Chapter Ten: The Picture in the Mire

There were fifteen days left until the monthly exam.

Suddenly, the teacher announced something: the school would be organizing a five-day visit and exchange program at the most prestigious university in North City for the top five students of each grade.

By the time Ye Mian heard about this, the academic stars had already left. To ordinary students, it was something neither here nor there; after all, there was no way it would ever involve them.

Ye Mian felt the same way. Her only goal at school was to get into Class One; everything else had long since been cast aside. Still, she was certain that Jiang Chen would be among those top students.

Summer weather was fickle—a bright and sunny morning gave way to thick, rolling clouds by afternoon. When classes ended, a gentle rain began to fall.

Ye Mian and Jiang Yuan walked home together. Jiang Yuan’s house was a bit farther than Ye Mian’s; they took the same bus, but Jiang Yuan had to ride two more stops.

Not wanting to miss this rare opportunity, Jiang Yuan clutched Ye Mian’s hand and asked curiously, “Mianmian, how did your dad handle that incident with Class Six blocking you the other day?”

Such a big event, if anyone had witnessed it, would surely have sparked rumors among the students. How was it resolved?

Ye Mian recalled the boy’s school uniform, soaked in blood, and fell silent, unable to find words. She simply patted Jiang Yuan's hand and smiled, “They didn’t come looking for me. Maybe they were just bluffing.”

“That’s such a relief.” Jiang Yuan let out a long breath, her face lighting up again as she pulled Ye Mian into a conversation about other things.

When the bus reached the old city district, Ye Mian stood up to say goodbye and got off with her backpack.

She opened her umbrella and stopped at a wonton shop by the street for a steaming bowl of wontons. Only when the sky had grown completely dark did she start home.

Passing the big locust tree, she glanced instinctively toward Jiang Chen’s house—and saw something unexpected in the courtyard.

Dong Yulian was embracing a man with a scruffy beard, openly kissing his face without a care for who might see.

The man was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, his voice as booming as his physique. “When’s that brat coming back?”

Dong Yulian rubbed her hands, fine lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. “He’ll be back in a few days. Once I find the property deed, I’ll mortgage the house for cash. Then we can leave here together.”

The man let out a hearty laugh, slapping her on the rear. “Aren’t you afraid that kid will give you trouble?”

“He won’t,” Dong Yulian replied with confidence. “I haven’t divorced his father yet—half this house is mine. What’s he got to be mad about? I’m not leaving unless I get the house, and he’s just a kid; what can he do to me?”

Ye Mian stood frozen for a moment.

She vaguely remembered Dong Yulian. Once, this woman was famous for her flirtatious ways—beautiful and bold, she drifted from man to man with ease. Jiang Chen’s father was the most unremarkable of them all.

But Dong Yulian’s ending was far from happy. After contracting a disease and being abandoned by the many men she had toyed with, she drifted through life until her fifties, then left this world.

Ye Mian didn’t feel much personal loathing for Dong Yulian, but she despised what she had done and couldn’t imagine how miserable it must be for Jiang Chen to live with her.

How could the pride of youth endure such humiliation?

But Jiang Chen was not an ordinary person. He endured.

Ye Mian took out her phone, opened Jiang Yuan’s chat box, and quietly sent a message.

“Can you help me find Jiang Chen’s contact info?”

Jiang Yuan replied with a shocked emoji, followed by an “ok.”

Ye Mian took a deep breath, about to leave, when her gaze swept the trash heap at the courtyard gate.

A photograph lay on the ground, the frame shattered, shards of glass scattered around it.

Raindrops tapped gently on the photo, muddy water splashing up.

Ye Mian hurried over, brushed aside the glass, and picked up the photo.

On closer inspection, it was a family portrait. The woman looked to be about thirty, dressed in a floral dress, with a gentle smile and a serene, graceful air. She was holding a little boy’s hand.

The boy’s features were neat and adorable, his lips pressed in a serious line—a miniature Jiang Chen.

The woman’s smile was so warm, so familiar, echoing the curve of Jiang Chen’s own smile in later years. Only Jiang Chen’s smile never reached his eyes; there was no warmth, only cold detachment.

This must be a photo of Jiang Chen and his mother.

Ye Mian’s gaze softened. Unmindful of the dirt, she wiped the water from the photo with her hand, then wrapped it in a tissue, pressing gently to absorb the moisture.

But the photo was still stained—soaked too long in the rain, it had grown soft and pulpy, a dark blotch spreading across one corner.

No need to guess; Dong Yulian must have thrown it out.

Ye Mian couldn’t help clenching her fist, crushing the tissue in her palm into a tiny ball.

A surge of anger flared in her chest.

She was furious.

After a moment, she opened other garbage bags to check, and, finding nothing else, took the photo with her as she left.

To Jiang Chen, this must be something very important. She held the photo close as she walked, careful not to let a single drop of rain fall on it.

When she finally got home, the ends of her hair and her shoulders were damp, but she didn’t bother to dry off. She tossed her backpack aside and hurried into her room with the photo.

She spread a layer of tissues on her desk, placed the photo on top, and turned on a small fan to blow gently at it, her eyes fixed on the image, afraid it might be blown to the floor.

After more than ten minutes, her phone chimed with a message.

It was from Jiang Yuan: a string of numbers, and a note.

“Mianmian, this is Jiang Chen’s phone number. I couldn’t find his QQ—he’s not in the class group anymore. I had to ask around a lot to get this.”

Even through the screen, Ye Mian could imagine the look of pride on the girl’s face.

Smiling, Ye Mian typed her reply.

“Thank you, Yuanyuan. You’re amazing. When we get back to school on Monday, I’ll treat you to bubble tea.”

Jiang Yuan was quick to respond.

“I want the most expensive one!”

“Of course, the most expensive.”

After the chat, Ye Mian copied the phone number, opened the contact search in WeChat, and pasted in the digits. An account quickly appeared.

The avatar was a tree.

The username: “jc”—the initials of Jiang Chen’s name.

Ye Mian hesitated for a moment, then tapped to add as a friend.

Ten minutes passed, but there was no response.

She blinked, thinking, Of course—people like him wouldn’t add a stranger who hasn’t introduced themselves.

So she tried again, this time including a note in the greeting:

“Hello, this is Ye Mian.”