My father called me. He called me “son.”

It was the first time in 20 years he had used that word.

The last time I heard those two syllables, I was six years old. He stood at the courthouse entrance and walked away without looking back.

The judge asked him, “Do you want custody of the child?”

He said, “No.”

Today he said, “Son, Dad wants to see you.”

I said nothing.

He added, “Just dinner. Dad’s treat.”

I hung up.

But I didn’t block his number.

Because I wanted to know — what exactly did he want?

Chapter 1

Three days later, he called again.

This time it wasn’t him. It was a woman’s voice.

“Xiaobei, I’m your… auntie.”

She paused. She probably wanted to say “mom” but swallowed it back.

I knew who she was. Zhao Xiulan, my father’s wife. Not my mother — the one he married later.

“Your father hasn’t been well lately. He wants to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Not exactly sick… he just misses you.”

Misses me.

I nearly laughed out loud.

Qi Guoqiang misses me. The man who hasn’t seen me in 20 years misses me.

“Fine,” I said. “When?”

“This Saturday. Your dad says Old Four Seasons restaurant. Just family, a simple meal.”

Just family.

I sat in silence on my end of the phone for three seconds.

“Okay.”

I hung up and sat in my rented room, staring at the ceiling.

The rental was a one-bedroom in the south of the city, 1,800 yuan a month. I worked dispatch at a logistics company, 6,500 a month. No car, no house, unmarried.

I’m 26 years old this year.

The last time I saw Qi Guoqiang, I was six.

It was raining that day. He and my mother stood at the courthouse entrance, each holding their own umbrella.

When the judge read the verdict, I stood in the hallway on tiptoes, trying to see inside through the crack in the door.

My mother later told me the judge asked Qi Guoqiang, “Who gets the child?”

Qi Guoqiang said, “She can have him.”

The judge asked, “Child support?”

Qi Guoqiang said, “Five hundred a month.”

That was 500 yuan in 2006.

He paid for three months. Then he stopped.

When my mother called to press him, first he didn’t answer. Then he changed his number.

My mother never looked for him again.

She raised me alone, working in a factory, earning just over two thousand a month.

One New Year’s, I asked her, “Mom, where’s my dad?”

Her hand stirring the wok paused.

“You don’t have a father.”

I knew it was anger talking. But from that day on, I never asked again.

In middle school, I heard Qi Guoqiang had remarried. He married Zhao Xiulan and brought in a son she had from before. That son was two years older than me. His name was Zhao Yuhang, but later they changed it — he took Qi Guoqiang’s surname and became Qi Yuhang.

Qi Yuhang.

Qi Guoqiang’s “son.”

I’d catch bits of news at school. Qi Guoqiang had a small business down south. Made money. Bought a house. Sent Qi Yuhang to private school.

I went to the public middle school in town, wearing 30-yuan sneakers my mother bought at the market.

Once a classmate asked me, “Qi Xiaobei, is your dad Qi Guoqiang? The one with the red van?”

“No.”

“But you’re both named Qi…”

“Coincidence.”

I remember that day after school, I walked a long way home. Took a road I’d never taken before, just so I wouldn’t pass Qi Guoqiang’s street.

When I got home, my mother had made scrambled eggs with tomatoes.

“Why so late?”

“Took a wrong turn.”

She didn’t ask more.

That year I was 13. Qi Yuhang was 15. He was in his final year of private middle school, with someone driving him every day.

I rode a secondhand bike my mother bought for 80 yuan at the flea market. The chain kept falling off.

I’ve never told anyone these things.

What would be the point? Who would listen?

Saturday. I went to Old Four Seasons.

Wore a clean shirt, the only one without wrinkles.

I pushed open the door. Three people sat in the private room.

Qi Guoqiang, Zhao Xiulan, and a young man — Qi Yuhang.

Qi Guoqiang had gotten old.

The last time I saw him, he was in his early thirties, thick hair, loud voice. Now he was 52. Half his hair was gone, the skin on his face loose and sagging, like a deflated balloon.

He stood up when he saw me.

“You made it.”

“Yeah.”

“Sit, sit, sit.” He pulled out a chair, so eager it made me uncomfortable.

Zhao Xiulan smiled beside him, but her eyes were scanning me. From my shirt to my shoes and back again.

Qi Yuhang sat across from me. Didn’t stand up. Just stared at his phone.

