Chapter 211 Politeness and Distance

The sound of a nurse pushing a cart came from the end of the corridor, and a child was crying in the distance. There was a faint smell of disinfectant in the air.

She felt as if her heart was being pulled by two hands: on one side was the wariness and prejudice that had formed over many years, and on the other side was her deep love for her son.

After a long while, she finally spoke, her voice a little dry: "I understand."

These three words were spoken with extreme difficulty, as if they were being squeezed out little by little from the depths of the throat.

She couldn't express "support" or "blessing," she could only reluctantly acknowledge the existence of this fact.

"I'll be more careful in the future."

This statement seems more like a remark made to himself.

She knew that continuing to strongly oppose it would only create a rift between mother and son.

She didn't want to lose her son, even if it meant facing a woman she didn't approve of.

Fu Lian'an's eyes lit up immediately. "Are you serious?"

His tone was filled with unbelievable surprise, like finally seeing the first ray of sunshine after days of continuous rain.

He stared intently at his mother's face, afraid that he had misheard her words or that she was just being perfunctory out of a moment of weakness.

"Um."

Song Yazhi forced a smile, "Since you care about her so much, Mom... is willing to get along well with her."

Her smile was faint, her lips stiffly turned up, but she still managed to respond.

She knew this was the biggest concession she could offer at the moment.

Even though she still felt resistance, she didn't want to hurt her son's feelings at this time.

Fu Lian breathed a sigh of relief and quickly stood up. "Thank you, Mom! Shall I take you home?"

The gloom on his face vanished instantly, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He reached out to take the thermos from his mother's hand, his movements quick and attentive.

"Need not."

Song Yazhi waved her hand, "You should be with your wife now."

When she said the word "wife," she paused slightly, as if she was deliberately practicing her pronunciation.

But she still said it, even if it was somewhat reluctant, it was still a change in attitude.

Only after watching his mother's figure turn the corner of the corridor and disappear completely did Fu Li'an let out a heavy sigh of relief.

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and felt the long-lost ease in his chest.

He knew this hurdle wouldn't be easy, but he finally got through it.

At least, her mother no longer constantly criticizes Qingqing, and that's enough.

He turned and walked towards the ward, his steps light as if he were flying.

Every step is in step with hope.

He imagined that when he told Qiao Wanyin the news later, she would open her eyes wide, rush up and hug him, smiling like a child who had received candy.

But at the corner, Song Yazhi stopped.

Her silhouette appeared exceptionally silent under the dim light.

She didn't continue walking forward, but slowly stopped, turned her body slightly to the side, and looked through the empty corridor toward the ward that belonged to Qiao Wanyin.

She turned and stared in the direction of the ward, her eyes as cold as ice.

All the gentleness and compromise from before vanished at this moment.

Her eyes sharpened and became wary again, like a mother beast guarding her territory, scrutinizing any potential threat.

She pulled out the note Fang Xiaoju had secretly slipped to her from her pocket. It was covered with notes detailing Qiao Wanyin's recent activities.

The handwriting was messy but detailed: what time she got up, what medicine she took, who she talked to on the phone, and even details of how she once squatted down in the hospital garden to feed stray cats.

Each record exudes an unsettling sense of being spied on.

"Trying to take my son away?"

She muttered to herself, crumpling the note into a ball and clutching it tightly in her hand, "We'll wait and see."

Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible, yet it was filled with a chilling determination.

Her knuckles turned white from the force, and the edge of the crumpled paper pierced her palm, causing a slight pain that, ironically, made her even more alert.

How could a woman with such strange behavior and a terrible reputation be worthy of my outstanding son?

This thought churned in her mind and lingered for a long time.

She doesn't believe in any "special feeling," let alone so-called "sincerity."

She only believes in reality, her family background, and the rules.

Qiao Wanyin—this girl of unknown origin and ambiguous background—is not subject to these rules at all.

A few days later, Qiao Wanyin was finally discharged from the hospital.

The morning sunlight shone on the steps of the hospital building. She was wearing a light blue hospital gown that had been altered into an outer garment, carrying a small cloth bag. Although her steps were still a little unsteady, her face had regained its usual radiance.

Fu Li'an was waiting downstairs early, holding a bunch of sunflowers in his hands, his smile as bright as the rising sun.

In recent days, Song Yazhi's attitude has become noticeably more gentle.

The cold and sarcastic demeanor that was originally there seemed to have been quietly hidden away, replaced by an unusually amiable expression.

She no longer nitpicked about the saltiness of the food upon meeting her, nor did she comment on Qiao Wanyin's clothing.

Although the change is subtle, it is particularly noteworthy.

"Qingqing, Mom has cooked some millet porridge. Drink some while it's hot."

She placed a steaming bowl of porridge in front of Qiao Wanyin, her tone so gentle it was almost unfamiliar.

The millet porridge in the bowl is golden and thick, with a thin layer of oil floating on the surface, and it also exudes a warm aroma.

Her fingers gently touched the rim of the bowl, her movements were extremely careful, as if she were afraid of burning her daughter-in-law.

Qiao Wanyin looked up and met her mother-in-law's seemingly warm gaze, and smiled slightly: "Thank you, Mom."

Her smile was calm and polite, with a slight curve at the corners of her eyes, but without any deep emotional fluctuations.

Those clear eyes glanced at Song Yazhi quietly, then lowered their gaze, as if they knew everything but were unwilling to expose it.

She took the bowl, but instead of drinking it immediately, she placed it aside to cool.

The heat from the porcelain bowl slowly dissipated, and the rising steam gradually thinned out.

She wasn't in a hurry to savor this sudden "thoughtfulness," but simply sat there quietly, as if waiting for something, or perhaps observing something.

A hint of displeasure flashed in Song Yazhi's eyes, but she quickly put on a smile again: "This child, why are you being so polite with your mother?"

She spoke words of affection, but her voice was slightly stiff, and the smile didn't fully reach her eyes.

That hint of dissatisfaction flashed by, like an undercurrent beneath the water, gone in an instant.

She turned around, opened the cabinet, and took out a metal box, her movements slightly deliberate: "This is walnut shortbread that Mom specially had someone bring back from Shanghai. Try it."

It was an old iron box with peeling red paint and some rust on the edges, clearly indicating that it had been stored for a long time.

She gently pushed the box to Qiao Wanyin's side, her eyes filled with a mixture of expectation and uncertainty.

Qiao Wanyin took it, rubbed her fingers on the bottom of the box, and sure enough, she felt a thin layer of dust.

The dust is fine, and it turns slightly black when it sticks to your fingertips.

She wiped her hands discreetly, already having made her judgment—this box had been sitting there for at least half a year, and the so-called "specially brought back" was nothing more than digging out old stock from the bottom of a drawer.

This box has been sitting there for at least six months.

It used to be a snack that the family would only open during festivals, but now it is being given away as a "special gift".

Qiao Wanyin sneered inwardly, but showed no sign of it on her face.