Copycat - Chapter 22
Chapter 22
◎The Abandoned Girl◎
After shopping, the two of them returned to the inn in the late afternoon as dusk approached. Zhou Ziyan went to the room to retrieve their suitcase with the room card, while Wen Jiao waited by the entrance.
Amid swirling smoke, the landlady looked up from tapping her cigarette ash and accidentally locked eyes with the person in front of her. A moment later, they both smiled faintly.
In the end, the deal hadn’t gone through.
Zhou Ziyan came out with the suitcase. The innkeeper returned their deposit with a much better attitude than the previous night, even proactively helping them call a reliable taxi.
The two began their journey back to K County.
Having learned from their last experience, they insisted this time the driver take the highway, offering to cover the extra ETC toll.
The driver was a young woman who frequently drove long distances. Though the car’s exterior was modest, the inside was clean. The driver didn’t smoke, so the air was fresh, with a hint of lavender from an air freshener in the glove compartment.
The ride was smooth, and neither of them got carsick.
Along the way, Zhou Ziyan sat distractedly playing with her phone, seemingly debating whether to turn it on. But in the end, she just rested her head on her lover’s shoulder, quietly passing the five-hour trip.
It was already deep into the night when the taxi arrived at the destination Wen Jiao had provided.
They arrived at a small courtyard. A plaque hung above the gate, but it was too dark to see the writing clearly from a distance.
On either side of the gate stood bare willow trees, their branches stripped by the winter. On the east side of the yard sat a rusty, worn-down slide—clearly out of use.
Zhou Ziyan stayed in the car while the driver made change. Wen Jiao got out first, retrieved their suitcases from the trunk, and placed them on the snowy ground.
The winter night was bitterly cold.
Zhou Ziyan slipped her hands into her girlfriend’s coat pocket, leaning in closer. “Wen Jiao, where are we?”
Wen Jiao, holding one suitcase in her hand, clasped Zhou Ziyan’s red, frozen hands with the other. She didn’t answer directly, instead asking, “Do you want to see where I’ve always lived?”
Zhou Ziyan paused for a second, her confusion hidden, then responded warmly, “Of course!”
Wen Jiao led her to the gate. The yard was locked from the inside. She set down the suitcase, released Zhou Ziyan’s hand, and to her lover’s shock, nimbly climbed up the gate. She reached up to the right-side pillar and retrieved a brass key.
She unlocked the iron chain, and they entered the dimly lit courtyard.
Zhou Ziyan looked around, finding the surroundings oddly familiar. When she finally made out the characters on the lit-up building under the plaque, her breath hitched slightly.
—Welfare Home.
The warmth of the building greeted them as they pushed open the door. An old-fashioned TV was playing the Spring Festival Gala for the Year of the Snake. Amid the cheerful performances, dozens of children gathered around a large table, laughing and playing.
This was the unique liveliness of the welfare home.
Only then did Zhou Ziyan realize—it was Chinese New Year’s Eve.
To their left was the kitchen, where a white-haired old woman was kneading dough with gnarled hands.
She was hunched, her eyesight failing, bending so close she was nearly nose-to-flour just to see what she was doing.
Several young children surrounded her, wanting to help, but their efforts only added to the mess.
While Zhou Ziyan was still surveying the home, Wen Jiao had already dropped her suitcase, taken off her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and stepped into the kitchen. Zhou Ziyan hurried to follow.
Wen Jiao walked over to the old woman, dipped her fingers in flour—her pale fingertips nearly blending in—and took the half-kneaded dough from her hands.
“Let me, Granny.”
The old woman paused, stepping aside with trembling steps to give her space. After a moment, she asked, confused, “And who might you be?”
Alzheimer’s had clouded her memory. Even the children she’d raised couldn’t always trigger recognition.
A slightly older girl stepped forward to support the elderly woman, answering for Wen Jiao with her sweet, childish voice:
“Granny, it’s Sister Wen Jiao.”
“That’s right! Sister Wen Jiao!” the other children chorused.
It seemed they all knew the name “Wen Jiao.” Zhou Ziyan furrowed her brows slightly.
“Wen Jiao?” the old woman spoke slowly, each word seeming to take great effort, as if digging through her fading memory for the girl’s voice, face, and story.
Wen Jiao patiently repeated, “Granny, I’m Wen Jiao—‘Wen’ as in gentle, ‘Jiao’ as in bright moonlight.”
