Chapter 4 — Someone Else's WiFi Password

Dry your hair completely before you go to sleep, and do not let yourself catch a chill.

Days were always meant to drift by in such quiet peace. Until one twilight a few days later. As I had just seated myself by the dining table, the security door suddenly erupted in a violent, thunderous pounding. The sound was fierce, frantic, and driven by a desperate, reckless madness. Mother Jiang furrowed her brow, snapped off the stove, and strode quickly over to yank the door open. The moment the heavy steel gave way, a biting gust of winter wind swept abruptly inside. Jiang Zibach stood upon the threshold. He was gasping for air in huge, ragged breaths, clearly having sprinted up the stairs all the way from the ground floor. His gaze bypassed Mother Jiang, cutting straight through the air to land upon me. In his other hand, he was clutching a sheet of paper crushed into a tight, crumpled ball.

Mother, you have to see this.

She is pregnant! Three months! She is pregnant, and did you even know?!

That piece of paper was a photocopy of an ultrasound report. I had no idea how he had managed to track it down, though presumably, when he returned to our newlywed apartment to sort through his belongings, he had found it tucked inside the pocket of an old coat I had left behind. He leaned past Mother Jiang’s shoulder, his voice calling out toward the living room where I sat.

Ninh Ninh, come out here so we can talk this through properly! At the very least, you owe it to me to let me know.

I already knew.

Mother Jiang stood in the doorway, cutting him off with a frigid finality. The hand Jiang Zibach had raised, holding out the paper, froze awkwardly in midair.

The very first day she moved in here, she told me.

Jiang Zibach’s complexion instantly drained to a sickly, stark white. His mouth parted soundlessly, a faint, choked rattle escaping from the depths of his throat. The fingers that had been crushing the paper slowly contracted, then just as slowly relaxed. After a very long time—so long that even the lingering scent of cooking oil in the kitchen had completely dissipated—he finally spoke in a raspy, broken whisper.

So... I was the very last to know.

A crushing avalanche of remorse seemed ready to break his spine and beat him down into the earth. He no longer attempted to force his way inside, nor did he raise his voice in desperate shouts. He merely stood there, head bowed, standing motionlessly for a very long time. At last, with trembling fingers, he painstakingly smoothed out the wrinkled paper, folded it with agonizing care, and tucked it away into the inner pocket of his jacket, right over his beating heart.

Then... you two enjoy your meal.

He turned on his heel, taking the initiative to depart. Mother Jiang wore a completely expressionless mask as she pulled the security door shut. She walked over to the sink to wash her hands, picked up the plate of freshly stir-fried greens, and set it upon the table, taking the seat directly opposite mine.

Eat.

She handed a pair of chopsticks across to me.

The real estate agent called me today.

Mother Jiang picked up a mouthful of vegetables.

Someone has taken a fancy to that house, and they plan to pay the full amount in cash upfront.

Tomorrow, arrange your schedule, go sign the papers with the agent, and take back every single cent that rightfully belongs to you.

I lowered my gaze and swallowed a bite of rice.

Understood.

And one more thing.

She paused, lifting her eyes to look directly into mine.

I’ve had someone keep an eye out for a few south-facing apartments for you. They are close to your office, and the natural light is wonderful.

Tomorrow, once the signing is finished, I will go with you to take a look.

Whatever you think is best, Mother. I will listen to you.

The meal passed in profound silence. Afterward, I helped clear away the dishes. Once I had showered and settled into the bed in the guest room, just as I was preparing to switch off the bedside lamp and rest, the phone resting on the nightstand gave a single, sharp buzz. It was a text message sent by Lin Zhiha:

Ninh Ninh, tomorrow at three in the afternoon, let us meet at the cafe right beneath your office building.

At three o'clock the following afternoon, I descended the stairs right on schedule and stepped into the cafe situated beneath my workplace. Lin Zhiha was seated at a table right by the window. Catching sight of my approach, she slid a bank card across the table toward me.

This contains the entirety of the design fees. I am returning it to both of you.

She lowered her gaze, her tone entirely devoid of the spoiled, petulant cooing she used to employ.

Ninh Ninh, I am so sorry.

I genuinely had no idea that room was meant to be a nursery. Jiang Zibach had always insisted to me that it was just a temporary empty space that would eventually be converted into a study.

I refused to meet her eyes, reaching out to slip the card directly into my pocket.

It does not matter. None of it is important anymore.

I stood up.

Whatever happens between the two of you has long since ceased to have anything to do with me.

She looked stunned for a fraction of a second, as though she wanted to say something more, but I had already turned away, pushing open the glass door to step out of the cafe. The autumn wind whipped up fallen leaves across the pavement. I watched her lonely, retreating figure mirrored in the cafe window, my thumb instinctively brushing over the ring finger of my left hand. Once, that spot had worn an engagement ring; now, only a faint, pale indentation remained, slowly fading away with the passage of time. Whatever stubborn obsessions had lingered from the past finally dissolved into nothingness at this very moment. After I moved into the new apartment, the days settled into an extraordinary, comforting tranquility. The small south-facing balcony caught the afternoon sun, and I placed several small potted succulents given to me by Mother Jiang along the windowsill, pausing to look at them every single day before heading out. By late autumn, with a clearly rounded belly that could no longer be concealed, I went over to Mother Jiang’s place for dinner. That day, she had simmered a pot of spare rib soup, and its rich, savory fragrance permeated the entire home. I set down my bowl, watching the curtains billow softly in the breeze blowing through the open window, and spoke in a calm, steady voice:

Aunt Chu, I have decided to bring this child into the world.

The chopsticks in her hand froze for a single second before she gently laid them down, reaching across the table to cover the back of my hand with her own. Her palm was dry, steady, and deeply comforting.

Have the baby.

She looked straight into my eyes.

I will help you raise it. You do not need to be afraid of anything at all.

By the spring of the following year, the child finally entered the world—a little girl. Her tiny face was wrinkled like a dried plum, and when she cried, her voice was astonishingly robust and loud. As the nurse gently placed the infant upon my chest, I lowered my head to look at her.