Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ji Qingyu was lost in thought when the lights in the performance hall suddenly flickered on. The harsh glare made him squint painfully.

The person who entered was Lin Feng, broom in hand. "Thought we had a burglar. What are you doing here alone?"

Ji Qingyu clenched his fists, stood up, and murmured, "Sorry, I'll leave right away."

Lin Feng walked over, frowning as he looked at Ji Qingyu. Wrapped in the opera costume, Ji Qingyu resembled a fragile piece of paper about to fall. His hair lay softly against his shoulders, and beneath his eyes was puffy redness.

"Son, would you like to come to my place for a cup of tea?" Lin Feng scratched his head. "You know, I have a child too, about your age. If there's anything bothering you, you can talk to me. I’ll treat you like my own."

Ji Qingyu lowered his head, his eyes slightly unfocused. For some reason, he found himself confiding in Lin Feng. "Uncle, I feel like I’m not good enough. I dropped out of high school, haven't accomplished anything, my voice is hoarse, my health is poor, and my reputation's in tatters..."

"At least you don’t smoke or drink excessively. You have good looks, solid values, and you’re very talented." Lin Feng lit a cigarette, slender trails of smoke rising in the air. "When you meet the wrong people, just run away. No shame in it."

"I can’t run away," Ji Qingyu said, his voice faint as a breath. "Where could I even go?"

Lin Feng looked at him silently, then handed Ji Qingyu a cigarette. Ji Qingyu lit it, took a puff, and choked and coughed violently. Lin Feng burst into laughter.

Ji Qingyu looked up at Lin Feng, who deftly spun the cigarette box in his hand. When smoking, he held it between two fingers, pale smoke curling and dancing in the air.

He was somewhat rough around the edges, his beard covering the lower half of his face, but his eyes were remarkably striking—eyes that had seen much of life’s hardships.

"Let’s go, kid. As long as you’re alive, everything will get better." Lin Feng gave Ji Qingyu's back a nudge.

By the time Ji Qingyu returned home, it was already late at night. The entire house was completely dark. Assuming Fu Han was asleep, he tried to keep his movements quiet.

As he passed the sofa, he noticed a silhouette sitting silently there. It was unclear how long he had been sitting, but the ashtray in front of him was filled with over twenty cigarette butts. The pungent smell of nicotine was overwhelming. Ji Qingyu was startled, but before he could say anything, he heard Fu Han’s deep, rough voice. "Ji Qingyu."

Fu Han sat there, not looking at him, but his presence was intimidating. His shirt was unbuttoned to the last button, and though his tone was calm, Ji Qingyu could instantly tell he was angry.

Ji Qingyu froze in place, rooted to the spot.

He was still wearing the opera costume—a pale blue cheongsam that accentuated his slender figure, making him look like a young master from a good family.

Fu Han jerked his chin toward the space in front of him. "Come here."

Ji Qingyu didn’t dare make a sound and silently stepped forward. He wanted to take a shower—the coffee stain on his hair felt sticky and uncomfortable—but Fu Han didn’t give him the chance.

He was pulled over abruptly, and Fu Han laid his head against Ji Qingyu’s lower abdomen as if listening for something. Then, in a tone devoid of emotion, he said, "I think I can hear a heartbeat."

Ji Qingyu found it absurd. Cold sweat broke out on his skin, and he pushed Fu Han away. "How is that possible?"

"Who knows?" Fu Han sneered. "If you were carrying our child, I’d make you have it terminated."

Fu Han seemed to have more cruel words to say but ultimately gave up, unsure where to begin. He finally muttered, "How could someone like you deserve to be a mother?"

Fu Han had been speaking to him like this for a long time. Usually, Ji Qingyu wouldn’t take it to heart and would quickly forget about it. But today was different.

He was already exhausted—worn down by Ji Ran, worried about Lin Ying, stressed about the stage play, burdened by online rumors, and unable to write songs. So many things were weighing on him, and now Fu Han had to add another blow.

"Someone like you would stop at nothing to climb the social ladder. Even if you did have a child, you wouldn’t treat them well." Fu Han’s tone was weary. "If a child had a mother like you, it would be their misfortune."

Ji Qingyu, trapped in his grasp, opened his mouth but no words came out. Outside the window, the moon was bright, casting a silvery-gray light into the room like a rippling ocean surface. He felt like a land animal drowning at sea, constantly experiencing suffocation and powerlessness.

Did Fu Han have to be like this? Did everyone have to be like this? Who cared about how he felt? He had once had a child, but Fu Han said he didn’t deserve it.

Ji Qingyu felt as if a wet, spongy cotton was stuck in his throat, neither going up nor down. He couldn’t help but recall Lin Feng’s words: Would things really get better if he kept living?

They would still treat him so dismissively, almost cruelly and coldly dragging him back into that cage.

He didn’t want to know how long Fu Han had been sitting there or why he seemed so upset. It was probably just another incident that gave him an excuse to pick a fight. Fu Han was like a slab of iron—seemingly impervious to pain, never showing any vulnerability.

Perhaps he had no heart, but Ji Qingyu did.

He bit the tip of his tongue, tasting a hint of blood. The pain gave him a spark of courage. He pushed Fu Han away and walked toward the guest room.

If Fu Han wanted a child, there were plenty of people waiting for him outside. There was no need for him to warn Ji Qingyu. Having a child wasn’t something he could do alone.

He entered the room and slammed the door shut, trying to pull himself out of the pain.

He had always been good at enduring pain, but this time, Fu Han’s sudden outburst had thrown him off balance. Fu Han was always unpredictable—kind and gentle when he was in a good mood, but laced his words with cruelty when he wasn’t.

