Chapter 15: Sun Juanjuan (Part 2)

Sun Juanjuan had considered giving up. Clutching 350 yuan in her hand, she went to find Zhong Ying, holding the hand of her second-grade daughter, Chi Xing.

That day, in the dance studio, Chi Xing saw Zhong Ying’s daughter again—a girl taller and happier than herself. She was obviously raised in love: gentle and adorable, she carefully held Chi Xing’s hand, noticed the bruise on Chi Xing’s pinky, and asked with surprise and concern, “Who bullied you?”

Chi Xing dared not say that this was the usual state of her father, Chi Rong, when drunk. Sometimes he would lash out at Sun Juanjuan, sometimes at Chi Xing. The night before, he had been heavily intoxicated and had almost twisted Chi Xing’s finger off.

The little girl shared pretty candies from her backpack with her and then turned to Zhong Ying, asking, “Daddy, can I give her all my chocolates? Is that okay?”

Chi Xing’s eyes followed the girl in the ballet dress, completely forgetting to look at her mother.

After all the children had left, Sun Juanjuan handed the money to Zhong Ying. She said that ever since the first day she met Zhong Ying, she had wanted to return the money. For no reason, a stranger had given her daughter such an expensive gift, and she had always been afraid.

Zhong Ying refused to take it, and the two pushed and pulled each other. Chi Xing focused on eating the chocolate given by Zhong Ying’s daughter; she remembered that the girl was a grade above her and was known as a beauty at school.

The reflection in the mirror was disordered. Looking up, she suddenly saw Zhong Ying tightly embracing her own mother.

Sun Juanjuan neither refused nor struggled. Clutching the money tightly, she let out a sound between a cry and a laugh in Zhong Ying’s arms. They kissed, completely forgetting Chi Xing was present.

“Mom...!” Chi Xing cried out in fear.

The two abruptly separated. Zhong Ying took Sun Juanjuan’s hand again and whispered in her ear.

Chi Xing would never know what was said. She only saw her mother walk toward her, a shy, sweet smile at the corner of her mouth. Gently, she tucked the strands of hair that had fallen by her temple behind her ear. The thin lipstick she had applied before going out was smudged; she raised her hand to wipe it away while her gaze drifted into the air.

Suddenly, Chi Xing felt afraid. She grabbed her backpack and ran out of the dance studio.

At the door, Sun Juanjuan caught up to her, gripping her little hand tightly. “Where are you going?”

She held Chi Xing’s shoulders, looking deeply into the child’s innocent eyes. Chi Xing was terrified, anxious, and uneasy; she didn’t fully understand, yet somehow understood everything.

Sun Juanjuan suddenly pressed her lips tightly together. She raised her hand and gently slapped Chi Xing’s cheek—a blow almost like a light slap.

“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do wrong?” Her eyes were filled with hatred. “Everyone in this world can scold me and despise me, but you cannot! If it weren’t for you...”

Chi Xing burst into tears. Sun Juanjuan snapped back to reality and hurriedly held her close, apologizing over and over.

---

Occasionally, Chi Xing would encounter Zhong Ying’s daughter at school.

The girl always wore beautiful, neat, and clean uniforms, her long hair braided with butterfly clips that fluttered as she moved.

Chi Xing never greeted her. She didn’t finish the chocolates given to her. The nascent guilt clung to her fingers like melting candy; she felt ashamed and sullied on behalf of Sun Juanjuan.

She never went to Zhong Ying’s dance studio again.

There’s no wall without cracks, especially not in a small county town like theirs.

Chi Rong had another family in a neighboring county, but Sun Juanjuan never inquired. Before the news reached Chi Rong’s ears, Zhong Ying’s wife found out first.

The more cultured and refined one is, the more dignity they demand. Zhong Ying’s wife was also a teacher—a cultured woman who neither quarreled with Zhong Ying nor with Sun Juanjuan.

She was Chi Xing’s school dean. After the flag-raising ceremony, she called Chi Xing onto the podium. Confused and nervous, standing before the entire school, Chi Xing turned to the fashionably dressed teacher beside her and heard her speak into the microphone in flawless and precise Mandarin, just like Zhong Ying’s:

“Chi Xing from Class 2(3), don’t you have a clean uniform? No one at home to wash your clothes? Yours is all torn, and your father hits you? And you don’t even get a new set when your clothes are damaged? Wearing such clothes to school—aren’t you ashamed? Where is your mother? Why are you so dirty?”

After school, Chi Xing was cornered. Zhong Ying’s daughter called over several children and they beat her up. The elegant, beautiful ballerina was gone; instead, the girl jumped up and down, cursing in her limited and crude vocabulary repeatedly: “Bad woman, you’re all bad women, trash...”

“Zhang Yitong! Hit her!” she screamed sharply at her cousin. “Didn’t you say you’d help me get back at her?”

“I’m a middle schooler. If I beat a second grader, I’d be ashamed. How could I live with myself if this got out?” he said, then ran his hand over Chi Xing’s face.

Chi Xing was young and looked nothing like Chi Rong; she resembled Sun Juanjuan almost exactly—a natural beauty since birth. Yitong’s touch wasn’t enough. Hesitating, his hand reached toward Chi Xing’s chest.

That day, Chi Xing was beaten badly. She bit Yitong’s finger so hard that one could almost hear the bones crack.

Her backpack strap was torn, her hair ruffled, her uniform filthy. She walked home through the steady autumn rain.

Just turning the corner, Chi Xing saw Sun Juanjuan stepping out of the house. She wore a wine-red dress and held a black folding umbrella, walking forward happily with her head slightly raised. She was going to dance again—even though Zhong Ying could not appear at the studio every day now, she still went every day. She preferred to dance, spin, and bow alone in front of the mirror with an imaginary male partner rather than stay at home.

Passersby sitting by the roadside whispered and pointed. Sun Juanjuan seemed oblivious, standing tall and proud. She was truly beautiful, and no matter how much the women scolded her, they had to admit it.

This was the only thing that allowed her to hold her head high.

She quickly walked away, unaware of her daughter’s disheveled state.

---

Chi Xing crouched at the street corner, crying for a long time. Only two equally small stray cats accompanied her, obediently resting on her dirt-stained shoes.

The air was chilly, the scent of cigarette smoke drifting clearly into her nostrils.

Chi Xing stood on the cold terrace with Pei Yuan. After hearing her story, Pei Yuan wanted to “talk about a woman’s heart.”

Through the half-open door, they saw the uneasy Zhou Mang frequently looking back. Maizi kept chatting with Zhou Mang, smiling mischievously, as if trying to pry something out.

“Your bodyguard is handsome,” Pei Yuan slowly exhaled smoke. “Tell him to be careful; Maizi is a player.”

Chi Xing couldn’t help but laugh. “That depends on whether my bodyguard is willing.”

Pei Yuan: “He likes you, right?”

Chi Xing: “Why do you say that?”

Pei Yuan: “The way he looks at you is different.” She pointed to her own eyes, then to Zhou Mang. “After hearing your story, some people might feel sorry for you, pity you. But he looks like he really wants to hold you... maybe even regrets it? It’s complicated. Why?”

Chi Xing shook her head. “Who knows?”

The wind scattered the ash on Pei Yuan’s cigarette. She asked, “Do you hate your mother?”

Chi Xing was silent.

After a long pause, Pei Yuan changed the question:

“What was your mother’s reaction when Teacher Zhong passed away?” She sounded both exploratory and probing.