Chapter 47: Chapter Forty-Seven

Jiang Chen, making coffee, saw Wang Manni come over and smiled warmly, gesturing for her to wait a moment.

Wang Manni returned the smile and found an empty seat to sit down.

Not long after, Jiang Chen walked over with a cup of coffee: “Try it.”

Wang Manni picked up the cup, took a sip, and savored it: “Hmm, it’s good. But this isn’t the same as before.”

“Of course it’s different—this is my...” Jiang Chen went on about the coffee’s origin, rambling for a while.

Seeing Wang Manni wasn’t interested, he asked: “If I remember right, you were supposed to be working today—why are you here?”

After sipping her coffee, Wang Manni said: “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Where to?” Jiang Chen didn’t catch on.

“Home.”

“Home?”

“Home!”

Jiang Chen fell silent, then finally blurted: “Can’t you stay?”

Seeing him like this, Wang Manni cut straight to the point: “Take care of yourself—don’t let me affect you.”

“You could stay at this coffee shop. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s free.”

“Enough. I need to go home.” Wang Manni didn’t answer.

“I’ll take you home.”

“Fine. Take me to the subway station.”

“Whatever you say—subway station.”

They met at the subway station—so this belated ending should happen there too.

Did Wang Manni have feelings for Jiang Chen? Honestly, yes—mainly because of those years of struggling and relying on each other, that time of youth held her past.

As for getting back together? Wang Manni said it plainly: missed chances are missed—good horses don’t eat backward grass.

In the afternoon, Gu Jia texted Wang Yan saying she wouldn’t be back for dinner, telling him and the two boys not to wait for her.

Wang Yan knew what had happened—it was just Wang Manni leaving, and they were seeing her off.

This time, Zhao Jingyu didn’t cause trouble; Wang Manni returned much later than in the original plot, finishing her thirtieth birthday before leaving.

If her return home was delayed, she’d likely never cross paths with Wei Zhijie again.

If only she’d avoided—or even just ignored—the old man next door, the barber named Yu Bo, and his endless nonsense, fate might’ve taken another turn.

But who can say for sure? Who you are is who you are—maybe after circling around, she’d still walk the same path. That’s none of Wang Yan’s business anymore—let it be.

In the blink of an eye, over half a year passed.

Wang Yan, Gu Jia, and Xu Ziyang remained a happy family of three, utterly free of worries.

Gu Jia just mingled in the Taitaiquan daily, and spent the rest of her time handling company affairs—including some of Wang Yan’s business too—each day packed full.

In the Taitaiquan , Li TaiTai’s family, just as in the original story, lost their patron and moved abroad. With her gone, Gu Jia was effectively the new leader—topped the ladder.

Rarely, Gu Jia kept her true self, never repeating the same drama Wang Yan had feared she’d unleash on newcomers.

During this time, they sold another season of tea. Since the last batch had been wildly popular and well-reviewed, this one sold smoothly.

Corresponding profits rose slightly, investments increased further, and the changes in Henglu Village grew even more pronounced.

Wang Yan never said a word about Gu Jia’s choices—he understood the logic. Let her do as she pleased.

Villagers working away, except those with truly bright futures, all returned home. Why struggle elsewhere when you can live well at home?

The old village chief knew how to handle things: when they first invested, he reported upward. When this second wave came, the county reported to the city, and leaders at all levels praised the approach, even awarded honors and featured it on the news—Gu Jia gained recognition.

Despite daily busyness, Gu Jia was deeply satisfied with her life.

Wang Yan remained the same: idle every day, reading, drinking tea, writing, coding, and taking care of the kids.

Xu Huanshan came a few times with Lin Youyou to see Xu Ziyang—after all, he was his own son; how could he not care?

Though Wang Yan was a bastard, he never tried to brainwash Xu Ziyang. But Xu Huanshan’s presence did fill the void of Xu Ziyang’s longing for a father—over time, however, the bond grew distant. Xu Ziyang wasn’t without feeling for Xu Huanshan, but it had grown faint, almost unaffectionate.

Xu Huanshan understood why. So much time had passed—he’d made peace with it.

One day, Xu Huanshan, taking advantage of a break, came to Tianyue Mansion with his heavily pregnant Lin Youyou.

The baby wasn’t made in vain—Lin Youyou was already over six months along, two months from delivery.

That’s why they came to Tianyue Mansion: it was inconvenient to drag a pregnant woman out, and accidents could happen.

Wang Yan thanked the property staff, then led Xu Huanshan and Lin Youyou inside.

Gu Jia wasn’t home—she didn’t want to see Xu Huanshan or Lin Youyou, especially with Lin Youyou so pregnant—she’d gone out to meet friends.

This was mainly because Xu Huanshan had been utterly cruel during their divorce, leaving no trace of sentiment.

Of course, the real fault lay with Wang Yan—he’d encouraged Xu Huanshan while still flirting with Gu Jia.

