Chapter 9 Cipher

She almost trembled, incredulously and slowly brought the phone back to her ear, her voice trembling with disbelief and a barely perceptible hope that even she dared not admit: "Ningning? You are...Ningning?"

Hearing her mother's hesitant yet familiar response, Jiang Yining could no longer hold back and cried even harder, sobbing uncontrollably: "Mom...it's...it's me..." She desperately wanted to express something, to tell her mother where she was.

At that very moment.

"Beep beep beep—" The phone screen suddenly flashed a blinding red light, and a cold, indifferent notification popped up: [Low battery! Automatic shutdown in 30 seconds!]

"No!" Jiang Yining's eyes widened in terror. Ignoring her tears, she screamed into the microphone with all her might, her voice shrill and distorted with extreme anxiety: "Mommy, I'm at the flower shop, Ning Yu Hua Fang... Ning..."

The moment the word "language" was uttered, the phone screen went completely black.

"Hello? Hello? Ningning? What flower shop? Explain yourself, Ningning." Jiang's mother's voice came to an abrupt end on the phone, which had completely lost connection.

Jiang Yining stared at the black screen in her hand, feeling as if all her strength had been drained away, and collapsed to the ground. She gasped for breath, her chest heaving violently, and tears silently streamed down her face. Trembling, she took out the charger, frantically plugged it in, and only when she saw the charging icon finally light up on the screen did she take a long, trembling breath, as if utterly exhausted.

The spark of hope had just been ignited when it was extinguished by this damned power outage, leaving only cold ashes and a deeper sense of bewilderment.

The Jiang family.

Jiang's mother stared blankly at her phone, listening to the cold, busy tone. The tearful words, "Mommy, it's Ningning," and the indistinct words "flower shop" and "Ning·Yu" echoed repeatedly in her mind like a curse.

"Plop." A scalding teardrop landed on the phone screen, spreading a small water stain. As if awakened by the scalding teardrop, she snapped back to reality, her fingers trembling violently with excitement and fear as she frantically pressed the redial button.

"Sorry, the subscriber you dialed is currently unavailable."

A cold, emotionless electronic female voice echoed in the silent living room, over and over again. Jiang's mother refused to give up, trying once, twice, three times… each time receiving the same response. She gripped the phone tightly, her knuckles turning white from the pressure, tears silently streaming down her much-aged face.

On the small bed in the flower shop's attic, Jiang Yining plugged in her phone charger, intending to turn it on after it had charged a little, but she fell asleep from exhaustion while waiting.

Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the city, a lone lamp burned all night. Jiang's mother sat listlessly by the bay window in her bedroom, the curtains drawn only a crack, letting in the dim light of the streetlamp outside. Stubbornly, she pressed the call button on her phone screen again and again. Each time, the cold, electronic female voice repeated the same verdict in a flat tone: "Sorry, the number you dialed is currently unavailable..."

She dared not tell her husband, Mr. Jiang, nor dared she disturb her son, Jiang Yunting, who was already married and had a career. She knew that in this family, the name "Ningning" had long been a taboo subject.

The devastating loss eight years ago shattered this family beyond recognition. Jiang's mother, once gentle and cheerful, turned mostly white overnight, resigned from her beloved teaching job, and was plagued by moderate depression. In her darkest hour, she even contemplated following her daughter in death.

It was her family's terrified cries and timely rescue that pulled her back from the brink of death.

After that, Jiang's father resolutely resigned from his respected professorship at the university and stayed by her side without leaving for a moment. Jiang Yunting also matured quickly, clumsily but firmly supporting the crumbling family.

With medication, psychological counseling, and the careful care of her family, she finally crawled back from the edge of the abyss, seemingly regaining her composure on the surface. But only she knew that beneath that calm surface lay an unfillable void.

Any ripple related to "Lemon" is enough to unleash a monstrous wave that could completely engulf her.

So she dared not speak. She feared the worried and pained looks in her husband's and son's eyes, feared their rational analysis that this was nothing more than a new type of telecom fraud—first, they would feign illness to gain sympathy, and then they would demand money. She feared that her pitiful "normality," which they had desperately tried to protect and build up, would collapse again because of this phone call.

But she was even more afraid of... missing out.

That voice… that tearful “Mama,” that broken sob… it was so similar. It was the voice she carried for ten months, cherished and nurtured for twenty years, the voice etched into her very bones.

Even if the other party was a fraudster, even if it meant her death, just being able to hear that voice again would feel like God had opened his eyes and granted her a moment of salvation.

In the darkness, she buried her face in her knees, her suppressed sobs sounding especially desolate in the silent room. The faint light from her phone screen illuminated her tear-streaked face, displaying the unknown number she had dialed hundreds of times.