Chapter 5 — I Don't Need Your Late-Found Affection

The following morning, I published a public post online.

Tan The Hai and Lieu Phuong Cam have claimed to have been searching for their daughter for twenty years. Please provide any one of the following documents: a police report receipt, a missing person’s notice, DNA records from a database, registration on a family reunion platform, or any bus tickets, train tickets, or lodging invoices that prove any effort was made to find me over the last two decades. I will also be making public a portion of my twenty-year history at the orphanage. You are welcome to cross-reference the data.

Less than ten minutes after the post went live, the comment section fell silent. Half an hour later, Director Phuong used the orphanage’s official account to issue a formal statement. It contained my admission records, the original investigation reports from that year, and a copy of the hospital birth certificate. Although sensitive personal information was redacted, the timeline was indisputably clear. I had been abandoned. My parents had refused to cooperate with the authorities at the time. Ten months later, Tan Dieu Tong was born. By the afternoon, local social media accounts had scrubbed the videos they had previously posted. In the evening, Tan The Hai called me. I picked up. He deliberately lowered his voice, his tone heavy with synthetic sorrow.

Lam Van Tri, are you truly intent on forcing your parents to their deaths?

I replied, You all seem to be living quite well. The night I was dumped at the gates of the orphanage, I was the one who nearly died.

There was silence on the other end of the line. I continued, You claim to have spent twenty years searching for me. I have laid out the challenge now. Show me the evidence.

Tan The Hai ground his teeth. Do not forget that the test results remain. My blood flows through your veins.

I looked down at the birth certificate on my desk. Then you must not forget either. I have the evidence that you abandoned me.

Tan The Hai quickly conceived a second scheme. He reserved ten tables at the most bustling hotel in the city. Large banners were hung in anticipation of the event: Welcome Home, Provincial Top Scholar Tan Van Van. Below the main text, a smaller line read: Blood ties bring us together; family love is priceless.

I was busy explaining a math problem to the children at the orphanage when I saw a photo of the setup. It had been sent to me by a reporter named Truong Oan. She told me, They have invited several media outlets, claiming you will be here today to reunite with your family.

I replied, I never agreed to this.

Truong Oan answered almost immediately, I figured as much. They even signed a livestreaming contract, claiming you would recount your struggles in education and your journey toward reconciliation. They have already accepted a deposit of one hundred and fifty thousand.

I looked at the text on the screen and laughed. They truly were incapable of letting an opportunity go to waste. When they realized they could not extort eight hundred thousand, they immediately pivoted to the next source of income. At five o'clock in the evening, I arrived at the hotel. Director Phuong wanted to accompany me, but I refused. Director, if you come, they will only claim the orphanage is controlling me.

Director Phuong frowned. Then you are going alone?

I am bringing a lawyer.

My lawyer, surnamed Hua, was a former Peking University student and a contact provided to me by a corporate educational foundation. She wore a sharp black suit and moved with the purposeful air of a storm. When we reached the hotel entrance, the Tan family relatives were already packed into the lobby. Someone spotted me and shouted, She is here! The top scholar is here!

Tan The Hai sat at the head table, a practiced smile plastered on his face. Lieu Phuong Cam wore a vibrant red qipao, her hair piled high. Tan Dieu Tong was decked out in a suit with a flower pinned to his chest; anyone unaware of the circumstances might have thought he was the groom at a wedding. As soon as I stepped inside, Lieu Phuong Cam lunged forward to grab me. Van Van, you have finally come. I knew you still held us in your heart.

I recoiled, avoiding her touch. I am here to deliver something.

Tan The Hai’s smile faltered. Deliver what?

Lawyer Hua placed a stack of documents on the table. A formal letter from legal counsel.

The entire hall fell into a sudden, stifling silence. A young man carrying livestreaming equipment approached us. Miss Lam, we have already started the broadcast. Would you like to greet the netizens first?

I glanced at his staff badge: Spark Media. I asked, Who signed the contract?

He looked bewildered. Mr. Tan, Mrs. Lieu, and the authorization letter signed by you.

Lawyer Hua pulled out a copy. The signature on this authorization has been formally disavowed by the person in question.

I leaned down to look. The name Lam Van Tri had been scrawled in a shaky, illegible hand. I laughed. If my handwriting were truly this hideous, I would have lost three points on my university entrance exam essay.

A few people in the crowd could not help but snicker. Tan The Hai’s face darkened. Lam Van Tri, do not cause a scene in front of so many relatives.

I raised my head and scanned the room. Relatives? When I was running a high fever in the orphanage, did a single one of these relatives come to visit me?

Nobody spoke. Lieu Phuong Cam began to weep. Van Van, I know you feel wronged, but today is a reunion feast. Can we not talk about this in private?

I said, You have already started a livestream, and now you want to speak in private?

I walked toward the large display screen. If everyone is already here, we might as well watch something more comprehensive.

Lawyer Hua handed a USB drive to the hotel staff. Tan The Hai suddenly sprang to his feet. Who gave you permission to play that!

I looked him in the eye. You dared to host a feast, so I dare to broadcast the truth.

The large screen flickered to life.