“This is your brother.” Qi Guoqiang pointed at Qi Yuhang.

Qi Yuhang lifted his eyes for a split second. That was his greeting.

“Here, let’s order.” Qi Guoqiang pushed the menu toward me. “Order whatever you want.”

I flipped two pages and ordered braised pork and stir-fried seasonal greens.

Qi Guoqiang snatched the menu back. “That’s not nearly enough! Let’s add a fish, and a soup. Xiaobei, can you drink now? Two bottles of beer?”

He called me “Xiaobei.”

The last time he called me Xiaobei was at the courthouse entrance.

“Xiaobei, Dad’s leaving now.”

Then he left. Left for 20 years.

Today he called me Xiaobei again.

The food arrived. He put food in my bowl.

I didn’t eat it.

“Xiaobei, what kind of work do you do now?”

“Logistics.”

“How much do you make?”

“Enough to live.”

“Got a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Good, no rush. Take your time.”

He smiled, but it was forced. A rehearsed smile.

Zhao Xiulan chimed in. “Xiaobei, don’t hold it against your father. These years haven’t been easy for him either—”

“Auntie,” I cut her off. “My name is Qi Xiaobei. You can call me Xiaobei. No need to add ‘your father.’”

Two seconds of silence fell over the table.

Qi Yuhang put down his phone and looked at me.

Qi Guoqiang raised his glass, took a sip, and set it down.

“Xiaobei, the reason I asked you here today… there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

There it is.

I said to myself.

Finally.

“What is it?”

Qi Guoqiang glanced at Zhao Xiulan. She gave a tiny nod.

“Here’s the thing… you know the old family house, right?”

Chapter 2

I knew the old family house.

It was the house my grandfather built. Three rooms, one living room, a courtyard, and a kitchen out back. One hundred and twenty square meters, in the town center.

My grandfather passed away when I was three. He left the house jointly to me and Qi Guoqiang. The property deed had both our names.

My mother told me this when I was twelve. She said, “Your grandpa was afraid your father would sell the house, so he put your name on the deed.”

“Then why can’t we live there?”

She didn’t answer.

Later I understood. Qi Guoqiang lived there. He and Zhao Xiulan and Qi Yuhang. A family of three. There was no room for me.

“I know the old house,” I said.

“Good, good.” Qi Guoqiang put down his glass. “Here’s the thing — that area is being demolished. The government compensation package is out. Our house—”

I cut him off. “Uncle.”

He froze.

A single word from me — “Uncle” — and his entire face stiffened.

Zhao Xiulan’s expression darkened beside him.

I said it very calmly. “Uncle Qi, I’m not your son. You made that clear 20 years ago. You’re still Qi Guoqiang. But you’re not my father. So we’ll keep this simple. What do you need?”

The room went dead silent.

Qi Guoqiang’s face cycled through white, green, and purple. His lips moved but no sound came out. He probably had a speech all prepared — about how Dad had a hard life, how he’d always thought about me, how family should stick together. And now, my single word “Uncle” had scattered every prepared word to the wind.

Zhao Xiulan spoke first. “Xiaobei, you can’t put it that way. He is your biological father—”

“Auntie.” I turned to her. “If he were my father, he wouldn’t need my signature to sell a house. He’d just ask his son. But he’s not asking his son. He’s asking a stranger he abandoned 20 years ago. Since it’s a transaction, let’s deal with it as a transaction.”

Qi Yuhang slammed his phone on the table.

“Hey. Don’t go too far.”

I looked at him. “You’re Qi Yuhang, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a Qi by blood.”

His face flushed instantly.

“What did you say?!”

“I said, you’re not a Qi by blood. Your surname was Zhao. Qi Guoqiang isn’t your biological father. He just raised you for 16 years. Sent you to private school. Bought you a car.”

I looked at Qi Guoqiang.

“He raised someone else’s son for 16 years, but wouldn’t pay a cent of child support for his own. You tell me. Who, exactly, is going too far?”

Chapter 3

The meal fell apart.

I left the private room without looking back, walked out of Old Four Seasons, and rode the bus home.

That night, Qi Guoqiang called.

“Xiaobei, about the house—”

“Say what you need to say.”

“Here’s the thing. The demolition compensation for that area is out. Our house was assessed at 3.8 million.”

3.8 million yuan.

I bit my lip on my end of the phone.

“3.8 million. What’s the breakdown?”