Too bad the home flower never smelled as sweet as the wild one—otherwise, Wang Yan wouldn’t have had a chance.

Xu Ziyang, watching TV, saw Xu Huanshan enter and ran over: “Dad, Auntie, you’re here?”

Xu Huanshan hurried over and picked up Xu Ziyang: “Hey, son, you’ve gotten fatter—I can barely lift you now.”

“Really? Should I eat less?” Xu Ziyang thought seriously.

Xu Huanshan burst into laughter: “Hah! Foolish kid, I was just teasing you.”

Then Xu Huanshan and Lin Youyou played with Xu Ziyang.

Lin Youyou was no pushover, but around Wang Yan, she remained low-key—she always felt uneasy under his knowing gaze.

Wang Yan watched them play for a while, then shook his head and went upstairs, leaving them space.

“Hssss... huuuh...”

On the balcony, Wang Yan smoked, staring at the towering buildings outside.

Before he finished one cigarette, Xu Huanshan came up.

Wang Yan picked up a cigarette and gestured—Xu Huanshan shook his head, refusing: Lin Youyou was pregnant; smoking was bad.

“Wang Yan, I want to know the truth.”

Wang Yan stared into Xu Huanshan’s eyes for a moment, then said: “Regret it?”

“We’re past that now—why bring it up?”

After thinking, Wang Yan said: “If you hadn’t cheated, I wouldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

Xu Huanshan believed him—he knew Wang Yan wouldn’t lie to him.

He didn’t want to waste words with Wang Yan—he turned to leave.

Wang Yan called out: “Old Xu.”

Xu Huanshan turned back.

“Go check on the fireworks factory—pay attention to safety. That’s all I’ll say. Do as you will.”

He said no more, turned away, and kept gazing outside, hands behind his back.

Xu Huanshan paused, then left—he remembered that time he’d lost a fight, and how Wang Yan had advised Shen Jie.

He decided: once back, he’d go inspect the factory—no room for carelessness.

Wang Yan had softened—he didn’t bring up whether Xu Huanshan was right or wrong, or whether Lin Youyou truly loved him.

He only thought of the two lives lost in the fireworks explosion, their families, and Lin Youyou’s unborn child—all innocent.

Though the explosion was destined to happen, the key was—he wasn’t there. They hadn’t wronged him, hadn’t harmed him.

He was already a bastard enough—he still had to hold on to some conscience, some bottom line.

After so long, except for a slightly irregular schedule and some fatigue, Zhong Xiaoqin felt happy.

Her parents now knew Zhong Xiaoqin and Zhong Xiaoyang were together. With the fact settled, all they could do was sigh helplessly.

But Zhong Xiaoqin now felt uneasy—she’d just gagged, and with past experience, she immediately knew what it meant.

She rushed downstairs to buy a pregnancy test, returned, and took it—no surprise: two lines.

Zhong Xiaoqin didn’t know what to do—she sat silently on the sofa, staring blankly.

After a long while, the sound of a door slamming open and shut signaled Zhong Xiaoyang’s return.

Recently, Zhong Xiaoyang had found work modifying motorcycles—tiring, but he never imagined he’d end up here.

After working a while, he was starting to feel he couldn’t go on—but he had to keep going—what else would he eat or drink?

People say turning a passion into a job is the happiest thing—but it depends on the person and the job. Once passion becomes a livelihood, it often ceases to be loved.

The door slam jolted Zhong Xiaoqin from her daze. She checked the time: “You’re back—I’ll go cook.”

Zhong Xiaoyang came over, hugged Zhong Xiaoqin, and kissed her: “Hurry up—I’m starving.”

Zhong Xiaoqin quickly cooked two dishes; they ate while chatting half-heartedly.

“Xiaoyang, I’m pregnant.” After a silence, Zhong Xiaoqin suddenly said.

Zhong Xiaoyang paused mid-bite, pulled his chopsticks back: “When did this happen?”

“This afternoon—I gagged, so I bought a test. Look—two lines.” She held out the stick.

He glanced at it, then asked: “What do you want to do?”

“I want to hear what you think.”

Zhong Xiaoyang gave a long speech—about life, money, lack of stability, all the usual excuses.

Final conclusion: “Abort it.”

“Okay.”

Seeing Zhong Xiaoqin’s low mood, Zhong Xiaoyang quickly soothed her with his usual sweet talk.

But this time, it didn’t work.

Zhong Xiaoqin had prepared for this outcome—but still felt deeply disappointed. It showed Zhong Xiaoyang had no intention of building a future—he hadn’t even considered her age. And she’d had a D&C just six months ago—he knew that. Another abortion might have consequences she couldn’t predict.

“I’m done eating, you eat.” After saying this, Zhong Xiaoqin returned to the bedroom, lay on the bed, and pulled the covers over her head, motionless.

