Chapter 78: Standing Tall Before the Chen Family (Requesting Subscriptions!)

“Hey, hello, who’s this?”

“Me!”

Hearing that calm, steady, utterly confident voice—the familiar voice that filled her with particular irritation—Chen Xiaomi instinctively reached to hang up.

But halfway through the motion, she stopped.

She had to stop.

Because the main room wasn’t just her alone—Grandpa, her older brother, and Zijin were there too.

Because Li Heng was no longer the same man he used to be; with Master Ba and *To Live* backing him, he was no longer someone she could manipulate.

Hanging up this call was easy.

But once she did, she and Li Heng would be locked in a mortal feud—one that could never be resolved.

Instinctively, facing him again, she lost her usual sharpness, confidence, and unyielding aura—she hesitated.

And in that hesitation, the receiver spoke again: “Is Zijin there?”

“Yes.”

Just that single “yes” stirred an inexplicable sense of loss and discomfort in Chen Xiaomi—even a touch of awkwardness. She felt herself change.

Was it because of her career? Did she still hope to collaborate with him someday?

As she tried to reassure herself with that thought, she turned to her eldest niece. “It’s Li Heng on the phone.”

Hearing it was Li Heng, the unaware second aunt and second uncle exchanged glances, bewildered—both thinking the same question: When did Little Sister become so easy to talk to?

Why didn’t she just hang up?

Chen Gaoyuan, who had just returned home, was equally clueless—but his composure ran deep, and he showed no outward sign. His gaze flickered over his younger sister’s face and already guessed something major had happened at home.

Zhong Lan and Grandpa Chen were also taken aback.

But the most stunned was Chen Zitong. Upon hearing “Li Heng,” she didn’t even think—she slammed the TV off.

Only after turning it off did she feel fear. But then she glanced at her mother, then at Grandpa and Dad, then at her aunt and second aunt—wait, nobody’s looking at me?

Chen Zitong stuck out her tongue, slumped back into her seat, and—like all the elders in the room—her gaze naturally fixed on her sister.

She wondered: Will Mom cut the call first?

No. The receiver passed smoothly into her sister’s hands.

She wondered again: Will Mom storm out of the main room in anger?

No again. Zhong Lan made as if to rise—but didn’t. She sat stiffly, seething, motionless. She knew she couldn’t leave; if she walked away now, she’d lose all control over this matter forever.

Seeing all the elders stay put, ears straining, Chen Zitong thought again: Li Heng’s got guts—what’s the first thing he’ll say? Zijin? Jinyin? Chen Zijin?

She guessed wrong. Li Heng’s address to her sister made her gasp aloud.

Li Heng held the receiver, voice thick with emotion: “Wife.”

“Mm.” Chen Zijin bit her lip, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. Under eight or nine pairs of watching eyes, she lowered her head, blushing as she answered.

After half a year apart, hearing his voice again—this unprecedented term of endearment, “wife”—Chen Zijin felt everything was worth it.

Before this “wife,” all her grievances vanished. Her heart burned—fiery, blazing hot.

With the TV off, the main room fell silent—so silent that Li Heng’s voice reached every ear clearly.

Zhong Lan was furious. Her instinct screamed: That brat was doing this on purpose—intentionally taunting her, taunting every member of the Chen family who opposed or looked down on him.

If this had happened just hours ago, she’d have snatched the receiver and screamed him into silence—raged at that shameless brat until he begged for mercy.

But now, Zhong Lan did nothing. She knew Li Heng had grown too powerful—she alone could no longer suppress him.

The sister-in-law didn’t move. The younger sister didn’t move. Even the second aunt, who’d been itching to act, quelled her impulse: Wait. Just wait a little longer.

Li Heng asked: “Have you had dinner yet?”

Chen Zijin murmured: “Yes, just ate.”

It was true—everyone had waited for the second aunt and Father to return.

Then she asked: “What about you? Did you eat?”

Li Heng replied cheerfully: “I ate. Full to bursting—even ate your portion. Heh, now I’m full… and I miss you.”

Chen Zijin bit her lip. “Mm.”

Li Heng asked: “Do you miss me?”

In front of the whole family, Chen Zijin blushed hotly—but still summoned the courage to whisper: “Mm.”

At this critical moment, she urged herself: Don’t retreat. Stand with him—on the same side.

Li Heng chatted as usual: “How’s Beijing? Are you used to it? Have you lost weight?”

Chen Zijin answered crisply: “Fine. I’m used to the environment now, though I’ve lost two pounds.”

Li Heng frowned. “Lost that much? You’ve suffered a lot for me.”

At these words, everyone’s eyes flickered briefly—but no one spoke. They held their breath, listening.

Chen Zijin’s voice cracked—but she held firm. “No. Don’t worry about me.”

Knowing her words were hollow, Li Heng fell silent for a long while. Then he spoke again: “Hold on a little longer. After the college entrance exam, I’ll come to Beijing to see you.”

Chen Zijin’s eyes lit up. Her voice rose involuntarily: “Really?”

Li Heng said: “Yes. I miss you. I want to see you with my own eyes.”

That line of affection swept her away—she felt dizzy, sweet as honey, utterly immersed in happiness. For that moment, she forgot everyone else in the room: “Okay. I miss you too. I’ll wait for you.”

