Chapter 15 — A Debt of Filial Duty

He lowered his head and fell into deep thought for a moment.

What can I do?

I stroked his hair gently.

What you need to do is study hard, eat well, and get a good nights sleep.

Leave the rest to your mother.

He nodded, though he did not immediately return to his room. After a moment, he spoke in a soft, timid voice: Mother, if we did not have these apartments, would they stop coming after me? A sharp constriction seized my throat, as if something were blocking my breath. It is not your fault, I told him.

Nor is it the fault of the apartments.

It is simply that they consider things to which they have no right to be their own.

Little Peace felt the corners of his eyes grow hot and red.

Then, when they were kind to me in the past, was it also because of the houses?

A sharp pain pierced my chest. I remembered when he was very small, how his grandmother would occasionally buy him a set of clothes and post photographs on her social media pages. The captions always insisted that a grandson through a daughter was no different from a grandson through a son. At the time, I had foolishly believed she was finally learning how to cherish a child. Now, looking back, the thing she loved had never been a human being. It was merely her own prestige and the material benefits she could extract from this innocent boy. I pulled Little Peace into my arms and held him tight.

The kindness of certain people is always entangled with other motives.

But the love I have for you is entirely pure.

He buried his face against my chest and gave a soft murmur of assent. The following morning, Director Liang forwarded a screenshot to my phone. It was the historical customer tracking log from the old system. Written clearly upon it was the name of the apartment purchaser, Peace Harmony, along with the father who had submitted the paperwork on his behalf. The client himself had verified that the funding source consisted of personal income and a bank loan. The recorded timestamp corresponded precisely to the date the deposit was paid. I forwarded the screenshot directly to Attorney Tan. Attorney Tan replied with a single character. Stable. Yet this reassurance was not even enough to let me draw a full breath before a new message popped up in the family group chat. This time, the sender was my eldest aunt. She declared that back in those years, my parents had borrowed money from every corner just to help me buy an apartment, and she claimed that all our relatives still remembered it well. To prove her point, she uploaded a photograph. The image displayed a faded piece of red paper bearing several names and monetary figures. Aunt: fifty thousand. Second Uncle: eighty thousand. Third Aunt: twenty thousand. At the very bottom, a sentence was scrawled: Donated funds to help Harmony purchase a home. As I stared at that red slip of paper, the coldness in my smile deepened. They were dragging the entire extended family into this wretched theatrical performance. Scarcely had a moment passed when Second Uncle chimed in with his own message.

Harmony, a person must retain their conscience.

In those years, everyone lent a hand to help you, and now that you are prosperous, you cannot simply pretend it never happened.

I did not reply in the public group. Instead, I opened a private chat window and messaged Second Uncle directly.

When was the eighty thousand handed over?

He took a very long time to respond.

It has been far too long, I do not remember.

I pressed further: Was it cash or a bank transfer? This time, he did not answer at all. I then turned to my eldest aunt in a private message.

Did you hand that fifty thousand to me, or did you give it to my father?

She replied with a single, evasive sentence.

Why are you interrogating me like this?

I saved screenshots of both conversations. After doing so, I dropped a single sentence into the main family group.

Everyone who claims to have lent me money for the purchase of an apartment, please prepare your bank transfer records, cash withdrawal histories, and direct payment receipts.

I will cross-examine every single one of you, person by person.

The group chat fell into an instant, heavy silence. Five minutes later, my father called. This was the very first time he had contacted me directly since the incident at the school. I answered the phone but remained silent, letting him speak first. From the other end of the line, his voice emerged dark and chilling.

Must you truly alienate every single relative we have?

It is not I who am dragging them down, I replied.

It is you and mother who are forcing them to bear false witness.

His breathing grew noticeably heavier.

Do not open your mouth and speak constantly of evidence.

When relatives help one another, what need is there for evidence?

If it were merely assistance, no evidence would be necessary, I said. But if you intend to drag this into a courtroom and claim that I am drowning in debt, then evidence is indispensable.

He fell silent for a few agonizing seconds. Then, abruptly, he spoke: Do not push your father into a corner. I asked him: What else do you possibly have left? He let out a low, dry laugh.

You will find out very soon.

Scarcely ten minutes after the call ended, a text message arrived from an unknown number. Attached to the message was a photograph. The image captured the final page of my very first apartment purchase registration form. In the signature box, alongside my own name, was an additional line of handwriting. The undersigned confirms that my father, Mr. Manh, contributed capital toward this purchase. Directly beneath that inscription rested a red fingerprint.

I stared unblinkingly at the photograph, my fingers slowly curling into tight fists. I had never written those words. Nor had I ever pressed that fingerprint onto any document. Yet the photograph had been taken from a very close range. The paper was yellowed, its edges weathered with a convincing, natural aging. Had I not known with absolute certainty that I had never penned those lines, it would have been remarkably easy to mistake it for a genuine relic left behind more than a decade ago. I forwarded the photograph to Attorney Tan. He did not reply with text, but instead called me immediately.

Where did this thing come from?

An unknown number.

Do not respond to them for now.

I have already taken a screenshot.

The rustling sound of flipping documents drifted through the receiver from Attorney Tan's end.

Do you still possess the original purchase registration form?

I have the official contract, but the duplicate registration form was lost long ago.

The document they sent is likely the missing copy.

I never wrote that sentence, I insisted.

And the fingerprint is not mine either.

Attorney Tan's voice remained steady and resolute.

Then we shall subject the paper, the ink, the fingerprint, and the age of the material to simultaneous forensic examination.

The more fabricated evidence they dare to produce, the greater their ultimate risk.

My only concern was whether they would dare to produce it at all.

What if they stubbornly insist that it is genuine? I asked.

Then we will petition the specialized professional authorities to handle the matter.

Furthermore, the very act of an unknown number transmitting this item to you constitutes evidence in and of itself.