Chapter 7 — After Rebirth, I Won't Marry You Anymore

Going to Chu's house for two meals a week, I can only squeeze in time to spend with my parents. He suddenly had a mission, so I received both relatives alone. As for Lam Tri Dao, he said he would help if he could help; I said I paid attention, he said I thought too much. Ms. Luc Tue Phuong looked at the paper, her eyebrows gradually furrowed:

“These things haven't happened yet.”

"Correct." I replied. “So I don't want it to happen.”

She looked at me, her eyes full of confusion. I cannot tell about the resurrection. But there's no need to say it. A person who has retreated from the fiery crater does not need to prove to anyone that he was actually burned. The aunt named Chu pushed the paper back:

"How can marriage be so clearly calculated? Living together means you have to know how to compromise."

“It's okay to give in.” I said. “But I can't be the only one who gives in.”

Finally, Ms. Luc Tue Phuong also spoke:

"Chieu Da has changed. Lately, he even answers Tri Dao's phone calls less. You should give him some time."

I looked at her and suddenly felt a little funny. In her previous life, she said Lam Tri Dao was pitiful and told me to be generous. In this life, she said Chu Chieu Da was changing and told me to give him time. The ladies always have a reason to tell me to slow down my life a little more.

“Auntie.” I spoke softly. "Chu Chieu Da's change is his problem. Me not marrying him is mine. These two things cannot be sold as a package."

Ms. Luc Tue Phuong's hand holding the cup tightened. She asked softly:

“So what did it take for you to turn around?”

I thought for a moment.

“I didn't have to drop anything on the road, so there was no turning back.” I replied. “It's just that I chose to take a different path.”

The bar suddenly fell silent. Outside, a few children passed by after school, the metal buckles on their school bags jingling against each other. The sound is very quiet. But it seemed to dispel some of the rigid atmosphere in the shop. Ms. Luc Tue Phuong stood up and gave no more advice. At the door, she turned to look at me: "Truong Uong... have I also made you feel sorry for yourself before?" That question came so suddenly. I looked at her. In my previous life, I resented her. Resentful of her always putting the words "police wife" on my shoulders. Resentful, she thinks that because I'm talented, I should do more. She only knows how to love her son, but forgets that other people's daughters are also tired. But right now, she stood at the door, her back no longer looking like the mistress of the Chu family, but like a mother who finally realized that she also contributed to creating this debt. I don't say harsh words.

“Auntie, it's just that you love your son so much.”

Her eyelashes trembled slightly. I added:

“But my mother also loves her daughter.”

Ms. Luc Tue Phuong nodded, picked up her bag and left. My mother walked over to clear the cup of tea and bowed her head to wipe the table:

“You said it very well just now.”

I intentionally asked: She glanced at me:

“Bargaining for that old house.”

I laughed. She also laughed. Laughed for a moment, the corners of his eyes were slightly wet. On the day Lam Tri Dao posted on his friends circle, Nam Phong restaurant's ordering program had just officially launched. Tong Chi drew a small wind chime icon for the interface, while Ta Nghien Thanh designed a very smooth ordering process. On the first day of launch, the number of orders far exceeded expectations. I was busy until nine o'clock at night before I had time take a sip of water. As soon as the water touched my lips, Tong Chi brought the phone in front of me. The photo of Lam Tri Dao's post has only one sentence:

"There are relationships that don't need proof. People who understand will always understand, and people who don't understand will only force others to choose."

Below, someone commented:

"Hug Tri Dao, don't let yourself suffer."

Someone else asked:

"Is that person making a fuss again?"

I looked at the photo and suddenly wanted to laugh. These days, posting in a circle of friends without mentioning anyone by name is even more damaging. It's like throwing a handful of flour into a crowd. Whoever coughs looks like a suspect. Tong Chi was so angry that he slammed the table:

"Isn't she hinting at you? Let me comment."

“What did I come in for?”

“I don't need to swear at people, I specialize in the cultural export school.”

I pushed the phone back:

“Aren't you angry?”

"Have." I picked up the glass of water. “But I'm so busy right now, I don't have time to do free traffic for her.”

In my previous life, what I was most afraid of was that kind of vague criticism.