Chapter 75: Mother vs. Daughter: The Showdown Begins (Requesting Subscriptions!)

The living room.

Chen Zijin pressed her lips tightly, sat upright on the sofa with her spine straight, eyes fixed ahead, utterly ignoring Zhong Lan’s murderous glare.

Mother and daughter stared at each other, one locked onto the other, the other fixed on the floor—both dug in their heels, refusing to yield.

The air inside the room grew colder by the second, the tension thicker, and even before stepping in, Chen Xiaomi felt a suffocating atmosphere that threatened to kill her.

Since last summer vacation, this mother-daughter pair had transformed from close kin into bitter enemies, quarreling nearly every month.

Zhong Lan had even flown into hysterics several times, swearing oaths before the Chen family ancestral tablets.

But smashing things—this was the first time.

Landline phones weren’t cheap in this era; even with the Chen family’s wealth, Zhong Lan normally wouldn’t dare smash things like this—no matter how large the fortune, it could still be squandered away.

One could imagine how furious she was.

Chen Xiaomi stepped in, bent down to pick up the shattered landline phone, placed it aside, then walked over and guided Zhong Lan to sit on the nearby sofa:

“Sister-in-law, don’t hurt your health over this. Let’s talk calmly—we’re still family.”

Then she sat beside Chen Zijin, draped an arm around her niece’s shoulders, and said:

“Zijin, take a step back too. Your mother’s intentions are for your own good. Don’t let outsiders laugh at us.”

Though Chen Xiaomi deeply disliked Li Heng and had always looked down on him, speaking sharply and aggressively, she still held back when dealing with her own niece.

Zhong Lan snorted coldly. “Laughing at us? Isn’t that already enough? We’re barely short of being pointed at and branded as disgraceful. At such a young age, what’s wrong with you? Why learn to sleep with men?”

“I’m utterly humiliated. If I’d known she’d turn out so stubborn and incorrigible, I’d have given her away long ago. Why keep her around just to suffer daily?”

Seeing her niece’s breathing grow heavier, Chen Xiaomi turned to Zhong Lan and said:

“Sister-in-law, it’s been over half a year since this happened. Say less. After all, she’s your daughter—would you really drive her out?”

Zhong Lan lifted her chin, sneering. “Send her out? Who’d take her like this?”

“I’d even consider sending her to Li’s place—but I’m afraid they can’t even feed her. In less than half a year, the whole family would starve to death!”

These words were vicious—every syllable dripped with contempt for the Li family, mocking their poverty and calling her daughter gullible and clueless.

Chen Zijin, furious, suddenly snapped back: “Then send me to the Li family. I’ll die as their ghost—no burden on you.”

These words sent Zhong Lan into a rage—she rose to strike.

Seeing this, Chen Xiaomi quickly wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law and shouted to Chen Zitong, who had just entered: “Stop standing there like an idiot—go help your sister to her room!”

“I’m not moving. Let her hit me,” Chen Zijin remained motionless, tears streaming down her face.

Zhong Lan grew even angrier, shouting at her sister-in-law: “Mi Xiao, don’t stop me! I’ve never laid a hand on her in my life, and now she’s getting bolder by the day. Today, I’m going to teach her a lesson. I’m furious—I can’t take it anymore!”

Zhong Lan was truly enraged now, struggling left and right to break free from her sister-in-law’s hold and slap her eldest daughter.

“Slap! Crash! Slap!”

In the struggle, Chen Xiaomi’s bag on the coffee table fell to the floor.

Inside, a glass bottle of perfume shattered instantly, filling the air with fragrance.

“Mmm! Mmm!”

Almost simultaneously, two heavy “Mmm” sounds came from outside the door.

Grandpa Chen appeared silently at the threshold, his narrow, squinting eyes fixed on his daughter-in-law, then his granddaughter—his presence immense, commanding without a single word.

Seeing her father-in-law appear, Zhong Lan’s fury instantly dimmed. Under half-pushing, half-pleading from her sister-in-law, she finally sat back down on the single sofa—but her heaving chest made it clear: her hatred hadn’t lessened, her anger hadn’t faded!

Hatred? Of course—it was for Li Heng.

Anger? No need to explain—it was rage at her daughter’s incompetence, still thinking of that bastard at every moment.

“Grandpa, you’re finally here! If you hadn’t come, my sister would’ve been beaten to death!” Chen Zitong, as if finding her anchor, rushed over and gently guided her grandfather to his seat, cooing like a child.

Hearing this, Zhong Lan’s eyebrows shot up—right then, at least a third of her fury shifted toward her younger daughter.

She seethed inwardly at her own barren womb—no son, only two daughters, each more infuriating than the last, none loyal, all siding with outsiders.

Grandpa Chen was in excellent health, but he relished this family harmony. After settling comfortably, he said:

“Go, pour me some tea.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

Chen Zitong turned and hurried off. Soon, a steaming cup of tea sat before Grandpa, her mother, her aunt, and her sister.

Of course, she didn’t forget to reward herself—a large cup of honey water, extra sweet.

Grandpa Chen, a living fossil who’d weathered decades of bureaucratic ups and downs, sat quietly, saying nothing, sipping his tea calmly—his presence drained everyone else of any temper, leaving them to wait in silence.

Realizing her imported perfume had shattered, Chen Xiaomi panicked. She crouched down, examining the bag—finding nothing but shards of glass—and her heart cracked open in grief.

