The cocoon has broken and the butterfly is reborn
At six o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by the roar of construction outside my window. This was the first apartment I'd rented since leaving Gu Yanshen. It was located in a deep alley in the old city. The sixty-square-meter space was divided into two bedrooms and a living room. The walls were so thin that I could hear the morning conversation of the couple next door. I walked barefoot to the window and pushed open the creaking wooden frame. The May morning breeze, carrying the fragrance of gardenias, blew in. The breakfast stall downstairs shouted one after another: "Soy milk and fried dough sticks—freshly cooked—"
This kind of mundane life is the "mundane atmosphere" that Gu Yanshen will never allow.
My phone vibrated on the peeling wooden table, the screen flashing with a steady name: "I've arrived downstairs. I bought some shengjian (stuffed dumplings) and soy milk."
I quickly washed up and looked carefully at the mercury-flecked mirror in the bathroom. The woman in the mirror was unmade up, her long hair casually tied into a ponytail. There were faint dark circles under her eyes, but her eyes were clear and bright. She was no longer the Mrs. Gu who needed exquisite makeup to maintain her appearance.
Chen Que stood beneath the sycamore tree at the entrance of the alley. The morning light filtered through the newly green branches, casting dappled shadows on his light blue shirt. In his hand, he held a plastic bag emblazoned with the words "Lao Wang's Shengjian," steam condensing into water droplets inside.
"Lawyer Li, please come to the Procuratorate at nine o'clock." He handed me breakfast, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"
"I had a dream." I took the still-hot shengjianbao. "I dreamed I was still in that golden cage."
We strolled slowly along the bluestone pavement, the aroma of shengjianbao wafting in the morning breeze. This old street was a world away from the luxurious apartment I'd lived in for three years. Clotheslines stretched across the alley, hanging a dazzling array of laundry; elderly people sat on doorsteps drinking tea and playing chess; bicycle bells jingled melodiously. Every detail reminded me that this was real life.
"Gu Yanshen's lawyer contacted me yesterday." Shen Que's tone was calm, as if he was discussing the weather. "They proposed a settlement."
I stopped at a stall selling sugar-roasted chestnuts and asked, "What are the conditions?"
"All charges will be dropped, you will give up your shares in the Mo family, and he will pay you a sum of compensation that will be enough for you and your mother to live comfortably for the rest of your lives."
From the depths of the alley, children's laughter echoed. A few elementary school students wearing red scarves chased each other past us. I watched their cheerful backs and suddenly remembered the childhood photo I had seen in Gu Yanshen's study—a gloomy boy standing alone in front of a mansion, with an ornate iron gate behind him and a deserted street in front of him.
"Tell him," I turned and continued walking, "I don't want compensation, I want justice."
The corridors of the procuratorate were cold and solemn, the marble floor reflecting the cool glow of the ceiling lights, a stark contrast to the warm spring day outside. Lawyer Li was already in the waiting area. She looked exceptionally capable in her dark gray suit and pearl brooch.
"The situation has changed." She lowered her voice and led us into a mediation room. "Gu Yanshen submitted a psychiatric evaluation report, claiming that he suffers from complex post-traumatic stress disorder. His controlling behavior is due to his condition, not due to any malicious intent."
I took the thick report and flipped through it. The technical terminology, like a carefully honed blade, attempted to glorify the deliberate manipulation as a disease attack. "Dissociative Identity Disorder," "Pathological Attachment," "Reenactment of Trauma"... these words wove a seemingly scientific web, attempting to ensnare the truth.
"He also submitted this." Lawyer Li handed over another manila folder.
Inside were scanned copies of my old diaries, those descriptions of vulnerability and hesitation written late at night, and my dependence and gratitude towards Gu Yanshen: "Yanshen helped me with my mother's medical expenses again today, I don't know how to repay him" "He said he would never leave me, which made me feel safe"... All the obedience I pretended to show during the period of surveillance has now become evidence that he "treats" me "well".
"He even kept this..." My fingertips trembled slightly on the yellowed paper.
"He's very clever," Lawyer Li analyzed calmly. "These facts do indeed support your past relationship, leaving the judge room for discretion. Furthermore, the expert he hired is highly regarded and a leading authority in this field in China."
It was almost noon when I finished taking the statement. As I left the procuratorate, the May sun was dazzling, yet I felt a chill. The law is fair, but the process of presenting evidence itself is torture, every detail scrutinized, every scar publicly scrutinized.
My phone rang. It was the number from the nursing home. My heart skipped a beat and I quickly picked up the call.
"Miss Mo, good news!" the nurse's voice was filled with joy. "Your mother's comprehensive examination results today were very good. All indicators have returned to normal! The doctor said she can be discharged tomorrow!"
