Chapter 272 Sweet Words

He pulled her into his arms, tightening his grip as if he wanted to embed her into his very bones: "Wanyin... thank you."

"No need to thank me."

She chuckled softly, her voice muffled against his chest, carrying a hint of coquettishness, "We're family, why talk about this? We have a long life ahead of us, let's live it together, she's my mother now too."

These words, like a thin thread, almost brought tears to his eyes when gently tugged.

That thread runs very deep, reaching the softest part of my heart; it hurts at the slightest touch, and the pain makes me want to cry.

He silently vowed in his heart—when the time came, he would tell her the whole truth.

The lies told about Fang Wanyu, the innocence of her mother, and why she had concealed the truth back then...

He wanted to tell her every single word without holding back a single detail.

Fu Lian'an's "illness" gradually improved, his complexion became rosy day by day, he walked with more energy, and even spoke with a smile.

The atmosphere at home gradually changed, becoming more lively day by day, like a frozen river finally thawing and flowing with warm spring water.

Song Yazhi makes her favorite desserts every day, such as glutinous rice balls, mung bean cakes, and osmanthus pastries, and makes them in different varieties.

Every time Qiao Wanyin came home from get off work, there was always a small plate of food on the table that was still warm, along with a note that said: "Eat it while it's hot, don't let it get cold."

Qiao Wanyin would also secretly buy her mother-in-law a scarf, a pair of socks, and even secretly ask someone to send her the mugwort foot patches that she often talked about from the south.

The items are small, but each one is thoughtful.

The two often went to the market together, one picking out vegetables and the other bargaining, their conversation flowing smoothly and perfectly in sync.

When she meets acquaintances, Song Yazhi always smiles and says, "This is my daughter-in-law. She has a very discerning eye and has never picked a bad dish."

Qiao Wanyin blushed and nudged her, saying, "Mom."

Even Aunt Wang downstairs said, "Oh my, these two, mother and daughter-in-law, are just like a real mother and daughter. They go out together every day, always laughing together. It's so heartwarming to see them."

The kindergarten's operations were on track, its reputation grew, and it gradually spread to several nearby communities.

Parents say, "Principal Qiao is conscientious, the teachers are responsible, and the children not only have a good time there, but also learn to share and be polite."

Leaders from several organizations have asked people to put in a good word for them, wanting to send their children over, and some are even willing to pay extra.

But Qiao Wanyin always adhered to one principle: military families should be given priority.

She said, "Their parents guard the border and carry guns; it is our responsibility to take care of their children."

On this day, the kindergarten held a parent-child day, inviting parents to watch their children attend classes and experience half a day of school life.

Song Yazhi arrived just as dawn broke, earlier than anyone else.

She was wearing a simple cotton coat and an apron, busy hanging up the children's drawings, arranging snacks, tidying up the toy corner, and even carefully sticking anti-collision strips on the corners of the table.

"Director Qiao, is this your mother?"

A parent walked over with a smile and pointed to Song Yazhi, who was teaching her child origami, saying, "She's so capable, teaching step by step without finding it troublesome at all."

Qiao Wanyin looked over and saw Song Yazhi squatting on the ground, with a small towel under her knees, patiently teaching a little girl how to fold a rabbit.

She moved slowly, demonstrating again and again, explaining in a soft voice.

Sunlight streamed obliquely through the window, falling on her graying temples and illuminating the light in her eyes—a pure, heartfelt tenderness and joy.

She smiled and nodded: "Yes, my mom is very skillful."

The voice was soft, with a hint of pride, like a spring breeze rippling across a lake.

Her lips curled slightly upward, and her eyes shone, as if she were not talking about her mother's skills, but recounting a warm memory.

Her tone was intimate and dependent, as if reminding herself and declaring to others that behind her was an ordinary yet incredibly solid support.

Song Yazhi's hand trembled, and the colored paper almost fell to the ground.

It was a bright red paper-cut with unfinished lace trim along the edges, like a flower that had not yet bloomed.

Her fingers trembled suddenly, and the paper slipped from her fingertips, narrowly missing the floor.

Fortunately, she reacted quickly, hooking her wrist to barely catch the corner of the paper.

She glanced down at the paper-cut, then looked up at Qiao Wanyin. Her expression changed slightly, and her lips pursed, as if something had suddenly exploded in her heart.

She looked up abruptly, staring at Qiao Wanyin in disbelief—her eyes were like sunlight shining into an ice cave, warm and bright.

In that gaze, there was shock, doubt, and an undisguised wavering.

She stared at Qiao Wanyin, as if seeing her clearly for the first time.

In the past, in her eyes, this daughter-in-law was just a lukewarm, timid, and submissive shadow. But now, that shadow has suddenly become clear, three-dimensional, and even has light.

The light pierced the ice in her heart, leaving her stunned and a strange warmth welling up inside her.

After the event, Song Yazhi volunteered to stay and help clean up.

The crowd gradually dispersed, the children's laughter faded into the distance, and the classroom returned to silence.

Instead of leaving in a hurry as usual, she quietly picked up the scattered colored paper and straightened the tables and chairs one by one.

Her movements were very light, as if she was afraid of disturbing something.

Qiao Wanyin glanced at her, then silently picked up a broom. The two busied themselves one after the other, a subtle understanding flowing in the air.

"Aunt Song?"

A familiar voice suddenly came from the doorway.

The voice was sweet with a deliberate submissiveness, like a knife coated in icing sugar—pleasing to the ear, but actually concealing a sharp edge.

A figure stood in the doorway, light streaming in from behind her, outlining a familiar silhouette.

They both turned around at the same time.

Their movements were almost identical, as if they were being pulled by the same thread.

Qiao Wanyin's hand froze in mid-air, her fingertips still clutching a handful of scraps of paper; Song Yazhi slowly straightened up, her expression shifting from calm to wary.

Their gazes both fell on the person at the door, and the air instantly froze.

Fang Wanyu stood there, holding a basket of fruit in her hand, a smile plastered on her face, but her eyes were as cold as frost.

The fruit basket was brand new, with rosy apples, plump grapes, and neatly arranged bananas, showing great sincerity.

But her smile froze on her face, her lips curving into a forced smile, as if measured with a ruler.

Her eyes, however, were not as gentle as her smile. Instead, they were like the frozen surface of a lake on a winter night, coldly sweeping over the two people in the room. They lingered on Qiao Wanyin for a moment, revealing undisguised hostility.

Qiao Wanyin froze, her gaze instinctively drifting towards her mother-in-law.

Her back tensed instantly, and her fingers curled slightly, as if instinctively seeking support.

She didn't look directly at Fang Wanyu, but instead glanced at Song Yazhi, her eyes filled with tension, unease, and a hint of uncertainty—how would her mother-in-law react?

Will I be like before, easily swayed by sweet words and softened?

Song Yazhi's face instantly fell: "What are you doing here?"

She slammed the rag into the bucket with a thud.

The sound was cold and hard, devoid of any warmth, like an iron gate being rattled by the wind in winter.

She stared directly at Fang Wanyu, her brows furrowed, her tone full of impatience and defensiveness.