Zhou Ziyan watched as her lover skillfully kneaded the dough, softly and repeatedly stating her name to the elderly woman.
It took quite a while, but eventually the old woman recognized her. She wobbled forward, pulling the grown woman into her arms, her voice hoarse: “So it’s little Wen back again.”
This welfare home had been running for over forty years. The old woman had stayed there all her life, raising over a thousand abandoned girls—many now with families of their own.
But the one she remembered most clearly was this very girl: Wen Jiao.
Zhou Ziyan’s astonishment could no longer be hidden. It was difficult to associate Wen Jiao—who she’d always believed came from a wealthy family—with a remote county’s welfare home.
A young child’s voice interrupted her dazed thoughts.
“Big sister, I’ll take you to put away your things.”
Zhou Ziyan turned to see a girl of around seven or eight tugging at the hem of her expensive, camel-colored wool coat, leaving behind a greasy smear.
She looked down at the frail girl, who quickly pulled back her hand, clearly realizing what she had done.
“What’s your name? How old are you?”
Zhou Ziyan crouched down.
“I’m Li Yue,” the girl answered. “Li as in wood, Yue as in moon. I’m eight.”
Zhou Ziyan smiled gently and rubbed her head. “Yueyue is amazing. Helping Granny at just eight years old.”
The girl beamed. Zhou Ziyan wiped her little hands clean with a corner of her coat and softly took her hand. “Yueyue, can you take me to Sister Wen Jiao’s room so I can put away our things?”
The child nodded earnestly.
As they walked off, Wen Jiao, still chatting with the elderly woman, glanced at the spot where Zhou Ziyan had just stood. Her gaze paused slightly, an unreadable look flashing briefly through her eyes.
The welfare home had only two floors and sixteen rooms. Most were shared dorms. Wen Jiao’s old room used to be next to the director’s, but after the director’s mobility worsened, it was left empty.
The girl opened two room doors.
“Sister, this one is Sister Wen Jiao’s room. The other one’s empty. I’ll get you some blankets, you can sleep there.”
Zhou Ziyan thanked her with a smile. The girl ran upstairs to fetch bedding.
Zhou Ziyan stepped into Wen Jiao’s old room. It was less than three square meters, furnished only with bunk beds and a desk. Though basic, it was clean. Dust-prone corners had been covered with plastic sheets.
Seeing the familiar plastic sheeting, Zhou Ziyan smiled faintly. Definitely something Wen Jiao would do.
Above the desk were uneven walls with sticky notes: elementary school poems and multiplication tables.
She opened the desk drawer. Inside were neatly stacked awards, a pen, a bundle of refills, and a new pack of ink cartridges.
She was just about to pick up the certificates—
“Sister!” the girl’s footsteps echoed from upstairs. Zhou Ziyan quickly shut the drawer.
The girl stood at the door, nearly crushed under the blankets she held. “Sister, your bedding.”
Zhou Ziyan hurried to take it from her and placed it on the upper bunk of Wen Jiao’s bed.
The child tilted her head curiously. “Sister, you’re not sleeping in the other room? Granny’s room is clean—we always keep it tidy.”
“I’m friends with Sister Wen. It’s fine, we’ll share a room.”
“Can you take me to the kitchen, Yueyue? Let’s go help Sister Wen and Granny.”
“Okay!” the girl nodded.
—
In the kitchen, Wen Jiao used chopsticks to scoop meat filling into dumpling skins, folding them into perfectly shaped dumplings.
The children surrounded her, buzzing excitedly.
“Sister Wen, what’s City A like? Is it like here?”
“Sister Wen, I got first place in my grade this time!”
“Sister Wen, I made a birthday gift for you!”
“Sister Wen, you’re amazing. Can I be like you when I grow up?”
…
The children’s innocent voices made the busy woman gently smile. She patiently answered every question.
The director, leaning on her cane, stared at the grown woman she had once raised.
Unknowingly, that tiny girl who used to cry in the winter had grown into a remarkable adult.
Wen Jiao had been abandoned five times. Even now, it shocked the old woman. It had truly happened to this clever, beautiful girl.
More than a decade ago, she found a porcelain-skinned little girl sitting in the snow outside the welfare home, wearing a thick coat and a Santa hat, crying loudly.
The girl looked like she was lost, not abandoned. Out of kindness, the woman brought her inside.
