“Li Hui said you took thirty thousand yuan from Li Baoguo,” Shen Yiqing said directly, no longer beating around the bush. “The money that was going to save his life. Is that true?”
Even though Jiang Cheng could pretty much guess what Li Hui had said—it couldn’t possibly be anything other than money, money, money, and more money—hearing Shen Yiqing say it out loud like this still made his chest feel tight. There was a ringing in his head and a stuffiness all the way up to his throat. He felt the sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. Then his stomach turned. Gripped by intense nausea, he grabbed the cup on the desk and poured cold water down his throat.
“It’s not like you never met Li Baoguo.” Jiang Cheng inhaled, trying keep his emotions under control. “You met him when you adopted me, and during the adoption reversal, too. You know very well what kind of person he was.”
Shen Yiqing said nothing.
“Even if he had thirty thousand yuan, do you really think he’d put that money anywhere within my reach?” Jiang Cheng took in two long drags of the cigarette. “And if you don’t know what kind of person he was, you know me—you raised me for seventeen years. Even dog owners know when their dog wags its tail and when it bites!”
“Xiao-Cheng.” Shen Yiqing sighed. “I understand that me asking this makes you feel uncomfortable, but it’s important for me to clarify some things so I can make a judgment on where I stand.”
“I have never touched his money,” Jiang Cheng said. “His suicide had nothing to do with me, either. I gave him money when he was sick, and when he passed, Li Hui asked me for money. I gave it then, too.”
He suddenly felt very sorry for himself. His nose twinged. He’d considered this woman his mother for seventeen years, and now he was forced to explain himself to her, even when he felt the answer should have been patently obvious. Jiang Cheng knew that was just the kind of person Shen Yiqing was, but at this very moment, and not for the first time, he was deeply disappointed.
Perhaps he was too naive. In his own naivete, he’d assumed there would be something remaining of the mother-and-son bond of almost two decades. He’d thought that where a mother stood never depended on any sort of condition of truth—that choosing to believe your own child was simply second nature.
That kind of second nature clearly didn’t exist for Shen Yiqing when it came to him. Shen Yiqing logically required a “truth” before she could decide what side she was on.
Jiang Cheng understood. But he found it hard to accept.
He had spent so long forcing himself to stop thinking about and brooding over all the bitterness of the past almost twenty years. But all that was being dragged up to the surface once again.
“To be honest, Xiao-Cheng, I did think there was no way you’d touch his money, even if you…well,” Shen Yiqing said. “It’s only because Li Hui said it so earnestly—he even cried. That’s why I wanted to ask you about it myself.”
“It’s fine.” Jiang Cheng let out a small laugh. “You don’t know enough about the people here. If you were face-to-face with him, he might even cut his wrists and swear it on his own blood.”
“Where are you living now? Have you moved out?” Shen Yiqing asked.
“I’m renting my own place.”
Shen Yiqing sighed quietly and fell silent for a moment. Jiang Cheng felt like he could already guess what she wanted to say, and why she was hesitating. After all, this was the only person he’d ever associated with the word “Mom” in his mind. He knew her well.
“I’m doing very well.” He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “I…I’m fine where I am.”
“But you’re all alone—” Shen Yiqing was still hesitating.
Jiang Cheng interrupted her. “I’m not alone.”
I’m not alone, I’m a loon.
He summoned all of his willpower to keep himself from blurting out the stupid joke, but he suddenly wanted to laugh.
So he did.
“What’s so funny?” Shen Yiqing was baffled by his abrupt laughter, her tone of voice reflecting her obvious displeasure. “Why are you still so careless about your own life?”
“Careless?” Jiang Cheng stopped laughing. “No, I am not at all careless about my life. I know exactly what I need and what I don’t need now.”
“Fine.” Shen Yiqing didn’t seem to want to continue the conversation. “If that’s what you think, then I won’t interfere.”
“Thank you.”
“Just one last thing.” Shen Yiqing assumed her usual cool demeanor again. “You said you’re not alone?”
“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng glanced at the closed bedroom door. “I’m not alone now.” I’m a loon.
Jiang Cheng didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was like his brain had been filled with glue, holding on to this in-joke that nobody else was in on. As angry and annoyed as he was, he still wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh so much that he had to bite his lips to keep himself from cracking up like a maniac.
“Do you have a girlfriend or something?” Shen Yiqing asked.
Girlfriend.
High school romance was against school rules.
Shen Yiqing had never come right out and told him it was forbidden, but she made her position clear with the disdainful comments she made about Pan Zhi, who was always in the middle of some “puppy love” or other.
Jiang Cheng stood up, walked to the bedroom window, and looked out into the night. The streets were already tinged with a derelict bleakness, but now they were also colored with a hint of autumn. He suddenly felt the impulse to shake off everything that bound him. He didn’t even know what those bindings were, but still, he felt like screaming out, ripping his clothes off, and making a leap. He wanted to step into thin air.
“No.” He looked at the exceptionally full moon hanging in the sky, closed his eyes, and breathed in. “I have a boyfriend.”
He couldn’t make out Shen Yiqing’s reaction on the other side, and he wasn’t interested in hearing it. There was only a gust of wind roaring through his mind, his body, and the shifting shadows outside that appeared ever darker against the brightness of the moon.
The breeze refreshed him.
“Thank you for raising me all these years, and for all the energy you spent,” he said, closing his eyes. “But I never did bring you any joy, and for that, I’m very sorry. There’s no way of making up for any of it now, though. With everything that’s happened over the years, it can’t be fixed. I’m sorry, but you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’ll be all right. No matter where I am, I have ways of proving myself.”
Whatever Shen Yiqing said was lost in the roar of the wind.
“You should change your number. I really don’t want you to be harassed by scumbags like that again on my account. Don’t tell me the number, either,” Jiang Cheng added. “And just this once, I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I really can live a very good life.”