Chapter 75 It's already a favor not to kick him when he's down!
Zhao Qingda recalled the days when he drove long-distance trucks.
It's tiring, but at least I get cash every month.
When I get home, at least there's a hot meal and a kang (heated brick bed) where I can lie down.
Wang Juan has a bad temper, and the two often fight and argue, but it is still a home, and there is someone waiting for him and scolding him.
And now? Nothing's left.
Outside the window, snowflakes began to fall, landing finely on the roof with a soft, continuous patter.
Zhao Qingda closed his eyes, and a tear squeezed out from the corner of his eye, seeping into the greasy, worn-out pillow.
The same snowflake, falling on the glass window of "Xiaoxiao Tailor Shop" on Hongqi Street in the neighboring city, looks like a different kind of gentle decoration.
The fire in the stove was burning brightly, making the room warm and cozy.
Wen Xiaoxiao sat behind the sewing machine, her feet pressing the pedal lightly and rhythmically, the "tap tap tap" sound conveying a sense of peace.
She recently took on a new job, arranged by Zheng Shangyu, to rush-produce a batch of sample garments for a women's clothing store in the city that is in a hurry to open.
The styles weren't too varied, but the quantity was considerable, and the wages were paid readily.
Zhao Fei sat on the sofa against the wall, flipping through the year-end report of the pig farm in his hand.
As the year draws to a close, there are tasks to be done, such as taking stock of accounts, distributing dividends, and planning for next year's production.
But he felt at ease and wasn't in a hurry to return to the provincial capital. Wen Xiaoxiao was here, the children were here, this was his root, his home.
"Dad!" Wen Xiaogai staggered over and rushed into Zhao Fei's arms like a little cannonball.
The little guy is over two years old and is becoming more and more resilient. He speaks fluently and is very curious, never still for a moment.
Zhao Fei put down the report, smiled, and lifted his son a little higher: "Did Xiao Gai behave today?"
"Listen to me!" Wen Xiaogai shouted loudly, reaching out her chubby little hand to grab Zhao Fei's hair.
Yi-zhen and Yi-bao sat on the floor covered with a floral carpet, intently building with blocks.
The two little girls attended kindergarten for half a year, learned nursery rhymes and characters, and came home chattering away like little magpies.
The door to the inner room was closed, and Zhao Yidi was doing her homework inside. She was in junior high school, and although her studies were demanding, her grades were excellent, so no one had to worry about her much.
A rich aroma wafted from the kitchen as Zhou Lanying simmered a pot of pork rib and lotus root soup, while Liu Shuhua helped her pick and wash the vegetables.
The clicking sound of the sewing machine
The sounds of children playing
The slight clinking sound of the pot and spoon.
And the pervasive aroma of food...
The sounds weave together to create a comforting, homely atmosphere.
Wen Xiaoxiao stopped and rubbed her aching lower back.
Zhao Fei saw this, got up and walked over, his warm palms pressing on her shoulders and neck, kneading them gently: "Rest for a while, there's no rush."
"It'll be ready soon." Wen Xiaoxiao looked up at him and smiled, her eyes sparkling with a gentle light. "Mr. Zheng said that if the other party is satisfied with this batch of sample garments, there might be a bigger order after spring."
“Mr. Zheng… is truly concerned about your affairs.” Zhao Fei’s hands didn’t stop moving, and his tone sounded calm.
Wen Xiaoxiao sensed the unusual emotion in his voice, turned around, took his hand from her shoulder, and pressed it against her warm face.
She looked up at him and said, "Thinking nonsense again? Zhao Fei, I've told you before, Mr. Zheng is my benefactor, my mentor in my craft. He helped me find a way to make a living, and I'm grateful to him. That's all."
Her gaze was firm as she looked into Zhao Fei's eyes: "In my heart, there is only you, only our family. This life, and the next life, it will still be the same."
The slight jealousy in Zhao Fei's heart evaporated.
He bent down and gently kissed her smooth forehead: "I know. I just... can't bear to see you too tired."
"I'm not tired." Wen Xiaoxiao shook her head, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I'm content with things as they are now. Really, I couldn't be more content."
She recalled when she first came to this city, holding her baby and leading her older child, tending this small shop, feeling lost and uncertain about the future.
And now?
With Zhao Fei's embrace, Aunt Zhou's care, and Aunt Liu's help, Yi Di is sensible, and the three little ones are lively and healthy. Every day is more hopeful than the last.
God does have eyes.