Hearing this conversation, more sentimental than any TV drama, Chen Zitong—innocent, inexperienced in love—stared wide-eyed, mouth agape:

Huh? Ah! Is this what it feels like to be in love? But aren’t you afraid Mom will beat you?

Thinking of Mom, Chen Zitong cautiously glanced at Zhong Lan’s face—and met a glare.

Li Heng said: “By the way, I have two good pieces of news to tell you.”

Chen Zijin asked: “What good news?”

Li Heng said: “I won the top scholarship.”

Chen Zijin replied: “Mm. Song Yu told me.”

Li Heng added: “I wrote a novel. It was published in *Harvest* magazine. Pen name: December. Read it when you have time.”

Chen Zijin replied: “Mm. Song Yu told me that too.”

Li Heng sighed. “Wait, how can you be so calm? Don’t you feel proud of me?”

At this, Chen Zijin’s eyes sparkled with laughter—laughter full of love: “I’m proud of you.”

Li Heng asked: “How proud?”

Chen Zijin smiled—genuinely, heartily. Since the events of last summer, she had never smiled so freely.

It felt like clouds parting to reveal the sun. Like finally breathing again.

Who says my taste is bad?

Who says my man is worthless?

From now on, who dares look down on the man I chose?

Li Heng asked: “Still proud?”

Chen Zijin let out a soft laugh: “Yes.”

Li Heng said: “Good. After the college entrance exam, I’ll write another novel—so you can keep being proud.”

Chen Zijin smiled happily: “Okay.”

“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.”

At that moment, the school bell rang outside. Li Heng checked the time—his heart clenched. This call had gone on too long. Would the English teacher really charge him?

He judged the timing was right. He couldn’t press further—otherwise, the Chen family would crack under the strain.

He could ignore the others—Zhong Lan, for instance.

Or that bunch: Chen Xiaomi, Chen Xiaohong, Chen Xiaoyun.

Or even Chen Zitong.

He could disregard them all. He didn’t care about their feelings.

But Chen Gaoyuan was different. His uncle had always treated him well. One must have conscience.

With that thought, Li Heng asked sincerely: “How are Grandpa and Uncle?”

Chen Zijin glanced at Grandpa and Father, then replied: “They’re fine. Don’t worry about them.”

Then she asked: “What about Uncle and Aunt? Has Uncle’s spine improved?”

Li Heng said: “You know my mom—she’s a country woman, tough as nails, works the fields day and night. She’s healthy. My dad’s the same as always—can handle light work, nothing strenuous.”

They chatted about family, daily life, and school for about ten minutes. When the bell for second period rang outside, Chen Zijin asked: “Is that the bell for second period?”

Li Heng said yes.

Chen Zijin recalled: “It’s ten minutes earlier than ours. I’ve been away from No. 1 High so long, I almost forgot the schedule.”

Before he could reply, she urged: “Li Heng, you’ve taken up too much time. Go to class. Let’s end here for today. I’ll write you a letter later.”

“Alright. I’ll hang up. Take care of yourself. Don’t overwork. I’ll come see you this summer.”

“Mm, okay!”

Though separated by thousands of miles, their hearts understood—this call must end. Some things, after all, are better left unsaid.

She replaced the receiver and exhaled slowly. When she raised her head again, she faced the entire family’s gaze.

Chen Zitong stole glances at everyone: Li Heng only asked about Grandpa and Dad’s health—ignored everyone else. Was that intentional? Will Mom be even angrier now?

With the phone call gone, the main room grew heavy with silence. Even lively Chen Zitong sensed something was wrong—and dared not speak.

But the first to break was the utterly unaware second aunt, Chen Xiaohong. She picked up the copy of *Harvest* in front of Grandpa and asked solemnly:

“Zijin—is this novel *To Live* written by Li Heng?”

Chen Zijin said proudly, “He said yes.”

Chen Xiaohong reflexively refused to believe it, “No way! How old is this Li Heng? Could he possibly have written something this powerful?”

“One of my coworkers at the office is reading ‘To Live’ today too—he even forgot the task his boss gave him. He thought his boss would scold him, but the boss was locked in his room reading it too, so absorbed he forgot his work.”

Chen Zijin looked at her aunt, offering no defense—she trusted her husband, and needed no defense.

Following her gaze, Chen Xiaohong asked Chen Xiaomi, “Little sister, could it be…?”

Under everyone’s stares—especially with her elder niece present—Chen Xiaomi felt agonizingly conflicted, desperately wanting to deny it.

But then she remembered Li Heng’s words on the phone: “Wait until after the college entrance exam—I’ll write another book to make you proud.” Against her better judgment, Chen Xiaomi finally nodded, gritting her teeth, “It really is him.”

Chen Gaoyuan seemed to sense his sister’s discomfort. He reached out, opened ‘Harvest,’ flipped through it, and praised,

“‘To Live’ has been mentioned constantly today—I even heard people discussing it on the street. Father, have you finished reading it?”

Chen Laoyezi answered without addressing the question, sipped his tea, stood up, and walked toward his room with his hands behind his back, saying slowly as he went,

“Beyond life and death, nothing matters. To live is hope. To live holds infinite possibility. ‘To Live’ is written beautifully—this work will become a sensation. You should all put aside your prejudices and read it.”

The old man’s words carried profound truth: they captured the very essence of ‘To Live,’ while gently warning them not to judge people by outdated standards, not to look down on ordinary folks—those who live hold infinite possibility.

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(End of Chapter)