Chapter 9 — Leaving That Dinner Table, I Had 70 Million Yuan

“But because… from childhood to adulthood, everything is his.”

“The chicken thighs are his, the new clothes are his, the extra classes are his, the money to buy a house is also his.”

"As for me, I only have old things, leftovers, things no one needs."

Her hand slipped from my face, her knees buckled a little. I put my hand back.

“Mom, you don't need to kneel.”

“Mom, you don't need to apologize anymore.”

I helped her sit back on the sofa, then went to the table, took the reward paper from my brother's hand, he couldn't hold it, his fingers loosened. I folded it up and put it in my file bag.

“This sentence, I won't wait any longer.”

I took the file bag and went into the room, then turned around and looked at the three of them once. Mom curled up on the sofa, her hands covering her face, her shoulders shaking but not making a sound. The sister-in-law was still sitting on the floor, lipstick smeared down her chin, her hair tangled in front of her face, her eyes empty. My brother sat still, like a statue whose soul had been drained from him, his hands clenching and unclenching, letting go and then squeezing again, his knuckles making a dry clicking sound. I stood at the door for a while.

"Everyone, please continue to sit down. Remember to close the door when you leave."

I took the car keys and went out. The elevator door closed, and from behind came a muffled, hoarse cry of unknown origin. Could be mother. Maybe sister-in-law. It could also be him. Or all three at the same time. The elevator goes down, the number from 28 jumps to 27, 26, 25. One floor at a time. Just like the years gone by. Yearly. I leaned my back against the metal wall of the elevator. I leaned my back against the cold metal wall of the elevator and closed my eyes for a moment, without tears. Wanting to cry, but unable to cry, twenty-eight years of accumulation, so dry that not even a single drop can be squeezed out. 【Chapter 10】 November passed, December came, the weather started to get cold. After that meeting, I did not proactively contact anyone on the other side, nor did they come to find me anymore, but news still spread sporadically through the mouths of relatives. My uncle sometimes calls to say a few words and I listen. My brother's construction materials business completely collapsed, 2 million yuan was thrown into the water, the mortgaged house could not be kept, the bank took it back. There are three remaining four houses, the one in the south has quality problems, has been for sale for a month without many viewers, the price has dropped dramatically. Three houses turned into two and a half houses, one for living, one for debt, 38,000 yuan per month. My sister-in-law and my brother argued every day, from arguing to breaking things, to demanding a divorce. The eldest uncle told me that last week, my sister-in-law smashed the bowl right on the dining table and pointed it straight at my brother's face.

“Aren't you the breadwinner, aren't you good at taking care of things, now what?”

My brother said nothing. My sister-in-law turned to my mother.

“Isn't the old maintenance lady relying on her son, so don't stay at my house anymore!”

My mother sat at the table, her hand holding the chopsticks was shaking, she couldn't even swallow a single mouthful of rice. The eldest uncle told everything in a very calm voice, not advising me to go back, nor asking me to help, just saying before hanging up.

“Vien Chu, just live your life well.”

The second week of December, a normal evening, after eight o'clock, I stood on the balcony, the lake surface was foggy, the lights spread out in patches. Phone vibrates. A voice message. My mother sent it. Fifty-seven seconds. I opened it. The first ten seconds were silent. Then there was her voice, very light, very broken, like a crumpled piece of paper crushed and opened.

“Vien Chu… I know it's wrong…”

Interrupt. Nose sniffing sound.

“From childhood to adulthood… mom has been biased… she shouldn't have treated me like that…”

Interrupted again.

"You're right... chicken thighs, clothes, money to buy a house... I gave them to your brother... I thought... you're good, you're obedient, you don't fight..."

Her voice broke.

“I thought… you wouldn't resent me…”

A long choking passage.

“Mom was wrong…”

“Vien Chu… Mom was really wrong…”

Message ends. Fifty-seven seconds. I stood on the balcony, the phone pressed to my ear, the cold night wind blowing. I listened again. Then one more time. The third time, the light on the lake suddenly dimmed a bit. I wiped my eyes with my hand, the back of my hand was wet. Not much. Just a little. Twenty-eight years of accumulation, no matter how hard you try, you can only get out a little like that. I exited the recording, not responding. It's not that I don't want to answer. But I don't know what to say. Say “it's okay”? Say "I forgive you"? That's not the case. Some broken things can be re-glued, but the cracks still remain. I don't want to pretend like the crack never existed, nor do I want to pretend like I'm okay. I didn't delete that message, just left it in the chat box. Maybe we will answer later. Maybe not. I do not know. I put my phone away, stood a while longer on the balcony, then returned to the living room, opened WeChat, and found a chat box that I hadn't contacted in a long time. The last time we met was a meal arranged by my sister-in-law, more than three months ago. I typed a sentence then deleted it, typed another sentence then deleted it again, and finally sent just one line.

“Are you free these days? I want to invite you to a meal, not a blind date, just a meal.”

The message stays still on the screen. I put down the phone, went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, and collect trash and put it in front of the door. When I came back, my phone had a new message. To Tieu replied. A smiley face. Include a sentence.

“Okay, you choose the time.”

I looked at that icon for a few seconds, the corners of my lips moving slightly. I put the phone down on the tea table, sat down on the sofa, in front of me was a large glass door, the night lake spread out there. The fog has dissipated, the lights are clearer, streak after streak reflecting on the water. I leaned back on the sofa, the living room did not turn on any large lights, only a standing lamp radiated warm light, shining on the new floor, on the new sofa, and on the back of my hand. This house, this city, this street. It wasn't brought by 70 million yuan. It's my own choice. 70 million yuan is not the end. Leaving that dinner table is just the beginning.