Then she began sorting through the contents, pulling out a small round mirror, a comb, hair ties, lipstick, eyebrow pencil, one by one.

Thump! A document landed on the coffee table.

Thump! A copy of *Shouhuo* magazine landed on the coffee table.

Thud! Inside was also a bright orange tangerine.

When the *Shouhuo* magazine appeared, Chen Zijin’s gaze snapped to it—she remembered Song Yu’s words before hanging up.

December.

Why had Song Yu emphasized the writer “December”?

But given her recent bitter fight with her mother, Chen Zijin took no action—only silently studied the magazine.

Chen Zitong exclaimed in surprise: “Hey, Auntie, aren’t you at *People’s Literature*? Why’d you buy a rival magazine? Aren’t you aiding the enemy?”

Having taken a large bribe but botched the job, Chen Zitong now desperately shifted attention—hoping her sister wouldn’t later demand money back.

Hearing “rival,” Chen Xiaomi paused. She stopped carefully organizing the bag, hastily shoved it aside, and sat down to say:

“Our editor-in-chief gave this to your father. I just brought it back.”

Hearing this, Grandpa Chen, who’d been quietly sipping tea, lifted his head, curious: “Did they publish another great piece?”

Thinking of Li Heng, recalling the humiliating time in Shaoshan when he’d mocked and dominated her, Chen Xiaomi felt utterly ashamed and said nothing—she simply opened *Shouhuo* to the page of *To Live*, and handed it to her grandfather.

Grandpa Chen took it but didn’t rush to read. With the wisdom of age, he asked: “What’s the story behind it?”

Chen Xiaomi crossed her arms, reluctantly answering: “The editor-in-chief read *To Live* and said ‘good’ three times straight—he declared it a timeless masterpiece destined to be passed down.”

“When he learned the writer was from our Shaoshan, he immediately called Brother to say he wanted to send it for his appraisal.”

Seeing her daughter’s unhappy expression, Grandpa Chen realized: “So this is the piece you went to Shaoshan to acquire last time—but lost to a rival?”

Chen Xiaomi raised an eyebrow: “I lost to Master Ba.”

“Oh? How so?” Master Ba’s status in China’s literary world was universally known—Grandpa Chen was now deeply intrigued.

Chen Xiaomi was miserable, but since this touched her professional shame, she gritted her teeth and recounted the entire process of negotiating the copyright for *To Live*.

Finally, she added, enviously: “Because of the unprecedented royalty offer, and because Master Ba personally endorsed and championed it.”

“*To Live* hasn’t even been published yet, but it’s already sent shockwaves through the literary world. Everyone’s watching it now.”

“You don’t believe me? Just check the newspapers next week—every headline will be about it. Though I don’t know if the reception will be good or bad.”

Hearing the word “royalty,” Grandpa Chen understood everything.

With so many publishers’ interests at stake, *To Live*’s reception couldn’t possibly be uniformly positive.

But with Master Ba personally backing it, many would give it some leeway—if the work truly met the standard, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

At least, with the buzz already rising, *To Live* had already gained the essential foundation for explosive success.

Realizing all this, Grandpa Chen smiled: “Looks like Master Ba knows how to play his cards. I wonder if this writer ‘December’ has the fortune to handle it.”

Hearing this, Chen Xiaomi felt even more suffocated.

Before leaving work, Editor Zhou Mingwei and Editor-in-Chief Sun had said nearly the same thing to her—making her envious.

But she had to admit—it was the truth.

Because of Master Ba’s name, because of his earth-shattering “royalty” offer, countless people would rush to read *To Live*.

And given *To Live*’s exceptional quality, even if it didn’t win over everyone, the number who stayed would be substantial enough to let that bastard Li Heng savor his victory.

One work had sparked so many stories—especially with Master Ba, an elderly man, personally stepping in to support a young writer, plus the added weight of the writer being a “hometown” figure—Grandpa Chen’s curiosity was fully ignited. He immediately stopped caring about his daughter-in-law and granddaughter’s feud and began reading right there.

As if no one else was present.

Seeing this, Chen Zijin’s heart churned violently.

She believed Song Yu wouldn’t speak without reason—under such urgent circumstances, urging her to pay attention to the writer “December” must mean it concerned her.

Could such a brilliant writer be connected to her? Was it Li Heng?

She froze at the thought—then immediately dismissed it. He was busy studying—how could he have time?

Besides, though he’d loved reading Uncle Li’s books before, it was mostly to avoid farm labor—he’d always preferred to cause trouble for her. How could he possibly be this talented?

Then what did Song Yu mean by this?

Chen Zijin was filled with doubt, but couldn’t find the answer.

Her daughter’s confusion mirrored Zhong Lan’s own.

The editor-in-chief of *People’s Literature* was an alumnus of her husband’s school; they often exchanged small gifts to maintain friendship—Zhong Lan never found this odd.

But what surprised her was that the writer was from Shaoshan?

Though she hadn’t read *To Live* yet, didn’t know its quality, even a fool could grasp one simple truth:

If the work wasn’t exceptional—truly outstanding—it would never have drawn Master Ba out of retirement to champion it.

So she’d already formed a basic conclusion: *To Live*’s exact height remained unknown, but it was undoubtedly a remarkable masterpiece.

Thinking of this, Zhong Lan turned to Chen Xiaomi:

“Mi Xiao, you met the writer in person last time—where in Shaoshan is he from?”

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(End of Chapter)