Chapter Thirty: Emotion Is Meaningless

By the time Xiaobao finished his homework, afternoon had already arrived. Xiaobao’s mother came in carrying two pitchers of cold drinks, setting them down beside the two of them. With a bright, gentle smile, she coaxed Xiaobao, “You’ve been such a good boy today, finishing all your homework, haven’t you?”

She certainly had a talent for praising with her eyes closed. Throughout the session, Xiaobao had burst into tears and tantrums several times, making exceptionally slow progress, but she chose to ignore it.

Truthfully, even if she acknowledged it, it wouldn’t help—she was worried too. Her son was eight years old now and still hadn’t gone to school, relying on private tutors at home.

Xiaobao had actually attended school before, but every day, as soon as he arrived, he’d start fights with classmates, refuse to listen in class, and disrupt the lessons. Soon enough, both the school and the teachers had had enough. They suggested she take Xiaobao for a hospital evaluation and, in accordance with policy, expelled him.

But how could she accept that her child might have a problem? She simply told herself that he was still young, just a bit mischievous.

After all, their family was wealthy. Her son could study at home. As long as he kept up with his studies, he could transfer into school later, once he’d matured a bit—with the right connections.

But as days passed, one after another, even the tutors no longer wanted to come. It had taken her considerable effort to find someone as patient as Jiang Chen.

He was not only even-tempered but also taught with great dedication.

So, even though Jiang Chen had to go to school during the day himself, she had no choice but to compromise and let him come in the evenings to tutor Xiaobao.

In short, as long as someone was teaching Xiaobao and he was keeping up with his homework, she could praise him a hundred times and still be happy.

Outside, the sun blazed fiercely on the cement roads, the ground shimmering with heat. Inside, the air conditioner kept the temperature perfectly comfortable.

With Xiaobao’s mother’s arrival, the studious atmosphere in the room dissipated instantly. Jiang Chen, accustomed to such interruptions, rose and moved aside.

Xiaobao, who had been quiet, glared at his mother as if she were his enemy the moment she entered. What kind of mother was this? She claimed she would always love and protect him, but she was a liar! She’d run off in an instant, leaving him to someone else.

Xiaobao’s mother sighed, reaching out to stroke his head, but before she could touch him, Xiaobao smacked her hand away with force.

Barred teeth bared, as if shooing away some monster, he screeched in a sharp, strained voice, “Go away, bad Mommy!”

His voice was piercingly shrill.

He knocked over a glass on the table, sending the drink spilling in a noisy crash, splashing onto his mother’s clothes.

The atmosphere froze, icy and lifeless.

Jiang Chen stood to the side, expressionless, neither speaking nor intervening.

Such indifferent detachment felt awkward amid the dripping sound of liquid on the floor.

Xiaobao’s mother, startled and frightened, took two steps back and forced a laugh. “All right, you study hard, then. Mommy is leaving.”

Jiang Chen silently scoffed, rising to pick up the broken shards from the table.

Suddenly, Xiaobao lunged at him. Jiang Chen sidestepped, and Xiaobao tumbled to the floor.

The little rascal had never suffered like this before; clutching his arm, he burst into loud, pained sobs. “Mommy, he hit me! I don’t want him teaching me!”

Jiang Chen’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Xiaobao’s mother lifted a hand and delivered a crisp slap to Jiang Chen’s face. “Why are you taking it out on him? He’s just a child—what’s wrong with him pouncing a bit?”

The air fell utterly silent.

On that autumn afternoon, wind raging outside, Jiang Chen lifted his gaze to the view beyond the window, thinking coolly: humiliation isn’t a feeling I’m allowed.

Survival is far more important than anger.

He didn’t touch his stinging cheek. Instead, he tossed the shards into the trash, picked up his jacket in an unhurried manner, and walked out the door.

Xiaobao’s mother felt a twinge of regret. If Jiang Chen left, who would teach her precious son? She’d changed so many tutors, and none had been more patient than Jiang Chen.

She glanced at Xiaobao, forced herself to suppress any comforting words, and hurried after Jiang Chen.

Seeing him changing his shoes at the door, she grabbed his sleeve, pleading earnestly, “I’m sorry, Xiao Jiang, I acted impulsively. I apologize—surely you can’t hold a grudge against a child, can you? Xiaobao is just mischievous, I’ll have a word with him.”

Jiang Chen gently lifted her hand off his sleeve with barely a trace of movement, replying coolly, “I’m very sorry about your son’s mischief, Mrs. Sun, but please keep your hands clean in the future.”

Xiaobao’s mother froze, then quickly forced a smile and nodded repeatedly, taking out five hundred yuan and insisting on stuffing it into Jiang Chen’s pocket. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I truly am. It won’t happen again. Why don’t you go home and rest for now, and come back tomorrow?”

Jiang Chen gave her a look—the light casting his eyes in a pale, indifferent hue, as if her promises meant nothing at all—then nodded and left.

Even at his reckless, youthful age, Jiang Chen never cried over humiliation or hardship.

The mark from the slap was still vivid on his fair cheek, yet he seemed not to care at all.

Emotions, he thought, were a pointless thing.

Clutching the money, he went to the hospital, looking for a nurse who seemed both kind and attentive. After paying her, he asked her to go to the third floor of the inpatient building to find a young woman named Ye Mian.

Watching the nurse, delighted with the work, head upstairs, he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, enduring the stabbing pain in his abdomen.

Having gone hungry before, he suffered from severe stomach problems.

In Dong Yulian’s eyes, he was not her own son—not even as valuable as a dog.

Until he was able to earn his own living, he had never once enjoyed the freedom of a full meal.

Clenching his teeth and holding his stomach, he staggered into a shop about to close and bought a bowl of hot congee.

The scalding porridge soothed the pain as it slid into his stomach.

Only then did he set out for home.

The plane trees lining the street blocked most of the sunlight.

Fragmented patches of light dappled his brows and eyes, his expression as impassive as ever, his gaze deeper than the sea.

—

After waking, Ye Mian hadn’t seen Jiang Chen at all.

Even after finishing the breakfast he’d left for her, Jiang Chen hadn’t returned, and she understood that he was off attending to his own affairs.

She felt no disappointment.

She thought that for Jiang Chen to have taken care of her for so long was already more than enough.

A person must learn to be grateful.

Jiang Chen owed her nothing.

At noon, she ordered takeout for herself, requesting as little oil and salt as possible.

It didn’t taste as good as Jiang Chen’s cooking, but it was enough to fill her stomach.

There was nothing to be done—she wasn’t at home and couldn’t afford to be picky.

As afternoon came on, she began to worry about what to do in the evening; the hospital required patients to have someone accompany them overnight.

She hadn’t fretted for long when a plainly dressed woman in her forties came in. On seeing her, the woman asked, “Are you Ye Mian?”

Ye Mian nodded. “Auntie, is there something I can help you with?”

The woman grinned good-naturedly, a simple, honest air about her. “I’m a nurse assistant; someone just hired me to come take care of you.”

At that, Ye Mian was momentarily stunned. She didn’t have to guess to know it was Jiang Chen.

She blinked, invited the woman in to sit, then asked, “Auntie, how much do you charge per day?”

The assistant, straightforward as ever, didn’t pause as she expertly fetched water for Ye Mian. “The person who sent me already paid.”