Chapter 69 Will they kiss at this table too?

"What's wrong with Yuanbao?" Su Cheng gripped the receiver and blurted out.

As soon as she finished speaking, she belatedly pursed her lips.

It's just a kitten from the neighbor's house that she met by chance. Shouldn't she be more concerned about it?

"Can't eat, can't sleep well, seems to be experiencing separation anxiety."

On the other end of the old-fashioned telephone, Jiang Muzhou's voice carried a slight electrical static, sounding distant and indistinct.

Slender fingers wound around the telephone cord, round and round.

The neat spiral lines were now a jumbled mess, just like her chaotic thoughts.

Hearing his voice again, it wasn't as cheerful as I'd heard it on the monitor yesterday; instead, it was much lower, as if shrouded in an indescribable sorrow.

Su Cheng couldn't help but think to herself, "Shouldn't Yuanbao be so happy to see his mother that his tail wags like a little fan and he's whirring like a little motorcycle?"

Could it be that Yuanbao is still thinking about her after she left, which is why he is so depressed?

Recalling the scene of Jiang Muzhou kissing and hugging Yuanbao that she saw on the surveillance camera, she lowered her eyelids slightly, forcibly suppressing the inexplicable sourness in her heart.

“It’s possible that you’ve been too affectionate with Yuanbao since you came back from your business trip.” She tried to remain calm and offered him professional advice: “You could try desensitizing it like we did before.”

"I... I don't quite remember the specifics of how to do it." The person on the other end of the phone paused, a rare hint of uncertainty in their voice. "Could you please come over?"

Su Cheng closed her sore eyes.

The time they spent together doing desensitization training for Yuanbao marked the beginning of their long-awaited reunion. She would repeatedly bring it up from her memories to relive it, but he had already forgotten it.

She bit her lower lip, her heart churning.

If I go there now, will I happen to stumble upon a happy family scene of the three of them?

That would be so embarrassing.

"I have something to take care of," she ultimately declined. "You can pretend to go out, and in five minutes..."

“I can wait no matter how late.” Jiang Muzhou’s voice was unusually urgent, a tone she had never heard before, almost out of control. Seeing that she still hadn’t given in, he suddenly brought it up, “You said you could promise me one thing, and that you would be there whenever I called, as long as it was something you could do.”

Jiang Muzhou paused, deliberately lowering his voice as if cautiously inquiring, "Does this promise still stand?"

Jiang Muzhou's words reminded Su Cheng of the scene from that time.

He didn't blame her for the accidental kiss, nor did he deliberately distance himself afterward. He simply reminded her that if it had been someone else, it might have hurt her.

She untangled the telephone cord that had been wrapped around her for so long and looked down to see several faint red marks on her fingertips from the coil.

I didn't feel it when it was tense, but now that it's relaxed, I feel a slight tingling sensation.

Perhaps it was precisely because he always treated her every transgression without setting boundaries and with near-indulgence that her originally docile heart quietly developed these unwarranted desires.

She shouldn't have mistaken his gentle nature for special favoritism.

Su Cheng rubbed her slightly swollen temples.

Thinking about what her mother had just said, she guessed that Jiang Muzhou must have contacted her through Wang Yuemeng's parents. All this trouble, just to insist that she go see Yuanbao.

The cat's life is at stake, but the child is innocent.

To be fair, Jiang Muzhou had never done anything to wrong her; on the contrary, she was always the one receiving help from him.

If Yuanbao were to get into trouble because of her shady thoughts, she would never forgive herself.

She swallowed the dryness and struggle in her throat, and finally relented, "Okay, I'm coming over now."

-

Standing at the entrance of 1801 once again.

The restless curiosity that Su Cheng had shown the first time she came was gone, as were the shyness and anticipation she had shown on subsequent visits. And the bitterness and heartache that had almost overwhelmed her when she stared at this door last night were also gone.

She had to make herself appear calm and composed.

At the very least, you can't let anyone see through the turmoil in your heart.

The rain outside the window has stopped.

But in Su Cheng's heart, a damp mist still lingered, refusing to dissipate.

She knew the password to the door, and the position of those numbers had even become muscle memory.

But from now on, she probably won't be able to press those buttons and push the door open as casually as before.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, her knuckles tapping on the cold door panel, only to find that the door was ajar and not locked.

She instinctively tilted her head and listened intently to the sounds inside the room. There was no lively conversation or tender whispers as she had imagined, only an almost stagnant silence, like a pool of still water.

She took a deep breath, as if to gather some courage, and then pulled the knitted cardigan draped over her shoulders before finally stepping into the house.

On the doormat at the entrance, her usual pair of white plush slippers were neatly placed.

Was it prepared especially for her?