That evening, while folding the girl’s coat, she found a thick wad of cash and a neatly written note:
“Her name is Wen Jiao. Please take good care of her.”
Nine words. That was all.
At that time, the welfare home was struggling, with no government support or donations. Even feeding the dozen children was hard.
The money left with the girl could support the entire home for a year. So, she kept the child.
That was her first time meeting Wen Jiao.
Three months later, the girl disappeared one night. Somehow, she found the spare key hidden in the bushes and slipped past the alarm system.
She left without a trace.
Two years later, the woman saw her again. This time, she was led back by a beautiful, elegant woman.
When asked if she was the child’s mother, the woman didn’t answer. She simply handed over a large sum and told the director to keep the girl from leaving again.
The girl stood on the steps, silently crying into her sleeves until the woman vanished from view. Then she wiped her nose and stepped inside.
From that year on, donations poured into the home. The old flat was replaced by a two-story building.
Wen Jiao spent her elementary school years there, competed in math contests, skipped grades, and entered middle school in just four years.
On the day the high school entrance exam results were announced, a woman claiming to be Wen Jiao’s mother appeared. The director recognized her at a glance.
She was the woman who had handed over the child to her on a snowy day and left her with a large sum of money.
It was only then that she learned the woman’s name—
Wen Yilian.
The director had no reason to refuse when the child’s mother came to take her, so Wen Jiao left the orphanage at the end of her fourth year there.
A lot of unbelievable things happened afterward. In just three years, Wen Jiao returned to the orphanage three times. When she tried calling Wen Yilian, her number had been blocked, so the director could only attempt to get answers from the quiet girl.
The first time, Wen Jiao said:
“They think only without me can they go back to how things were before.”
The second time she said:
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
The third time, Wen Jiao said nothing. She had just achieved the top score in the city’s entrance exam — a time when she should have been proud and full of confidence — but the prematurely mature girl remained unusually calm.
The director asked the same question again and read a different emotion in her indifferent eyes.
This child truly didn’t care anymore.
After getting into a top high school, Wen Jiao left the orphanage again. Wen Yilian said the reason for taking her was that she had become a teacher at that very high school, and with her there, the child would receive a better education.
Wen Yilian’s attitude wasn’t much different from before — the only difference was Wen Jiao. Almost every year during Spring Festival, the child would take the initiative to return to the orphanage, spending the New Year with the director and the newly adopted or abandoned children.
This year was no exception.
The sound of boiling water filled the room — the dumplings were ready.
On the old television, a comedic skit was playing. The children’s laughter interrupted the director’s memories. She stood leaning on her cane, eyes resting on the person bringing out the dumplings with an apron tied around her waist.
Wen Jiao held the plate with both hands and smiled at her:
“Grandma Director, the dumplings are ready. Let’s eat while watching the Spring Festival Gala.”
Dozens of children gathered noisily around the TV, giggling along with the comedy show. Wen Jiao sat quietly beside the director, eating dumplings and occasionally smiling along in response.
As the night grew late, the elderly director couldn’t stay up and went back to her room. After a few famous comedy performers took the stage, the remaining shows were dull song-and-dance numbers, and the children gradually dispersed — only two young people stayed behind by the TV.
Perhaps it was because there was too much to process from what she had learned tonight, but Zhou Ziyan remained silent.
As the New Year’s bell rang, Wen Jiao turned her face slightly. Her voice was soft, as if afraid of waking the people sleeping in nearby rooms.
She curled her lips into a gentle smile and said quietly:
“Happy New Year, Zhou Ziyan.”
Zhou Ziyan clenched her fists. She stared at her lover’s calm profile, struggling to speak. Wen Jiao chuckled lightly and pried open her clenched fist with her fingertips, casually saying:
“What? Regretting it now, Miss Zhou? Realizing I’m not so perfect after all?”
Zhou Ziyan frowned slightly, grabbing the cold fingers, her voice tinged with anger:
“Wen Jiao.”
Wen Jiao patted her hand with a smile:
“Don’t be mad. I was just joking.”
Zhou Ziyan shook her head seriously, her tone firm:
“That’s not something to joke about.”
“Parents are obligated to support their children until they’re eighteen. This is neglect — this is abandonment…”
The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. Her fingers turned pale from gripping too hard, her expression betraying her anger. She raised her voice:
“This is a crime. I’m going to send them both to jail!”
Justice-seeking Zhou went on a righteous rant, sarcastically mocking the CEO of the Ren family and the renowned professor Wen Yilian.