“Half cash, half resettlement housing. So 1.9 million in cash, plus a 90-square-meter resettlement apartment.”

“And?”

“And… the paperwork requires all property owners to sign. You’re a co-owner…”

“So you need my signature.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. Just a signature. Once the demolition money comes through, we’ll… we’ll discuss it.”

“Discuss what?”

“How to split it.”

“How do you plan to split it?”

There was a pause on the other end.

Zhao Xiulan’s voice cut in from the side. “Xiaobei, what your father means is, this house was left by your grandfather. Your father has lived there all these years, and he’s the one who maintained it—”

I cut her off. “Auntie, what I’m asking is: how much are you planning to give me?”

More silence.

Qi Guoqiang took back the phone. “Xiaobei, how about this — out of the 3.8 million, you take 200,000, and the rest goes to me. Is that okay?”

Two hundred thousand.

Out of 3.8 million, he was offering me 200,000.

I’m a co-owner of the property. By law, I should get at least half.

1.9 million.

He was offering me 200,000.

“No,” I said.

“Then… 300,000?”

“No.”

“Xiaobei, don’t be like this. You’ve never lived in that house for a single day—”

“I never lived there because you wouldn’t let me.”

He went quiet.

“You threw me away when I was six. From that day on, you never let me set foot in that house or that home.”

“That was… the situation was different back then—”

“Qi Yuhang lived there, didn’t he?”

He went quiet again.

“Qi Yuhang lived there for 16 years. Grew up there. What about me? I was born in that house. How many years did you let me live there? Three. Three years, and then you threw me away.”

“Xiaobei—”

“I’m not signing.”

I hung up.

Thirty seconds later, he called back.

I didn’t answer.

A minute later, Zhao Xiulan called.

I didn’t answer.

Ten minutes later, Qi Yuhang sent me a WeChat message.

Yes, he had my WeChat. Yesterday at Old Four Seasons, Zhao Xiulan made us add each other.

His message read:

“Bro, don’t make a scene. Just sign and it’s done. Two hundred thousand is a decent amount.”

I replied with three characters: “Not signing. Thanks.”

He sent a long voice message. I didn’t listen.

I put my phone on silent, took a shower, and went to sleep.

Monday at work, I told Old Wu about it.

Old Wu was a veteran in his forties, had been in dispatch longer than me. He’d been through everything.

He listened and was quiet for a long time.

“Xiaobei, have you checked the law?”

“I did. My name’s on the property deed. I’m a co-owner. Without my signature, he can’t sell. The demolition can’t proceed either.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Not sign.”

“Never sign?”

“Never sign.”

Old Wu looked at me.

“Then they’ll definitely come harass you.”

“Let them.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Old Wu lit a cigarette and took a drag.

“Xiaobei, let me tell you something. You might not like hearing it.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re not refusing to sign for the money. Am I right?”

I looked at him.

He said, “You’re doing it for what you’re owed. The acknowledgment.”

I didn’t deny it.

“Twenty years,” I said. “Twenty years he never once looked after me. Now he needs me, and he calls me son. When he didn’t need me — what was I?”

Old Wu stubbed out his cigarette.

“Then stand firm. They’ll use every method to pressure you next. Beg you. Curse you. Threaten you. Emotionally blackmail you. If you can take it, take it. If you can’t, get a lawyer.”

“I can take it.”

Chapter 4

Qi Guoqiang didn’t give up.

He changed tactics.

Tuesday night, I got a call. It wasn’t Qi Guoqiang. It wasn’t Zhao Xiulan. It wasn’t Qi Yuhang.

It was my mother.

“Xiaobei… your father’s side… they called again.”

“They called you?”

“Yes. Said I should talk to you.”

I took a deep breath.

“Mom, why is he calling you?”

“Said to get you to sign. Said he’d give you 300,000.”

“Three hundred thousand? He told me 200,000.”

“He said he raised it.”

“Raised it.” I let out a cold laugh. “Out of 3.8 million, he offers me 300,000. Raised it by 100,000. Mom, do you know how much I should legally get?”

She was silent.

“At minimum, 1.9 million. The deed has me at half. At least 1.9 million. He’s offering me 300,000.”

“Xiaobei…”

“Mom, do you want me to sign?”

The silence on the other end stretched long.

I could hear her breathing. Very soft.

“Mom can’t say.” She finally spoke. “Your business. You decide.”

