Rebirth: Looking Back in a Sudden Realization - Chapter 7

On the natural wood tea table in the living room, a transparent glass teapot filled with rose petals and honey water was being gently heated over a small candle, the air around it carrying a faint sweetness.

Shao Yin’er lifted the teapot and poured the tea into two transparent glass cups. A simple cup of tea, yet it glowed with an amber hue and was filled with the fragrance of flowers.

Shao Chuyan picked one up and took a small sip. Under the chandelier’s crystal light, her watery eyes looked misty and hazy.

After a long silence, Shao Yin’er finally spoke:
“Letting you grow up in a fatherless household has always left me guilty. I’ve always wanted to make it up to you. My whole life, I am doomed to owe your brother. But I don’t want you to be deprived of a mother’s love.”

Hearing this, Shao Chuyan was deeply moved. Her mother rarely spoke so openly with her. The only time she had carefully explained the reasons behind divorcing her father was on Chuyan’s eighteenth birthday. At thirteen, Chuyan could sympathize with her mother’s suffering, but she could not truly understand. At twenty-five, of course she understood her mother’s fears. She could already guess what her mother was about to say.

Sure enough, Shao Yin’er suddenly said firmly:
“If you ever change your surname or try to curry favor with the Zhao family, then take it that you no longer have a mother! If you can’t bear that your father has no daughter, then let me be the one with no children!”

At that, Shao Yin’er broke down into sobs, completely losing her composure.

Shao Chuyan sighed. Her mother was never a strong-willed woman. Perhaps like many sheltered young ladies once they became wives and mothers, she could not bear to see her children suffer. Yet if it was her children making her endure pain she didn’t want, then her way of resisting was only by crying, quarreling, or threatening, forcing her family to bend to her will.

In the past, Shao Chuyan cared more than her mother about the rift with the Zhao family. She resented her father’s infidelity and hated him even more for his violent outbursts against her mother. Shao Yin’er always thought her daughter didn’t know about those things—but she didn’t understand that such brutal memories, witnessed by a supposedly too-young child, would embed themselves deep in her subconscious and linger as nightmares.

As a child, Chuyan thought she understood her mother, and that was why she decided to study abroad—to protect her. But now, Chuyan understood herself better than anyone else. Even if her mother might not forgive her for now, compared to the terrifying harm the future held, Chuyan decided to take the gamble.

Having made up her mind, she put down the teacup, took a tissue, walked over to her mother, and knelt to gently wipe away her tears, coaxing her in a childish tone:
“Mama, you’re the most beautiful, the loveliest mama in the whole world. If you cry, you won’t look pretty anymore.”

Her babyish voice disarmed Shao Yin’er, who snatched the tissue from her and turned away, sulking.

But Chuyan shamelessly leaned over from the other side, wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, and patted her lightly like one would soothe a child.
“Be good, don’t cry. Xiaoyuan is my younger brother. Ten years ago, when you divorced Father, you owed him a lot. Let me help repay some of it for you, okay? I’m his elder sister. If we go to Jincheng, I’ll find a way for you and Xiaoyuan to meet often. We’ll stay away from Father and the Zhao family.”

Shao Yin’er looked up, touched, wiping her eyes.
“I can agree to Jincheng. But why must you attend Qiushi? How could you even get into that kind of school?”

Chuyan shook her head. She had reasons she could not reveal. Taking a deep breath, she said,
“Anyway, I promise—I’ll protect us from the Zhao family’s harassment. Mama, do you believe me?”

Shao Yin’er froze. The resolute look on her daughter’s face reminded her of the old calm and calculating maturity that had always reassured her. She had to admit, her daughter was far smarter than she was. In recent years, hadn’t it been her daughter handling so many things for her? Though still young, she had never treated her as just a little girl. Some things were better not overthought—after all, her daughter’s decisions were always right.

Shao Yin’er silently nodded, once again compromising. Her eyes even carried a trace of pleading.
“Fine. But you said it—you’ll avoid the Zhao family!”

Only after seeing Chuyan nod did she feel relieved. It never even occurred to her that relying on her thirteen-year-old daughter like this might be wrong. But hadn’t it always been this way?

After drinking the rock sugar pear soup that Nanny Rong brought, Chuyan went to her room to rest, leaving her mother watching television alone in the living room.

The first thing Chuyan did upon entering her room was to find her phone book. In those days, middle schoolers weren’t given mobile phones at home, and they usually copied each other’s landline numbers if they wanted to stay in touch. She wanted to recall more about her life in this time, but when she flipped it open, there were only a few teachers’ numbers inside.

So it wasn’t memory loss—it was that she truly hadn’t made any friends. Hugging her knees on the bay window, she stared out at the lush, leafy estate through the night.

