Chapter 265 Stubbornness
He couldn't remember the day her face became haggard, nor could he recall how she had held him, who had a fever, all night without sleep.
But when she called him "Bian Jiang," her tone was like a lightning bolt, cleaving through his hazy memories.
It wasn't the visuals or the plot, but the deep-seated sense of familiarity that made him tremble.
That tone was so gentle, so gentle it made you want to cry.
It is not blame, not accusation, but rather a compassionate tolerance.
She didn't scold him for being heartless, nor did she mention that he had abandoned his family. She simply said softly, "Go live your own life."
But it was precisely this gentleness that was more unbearable for him than any harsh words.
He wanted to agree, but his mouth was sealed shut, and he couldn't utter a single word.
He opened his mouth, but his throat was so dry and painful.
He wanted to say "okay," to nod, to agree to all her requests, but his body seemed to be out of his control.
He wanted to say "I'm sorry," and wanted to kneel down and admit his mistake, but the words fell into silence.
Even he himself didn't understand why he just couldn't bring himself to speak.
His heart was churning with turmoil, and he had a thousand words stuck in his throat, but he just couldn't utter a single one.
He didn't understand why, when faced with the woman who gave him life and bore everything for him, he was like a mute, unable to give her a single response.
“Lately, I’ve been walking around the hospital area every day.”
He said in a low voice, "I heard you're praying for your child... I'm the father, I can't not show up."
His voice was low and almost drowned out by the sound of rain outside the window.
He spoke with difficulty, each word seeming to be squeezed out from his chest.
He dared not look up, but could only stare at the table, watching the edges of the documents gleam faintly under the light.
Shen Cuifen smiled, but her eyes were wet with tears: "I'm content with this sentiment. Dajun, our fate has come to an end. You should go."
She smiled, the corners of her mouth slightly raised, but there was no joy in that smile, only relief and a trace of sadness that she couldn't hide.
Tears welled up in her eyes, eventually sliding down her cheeks.
She finished speaking softly, as if she had unloaded a burden that had weighed on her for a lifetime.
She turned her head and looked at Song Yu'an.
After all, he was her own son, and she hoped he would ask her to stay.
Her gaze found Song Yu'an, carrying a faint hint of expectation.
That was the last soft spot in her heart—she hoped her son would say something, even a word of reproach, which would be better than silence.
But she also knew that it was almost impossible.
Song Yu'an looked at Zhou Dajun's face, which was filled with struggle and pain in his eyes.
He saw it very clearly.
That wasn't the face of a bad person, but the face of a man torn apart by fate, tormented by regret.
His eyes held pain, guilt, and unspeakable regret.
But Song Yu'an neither moved nor spoke.
He knew that this parting would be forever.
"Xiao Shui and the child are the most important."
He said in a low but firm voice, as if every word had been carefully considered, “I will deliver the divorce papers again, and then go see Xiaoshui. It’s too hard for her to bear it all alone, I need to make sure she and the children are alright.”
Zhou Dajun understood that they didn't blame him anymore.
There was no resentment in the eyes of the family members, only silent acceptance and a faint pity.
But precisely because of this, he could no longer stay.
He knew that he had long become a shadow in their lives. Even if they stopped arguing, his very existence was like an unhealed wound, reminding them of the cracks in the past.
Leaving it will only cause the wound to tear open again and again.
He glanced at Shen Cuifen one last time, his lips moved slightly, but he ultimately didn't say a word.
A thousand words stuck in his throat, like a heavy stone pressing down on him, making it hard for him to breathe.
He turned and walked away slowly and resolutely, his steps light, as if he had shattered all the ties of the past.
She didn't chase after him, but stood there motionless, tears silently falling down her cheeks and splashing onto the cement ground, leaving a small wet patch.
The wind blew gently by, but it couldn't take away the bitterness in her heart. Only her salty tears silently told of the end of her long marriage and the deep affection that could not be salvaged.
Song Yu'an walked over and gently hugged her, his movements tender and restrained: "Mother, don't dwell on the past. You're still young, and you have a long road ahead. There will be sunshine and new days to come, and we must move forward."
There are many small courtyards around Jitong University, densely packed together, all rented to parents who accompany their children to study.
But those houses were old and narrow, with mottled walls, large patches of plaster peeling off to reveal grayish-yellow mud bricks, and water seeping in when it rained. The corners of the walls were moldy, and there was always a damp, musty smell in the air.
The house was low, and the windows were so small that only a little light could get in. You had to be careful not to bump into the beams even if you stood up straight.
This is no different from the mud houses in my hometown, or even worse—at least my hometown had a yard where I could bask in the sun and raise a few chickens.
Song Yu'an really couldn't get used to living there.
Every morning when I wake up, my back aches, my nose is full of dust, and I am often awakened at night by the arguing of the couple next door.
He looked at his mother curled up on the creaking wooden bed, and his heart ached.
This is hardly a place for studying; it's clearly a prison for passing the days.
Shen Cuifen also didn't want him to continue suffering.
She felt sorry for her son and was even more afraid that he would neglect his studies.
Whenever the Zhou family's affairs were mentioned, she would feel extremely flustered, and her chest would feel heavy, as if a stone was pressing on it.
She urged him every day, "Let's go to the city and look for a place to live. Let's not stay cooped up here anymore. Even renting a small room would be better than this shabby courtyard. You have to study hard; we can't let people look down on us."
Back then, houses in the city weren't expensive, the housing market hadn't been overheated, and ordinary people could still afford them.
Even in good locations, it's only a little over 3,000 yuan per square meter, and a two-bedroom apartment costs just tens of thousands of yuan.
After pondering for a long time, flipping through maps and inquiring about information, Song Yu'an finally chose a remote place where transportation was being planned—he knew that prices would definitely rise here in the future.
Not enough money?
He borrowed money from all over the place.
He approached relatives, friends, and fellow workers he had worked with on the construction site, humbly asking, "Brother, could you lend me three thousand? I promise to pay it back, with monthly interest."
Some people shook their heads, some hesitated, but most people, seeing his stubbornness, eventually reached out their hands.
"Mom, didn't we use all our money to buy a house? Do we still have any left?"
Shen Cuifen clutched the passbook, her voice trembling slightly.
She never expected her son would actually dare to buy a house, let alone invest all his savings in it.
Song Yu'an smiled, his eyes sparkling: "I borrowed it from Brother Li and Sister Liu. I offered to pay interest, but they refused, only letting me sign an IOU, saying they trusted me. Brother Li even said that young people who dare to take risks will have a bright future."
Three thousand yuan can buy a two-bedroom apartment.
Although the house is small, it has a separate kitchen and bathroom, and good natural light.
With the remaining money, we could buy a bed and a cabinet, barely enough to keep the family afloat.
Back then, all the houses were secondhand.
When the previous landlord moved out, he left so decisively that he didn't even leave a nail behind—it was empty, with pale walls and a pitted floor, like a blank sheet of paper waiting to be filled in stroke by stroke by life.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