Or... was it worn by another person belonging to this family, temporarily taken off, and left here?

She looked away, not touching the slippers, but instead turned around, opened the shoe cabinet drawer, and took out disposable shoe covers to put on her own shoes.

Just like when she first came, the boundaries were clear, and she never crossed the line.

In the vase on top of the shoe cabinet was the bouquet of ice cream lisianthus she had specially bought a few days ago.

The tender green leaves set off the light pink gradient petals, but now, the edges of the petals have curled up with traces of withered yellow.

Jiang Muzhou's home is decorated in a calm, grayish tone. The living room is Yuanbao's domain, while the study is like a showroom for his expensive photography equipment.

Su Cheng felt that this place lacked the warmth that a "home" should have, so she took it upon herself to buy this bouquet of flowers, thinking that she would place it where he could see it as soon as he entered the door.

When he returns, the first thing he will see is at least this vibrant, life-filled color, and he will know that someone is waiting for him and hoping for his return.

Perhaps he didn't even notice her unnecessary action.

Or perhaps, someone will soon settle here permanently, waiting for him in this house, hoping for his return.

She hesitated for a moment, then softly called out, "Jiang Muzhou?"

The room remained quiet, and no one answered.

Is he locked in his study, frantically editing videos because of the controversy surrounding her involvement with the shelter?

Or perhaps, it was that his "white moonlight" (idealized love interest) who set the rules, requiring him to keep his distance from all women and adhere to male virtues?

That's fine.

Su Cheng breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, she only came to check on Yuanbao's condition.

She hadn't figured out how to face him yet.

She started walking and headed towards the living room alone.

The first time she came to feed the cats, she found Yuanbao under the sofa in the living room.

Back then, Yuanbao was timid and shy, a far cry from the little guy who now rolls around her legs and acts all cute.

But I'm afraid I'll never have the chance to play with it like this again.

Su Cheng walked towards the living room, and the road suddenly seemed exceptionally long.

A faint floral fragrance wafted in the air, and even though her nose was stuffy, the scent stubbornly crept into her nostrils.

It wasn't the smell of the bunch of lisianthus she had stuck on the shoe cabinet.

Did the other person bring these flowers?

Or... was it a gift he personally chose for that person?

Roses are too flamboyant, and lilies seem too tacky; it's hard to imagine any flower that would suit Jiang Muzhou.

As she passed the restaurant, she deliberately turned her face away, forcing herself not to look in the direction of that table.

That dining table holds too many memories that she dares not easily touch.

Will they eat together at this table too?

Will they kiss at this table too?

Su Cheng pushed open the living room door.

Autumn days are short, and with the weather being overcast, it was already dusk when the room became dim.

A ring of spotlights was turned on in the living room, casting a warm, hazy glow. The familiar Ralph Lauren geometric rug and the Scandinavian-style wooden cat tree were still in sight.

Her gaze swept around the room, but she didn't see Jiang Muzhou. Instead, she spotted Yuanbao curled up on the sofa.

The little guy wrapped himself up in his shirt like a fluffy cat burrito, with only his round head showing. His turquoise eyes were staring straight at her, as if he knew she would come.

"Little Yuanbao, what's wrong? You can't even eat?" Su Cheng gently coaxed it while walking over to check the shirt.

The collar was neat, and the buttons were all intact, showing no signs of the scratching and biting it had done when it was experiencing separation anxiety.

Su Cheng couldn't suppress the tickling sensation in her throat and coughed softly.

She untied the shirt that was wrapped around Yuanbao, and the freed child immediately lay sprawled on his back, his soft belly spread out, maintaining this defenseless position for several seconds, as if enjoying the stretch after being freed from restraints.

Before she could even reach out to rub it, Yuanbao leaped lightly to the cat bowl and began wolfing down its cat food.

Su Cheng frowned.

Yuanbao doesn't look like he has separation anxiety at all.

Just as I was wondering, the living room lights suddenly dimmed, followed by a series of creaking mechanical noises.

She turned around at the sound and saw a projector, which she had never noticed before, slowly and steadily descending from the dark layer of the pure white ceiling.

It froze in mid-air, a beam of light struck the blank wall opposite, the light and shadow gradually converged, and the image became clearer and clearer.

The video has started playing.

The scene shows a rather simple courtyard with a cement floor and mud-brick walls, where dozens of stray cats and hundreds of stray dogs roam in the limited space.

The paralyzed little yellow dog lay quietly in the corner, a wrinkled and calloused hand holding a comb, gently brushing away its tangled fur.

The camera slowly pans up and focuses on a woman with gray hair, dressed in a simple cotton coat.

