MW CH25

Chapter 25: Want to Give It a Shot?

The girl had a plain low ponytail—twenty-two, twenty-three tops. The kid in her arms had been crying earlier, tear streaks still fresh, but spotting me and Mochuan, even the sobs stopped—just sucked a finger, staring curious.

“You’re in Haicheng? Come in, come in…” She fumbled the iron security door open, ushered us inside.

Old Haicheng complexes like this—no elevators, four units per floor. Her place was the east-end corner. Unlike the dim stairwell, inside was bright, tidy enough.

The whole place—thirty, forty square meters—split into two zones. Entry’s a cramped kitchen-diner—fridge, table, stuff jammed in. Two big guys like me and Mochuan stepped in, and it felt packed.

She hustled us toward the living room. “There’s a sofa inside—sit there?”

Mochuan eyed the squat table and stools ahead, followed her lead without a pause.

The living room’s a bit roomier—tons of stuff, all neat, except… toys.

Kid’s toys everywhere—colors, styles galore. Even the narrow two-seater sofa had plushies piled on, adding a cozy, childish vibe to the tight space.

She set the kid on the big bed, scrambled to clear the sofa. “Sorry, it’s a mess.”

Standard two-seater, but with a thick blanket and our bulky winter gear, Mochuan and I sat—arms brushing, feet bumping—barely room to stretch.

Toys stashed, she turned to head out. “Pinjia, milk tea or regular tea? I’ll brew some…”

“Yunduo, no trouble,” Mochuan cut in, calling her in Xia language.

Yunduo? Sounded familiar—then it clicked: Niepeng’s story, the Cenglu girl who ran off with a Xia guy, never went back.

Yunduo froze, glanced at me, then perched awkwardly on the bed, scooping her crawling daughter back into her arms.

Mochuan rested one hand on the armrest, soft. “Teacher Zhou said you quit the station job?”

His tone was casual, like small talk, but Yunduo flinched—head dipped like she’d messed up. “Kid’s too small, no one to watch her… Liu Wei’s mom’s back home with the eldest’s kids—can’t come. We didn’t want to send her off, so we’re raising her ourselves.”

He used Xia; she followed. Her Xia shocked me—clean, no accent, near as good as his.

“So, three of you on Liu Wei’s paycheck?” Mochuan asked.

“No, no!” She shook her head fast. “I do part-time housekeeping—forty an hour, four or five grand a month. With Liu Wei’s delivery gig, we pull over ten grand together.”

Her clients were kind, she said—let her bring the kid, tossed in holiday gift packs, fruit for the little one. Kid’s sweet too—never fusses outside.

Life’s plain, but in Haicheng, having this foothold? She’s content.

Mochuan listened quiet, no interruptions—waited till she paused. “Your mom’s entered the cycle—you know?”

Yunduo’s eyes reddened, nodded silent. “My sister told me.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a red coral necklace, offered it. “She wanted you to have this.”

Yunduo stared—shock, grief—big tears rolled down. Trembling hands took it, stroking it precious.

“Your mom said she doesn’t blame you—as long as you’re good, she blesses you,” Mochuan relayed straight.

Before that, she’d stifled sobs—after, it’s like the world’s cruelest blow hit. She wailed.

“I kept calling home, kept trying—but Dad’d hang up when he heard me… I didn’t dare go back, scared they’d trap me… They only told me after Mom was gone—I didn’t even see her last…”

“Dad always said I shamed the family, wouldn’t forgive me—I thought Mom felt the same… thought she didn’t want me…”

She clutched the necklace to her chest—like hugging the mother she’d never see again.

The toddler, wobbly on her feet, saw Mom crying—stumbled over, patted her head worried, mumbling “Mama.”

I scanned, grabbed tissues from the nightstand, handed them over. “Don’t cry—can’t bring her back. Your mom wouldn’t want you this torn up, right?”

Choking thanks, she took them, wiped her face—took ages to quiet down.

To Niepeng, Yunduo’s the naive girl tricked into eloping, ditching family for a guy—love-blinded. Here, she told a different tale.