After hanging up the phone, I leaned against a roadside sycamore tree, tears streaming down my face. Chen Que silently handed me a tissue, saying nothing. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the bakery across the street. A girl with a backpack on her back skipped into the shop, the bell jingling.
At that moment, I suddenly understood what truly mattered. It wasn't winning or losing, it wasn't revenge, it was cherishing those worth cherishing and living the life I wanted. Those elaborate cages, those controls in the name of love, pale in comparison to the true nature of life.
That afternoon, I went to pick up my mother from the hospital. Sunlight streamed through the nursing home's glass ceiling, casting iridescent shadows on the polished floor. My mother had already packed her belongings and was sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for me. She was wearing the lavender sweater I'd bought her the previous week, and her complexion was rosy and her eyes were clear.
When I reached the entrance of the sanatorium, I unexpectedly saw Zhou Ling. He was standing next to the familiar black Bentley and came over quickly when he saw us.
"Mr. Gu asked me to come." He handed over a thick document bag and said, "Returning the property to its rightful owner."
I opened the file bag and found the equity certificate of Mo's company and a detailed list of all my personal belongings left in the apartment, even a lipstick and an old book were recorded.
"What does he mean by this?"
Zhou Ling shook his head. "He just said he'd given up." After a pause, he added in a low voice, "His legal team was disbanded this morning."
My mother gently held my hand, her palm warm: "Xiaoyu, you decide for yourself."
I looked at those yellowed documents and remembered my father working late into the night under the dim light when he started his business. I remembered Gu Yanshen's cold eyes when he framed me. I also remembered his last words on the phone: "Are you really ready to face a shattered life?"
Yes, I am ready. Not only ready to face the brokenness, but also ready to rebuild in the brokenness.
I pulled out the equity documents and returned the other items to Zhou Ling: "Tell Gu Yanshen that I only want back what belongs to the Mo family. The rest is not important."
Zhou Ling took the file bag and looked at me deeply: "Take care." When he turned around, I noticed that he had white hair on his temples.
My mother patted my hands with satisfaction: "My little fish has really grown up."
In the evening, I accompanied my mother as she sorted through her newly rented apartment. Though simple, every corner exuded a sense of freedom. My mother placed her favorite embroidered pillow on the old sofa in the living room, and I arranged a row of succulents on the windowsill. Outside, the setting sun gilded the tiled roofs of the old city. Smoke curled upward, and occasionally the aroma of neighbors cooking and the sounds of children's laughter drifted in.
"It's so nice this way." Mother said with a smile, sitting in a wicker chair by the window. "It's like being a kid again."
My cell phone rang. It was my column editor. "Ms. Mockingbird, your column is overflowing with letters. The publisher wants to publish a book for you. What do you think?"
I watched the birds returning to their nests outside the window, their free paths traced in the sunset, and softly replied, "Okay."
After hanging up the phone, I opened my laptop. The afterglow of the setting sun shone on the keyboard, and the cursor flickered on the blank document, as if waiting for a new beginning.
"What flies out of the golden cage is not a bird, but a phoenix. Those chains that were tried to be shackled in the name of love will eventually melt in the flames of awakening. We have groped in the darkness and struggled in the cage, but please remember - every time you break out of the cocoon, you are ready to fly higher; every time you are reborn, you are ready for a more brilliant rebirth..."
Halfway through writing, the doorbell rang. Shen Que stood outside, holding a bottle of red wine and a warm smile on his face: "Celebrating the new life."
These three simple words made my eyes warm.
At dinner, we gathered around the small dining table. My mother recounted the fun of climbing trees to pick loquats as a child, smiling deeply as she helped me pick food. Under the warm light, the ordinariness of this moment surpassed all the luxuries of the past. Old songs played on the radio, and the intermittent chirping of insects drifted past the window, all forming a symphony of real life.
After dinner, I stood alone on the balcony. The old city was quiet and peaceful at night, a stark contrast to the bustling nightlife of the CBD where Gu Yanshen lived. There were no cold surveillance cameras, no delicate cages, only laundry hanging on the balcony, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the sound of dialogue from the TV series next door.
My phone screen suddenly lit up with a text message from an unfamiliar number: "The higher you fly, the harder you fall. Be careful."
I didn't reply, I just deleted it. Fear can no longer hold me back, because I have learned to spread my wings in the storm and find light in the darkness.
In the distance, a night heron flew across the hazy moonlit sky, its posture graceful and determined.
Me too.
Tonight, I will continue to write, not as a victim, but as a survivor; not as a captive bird, but as a phoenix.
Because every flap of wings is a tribute to freedom.
What flew out of the golden cage was not a bird, but a phoenix.
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