Ji Qingyu tried to push everything out of his mind, using his usual method of stopping himself from overthinking. Gradually, he fell asleep. He didn’t know how much time had passed before Aunt Wang came knocking on his door.

"Ma'am, how did you get coffee stains on your clothes? Did you accidentally spill some at a coffee shop?" Ji Qingyu, still foggy with sleep, remembered that he had left the paper bag with his clothes downstairs.

"Yes," Ji Qingyu replied, too exhausted to budge. "Just leave it there. I’ll wash it tomorrow."

"I’ve already washed it for you," Aunt Wang said. "I left some supper for both of you, but neither of you touched it. It’s almost cold now. Don’t hide in your room—come out and eat."

"Thank you, Aunt Wang, but I won’t eat." Ji Qingyu quickly fell back asleep. He didn’t want to think about what Fu Han was thinking anymore. He was tired of catering to him.

In his half-dreaming state, he heard a loud slam from the entrance, even louder than when he had slammed the door earlier. Then, car lights flashed outside the window. This time, Fu Han had really left.

Fu Han had probably gone back to his office or to some other lover’s house. Ji Qingyu didn’t care and didn’t want to know.

He simply buried himself deeper under the blankets, allowing the air to grow thin. It was dark and hot under the covers, but in that confined space, he felt safe.

The next morning, Ji Qingyu got up to attend the final rehearsal. He splashed cold water on his face and drowsily headed toward the performance hall. Aunt Wang stopped him. "Ma'am, let the family driver take you."

There had never been such an arrangement before. Ji Qingyu was puzzled. "It’s fine. I can take the bus."

"Mr. Fu said so," Aunt Wang sighed. "From now on, it’s better if someone accompanies you when you go out."

Ji Qingyu fell silent for a moment before accepting it calmly. After the car dropped him off at his destination and drove away, Lin Feng suddenly appeared.

"Hey, kid, why do you look even more down than yesterday?" Lin Feng circled Ji Qingyu, carefully examining his face. "I can see you’re holding in a lot of pent-up frustration. That’s not good for your health."

As he spoke, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and offered it to Ji Qingyu. "It’s a capsule type—lighter."

"I don’t smoke," Ji Qingyu smiled helplessly. "Uncle, you should smoke less too. Nicotine is bad for your health."

"It’s fine," Lin Feng said optimistically. "I’ll just have a couple sips of chilled liquor to calm down."

Ji Qingyu gave a conceding fist-and-palm salute, acknowledging Lin Feng’s resilience. As they arranged the backdrop panels for the stage play, Ji Qingyu suddenly asked, "Uncle Lin, would you like to play a role in the play?"

"Me?" Lin Feng was taken aback. "A children's play like this is for kids. What would I look like up there?"

You’d be perfect, Ji Qingyu thought. You’re more like a kid than the kids are.

He handed the script to Lin Feng. "I wrote this character specially. There’s a solo dance number, and it won’t disrupt the other children’s scenes. Look, I even wrote a song for you."

Lin Feng held onto the paper, studying it intently. He read it several times, as if making a difficult decision, and confirmed that only a few dozen tickets had been sold for the play.

Finally, he made up his mind and instructed Ji Qingyu, "Alright, play this part for me. I need to find the rhythm."

Ji Qingyu sat down and pressed the first piano key. It was a cheerful song. Lin Feng danced casually, the cigarette in his hand still burning. Ji Qingyu caught the scent of smoldering mint.

Lin Feng stepped on stage with a strong appeal that made it hard to look away. After the performance, Ji Qingyu asked suspiciously, "Uncle Lin, why do you look so familiar to me?"

"Ha," Lin Feng waved his hand dismissively, "I have a kind face. Lots of people think I look familiar."

As if remembering something, Lin Feng then asked, "Did you have a fight with your husband?"

"My relationship with him has never been great, but it's fine," Ji Qingyu replied indifferently. Just then, Nannan and the others arrived, so they all went on stage to go through the entire routine from start to finish.

They needed to check the lights, sets, and stage effects—everything had to be flawless.

Lin Feng leaned closer to Ji Qingyu and asked, "So, will your husband still come to the performance?"

"Ah..." Ji Qingyu thought for a moment. The performance was only a week away, and given the current situation, Fu Han—who thought he was above everyone else—would never be the first to back down.

"He won’t be coming," Ji Qingyu said. "Uncle Lin, don’t just stand around. Position yourself next to Nannan. Oh, and you have a few lines too."

Rehearsals wrapped up that afternoon, ending surprisingly smoothly. When Ji Qingyu returned home, he happened to see Fu Han’s car driving away, with Aunt Wang seeing him off at the door.

Ji Qingyu walked over and glanced back at the car shrinking into the distance. "Didn’t he say he wouldn’t be back for a while?"

"Ah, it’s a long story," Aunt Wang sighed. "It’s almost the anniversary of the late madam’s passing. Every year around this time, Mr. Fu Han takes her belongings away in advance. Then, for the next few days, he turns off his phone, and no one can reach him."

"The first time he did this, it scared us to death," Aunt Wang continued. "The whole family searched for him for three days and nights, thinking he’d been kidnapped. But on the third night, he returned as if nothing had happened. The old master had a huge argument with him—it was really intense. After that, their relationship became even more strained..."

Ji Qingyu could hardly imagine where Fu Han went with those belongings. Perhaps he found a place to lick his wounds alone.

With the performance just days away, Ji Qingyu took out his phone and opened the chat with Fu Han. The profile picture was still the same plain black image. He hesitated, wondering whether to remind Fu Han about the show. After a long internal debate, he typed a message but his finger hovered over the send button, unable to press it.