Chapter 263 Depression

But he dared not ask, nor dared he mention it.

But every time he ate, he would steal glances at this person and then at that person, his eyes filled with unease.

Qiao Wanyin was so busy with kindergarten work that she barely had time to breathe. Every day she had to pick up and drop off the children, prepare lesson plans, and deal with parents. She was so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open.

But what's heavier than the body is the stone weighing on the heart.

Until that day, while tidying up old things, she accidentally found a small rag doll—the stitches were crooked, but it was sewn with extra care.

A note was hanging on the doll: "For Xiaoxianxiu, I hope he likes it."

She was stunned.

Then I pulled out a few hand-knitted hats, the yarn was soft, and the colors were all cartoon colors that the children liked best.

Each item had a label: "For Xianxiu," "For the chubby boy downstairs," "For the new little girl in the class," and so on.

At that moment, it felt as if a tiny needle had pierced her heart, causing her so much pain that she could barely breathe.

It turns out she was still doing these things quietly.

It turns out she wasn't completely indifferent to this family.

But when she recalled those past scenes—Song Yazhi scolding her in front of the whole family as an "ungrateful wretch," joining forces with Fang Wanyu to kick her out of the house, and even refusing to visit her once when she was hospitalized…

The initial warmth quickly receded, like the tide going out, leaving only cold sand.

Fu Li'an saw all of this.

He watched her suffer from insomnia at night, watched her stare blankly at her phone, watched her sit on the balcony with her knees drawn up, saying nothing.

He also saw Song Yazhi secretly wiping away tears, staring blankly at her son's photo, and unable to eat a single bite of the meal she had prepared.

He was caught in the middle, like a string stretched to its limit.

He repeatedly urged Song Yazhi to say more and get closer; and he repeatedly comforted Qiao Wanyin: "Don't rush, take it slow."

He helped Qiao Wanyin explain Song Yazhi's stubbornness and defended Song Yazhi's helplessness back then.

No matter how hard he tried, the two people remained outwardly calm, but there was still a thick wall separating their hearts.

That wall wasn't built in a day, nor will it collapse because of a few words.

That evening, the setting sun dyed half the sky red.

Fu Lian was tidying up the clutter in the yard when he suddenly felt someone pat him hard on the shoulder.

"Old Fu!"

It was Old Zhou, my comrade-in-arms, with that familiar smile on his face. "Same place tonight, wanna have a drink?"

Normally, he would definitely shake his head and refuse.

There are a lot going on at home. My wife is feeling down, my mother is preoccupied, and my son needs my company.

He has no interest in drinking.

But today, as he looked up at the fading sunset and then at his calloused hands, he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He opened his mouth, but then, as if possessed, nodded: "Okay, I'll go."

The lights were dim and the atmosphere was quiet at the dinner table.

Several dishes of peanuts were placed in the middle, and a plate of thinly and neatly sliced ​​braised beef was still steaming.

Old Zhou skillfully unscrewed the cap of the liquor bottle and poured a full glass for each of them.

The liquor was clear and crisp, reflecting an amber light under the lamp.

He pushed his wine glass towards Fu Lian, his tone steady: "You've been acting like you've lost your soul lately. You walk with your head down, talk listlessly, and even when you're playing cards, you're distracted. Don't keep it to yourself, tell me. Your brother's right here."

The strong liquor was poured down my throat in one gulp, burning my chest like hot coals. Every sip was stinging, as if it were burning all the way from my throat to my stomach.

Fu Li'an's eyes slowly reddened, and a thin layer of moisture rose in his eyes, but he held back his tears and stared intently at the wine glass, as if trying to see a hole through the remaining wine.

After three drinks, the alcohol gradually eroded his fragile rationality. He finally couldn't hold back anymore. His lips trembled slightly as he poured out all the mess at home, his voice filled with exhaustion and grievance. "I'm like a sandwich sandwiched between two doors. Everyone dislikes me, and everyone can yell at me."

He laughed self-deprecatingly, a bitter smile curving his lips. "My mother swallowed all her pride from back then just to appease her. But the wall in Wan Yin's heart is unyielding, like it's made of reinforced concrete, impervious to wind and rain."

Old Zhou frowned, picked up his wine glass, took a big gulp, swallowed hard, and then slowly said, "Women are sensitive, you have to be patient. A family can't be all about logic, you have to be gentle. How about we ask an outsider to mediate? Find a respected elder, or a community mediator or something?"

"Who should I look for?"

Fu Li'an looked distressed, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously. "Neither side of our families are here, and we can't even get through on the phone. We can't exactly ask Aunt Wang from next door to mediate, can we? She can't even speak Mandarin properly; she'd only make things worse if she went."

Old Li scratched the back of his head, clicked his tongue, and said thoughtfully, "I think you should build a bridge between them. Have your mother help Wanyin with chores more, even if it's just sweeping the floor or washing the dishes, so she won't feel like she's being treated like an outsider."

"Isn't your wife busy with that kindergarten thing? She leaves early and comes home late every day, looking exhausted. If your mother could lend a hand, her temper would naturally soften over time. People are all made of flesh and blood; how can she stay cold forever?"

"I helped, but it was completely useless."

Fu Li'an downed another glass, a little wine spilling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't wipe it away, letting it slide into his collar. "My mom did help, but Wan Yin didn't appreciate it. She said it wasn't necessary, that she was afraid she wouldn't do it well, and that she thought my mom was too slow. Actually, she didn't think my mom was doing a bad job; she just hated her presence."

Old Zhang, who hadn't spoken until now, suddenly raised his head, staring straight at him, his voice low but clear: "Old Fu, do you remember the last time we went on a mission, the two platoons had a fight, and how did you make up in the end?"

Fu Li'an narrowed his eyes, frowned and thought for a while, as if searching deep in his memory, "We went through a dangerous mission together. A flash flood struck and the whole team was trapped. When our lives were hanging by a thread, who had time to bicker? Back then, if you broke an arm, someone would carry you; if you sprained your ankle, someone would help you up. It was impossible to tell who was whose opponent."

As he staggered to his feet, Old Zhang's words still echoed in his ears, like a needle piercing his muddled mind: "Create a difficult situation, tie them together on one rope."

The streetlight cast his long shadow, which was projected obliquely onto the mottled wall, like a lonely silhouette.

Alcohol made my head spin, my steps unsteady, and my head throbbing, but then one word popped into my head—

"depression……"

Old Zhang used this term, saying it was a new disease that had emerged in city hospitals, and that the experts talked about it all the time. To put it bluntly, it meant "having no energy for anything," no taste in food, restless sleep, and even too lazy to cry.

He thought to himself: This job doesn't seem too difficult to perform.

If we pretend to have some bad luck and make them panic, perhaps things will turn around.

The next morning, Fu Lian woke up earlier than usual.

As dawn broke outside the window, morning light streamed in through the gaps in the curtains, casting a pale gray band of light on the floor.

Qiao Wanyin was still asleep, her breathing light and steady, her chest rising and falling slightly, and her eyelashes fluttering gently in the light.