“Then why did you make this call?”

“He begged me. Said… said I should help put in a word.”

I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white.

Twenty years.

In 20 years, Qi Guoqiang had never once called my mother. After the divorce, he defaulted on child support for 17 years.

Now, to get me to sign, he called my mother.

Chapter 5

On Wednesday, Qi Yuhang showed up at my company.

He was leaning against a white SUV at the entrance. It looked new, at least 200,000 yuan.

When he saw me come out, he waved. “Xiaobei! Over here!”

I walked over.

“Let’s go have a meal,” he said.

“I already ate.”

“Then coffee.”

“No need. Say what you came to say.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Straight to business. Fifty. Fifty thousand.”

“What?”

“Dad said 50. Five hundred thousand. You sign, and you get 500,000.”

I looked at him.

“Qi Yuhang, let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“When you were in private middle school, how much was tuition?”

He frowned. “What’s that got to do with—”

“Just answer.”

“I don’t know. Around 20,000 a year?”

“Twenty-four thousand a year. For three years, that’s 72,000. Plus your vocational college, 80,000. Plus the computer your dad bought you, 6,000. Plus 16 years of food, clothes, housing, transportation. Roughly 300,000, wouldn’t you say?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Qi Guoqiang spent at least 300,000 raising you. And on me?”

I looked him in the eye.

“Zero. He spent zero yuan on me. Zero.”

He was silent.

“In sixth grade, the teacher assigned an essay: ‘My Father.’ I stared at the blank page for two class periods. In the end, I made one up. ‘My father is a truck driver. He drives all over the country and rarely comes home. But every time he does, he brings me presents.’”

“I made up an essay. Because I had no father to write about.”

Silence.

“What about you? Did you ever write ‘My Father’? You didn’t need to make one up. Your father drove you to school, bought you computers, sent you to private school. Every word you wrote was true.”

“What does any of this have to do with signing—”

“One more question. When you lived in that house, did you know my name was on the deed?”

His eyes flickered.

“You knew,” I said. “You always knew.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You knew that house partly belonged to me. But you lived in it and never thought anything was wrong. Your father threw me away for 20 years, and you never thought anything was wrong. You took his money for school, for a car, for everything — and it never crossed your mind that he had a biological son who got nothing.”

“You—”

“Now you’re here. Because you need my signature. You call me brother. You offer to buy me dinner. You ask how much I want.”

I looked at his white SUV.

“Qi Yuhang, you drove here in the car my father bought — to negotiate with me. Don’t you find that a little funny?”

His face went red.

“Qi Xiaobei, don’t push your luck.”

“Push my luck?”

“Five hundred thousand. How much do you make in a year? Without your signature, nobody gets anything. You think dragging this out means you win?”

“I don’t need to win.”

“What?”

“I don’t need to win. I just need to not sign.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, then stepped forward.

“You think I won’t—”

“Hit me?” I didn’t back up. “Go ahead. Hit me. I’ll call the police. Then not only will you lose the house — you’ll spend a couple of days in a cell.”

His fist clenched. Then loosened.

“Qi Xiaobei, don’t burn all your bridges.”

“I’m not the one who burned them.”

I turned and went back inside.

As I walked into the elevator, I heard him kick his car door downstairs.

A loud bang. Pretty loud.

Chapter 6

Friday. Bigger trouble arrived.

My aunt showed up.

Qi Guoqiang’s older sister, Qi Fenglan.

When she called, I barely recognized her voice. Because the last time this woman spoke to me, I was ten.

“Xiaobei. It’s your aunt.”

“Yeah.”

“Auntie knows things haven’t been easy for you. Your father, well, he’s never been much good. But still—”

“Auntie, you’re calling to ask me to sign, right?”

A pause on the line.

“It’s not just about the signature… Auntie also wanted to check on you—”

“Okay, Auntie. Go ahead.”

She sighed. “Xiaobei, let Auntie speak from the heart. This house, the demolition is 3.8 million, and yes, you have a share. But think about it. You’ve never lived there, and you haven’t spent a cent on maintenance. Your father lived there for 20 years. The roof leaked — he fixed it three times. The pipes were replaced twice. The courtyard was renovated once. All of that cost a lot of money—”

“Auntie, those are the maintenance costs Qi Guoqiang paid to live in his own house. What do they have to do with me?”