Not the man—she fled a forced marriage, like Chunna.

Eighteen, never left Cuoyansong—panicked, begged her old junior high teacher. The woman bought her a Haicheng train ticket, hooked her up with a job. She settled, soon met Liu Wei—another drifter.

They clicked—near marriage, she called home, hoping for understanding, blessings. Her dad called it shameless, disowned her.

Later, village gossip said she ran off with a guy, too doped on him to care when her mom got sick. Truth? She didn’t even know.

People buy the first story, ears deaf to the rest—me too, swallowing Niepeng’s take. Who’d guess the truth got twisted from the start?

Three mouths make a tiger—rumors kill.

Message delivered, necklace handed over—Mochuan confirmed Yunduo’s okay, stood to leave.

She walked us out, held her daughter’s tiny hand to wave goodbye.

Mochuan eyed the kid—fingers tapped her forehead, thumb traced her brow, murmured a scripture low.

In Haicheng, dressed Xia-style, moving like any modern guy—one blink, he’s back: the gentle priest of the mountain temple, loving every soul under Canglan’s snows equal.

“May you be free of calamity and sickness, shielded from all evil.” He pulled back, done.

Leaving her complex, I asked if he’s got other stops—he said straight to Haicheng Uni.

“You… came to the seminar for Yunduo?” I knew I shouldn’t pry—some voice said let it slide—but I couldn’t hold it.

Silence—then slow: “If not her, who else?”

Grip tightened on the wheel—I sighed inside, not shocked. Yeah, who else? If not his people, why’d he leave Cuoyansong?

I jump to conclusions too damn much.

“Yan Chuwen mention the dinner?” I tossed out.

“Yeah—next Wednesday night, I’m free.”

Today’s Saturday—four days off.

“Cool… I’ll pick you up?” Red light ahead—I snuck a glance at him in the passenger seat.

He’d been staring forward—caught my look, turned. “If it’s no hassle.”

Face warmed—I dropped my eyes, cranked the AC down two. “No hassle. I drove 300 kilometers round-trip for your shot—Haicheng’s nothing. What hassle?”

No reply—car went quiet.

Silent ride after—near Haicheng Uni’s gate, Zhao Chenyuan called. No thought—hit accept right in front of Mochuan.

“Bro, free next Tuesday night?” His voice boomed through the speakers.

No big plans—nights are usually open. “Yeah—what’s up?”

“Shen Jing’s birthday—dinner invite. No gifts, just show.”

I laughed. “No way—your birthday, I skip; hers, I’m sending something.”

“Fine, flowers then—she’s into that,” he said. “Oh, Jiang Boshu’s coming—heads-up, so you’re not weirded out.”

“…Oh, cool.” Regretting this call now. “Send me the time and place later—I’m driving—”

“Jiang Boshu asked Shen Jing what you think of him the other day. If he’s decent, why not try? Any hang-ups, say it—he’s serious, not a fling—long-term partner stuff.” Zhao barreled on, zero chill for my panic.

“He’s solid, you—”

Squirming, hearing more coming, I yelled over: “Driving—gotta go, bye!” Slammed the hang-up button—praying he wouldn’t blurt more heart-stoppers.

Pre-call, the quiet was fine—normal. Post-call, it’s eerie.

In that suffocating hush, I crawled the car to Haicheng Uni’s gate.

Wrestling—say something? What, though?

“Want to give it a shot?”

I jolted—brake slammed, car rocked front to back.

“What?” I whipped toward the voice.

Mochuan unbuckled, brow creased—clearly judging my parking skills.

“That guy Zhao Chenyuan mentioned—want to try?”

Call screen flashed Zhao’s name—he’d clocked it.

I thought he meant…

Try what? If I wanted to, would I need Zhao and his wife pimping me out? Three-legged toads are rare—two-legged men aren’t.

Irked—tempted to spit that out—but his blank face sparked spite. Words shifted: “Not out of the question—he’s pretty solid.”

Mochuan’s head snapped up—seatbelt slipped free, retracting slow and goofy to the side.