The hardships and grievances we've endured may not disappear, but they will always find another way to quietly make up for them.
Outside the window, the snow was falling heavier, swirling and fluttering.
Wen Xiaoxiao got up and walked to the window, looking out at the silvery-white world.
"What are you staring at so intently?" Zhao Fei walked over and hugged her from behind.
"Look at the snow." Wen Xiaoxiao leaned into his arms, feeling relaxed. "There's so much snow this winter."
"A timely snow promises a good harvest." Zhao Fei gently nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. "Next year, our lives will definitely be better."
Wen Xiaoxiao hummed in agreement, then intertwined her fingers with his, holding them tightly.
Yes.
It definitely will.
In the depths of a back alley in the provincial capital, an ambiguous pink light shines from behind a window.
Wang Juan sat on the edge of the narrow massage bed, applying lipstick in front of the chipped mirror.
The woman reflected in the mirror looked haggard, with sunken eyes, but the scarlet lipstick barely added a touch of life to her withered face.
She was wearing a cheap lace nightgown with a low neckline that revealed her collarbone and several faded old scars on her chest. Some were left by Zhao Qingda, and some by other men.
This small cubicle of less than ten square meters is her current "studio".
Monthly rent is 300, including utilities.
A creaking bed, a peeling wardrobe, and a rickety dressing table were all the family's possessions.
After leaving Zhao Qingda, she went back to her parents' home.
When Mom saw her, she hugged her and cried. Dad squatted at the door, silently smoking without saying a word.
The neighbors knew Wang Juan had left; they had watched her rise to a high-rise building, and now they had watched it crumble.
Ridicule... to make fun of...
At first, Wang Qinghe would argue with them, but later he would close the door and pretend he couldn't hear them.
Wang Juan and her family instantly became the center of attention.
Wang Juan was sensible and left on her own.
Before leaving, her mother secretly slipped a crumpled five hundred yuan into her hand, tears streaming down her face: "Juan, find your own way out..."
She didn't take the money.
With the few hundred yuan he had saved up, he came to the provincial capital.
She wanted to find a proper job, but she was in her thirties, had no diploma, and no skills, so she could only work as a waitress in a restaurant or a cleaner in a shopping mall.
The wages were pitifully low, the work was exhausting, and you had to be subservient to others.
Later, in the chaotic labor market, I bumped into a woman from my hometown who had married and moved away years ago.
The woman looked her up and down a few times, then leaned closer and whispered, "Want to make quick money?"
Wang Juan was stunned for a moment, then nodded.
So I was brought here.
The first time, she felt so nauseous that she dry-heaved and trembled all over.
But when the greasy-faced man tossed down a hundred-yuan bill, she stared at the banknote and suddenly felt that it was her body, so what difference did it make who she sold it to?
Now, she has a few "regulars".
Most of them were older men or men with sleazy appearances. Some had lost their wives, some had family conflicts, and some simply wanted to seek some depraved thrills.
She's not picky; she'll pay as long as she gets paid. One hundred per session, three hundred for an overnight stay—it's much more lucrative than washing dishes or sweeping.
However, that dirty disease down there flares up from time to time, itching terribly, but it's hard to scratch.
She only dared to go to those small clinics with advertisements posted on telephone poles on street corners, to buy the cheapest pills to suppress the symptoms, which only treated the symptoms, not the root cause.
The doctor said she needed to get those imported injections, and a course of treatment would cost several thousand yuan, which she couldn't bear to do.
Tonight's guest is a bald, pot-bellied old man.
Afterwards, the man pulled up his pants and clicked his tongue, saying, "Useless, like a block of wood."
Wang Juan remained silent, lying on the bed that still smelled of a stranger, her eyes fixed on the yellowish-brown stain left by the water seepage on the ceiling.
The man threw the money on the bedside table and left.
Wang Juan slowly sat up, picked up the money, and stuffed it into the tattered sock under her pillow.
Then she got out of bed, went to the enamel basin, scooped up some icy water, and washed her body repeatedly. The water was so cold it sent shivers down her spine.
The woman in the mirror had empty eyes, like two dry wells.
She suddenly remembered Tie Tou.
If Tie Tou were alive and healthy, would he look a lot like her? Would he have excellent grades in school?
She would pick him up and drop him off every day, cook for him, and help him with his homework.
Life may still be tough, and you may still worry about money, but it's a kind of hardship with hope, and your heart is full.
What about now?
My heart is empty; nothing is left.
