Chapter 19 — A Debt of Filial Duty

The legal manager flipped through a few pages, his expression shifting rapidly. The HR manager also caught sight of those bank transfer records. Fifteen thousand each month. Medical expenses. Caregiver fees. Administrative costs. Holiday red envelopes. Item by item, these cold numbers spoke with a force far more compelling than any theatrical tears. I broke the silence, stating that I never refused to fulfill my legally mandated duties of financial support.

What I refuse is being coerced into purchasing an apartment for the child my parents newly adopted.

If anyone comes to the office to cause a disturbance again, please handle it strictly according to yesterday's protocol.

The legal manager gave a firm nod.

The company will ensure a normal, undisturbed working environment.

The HR manager looked at me with softened eyes.

Do you need to take some time off?

I shook my head.

I am perfectly capable of working.

Stepping out of the meeting room, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. It contained only a single sentence.

Withdraw the documents, delete the audio recordings, and stop letting your son humiliate himself further.

I stared at those words for two full seconds before taking a screenshot to preserve the evidence. Moments later, a second message arrived.

After all, children at school still need to make friends.

My heart plummeted into an abyss. This was no longer merely an attack on me. It was a direct threat aimed at my daughter, Yen. I forwarded the message immediately to Attorney Tan. This time, there was no delay. Five minutes later, his reply came back crisp and resolute.

Call the police.

Right now.

Before I could dial, the property management office sent over a surveillance clip. The timestamp showed that shortly after three o'clock that afternoon, a figure had stood outside my front door. Wearing a baseball cap and a face mask, the person pressed a sheet of white paper against the door. As he turned to leave, the brim of his hat tilted just enough to reveal the lower half of his face. Though it was a fleeting glimpse, I recognized him instantly.

It was my cousin. As he lowered his head while walking away, his profile was illuminated by the hallway lights. Countless times during our childhood, I had seen that exact angle of his face. Thin lips, and a faint scar curving just above the outer edge of his right eyebrow—the lingering souvenir of a bicycle accident when he was barely ten. I paused the video, zoomed in, and captured a screenshot before calling the property office back.

Is the paper still on my door?

The management staff replied that they had left it untouched. I immediately got into my car and drove back to the residential complex. By the time the elevator reached my floor, I was already on the phone with the police. A blank sheet of white paper was plastered across my door. Across its surface, thick red marker spelled out a malicious accusation.

An unfilial daughter usurps the blood-and-sweat home of the elderly.

The final line was even viler.

Even a ten-year-old child eats steamed buns soaked in human blood.

I stood in the corridor, gazing at those harsh words. A chilling numbness spread through my chest, silencing all emotion. When they hurled insults at me, I had arguments ready for every single one. But dragging my daughter into their vitriol felt like a blade pressed directly against my flesh. The police arrived swiftly, accompanied by the property manager. After photographing the paper for forensic evidence, they slipped it into an evidence bag. The manager wore a grim expression.

Miss Meng, we will significantly tighten security access from now on.

Anyone who does not reside in this building will henceforth require explicit confirmation from the homeowner before entering.

I told him that the perpetrator was a relative.

Starting today, he is no longer my visitor.

The property manager nodded. An officer turned to me, asking if I recognized the individual. I stated my cousin's full name.

He is the son of my eldest aunt.

A few days ago, he was the loudest voice defending my parents in the family chat group.

The officer jotted the details down and pressed further. Is there any ongoing financial dispute between the two of you? Not between us, I replied.

But my parents are currently suing me over support obligations.

They demanded that I provide a house for their adopted child, and I refused.

The officer cast a sidelong glance in my direction.

Then this incident is clearly linked to the disruptions at the school and your office earlier.

I nodded in agreement.

I believe so as well.

At ten o'clock that night, my cousin was summoned to the police station. Initially, he denied everything. He claimed he was merely passing through the neighborhood, that caps and masks were common attire, and that the paper on the door had nothing to do with him. That defense held until the property management retrieved the security footage from the basement elevator. The video showed him entering from the first basement level, holding a sheet of white paper of identical dimensions. When he stepped out on my floor, the paper was gone. The hallway camera captured the rest, recording the exact moment he raised his hand to affix it to my door. He fell silent for a long, heavy half-minute before offering a pathetic excuse.

I just couldn't watch anymore.

She pushed the elderly couple to their limits; what is wrong with me speaking a fair word on their behalf?

Sitting in a separate interrogation room, I could hear his voice echoing through the thin walls. That talk of fairness nearly drove me to laughter. When the police pressed him on who had instructed him to come, my cousin began to stammer. First, he claimed it was his own initiative. Then, he changed his story, saying he saw the address in the family chat group. Finally, a slip of the tongue betrayed the truth.

My eldest aunt told me to help out.

She said younger aunt was so angry her blood pressure spiked, and asked me to go scare her a bit.

The younger aunt he referred to was none other than my mother. The police asked if he had been paid for his trouble. My cousin hastily denied it, but when instructed to unlock his phone for inspection, panic washed over his features. A recent transfer record quickly materialized on the screen. Five thousand yuan. The sender was my mother. The accompanying memo read:

Thank you for your trouble making this trip.

I stared at those typed words, my fingers curling tightly into my palms until my nails bit deep. Five thousand yuan was all it took for a blood relative to march to my doorstep and humiliate a defenseless child.