The Shao ancestral home had been built when her grandfather was still alive, completed the same year her mother was born. The house and her mother were the same age—thirty-five. The estate covered 500 square meters, with a three-story Western-style villa in the center, a front yard, a back garden, and even a small indoor pool. Not enormous, but in a prime location—backed by mountains, facing a river, close to the city center, and next to Moonheart Park, the largest investment project in Shangcheng. The interior had been renovated many times, now lavish and sweet in style.

The evening breeze lifted her curls as she leaned against the windowsill, gazing at the starry sky, recalling her life before thirteen.

In truth, after the divorce, the ten years her mother raised her in Shangcheng had been comfortable. Shao Yin’er was her father’s beloved only daughter, the apple of his eye. Otherwise, she would never have been allowed to marry Zhao Longhua simply because she admired his looks—an arranged union between two families of equal status. Back then, the Zhao family in the north and the Shao family in the south—two illustrious names—joined in a match that countless people envied.

But who could see through another’s heart? Zhao Longhua’s ambition and temptations were too great, and Shao Yin’er suffered in his household. Her father flew into a rage and broke ties with the Zhao family just to bring his daughter home.

At that time, her grandparents were still alive and doted on little Chuyan like a porcelain doll. If she so much as stumbled, they would go kick at stones to vent their anger. The only regret her grandfather had was that his daughter refused to remarry. At first, the old couple was anxious—with the Shao family’s standing, countless men were willing to be live-in sons-in-law. But Yin’er was unyielding.

In just three years, her grandmother passed away, and her grandfather grew despondent. Once a steady and magnanimous man, he became irritable, no longer pressing his daughter to remarry, but worrying that the grand Shao family had no heir. He nearly gave himself a heart attack with fury.

Two years later, he really did die suddenly of a heart attack. Chuyan was only ten. Shao Yin’er hosted a grand funeral on her own. Not only did Shangcheng’s mayor and Party secretary attend, but representatives from southern provinces and even the northern J District came to honor the statesman. Countless citizens also came spontaneously to pay respects, filling the streets with candles and white chrysanthemums.

Thinking her too young, no one avoided speaking around Chuyan. She overheard whispers that the Shao family was doomed to decline, that without heirs they would collapse, and that had the eldest daughter not divorced the Zhao family, they wouldn’t have fallen so far.

For a few years, some old friends still visited. But Shao Yin’er had withdrawn from society, seldom going out, and gradually people drifted away. Once a household of prestige, the Shaos became quiet and deserted. Most of the staff were dismissed, leaving only Uncle Wu the driver and Nanny Rong, who had raised Yin’er. Both had served the family for decades, and Yin’er kept them on with the intent to support them in their old age.

Still, even a “thin camel is bigger than a horse.” The Shaos had been one of the top families in the south. Her grandfather had prepared well, converting shares and financial assets into cash reserves, leaving behind properties and the estate. Even though Yin’er never worked, the rent income from Yuande Road alone was considerable. Across Shangcheng and surrounding cities, the Shaos owned over a dozen plots and gardens. With such wealth, daily living was never a concern. Their only major expense was Chuyan’s education.

What almost no one knew—even Shao Yin’er herself not fully—was Chuyan’s intelligence. She scored exceptionally high in IQ tests. Schoolwork was effortless for her, especially in mathematics and the arts, where she showed great talent. Shao Yin’er, therefore, paid special attention to her daughter’s education. Chuyan was precocious, self-disciplined, and ambitious. Tutors rotated through the house for piano, dance, calligraphy. In middle school she even had teachers for aesthetics and etiquette.

Every summer, her mother took her to Paris—visiting the Louvre, attending fashion shows. Were she older, Yin’er would have sent her to Switzerland’s Pierre Fleurs Academy already.

With her family background and outstanding performance, Chuyan was a star at school. Tall, fair, and pretty even before her features fully matured, she naturally stood out. Yet at twelve or thirteen, when most girls bonded in cliques, Chuyan was distant and overly mature. Cold and aloof, she earned a reputation for arrogance. Girls avoided her, and boys only admired from afar.

She was completely isolated. But she truly didn’t care. To her, her world only held her mother. Her longing was all for her little brother and father, whom she hadn’t seen in a decade. Her warmth was only for those she cared about. Why waste it on strangers?

Her heart carried such a heavy burden. She didn’t realize this denied her the chance to live like a normal thirteen-year-old girl. This premature maturity weighed on her, making her subconsciously desperate to escape the Zhao family’s shadow. Looking back as an adult, her greatest regret was never making close friends to share reckless, youthful joys.

Now she swore to herself: never again. She would reclaim the time she had lost.

Chuyan began to look forward to her new life in Jincheng. That path she hadn’t taken before—where would it lead her this time?