Then she pulled out her phone and seriously started searching through the criminal code, hoping to find a law that could help her vent her anger.
Like searching for a needle in a haystack — but her stubbornness made Wen Jiao feel warm inside. Her eyes, once indifferent and emotionless, began to soften, touched by an emotion she had never felt before.
Just as Zhou Ziyan couldn’t find a suitable law and was about to message a lawyer she knew on WeChat, a pair of cold hands gently grasped her wrist.
The phone fell to the floor.
Cool lips lightly brushed her forehead — just a gentle touch, restrained and tender. Zhou Ziyan stared in surprise at the woman before her. This was the first time Wen Jiao had kissed her while she was sober.
The woman before her smiled bashfully, a faint blush tinting her cheeks, and said softly:
“Thank you.”
Her voice was light, like it could be blown away in this desolate land, but she caught the wind just right — it did not carry her words away.
For the first time, the cold, perfect mask cracked. Zhou Ziyan had finally pierced through the hazy rain and mist, seeing the fragile figure standing under the umbrella.
Lonely and desolate.
Maybe, years ago — before the perfect mask had formed — young Wen Jiao had shown genuine emotion once or twice.
Perhaps it was for a friend who invited her to dinner.
Or a teacher who helped her apply for aid.
But after enduring all the darkness and pain like an abyss, it was Zhou Ziyan who shattered the ice around her heart again.
An indescribable mix of emotions surged through her. Zhou Ziyan stared into Wen Jiao’s dazed eyes and suddenly lunged forward, hugging her tightly, as if she wanted to merge her into her very bones — never to be separated.
“Wen Jiao,” Zhou Ziyan murmured.
“Hm?” Wen Jiao returned the hug, confused.
Her icy hands were quickly warmed by the body heat from the other’s back.
“I’ll never leave you.”
“Never.”
Wen Jiao paused for a moment, her eyes misting over. She tilted her head slightly, trying to suppress the emotions about to burst, but in the end, she couldn’t.
So it was possible for someone to offer her a sincere heart, shielding her from harm and giving her every bit of goodness.
Pure and straightforward.
Wen Jiao gently buried her face in Zhou Ziyan’s neck, clutching the fabric on her back with all her strength. Her tears soaked the black sweater they had bought together.
“Never apart. We promised,” Wen Jiao whispered.
The Next Morning
Zhou Ziyan waited with a suitcase outside the door. The director and the children tearfully came to see Wen Jiao off.
“Xiao Wen, stay a couple more days,” the director pleaded.
Wen Jiao smiled:
“We have to go, Grandma Director. We’ll come see you again during the holidays.”
The director knew she couldn’t hold on to children who had grown up. She shook her head helplessly:
“Come back often.”
“If you run into trouble, remember to tell your family. Your parents can help you,” she added with concern.
Wen Jiao smiled faintly and said nothing. She didn’t tell her she had already filed to sever ties with Wen Yilian and Ren Jinggen in court.
Before leaving, Wen Jiao slipped a card into the director’s hand:
“Grandma Director, this card has two million yuan.”
The director was stunned and quickly tried to give it back:
“How can I accept this? You haven’t even graduated or started working. I can’t take your money. Take it back.”
Wen Jiao shook her head with a smile:
“It’s not my money. It’s from Ren Jinggen. It’s what he owes the orphanage. You should take it.”
After Wen Yilian abandoned her at the orphanage, Ren Jinggen began funding the institution. That same year, the government rolled out policies supporting social welfare organizations.
To maintain control over the orphanage, Ren Jinggen blocked other donors, monopolizing its funding.
The director hesitated but eventually took the card. Wen Jiao kindly wrote the password on a note. Zhou Ziyan took her girlfriend’s hand, and the two turned to leave amid the children’s sobs.
The director clutched the thin bank card in her old hand and looked up at the two figures walking into the snowstorm.
After Wen Jiao went to college, she returned every year for Spring Festival. She came alone — and left alone.
Her departing figure had always seemed so thin, so lonely, that each time the director would imagine that winter when Wen Yilian had abandoned her — that decisive and desolate back.
The director had even feared that one day, Wen Jiao would walk the same path as her mother. The obsession and cruelty buried in her bloodline weren’t something ordinary education could easily change.
But…
Seeing the figure leaning dependently against her…
The director wavered.
Maybe this time, it would be different.