When I opened my eyes and reached for my phone, I found it gone. That outdated relic of a device wasn't worth giving away—no doubt Wen Nuan had taken it. Ever since the divorce, she'd become somewhat peculiar. Back when we were married, she treated me with a detached indifference, as if she believed that once she had me, there was no need to compete. But after the divorce, it seemed I'd suddenly become a coveted prize.
And perhaps I truly was. I could hold my own in the boardroom and the kitchen, fend off thugs, and—despite never sprawling across the bed—I kept our home immaculate, thanks to a fastidious nature. I cooked well, resolved every professional snag with ease, and though I wasn't tall—just 178 cm—I wasn't short either. My build was lean with a trace of muscle. No, I didn't have the movie-star looks, but I was decent—handsome, even. My skin lacked the pale refinement of an intellectual or the soft charm of a boyish type, but that only lent me a more rugged appeal.
Especially with my buzz cut.
If I had a flaw, it was my lack of sweet nothings for women—and perhaps the crushing debt that came with being broke.
Upstairs, the bathroom had already been commandeered by Wen Nuan. By the time I went down to wash up, she was already seated on the couch, munching on chips and working. When she saw me, she tossed the antique phone my way and said in a soft voice:
"The landlady called. She needs your help with something—it sounded urgent, but she hung up before explaining."
I scrolled through the call log, frowning.
"You didn't say anything to her, did you? You only ever give me lip. Got anything in mind for breakfast?"
"What I say doesn't count."
Wen Nuan looked utterly indifferent—and, to be fair, she was right. She never had a say in breakfast. Whatever I made, she ate. I stepped into the bathroom with the phone, brushing my teeth while dialing the landlady back. As the line rang, I noticed a few pieces of Wen Nuan's clothing hidden among my laundry. Just then, the call connected.
"Xiao Qian, you were probably still asleep—sorry to bother you."
As I sorted out her clothes, one by one, I wondered whether tossing whites and colors together would ruin them. At least I was on the phone—good cover.
"Ah? I had a few drinks last night. Wen Nuan answered this morning. You know how she is—too shy to speak. Just tell me what's wrong, Sis. No need for the formalities."
While talking, I stuffed her clothes into the washing machine. On the other end, she sighed.
"Xiao Qian, I hate to ask, but I really have no one else. It's my son Jiawei—he got into a fight at school, something about jealousy. The other parents showed up with a crowd. He's always resented his grandfather's side of the family, and we've been cut off from them for years. I don't know anyone around here, and Jiawei was too scared to go to school this morning. I took him anyway, but now…"
"I understand. Text me the school and class details. I'll go check on him. Don't worry—if it weren't for you waiving two months' deposit, I wouldn't even have a place to stay right now."
"Oh, thank you, Xiao Qian. I don't know how to repay you. Just bring Jiawei home—if it gets worse, I'll transfer him. I'm waiting outside the school now."
"No need. Go to work—I'll handle it."
I ended the call with a furrowed brow. Life hadn't been easy for the landlady—a single mother, burdened and alone. For her to ask for help, she must've been truly desperate. The college entrance exam was only a year away. To transfer now or let this incident disrupt Jiawei's studies could derail his future.
Nine years of hard work—all for the chance to pass that exam.
When I exited the bathroom, Wen Nuan was already standing by the door. Before I could say a word, she glared at me and barked:
"You transferred seventy thousand to her?"
I nodded. Then, without warning, she grabbed my head and headbutted me hard enough to leave me dizzy. I clutched my skull and snapped:
"Are you insane?!"
She gritted her teeth, eyes blazing.
"Bring me some liangpi on your way back. I've lost my appetite for anything else today."
"Oh."
Clearly, she'd overheard the call. I grabbed the car keys from the coffee table, changed into sportswear, and headed out. Only when I reached downstairs did I regret it—I'd forgotten she'd switched cars. Was this flashy thing too conspicuous for a school visit?
Just as I was about to hail a taxi, I realized I had no cash—and my phone didn't support mobile payments. Thankfully, the tank was full. I drove to Haihua Middle School.
True to form, the landlady was waiting at the gate. When she saw the white luxury car pull up, she stiffened with fear, worried it belonged to the opposing parents. But once she saw me step out, she hurried over and tapped my shoulder lightly.
"Xiao Qian, you're just picking up Jiawei—how much does renting a car like this cost per day? Is a thousand enough? Here."
I waved her off with a wry smile.
"No, no—it's my boss's car. I worked late and just drove it home. Jiawei should recognize me, right? Wait here. I'll go alone. If they see you—just a woman on your own—they might get even bolder. Give me his homeroom teacher's number."
After some convincing, I got her to wait in the car. Truthfully, her timid demeanor wasn't helping. It might even reveal that Jiawei had no strong backing.
Though reluctant, she agreed.
I called the teacher, introduced myself as Jiawei's uncle, and said I was here to check on him. Before long, a young woman wearing glasses came hurrying over. She looked to be around my age, though clearly more clumsy than athletic. I stepped forward, smiled, and said:
"Hello, Ms. Tong. I'm Li Jiawei's uncle. My sister told me he was bullied, so I came to see how he's doing."
Tong Yao looked me over skeptically, especially at the car. Only when the landlady stepped out did she relax. The guard opened the gate, and I gestured an OK sign to the landlady before following the teacher inside.
On the way, Tong Yao still seemed unconvinced.
"Your surname's Han? But Jiawei's mother is Sun."
"We're cousins. My mom and his grandmother are related."
"Oh! And where do you work, Mr. Han?"
"Rongyao Group."
"I see."
We fell silent.
At Class 11, Grade 3, Tong Yao interrupted the lesson and called Jiawei out. He looked puzzled until I threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered:
"Surprised?"
He nodded.
"Uncle, did Mom send you? Are you taking me home?"
"Of course—but no. We're not going home just yet. I want to meet these bold parents who showed up at school. Ms. Tong, would you kindly call them over? Intimidating kids isn't the way to settle things."
Tong Yao glanced at my genial smile, and a chill ran down her spine. This young uncle, it seemed, wasn't nearly as easygoing as he looked.