“What I mean is—”

“He threw me away when I was six. From age six to twenty-six, he never gave me a single yuan. My mother borrowed money for my schooling. I took out loans for university. How much did he spend on Qi Yuhang — do you know?”

“Xiaobei, don’t get worked up—”

“Private high school, 24,000 a year. Vocational college, 80,000. Computer, 6,000. Plus food, clothing, housing, transportation — add it up. Twenty years. How much did he spend on Qi Yuhang? How much on me?”

“Zero.”

The line went quiet.

“He spent zero yuan on me, Auntie. Zero.”

Qi Fenglan was silent for a long moment.

Chapter 7

After Auntie failed, Uncle came next. Then Elder Uncle.

Every elder in the Qi family showed up.

Some used the soft approach, some the hard. Some reasoned. Some threatened.

I took it all.

Every single one.

Eventually, Qi Guoqiang had no elders left to send. So he came himself.

He showed up outside my company on a Friday afternoon.

No fruit this time. No tea. He stood alone in the parking lot, looking smaller than I remembered.

“Xiaobei.”

“Uncle Qi.”

He flinched. But this time, he didn’t correct me.

“I wanted to talk.”

“Go ahead.”

He swallowed. “Xiaobei, Dad knows he was wrong. Dad was a terrible father. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But this house… it’s all Dad has left. Half my life is in this house. If I don’t get the money, I…”

“What about me?”

He looked up.

“What about my half of my life? The 20 years you never showed up?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Qi Guoqiang, you have a wife and a son. You have a house and a car. What do I have? A rented room and a mother who worked herself to the bone raising me alone. You’re telling me you have nothing left? What do I have?”

His eyes went red.

“Xiaobei, Dad’s begging you.”

He lowered his head.

Fifty-two years old. Standing in a parking lot, head bowed, begging the son he abandoned 20 years ago.

“I don’t want money,” I said.

He looked up, stunned.

“You don’t want money?”

“I don’t want money. And I’m not signing.”

He was completely baffled.

“You don’t want money and you won’t sign? Then what do you want?”

I looked at him.

He was old. Fifty-two, thinning hair, sagging face. Standing outside my company with two bags of fruit, like a salesman.

I remembered when I was six. He stood at the courthouse entrance, tall and imposing, voice booming. The judge asked if he wanted the child. He said no. Clean and sharp. Without hesitation.

Now he was 52. Hunched over, holding fruit, calling me son.

“Qi Guoqiang,” I said, “go home.”

“Xiaobei—”

“Twenty years. You know exactly what you’ve done these 20 years. And I know exactly what I’ve done. I’m not refusing to sign because I want your money.”

“Then why?”

“Figure it out yourself.”

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, his voice called out. “Xiaobei! Xiaobei, come back!”

I didn’t look back.

I walked into my building, up the stairs, shut the door, and stood in the entryway, breathing deeply three times.

Not because I was afraid of him.

Because I was afraid of myself — afraid my heart would soften.

The look in his eyes just now, it really was a little pitiful. A 52-year-old man, head down, begging the son he threw away 20 years ago to sign a piece of paper.

But then I remembered being sixteen, my mother borrowing money for my school fees—

I remembered Qi Yuhang with a 6,000-yuan laptop while I wore a thin cotton jacket through winter—

I remembered taking out loans for all four years of university while he spent 80,000 to send Qi Yuhang to vocational school—

Soften my heart?

Forget it.

Chapter 8

Three days after Qi Yuhang left, Qi Guoqiang did something.

He summoned my uncle, my elder uncle, and my aunt to the old house.

Then he called me.

“Xiaobei, come over.”

“Where?”

“The old house. Your uncle, elder uncle, and aunt are all here. Let’s sit down and talk.”

I thought about it.

“Fine.”

I took a two-hour bus to the town.

I pushed open the door of the old house. The courtyard was full of people sitting in a circle. Qi Guoqiang, Zhao Xiulan, Qi Yuhang, my elder uncle Qi Guomin, my uncle Qi Guodong, my aunt Qi Fenglan.

Six people.

When they saw me, they all stood up.

“There he is, there he is. Come sit.” Elder Uncle waved me over.

I scanned the circle.

My mother wasn’t there.

Of course she wasn’t.

“Sit.” Qi Guoqiang handed me a cup of tea.

I didn’t take it.

“I’m not here to drink tea. Say what you have to say.”

