"You useless girl! Is this all that's left of your salary for this month? How could you spend money so carelessly? Didn't I tell you at the start of the month that your brother needs a new computer for his studies? I told you to save every penny of your pay! So why is there a 1,000 yuan missing? Huh? Answer me, you unfilial daughter! You wretched little thing! You should be grateful I haven't thrown you out at your age—you're still unmarried and don't even have a proper job. Everyone else in this family has a respectable career and life… except you. You alone are the twisted branch in this family tree—incapable of doing anything right. And now you don't even listen to me… You stupid girl!"
The voice was a whip, every word snapping against my skin. I kept my head lowered, motionless, as her fury poured over me in a relentless torrent. The insults weren't new—just another variation of the same song I'd been forced to listen to my entire life—but each syllable still struck like a stone.
And yet, I stayed silent. I had no choice. The woman spewing curses in my face wasn't some stranger I could bite back at. Her eyes—narrowed with contempt—looked at me the way one might look at a sworn enemy, someone they wished would vanish from the earth.
Anyone else would assume she was my mortal foe. But in truth, this was the woman who had carried me in her womb for nine months… and the one who had taken my hand and taught me to walk.
Well—maybe not that last part.
The truth? I have not one sweet memory of my mother. Not one. She has never loved me, and I learned that lesson long ago—over the twenty-seven years I've spent trapped in this house.
In the cramped, almost barren room—its only furniture a tired old wardrobe and a desk so worn it seemed ready to crumble—the middle-aged woman stood, one hand planted on her hip, the other raised, her index finger stabbing the air like a blade aimed at my throat. Her face wasn't particularly aged, her features ordinary—so ordinary they were forgettable.
But me? Sitting on the sagging bed, I knew I looked nothing like her. My eyes, large and dark, framed by lashes so long they caught the light; hair black and sleek as midnight; cheeks flushed an unnatural red that made me look fragile… almost breakable.
The heat in my face wasn't beauty—it was fever. High, suffocating, exhausting. One glance should have been enough to see I was sick. Gravely so. But she either didn't notice… or noticed and didn't care.
"Not only do you waste money, but you skip work as well! Weren't you supposed to work tonight? Why are you still lying in bed? Is eating and sleeping all you know how to do? You're a worthless failure—nothing like your sisters. They're all successful and capable, and you… Sometimes I wonder if you're even my flesh and blood."
Her tone was calm, almost eerily so—as if her words weren't meant to slice me open, as if the person she was talking to wasn't her own daughter.
That thought wasn't new to me. I'd wondered the same thing for over twenty years. I'd even had a DNA test done in secret when I was nineteen. Unfortunately—for both me and my dear mother—the results were a 99.99% match.
I'm tired. Tired of this life. I work myself raw, holding down four jobs, grinding through weekends and holidays alike, barely stopping to breathe. And for what? So my mother can take every yuan I earn and hand it to my younger brother—the golden child who does nothing but cause trouble.
This morning, I spent 1,000 yuan at the hospital. I was too sick to stand, too feverish to think, so I'd taken a single day off to rest. But instead of asking about my health, she storms into my room to strip me down with her words.
Meanwhile, my precious younger brother wastes hundreds of yuans almost daily. And her reaction? She's the one pressing the money into his hands. If he spends a fortune on a video game, she doesn't flinch—only sighs in indulgent affection. But if I spend a single yuan, I'm treated like I've committed the gravest sin imaginable.
This is my life. Not the best life, but—
"Lî Líng Xī! I'm talking to you—where's your mind?" Wang Ruì Qín's voice lashed out again, her face twisting into something ugly.
"It's nothing. I'll go back to work tomorrow. I didn't skip my shift—I just swapped hours with a friend. And that 1,000 yuan was for hospital fees because I was sick today and needed injections and medicine."
My voice was flat, stripped of all warmth. The same tone I'd use to deliver a status report to a superior—not to speak to my own mother.
Her expression eased the moment I said I hadn't missed work. She didn't even acknowledge the part about my illness. That was fine. I'd stopped expecting her to care years ago. I was no longer the tearful little girl begging for love and approval. My heart had died a long time ago.
Except for my love, Shēn Luò, I care for no one in this world.
A short while later, Ruì Qín left my room, and the storm passed.
I'd weathered such tempests since childhood. They no longer touched me.
With a faint, almost mocking smile, I let myself drop backward onto the bed. My hand slipped beneath the blanket, retrieving my phone. The screen flared to life, and without hesitation, I returned to what I'd been doing before she barged into my room uninvited.