face the whole way, as if it were the end of the world rather than a holiday. Momo knew she owed him an explanation, but at this point, she had no idea what to say.

Before, she thought Song Jiakai was the only ray of light in her shadowed life—the only port where laughter and happiness resided. So she’d held his hand. She hadn’t expected to drag him into this suffocating mire with her. Now, even an apology seemed meaningless. The only comfort left was believing Song Jiakai was a free spirit; perhaps soon he’d realize his protest was only about not wanting to be abandoned, and that only by separating could he truly find peace. If leaving her made him feel a little more balanced, a little less hurt, she’d rather be cast aside by him ten times over—she didn’t mind.

There would be no crab at this year’s table; Momo knew this clearly. Yet when she entered the kitchen, she couldn’t help but glance around, finally settling her thoughts. The kitchen was spacious and sparkling; the housekeeper was preparing lunch, Song’s mother dressed elegantly, occasionally giving instructions. When she saw Momo enter, she seemed prepared, but still bowed her head a little awkwardly. Then she quickly put on a perfect, diplomatic smile.

The two women sat across a small table in a corner of the kitchen, each holding a teacup for a long while, both struggling to speak. Momo wondered what sin she’d brought upon herself—not only had she dragged Song Jiakai into this mess, but even his family had to endure embarrassment because of her. The last time they met, this elderly woman had warmly treated her as family, but now her face was full of conflict and reluctance.

“Momo, I know you’re a good girl, but after what happened—”

“Auntie,” Momo interrupted, seeing her so troubled and feeling all the more unwilling. She had a good impression of Song Jiakai’s mother and didn’t want her to bear the guilt of breaking up her son’s relationship. Rather than let her force herself into the role of the heartless parent, it was better to make her own intentions clear. “Auntie, actually… there’s no future for me and Song Jiakai.” She hesitated, finally managing to say it, and when she looked up, she saw a hint of relieved apology on Song’s mother’s face.

“He just needs time—there are things he must figure out on his own.”

“Momo…” At the table, the mother took her hand, almost gratefully, conveying warmth. She called her name, but then didn’t know how to continue. For her only son to always hold his head high in society, never subjected to gossip or judgment, she had long decided how to play the villain’s part. But she hadn’t expected this perceptive girl to block her path before she could even begin.

Should she be grateful for her understanding, or pity her tragic fate? Song’s mother couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger. Either way, she knew for certain—her family could not accept such a daughter-in-law. Song Jiakai was destined for a life of prominence; he couldn’t have a woman whose photos had been seen by countless men. However innocent or pitiful she might be, society was harsh, alive with cruelty.

In the end, only one thing remained. Song’s mother gently patted Momo’s hand. “You’re a good girl…”

Momo forced a smile. “Please don’t worry, I sincerely hope Song Jiakai finds happiness. I won’t cling to him…”

“Mom?!” The sudden voice at the kitchen door startled both women. Momo turned quickly and saw Song Jiakai’s face full of sorrow and anger, eyes locked on his mother. Before she could speak, he strode purposefully past her to his mother. “Come with me.”

He spoke without a hint of politeness, barely containing his indignation. When the pair left the kitchen, Momo realized with a jolt—she’d inadvertently dragged someone else into the mire with her. Was she nothing but a jinx? Aside from bringing trouble to others, did she have any strengths?

Moments later, angry voices echoed from the upstairs study. Momo hurried to the door, hesitated just a second, and Song Jiakai’s clear, reprimanding words reached her ears.

“Mom, what did you promise me? What are you saying to her now?”

“Jiakai!” This voice was Song’s father, stern and full of anger. “Is this how you speak to your mother?”

“How should I speak? You wanted Momo to spend the holiday here—now you’re forcing her to leave! What do you expect me to say? If I’d known, I would’ve taken her elsewhere for the holiday…”

“Shut up!”

The furious shout chilled Momo’s heart. She rushed into the room, etiquette forgotten, grabbing Song Jiakai’s arm, uncertain who to address first. “Please, listen to me, Auntie didn’t say anything to me…” She faced away from Song Jiakai, then turned to him, “Calm down, this really isn’t anyone else’s fault—it’s all mine.”

A cold laugh sounded behind her, and the anxiety in her heart froze halfway. Turning back, she saw Song’s mother’s face twisted in scorn and resentment, eyes locked on her. “Such skill for someone so young! I never thought I’d misjudge you.”

With those words, her heart was completely frozen. Momo stood stunned, unable to move, her mind in a muddle, unable to find a convincing explanation. Song’s mother’s gaze shifted from her face to Jiakai’s, hard and unyielding.

“Fine, Jiakai, let me be clear: your father and I will never allow Momo to enter our family!” She pointed straight at Momo. “With a woman like this, aren’t you afraid you’ll be condemned all your life? She’s not worthy of you, yet she plays tricks…”

“Mom!” Song Jiakai’s face was dark as iron, the truth on the tip of his tongue but impossible to reveal, suffocating him with anger. Momo tried to pull him away, but couldn’t move. Unexpectedly, Jiakai reversed their positions, pulling her to his side. “How can you say such things? Even so, can’t you see she’s innocent? She’s a victim too!”

“Victim?” Song’s mother glanced coldly at the bewildered Momo. “Victim, but brought it on herself! What decent girl goes alone to a bar and gets drunk? Does a proper girl do such things?”

Her sharp rebuke left Momo speechless, suspended in midair; even Jiakai was stunned into silence. The brightness in his eyes dimmed, weighed down by pain. He wanted to tell his mother, “That wasn’t Momo in the photos,” but he couldn’t. Momo, standing beside him, eyes full of suffering, for her sake he couldn’t say it. Once the truth was known, his parents' dislike would only increase; what good would it do?

His chest felt about to burst from frustration, his grip trembling. Momo didn’t understand how things had come to this: she’d hurt him, troubled his parents—and now, even the harmony of this family was threatened because of her.

“Enough!” Momo broke free from Jiakai’s grasp. “No more. I won’t appear again.”

Author’s note: Thanks to Brother Octopus for tossing the landmine! Next time, just come empty-handed—your landmines are nearly blowing my house apart! Brother, I feel both embarrassed and deeply grateful.