The elders exchanged glances.

Elder Uncle spoke first. “Xiaobei, your father’s situation isn’t great right now. His business has been losing money for the past two years, and he’s in debt. This demolition money is truly life-saving for him. As your elder, I want to say — take a step back. Don’t push things too far.”

“Elder Uncle, do you know I exist?”

He startled.

“I — of course I—”

“You’ve known for 20 years that Qi Guoqiang threw me away. Known for 20 years that he never paid child support. Known for 20 years that my mother raised me alone. In these 20 years, Elder Uncle — have you ever spoken up for me? Even once?”

The courtyard fell silent.

“None of you have.” I looked around at every face. “Elder Uncle, Uncle, Auntie. You’re all family. You’ve all known for 20 years. Nobody said a word. Now you need my signature, and suddenly I’m family.”

“Xiaobei, that’s not—”

“If I’m family, where were you when I couldn’t afford school fees? Where were you when my mother worked night shifts at the factory? Where were you when I took out loans for university?”

Nobody could answer.

I turned to Qi Guoqiang.

“You want to talk. Let’s talk. Here’s my position. The property is jointly owned by both of us. The law says I get half. I’m taking half. Not a cent less.”

“Half?!” Zhao Xiulan jumped up. “You haven’t lived in this house for a single day and you want half—”

I turned to her. “Auntie, this house belongs to the Qi family. My grandfather built it. My name is on the deed. It has nothing to do with you. You’re not a Qi.”

Her face went purple.

Qi Yuhang stood up. “What did you say?!”

“Sit down.” I looked at him. “You’re not a Qi either.”

He lunged forward, but Qi Guoqiang grabbed him.

“Enough!”

Qi Guoqiang roared, and everyone went quiet.

He looked at me. His eyes were red.

“Xiaobei, half — is that your final word?”

“Yes.”

“No room for negotiation?”

“No.”

He nodded. “Fine. Half it is.”

Zhao Xiulan screamed, “Qi Guoqiang! Are you crazy?! Half the house—”

“Shut up!” He turned and roared at her. “If it weren’t for you pushing me back then, would things have come to this?!”

The courtyard was utterly silent.

I stood up.

“When you’ve sorted out the paperwork, have the lawyer contact me. I’m leaving now.”

I walked out of the old house.

Behind me, I heard Zhao Xiulan’s wails and Qi Yuhang’s curses.

I didn’t look back.

Chapter 9

Three months later, the demolition compensation was finalized.

I got half. One million nine hundred thousand yuan.

It was more money than I’d ever seen.

The lawyer told me Qi Guoqiang had signed without further dispute. I don’t know what happened inside that family — didn’t ask, didn’t want to know.

I transferred 700,000 of the money to my mother.

She called, voice trembling. “Where did this come from?”

“Your son earned it.”

“What did you do?”

“Mom, I didn’t do anything. I just remembered something you once told me — you have no father. And I remembered one more thing. I have a mother.”

She cried on the phone.

I’d rarely seen my mother cry. Even in the hardest times, she held it together. Now she was crying.

“Xiaobei, Mom doesn’t need this much money. You keep it. Buy yourself a house. Get married—”

“Mom, I still have plenty left. This is yours. Take it. Quit the factory job. Do whatever you want.”

She cried for a long time before hanging up.

That night, I lay in my rental, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

The 190,000 yuan I’d put aside was for a house down payment. Another 100,000 for my mother’s medical checkups and future security. Ten thousand for a new laptop. Twenty thousand for a used car.

The rest — I was still thinking.

The next day, Qi Guoqiang called.

“Xiaobei, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For agreeing to the demolition. Even if it was half — it was still you who said yes.”

I was quiet for a moment.

“Qi Guoqiang.”

“Yes?”

“Take care of yourself.”

I hung up.

I still called him Qi Guoqiang. Not Dad.

But I told him to take care of himself.

Because at the very end, I realized: I didn’t hate him anymore. Truly, I didn’t.

It just didn’t matter.

He was Qi Guoqiang. A stranger I happened to be related to by blood. A stranger who had once been my father but chose not to be.

I wouldn’t forgive him — forgiveness isn’t something you owe. But I wouldn’t hate him either. Hatred takes energy, and I’d rather spend that energy on the people who actually matter.

That afternoon, I went to the hospital to get my mother a full checkup.

The doctor said she was basically healthy, just a bit overworked. Told her to rest more.