“I’m 70 years old this year. I’ve been doing animal rescue for exactly 25 years. I’m getting old, I have no children, and my parents have passed away long ago.” Her voice was slow and hoarse as she gently pounded her swollen knee with her fist. “The fluid buildup here is severe, and it hurts to walk. I don’t know how much longer I can live. The only thing I can’t let go of in this world is these animals.”

“Its name is Xiao Le, and it’s ten years old. It was almost sent to a dog meat restaurant back then, but I bought it for two hundred yuan.” She bent down and picked up a small black and white dog, gently placing it on her lap, her voice filled with indescribable sorrow, “Two hundred yuan could have bought its life back.”

The video gradually turns black, and white text appears line by line:

Stray animals are neglected lives in the corners of this society; all they ask for is to live a peaceful and stable life.

Most shots focus on how lucky the rescued animals are, but when the camera turns to the rescuers, it reveals another story of suffering that is often overlooked.

New faces are appearing one after another.

A haggard-looking woman whispered, “I’m 58 years old. The shelter has rescued 300 stray animals. I have high blood pressure, benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV), and a host of other ailments… Sometimes I really want to just die, but I can’t. If I die, no one will take care of them.”

Another elderly woman with gray hair smiled bitterly, “I’m 65 years old this year, and I’ve been doing rescue work since I was 38. My ex-husband divorced me, and my parents kicked me out of the house. Now these hundreds of cats and dogs are about to run out of food. I don’t know if this will be their last winter.”

There are many misunderstandings among the public about stray animal rescue. In reality, most are small, individually supported shelters where rescuers barely manage to feed the animals on their meager incomes. A lucky few, especially those that are good-looking and have friendly personalities, might be adopted, but the rest—the old, disabled, or shy—will likely remain there for their entire lives, depending on their rescuers for survival.

Looking at the familiar and unfamiliar faces in the picture, Su Cheng felt a pang of sadness.

Among these rescuers were many she had heard of before.

Many of them could have lived comfortably in big cities, enjoying their retirement and family life, but because of the tenderness in their hearts, they devoted everything to protecting those homeless animals.

Some rescuers themselves suffer from various ailments, yet they are reluctant to see a doctor, always thinking that if they can just hold on a little longer and save a little money, the animals can have an extra meal.

The fingernails dug into the soft flesh of the palm.

Su Cheng blinked hard, trying to stop the tears that were welling up from falling.

She knew she didn't have their selfless love.

She has been looking for a more sustainable way to truly help stray animals without making life so difficult for rescuers.

She originally thought that by leveraging the popularity of short videos and operating surrounding shops and mini-programs, she had already made steady progress on this path, not only saving lives in front of her, but also spreading the concept of "adopting instead of buying".

However, her "success" actually brought about this devastating storm.

“I am 32 years old this year and have been doing rescue work for twelve years.”

Hearing that familiar voice, Su Cheng was stunned for a moment; it was Wendy.

“It costs 5,000 yuan to treat a kitten with a broken bone, and 1,000 yuan a month to feed 50 cats. For the first ten years, the rescue station was almost always losing money. During the hardest time, I borrowed money from all my relatives and friends, and now I can’t even hold my head up in front of people. I’ve been in arrears on the hospital’s treatment fees for several years and still haven’t been able to pay them back.”

“But every time I see those little lives abandoned at the door of the shelter, what can I do? I grit my teeth and swallow my anger, I still have to save them.” Wendy’s gaze slowly swept across the camera, as if looking at everyone who might see this video. “But do you know what? Lives can be bought with money.”

"There's nothing shameful about making money from traffic. Without a stable source of income, these animals would just have to wait to die." Wendy looked directly at the camera, her tone firm. "Every penny we earn is spent on the animals, clearly and transparently, with verifiable records. Why should rescue workers be left to live on meager rations? Why should we have to sacrifice our own lives? I wish everyone involved in animal rescue could make a lot of money."

The final scene of the video freezes on a pure black background with striking white text:

[Focusing on animal rescue is not about glorifying suffering. Kind people deserve to be treated gently by this world.]

Su Cheng stared blankly at the screen.

She knew Jiang Muzhou's filming skills, but she never expected that he would specifically use such a documentary focusing on the real situation of rescuers to respond to the overwhelming negative public opinion.

The rescuers featured in the film are scattered all over the country, but from the filming techniques to the visual language, they all bear a distinct personal style, clearly the work of the filmmaker himself.

But only half a day has passed since she was attacked by marketing accounts this morning, so it's impossible for him to have filmed and produced so much material in such a short time.

As my thoughts were in turmoil, the previously dark screen lit up again.

The sound of rain pattering softly and clearly came from the speakers.

It was Su Cheng, who was eighteen years old.