Chapter 2 — My Daughter's Iron Box

"That was not what I meant."

"I just wanted to see if he would come."

After saying this, the young girl carried her plastic grocery bag and stepped forward. The strap of her worn-out school bag snapped once more. She did not look back. Uncle Feng stood at the school gate, watching her thin, fragile figure gradually disappear into the bustling crowd. The small iron box still rested in his palm. Along the rusted edge of the lid, a fresh line of characters had been carefully carved: To Shen Zhiqiang.

For ten consecutive days, Shen Zhiqiang had not noticed that anything was missing from the house. Shen Anan's room had always been tiny, and her words had always been few. Tang Meiqin claimed that the school had recently implemented a strict boarding policy, meaning students would no longer return home on weekends. Shen Zhiqiang had only asked a single question.

"Did Anan say that?"

Tang Meiqin served the steaming dishes onto the dinner table.

"The school announced it in the class group chat."

Shen Zhiqiang asked no further. He had never joined Shen Anan's class chat. Her mother used to manage it in the past. Later, when he grew too busy, Tang Meiqin volunteered to take over. He Jiahao sat at the edge of the dining table, frantically tapping away on his smartphone.

"Dad, I want to sign up for an extra one-on-one math tutoring course."

Shen Zhiqiang frowned slightly.

"Isn't advanced math already included in the cram school curriculum?"

He Jiahao pouted.

"That is completely different."

Tang Meiqin immediately chimed in, "Shen Zhiqiang, Jiahao has shown a genuine desire to improve his studies lately. Please do not discourage the boy." Shen Zhiqiang rubbed his aching temples.

"How much will it cost?"

Twelve thousand yuan upfront.

Shen Zhiqiang was about to speak when his phone suddenly rang. It was an unfamiliar number. He pressed accept. On the other end of the line came the tense voice of Teacher Jiang.

"Are you the father of Shen Anan?"

Shen Zhiqiang froze for a moment.

"I am."

Teacher Jiang's voice strained to suppress a rising wave of fury.

"You finally decided to answer your phone."

"Do you have any idea that Anan hasn't attended a single class in ten days?"

The chopsticks slipped from Shen Zhiqiang's grip, clattering sharply against the table.

"What do you mean she hasn't attended class in ten days?"

Tang Meiqin's expression shifted instantly. He Jiahao also raised his head in surprise. Teacher Jiang pronounced every single word with chilling clarity.

Ten days ago, she submitted her formal withdrawal application.

"I tried to stop her."

She left anyway.

Shen Zhiqiang bolted straight up from his chair.

Withdrawn from school?

She is only fifteen years old!

"How could your school simply let her walk away?"

"Teacher Jiang let out a cold, bitter laugh."

"Mr. Shen, did you finally remember that the child is only fifteen years old years old years old years old years old years old years old?"

She could barely afford her dormitory fees, she could barely pay for her study materials, and she still had to carry a broken, rotting schoolbag.

She told me that nobody at home cares about her anyway.

I called you six times, "and you did not bother to answer even once."

Shen Zhiqiang's mind went completely blank. He frantically scrolled through his call logs. Ten days ago, there had indeed been several missed calls. He remembered that was the exact day He Jiahao was having his trial math lesson; annoyed by the constant ringing, he had simply switched his phone to silent mode. Tang Meiqin hastily stood up, cutting in before he could speak. "Teacher, please do not talk nonsense."

That child Anan made her own reckless decision; if she wanted to leave, what does that possibly have to do with us?

Hearing her voice, Teacher Jiang's tone grew even icier.

"You must be her stepmother, am I right?"

On her withdrawal application, she wrote down a specific instruction.

If her family members ever ask, just tell them she left of her own accord.

She even prepared the exact excuse to shield you all from blame.

The line went dead with a sharp click. The dining room fell into an absolute, suffocating silence. Shen Zhiqiang snatched up his car keys and bolted out the door. Tang Meiqin chased him as far as the entryway.

"Shen Zhiqiang, do not listen to those teachers spreading lies."

Anan is merely throwing a tantrum; she will return on her own in a couple of days.

Shen Zhiqiang turned his head to glare at her.

The school's closed-campus policy, was that something you told me?

Tang Meiqin's face stiffened awkwardly.

I merely heard it from someone else.

"Who?"

Tang Meiqin could not find an answer. For the very first time, Shen Zhiqiang did not wait for her explanation. He drove frantically toward the school. The entire way, he repeatedly dialed Shen Anan's number. Powered off. He tried again. Still powered off. He checked his message history. The last text message had been sent half a month ago. Shen Anan had written: Dad, the dormitory fees must be paid before Monday. He had replied with two brief words: "We'll see. After that, there were no more messages whatsoever." The car came to a screeching halt at the school gates. When Shen Zhiqiang stepped out, his legs trembled beneath him. Inside the security booth, Uncle Feng was leisurely sipping tea. The moment he caught sight of Shen Zhiqiang, his expression darkened.

"Are you the father of Shen Anan?"

Shen Zhiqiang nodded heavily.

"I am."

"I have come to pick up my daughter."

Uncle Feng stared fixedly at him for several agonizing seconds.

Pick her up?

You have arrived far too late.

A heavy lump blocked Shen Zhiqiang's throat.

"Where has she gone?"

"Uncle Feng pushed the registration ledger across the desk toward him."

She completed her withdrawal procedures ten days ago.

Even her head teacher tried everything to stop her.

When she walked away, she carried nothing except a plastic grocery bag.

Shen Zhiqiang braced his hands heavily against the windowsill.

She is only fifteen years old, where could she possibly go?

Uncle Feng sighed deeply.

"I asked her the exact same thing."

The child refused to say.

She only told me one thing.

She said you would eventually come.

And she asked me to hand this over to you.

Uncle Feng turned around and retrieved a small iron box from the cabinet. The box was compact, its corners rusted with age. Engraved upon the lid were three characters: Shen Zhiqiang. The handwriting was shallow and rough, as though each individual stroke had been painstakingly carved using the blade of a small pocket knife. Shen Zhiqiang caught the box, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He suddenly recalled that quiet evening when he had handed the worn-out bag to the young girl. She had looked up and asked him: If one day I stopped bothering you, Dad, "would you feel much more relieved? At that time, he had given her no answer at all."