Zhong Xiaoyang said nothing; after all, this wasn’t the first time. A little comfort, a couple of days, and she’d be fine—he had experience.

The next day, both Zhong Xiaoqin and Zhong Xiaoyang took leave and went to the hospital for an abortion.

Yes, there were many others having abortions too; they waited a long time before it was Zhong Xiaoqin’s turn.

Soon after, Zhong Xiaoqin emerged, weak and pale.

The doctor then prescribed medicine and told Zhong Xiaoqin she must not have another abortion. She’d just undergone a curettage and recovered slightly before having this one—it would seriously harm her future. Infertility, increased risk of neonatal death, all that.

Zhong Xiaoqin was terrified. She cried all the way to Zhong Xiaoyang’s home.

After resting for a while, she mustered the strength to pack her bags and left without a word.

Zhong Xiaoyang thought a little soothing would fix it—he never expected Zhong Xiaoqin to be this stubborn.

He hurriedly begged, swore oaths, apologized, and pleaded with her to stay.

Zhong Xiaoqin didn’t argue or scream with Zhong Xiaoyang—first, she was in too much pain; second, her heart was dead, and no amount of words would change anything.

She glanced at him, forced herself to drag her suitcase downstairs, hailed a taxi, and returned to her parents’ home.

Since there was no elevator and her family lived on a high floor, she simply couldn’t go on. She called her mother and asked them to come down and meet her.

After hanging up, her parents rushed downstairs. Seeing Zhong Xiaoqin’s ashen face and drenched in cold sweat, her mother was terrified.

She rushed forward, wanting to know what happened so she could fight for her daughter: “Xiaoqin, what’s wrong? Why are you like this? Did that boy hurt you?”

Her father grabbed the suitcase and asked too: “Yes, Xiaoqin, what exactly happened?”

Zhong Xiaoqin’s parents knew she was involved with Zhong Xiaoyang; their daughter had chosen him, and they could only sigh and worry daily—they couldn’t control her anymore.

Zhong Xiaoqin had no energy to explain. Her voice hoarse, she said: “Let’s go upstairs, Mom and Dad. Don’t talk anymore. Just go upstairs.”

Seeing Zhong Xiaoqin like this, her mother tenderly helped her upstairs.

After carefully settling her in, only when Zhong Xiaoqin fell asleep did the couple finally breathe easier.

“What on earth happened to her?” Zhong Xiaoqin’s mother sighed.

“I’m going to find that boy and ask him.” He put on his clothes and moved to leave.

Zhong Xiaoqin’s mother quickly grabbed him: “Oh, don’t go stirring up trouble! Wait until Xiaoqin feels better.”

Zhong Xiaoqin slept straight through to the next day.

With great effort, her mother helped her up. After drinking some porridge, she returned to bed and lay down again.

Zhong Xiaoqin’s mother watched, heartbroken: “Xiaoqin, what’s wrong? Tell me! Are you trying to kill me and your father with worry?”

“Dad, Mom, I’m sorry.” Zhong Xiaoqin burst into tears.

“Oh, child, just tell us what happened!”

“I was pregnant. Zhong Xiaoyang didn’t want the baby. We aborted it yesterday.” Zhong Xiaoqin sobbed.

She recounted the past two days in detail, leaving her parents heartbroken.

Finally, after calming Zhong Xiaoqin down, her parents went straight to Zhong Xiaoyang’s home.

Naturally, they returned empty-handed—only scolded Zhong Xiaoyang a little; they truly could do nothing else.

Back home, the couple slumped onto the sofa, defeated.

“Chen Yu is so much better,” Zhong Xiaoqin’s mother suddenly said.

Zhong Xiaoqin’s father said nothing. The path was chosen by herself—who could she blame?

As for Chen Yu, he had long since fully recovered and been discharged.

He threw himself into his work and thought of nothing else.

Yet fate is always mysteriously unpredictable.

Two months ago, he met a woman who quietly helped elderly and disabled children at a welfare home during an interview.

Isn’t it strange? Normally Chen Yu never went out to the field for interviews—he’d just been discharged and wanted to regain his rhythm, and they just happened to meet.

After the interview and subsequent deep conversations, they came to understand each other and slowly drew closer.

Lately, they’d been getting along very well; it looked like something good was about to happen.

As for Wang Manni, she’d only returned home for a short while; Gu Jia, Zhong Xiaoqin, and she occasionally chatted, and Wang Yan had overheard some of it.

She’d met Zhang Zhijie through a blind date, just as in the original story.

But Wang Yan knew nothing beyond that. Gradually, the three of them spoke less and less, until over half a year passed, and they all silently stopped talking—this brief friendship ended there.

Only occasionally did Gu Jia and Zhong Xiaoqin meet up, and neither ever mentioned Wang Manni again.

Wang Yan didn’t care about Wang Manni’s situation and never bothered to investigate—so it just faded away.