Walking out of the hospital, I bought groceries and went to her place to cook.

Braised pork ribs. Stir-fried greens. Tomato and egg soup.

Three dishes and a soup. The table was full.

My mother looked at the spread. “You made all this?”

“My treat.”

“You’ve learned to cook?”

“Had to, living on my own.”

She tasted a bite and was quiet for a long time.

“Is it bad?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s good.”

We ate in silence. Neither of us spoke much. But it felt warm.

After the meal, my mother suddenly said, “Xiaobei, your grandfather — if he were still here — he’d be proud of you.”

I put down my chopsticks.

“Mom.”

“Mm?”

“I’ve never asked you. My grandfather — what kind of person was he?”

She smiled.

“Stubborn. Stubborn as a mule. But good-hearted.”

She told me my grandfather had always opposed Qi Guoqiang’s divorce. Said it was a disgrace. Said a real man takes responsibility.

“He wanted to keep you. But he was old. And Qi Guoqiang wouldn’t listen.”

“So he put my name on the deed.”

“Yes. He said, I can’t control my son. But I can at least leave something for my grandson.”

Twenty years later. My grandfather’s decision finally meant something.

That night, I didn’t sleep well.

Not from sadness. Just — thinking. About my mother, about my grandfather, about Qi Guoqiang, about Qi Yuhang.

About whether a person’s nature is born or made.

And about whether some things, once broken, can ever truly be mended.

Chapter 10

I used part of the money to start a small logistics company.

Old Wu partnered with me. The two of us rented a small warehouse and bought a used truck. We started with three clients.

It was tough at first. But we managed.

My mother quit the factory. I helped her open a small grocery store near her home. She complained it was too idle, but she was smiling when she said it.

One day, I ran into Qi Yuhang on the street.

He was driving a different car — not that white SUV anymore. This one looked cheaper.

He saw me and stopped.

We stood on the sidewalk, face to face, neither speaking.

“So,” he finally said. “You got what you wanted.”

“I got what was mine.”

He sneered. “Must be nice. Everything handed to you.”

“Handed to me?”

“Yeah. You didn’t earn any of it. Just got lucky with a signature.”

I looked at him.

“Qi Yuhang, in your entire life, has there ever been a single thing you earned yourself?”

His expression froze.

“Your stepfather bought your schooling, your car, your everything. And now you’re telling me I got lucky?”

He had no answer.

“Forget it.” I walked past him. “Good luck.”

“Qi Xiaobei.”

I stopped.

“You really think you’re better than me?”

“I don’t think about you at all.”

I kept walking.

Behind me, I heard him curse and slam his car door.

Some people never learn.

But that wasn’t my problem anymore.

Chapter 11

A few months later, Auntie Qi Fenglan called me.

“Xiaobei, your father’s in the hospital. High blood pressure caused a minor stroke.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to… go see him?”

I thought for a long time.

“No.”

“Xiaobei—”

“Auntie, I don’t hate him. I truly don’t. But I don’t want to go either.”

“He’s your father…”

“He’s my father. But he chose not to be my father. That choice was his. Not mine.”

Qi Fenglan sighed on the other end of the line.

“Now I’m making a choice too. I’m choosing to live my own life.”

“Auntie, thank you for calling. How you treat him is your business. I won’t stop you. But I have my own life now.”

I hung up. Went to the market. Bought pork ribs and corn.

Went home and made a pot of soup.

When my mother was busy working, she never had time to make soup. When I was little, I asked her, “Mom, other families drink soup. Why don’t we?”

She said, “Soup wastes gas.”

The truth is, it wastes time. A single mother, working days and overtime at night — when would she have time to make soup?

Now I have time.

I brought a thermos of it to her.

“What’s this?” She opened it. Steam rose.

“Pork rib and corn soup.”

“You made this?”

“I made this.”

She tasted it.

“A little bland.”

“I’ll add more salt next time.”

“Mm.”

She drank two bowls.

When she finished, she said one thing.

“Xiaobei, you’ve grown up.”

I smiled.

I don’t have a complete family.

I don’t have a childhood with a father’s love. No van to drive me to school. No 6,000-yuan laptop.

But I have a mother who gave everything to raise me.

A grandfather who remembered me before he died.

A decent job. A decent future.

And a pot of pork rib and corn soup.

That’s enough.

It really is enough.