Wang Juan raised her hand and covered her face, but no tears came out.
The tears have long since dried up, and perhaps even the strength to cry has been exhausted.
Outside the window, the snow is still falling.
The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year.
Zhao Fei drove Wen Xiaoxiao and the three children back to Zhou Lanying's old house for the Spring Festival.
Although Zhao Fei bought the east and west wing rooms of the courtyard house, he will not go back there because Wen Xiaoxiao hates it.
Although the old house was dilapidated, it was kept clean and bright, with bright red Spring Festival couplets pasted on the front door and red lanterns hanging under the eaves, creating a strong festive atmosphere.
Wenbin and Han Manjuan also arrived with bags and bags of New Year's goods.
The whole family gathered together, kneading dough, preparing fillings, rolling out wrappers, and making dumplings. They chatted and laughed, filling the house with warmth and joy.
The dumplings were put into the pot and started bubbling away.
Zhou Lanying called Zhao Fei into the courtyard.
"Have you heard anything about Zhao Qingda's situation since then?" Zhou Lanying asked.
Zhao Fei took a drag and slowly exhaled a bluish-white smoke: "I've heard some of it."
“I heard from my relatives when I got back… he’s living in that shabby dispatch room at the train station, and he still gambles sometimes,” Zhou Lanying sighed. “He’s missing a finger, and I heard… he has a sexually transmitted disease.”
Zhao Fei didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the silent, snow-covered rooftops in the distance.
As an ordinary person, Zhou Lanying couldn't bear it any longer. "You..." Zhou Lanying hesitated for a moment before asking, "Didn't you even consider helping him? In the end..."
After all, she was descended from her deceased uncles and aunts.
"Mom, what exactly is it?" Zhao Fei turned his head, his eyes calm and expressionless. "Is he really my cousin? Was he ever considered family?"
Zhou Lanying was speechless, she opened her mouth but couldn't say anything.
Zhao Fei threw the cigarette butt into the snow at his feet and gently crushed it out: "Mom, I'm not a bodhisattva. You know what Zhao Qingda did to me, to Xiaoxiao, and to the children. I didn't kick him while he was down, which is already out of consideration for the deceased elders and the last bit of his family line."
He paused, his voice low but clear: "He chose this path himself, he incurred the debt himself, and he brought this illness upon himself. I am not his parents, and I have no obligation to clean up the mess of his disastrous life."
Zhou Lanying remained silent, knowing that Zhao Fei's words made sense, but the unbearable feeling that ordinary people have for her still lingered in her heart.
From inside came Wen Xiaoxiao's cheerful voice: "The dumplings are ready! Come in and eat them while they're hot!"
The steaming dumplings were served, and the children cheered and gathered around.
The hard lines on Zhao Fei's face melted instantly, replaced by a gentle smile, and he sat down next to Wen Xiaoxiao.
During the meal, Wen Xiaoxiao placed a plump dumpling into Zhao Fei's bowl and asked in a low voice, "What were you talking about with Aunt Zhou outside? You don't look too well."
"It's nothing," Zhao Fei shook his head, put the dumpling in his mouth, "just some old news."
He glanced sideways at Wen Xiaoxiao, whose eyes were gentle and kind, and then at the children's laughing faces at the table. With the whole family there, the last ripples in his heart caused by the past gradually subsided.
Yes, the swamps of the past should not hinder our progress toward tomorrow.
Outside the window, some impatient child had already started setting off firecrackers.
The crisp sound bursts away the old year and welcomes the new one.
Zhao Fei picked up his wine glass, stood up, and smiled brightly: "Come on, let's have a toast as a family! Wishing us a peaceful, smooth, and prosperous new year!"
"Cheers!" Everyone at the table laughed and raised their glasses in response.
The glasses clinked gently, producing a crisp, melodious sound, like the most beautiful wish for the coming spring.
At that moment, in the howling wind of the bus dispatch room, Zhao Qingda was staring blankly at the cold, hard steamed bun and a small packet of pickled vegetables in his hand.
The faint sound of firecrackers in the distance reminded him that the end of the year was approaching and it was time to celebrate the New Year.
He slowly raised his head and looked out at the dark night sky.
A new year?
For him, it was just another period of endless torment.
He lowered his head, took a bite of the cold steamed bun, and swallowed it whole, along with salty tears and endless bitterness.
(Hooray!!! This is so satisfying!!! Greetings to all my lords, may you be blessed~~)
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