Chapter 1 — The Photograph in the Pocket

The mother of one of my daughter's classmates suddenly tagged me in the parents' chat group.

""The job, the man, and the house are all yours now. Congratulations - you've finally gone from mistress to legitimate wife.""

The message had not been up for long before it was recalled. Complete silence fell over the group chat. In my past life, assuming she had simply sent it to the wrong chat, I brushed it off and paid it no mind. Later on, my daughter got into a physical altercation with another student who ended up falling into a coma, and I was summoned to the school office. To preserve my daughter's academic records, I forced her to kneel down and apologize. Violently shoving me away, she stared at me with eyes usually reserved for a sworn enemy. Because your mother is a home-wrecker, the whole school curses me as the spawn of a mistress. Unable to restrain myself, I struck her across the face. She bolted out of the school gates and never returned. A month later, the police called me down to identify a corpse. Before she died, my daughter had been severely tormented, and after her death, the river water had soaked her beyond all recognition. That very evening, in sheer despair, I slashed my wrists. Before I breathed my last, my phone screen lit up; the mastermind behind this tragedy was spamming the parents' group, celebrating her death as well-deserved. Refusing to reconcile with my fate, I drew my final breath. Reborn into a new life, I stared fixedly at that message and resolutely saved the evidence.

After recording the screen and saving the screenshots, I typed out a response and hit send.

"Jiang's mother, I have already recorded the screen and taken screenshots of those messages. You accused me of being a mistress, where is your proof?"

My words struck like a heavy stone, churning up a thousand ripples. The chat group, silent for barely three seconds, instantly erupted. Jiang's mother replied first.

"You have the nerve to ask me for proof? Your husband is dead, yet you dress up in flashy outfits every single day without caring who might be looking. At the last parent-teacher meeting, you dressed like a seductress. With so many male parents in this group, if you aren't privately messaging people every day, you're tagging them publicly. Aren't those proofs? Your husband is still watching from up in the sky, aren't you ashamed of yourself at all?"

I was so angry I laughed out loud. During that parent-teacher meeting, I had worn a pitch-black, impeccably formal and serious suit, yet in her mouth, it somehow morphed into an outfit intentionally designed to seduce others. Call this truth? It was clearly shooting the arrow first and drawing the target around it later. The group's usually most mild-mannered parent chimed in: "Jiang's mother, don't get angry, it is not worth it this late at night. There are simply some people out there; the more you argue with her, the more you lower yourself." Another hyper-active member immediately echoed the sentiment: "I didn't want to say anything, but some matters are understood by all of us in our hearts. A widow, constantly dancing around in the chat group like this, either sharing web links or trying to hook other people's husbands, who wouldn't read into that?" She was referring to the online learning resources and study course links I had shared. A few days earlier, someone in the group had brought it up, so I openly shared the materials. Never did I imagine that even this could be twisted into me acting inappropriately. Not a single person stepped forward to dissuade them; instead, they all rushed up to drive another blade into my back. A freezing sensation began to surge through my heart. Usually, they happily benefited from my shared resources, calling me with honeyed words, but now they turned around to bite the hand that fed them. Someone else added: "Jiang's mother is entirely right. My husband told me after the last meeting that the mother of Si Dao in the children's class dresses far too conspicuously. Back then, I didn't think much of it, but looking at it now, tsk tsk tsk..." The entire screen was flooded with foul language unfit for human eyes. When an avalanche strikes, not a single snowflake is innocent. Their silence in my past life did not mean they weren't slandering me behind my back. The children who bullied my daughter at school had merely echoed the words and teachings of these very people.

"Sigh, mother of Si Dao, you shouldn't blame everyone for talking about you. You are raising a child alone, and we all understand, but given your circumstances, it really is easy to make people misunderstand."

"In my view, a single woman whose husband is dead, yet has money, a house, and a car—where did all those things come from? Deep down, doesn't she know herself?"

The chat group grew increasingly raucous, everyone chiming in with remarks growing ever more vicious. Someone even blurted out: "Your husband rushed into a fire and never came back, was it because he hated you for going around seducing others and felt so humiliated he didn't want to live anymore?" I stared fixedly at those words. A raging fire instantly ignited within me.

"My late husband sacrificed his life while fighting a fire. Clean up your mouths when you speak!"

The group fell silent for a fraction of a second. Jiang's mother, who had remained quiet a moment prior, immediately fired back.

"Starting to use your dead husband as a shield now, are you? Doing things that weigh on your conscience, yet dragging the deceased out to elicit pity. What kind of fake chastity are you putting on?"

The others acted as if they had found a turning point, swarming in to echo her.

"Now you suddenly remember to cash in on the title of a martyr's widow?"

"Utterly shameless. If you truly cared about your husband, you wouldn't be befriending other women's husbands."

"Nobody here means any malice, we just feel you shouldn't drag your late husband into this. A martyr is a martyr, and you are you, don't mix the two together."

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. In the eyes of these people, no matter what I did, I was always in the wrong. I captured screenshots, recording page after page. I sent a private message to the head teacher: "Teacher Liu, please restore some order in the chat group. It is entirely filled with malicious rumors about me." The head teacher did not reply to me, but she suddenly appeared inside the group chat.

"Parents, please calm down."

I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when her next sentence blindsided me completely.

"Mother of Si Dao, several parents have reported to me repeatedly that the way you speak in the group makes everyone rather uncomfortable."

"As a martyr's family member, you should all the more lead by example and set a good model for the children."

"Other families live in peace and harmony, so knowing how to avoid suspicion is only proper."

"Teacher Liu, above us are entirely fabricated lies about me, and they even insulted my late husband. Did you not see that?"

I forced down my trembling. How could an educator be so blatantly biased?

"Do not use such a harsh tone. If one person says you are bad, it might be prejudice, but if everyone says you are bad, shouldn't you reflect on yourself?"

A simultaneous row of thumbs-up emojis popped up underneath. It seemed that even the head teacher, whom I had foolishly assumed to be neutral, would not speak up for me. The bullied were always expected to introspect and find their own faults, while the perpetrators somehow transformed into righteous enforcers of justice. Very well. Since certain individuals were determined to join the ranks of my tormentors, I would sue the lot of them together. I screenshotted every single message before closing the chat group. In my past life, because I did nothing, my daughter was bullied by the entire school, and after bolting out of the school gates, she never returned. The two of us were torn apart alive by this mob. A month later, she drifted on the surface of the river, and when hauled ashore, her fingers remained tightly curled as if trying to grasp something in her final moments. I had naively believed there was only a single mastermind, but looking at it now, none of them could be spared. In this life, I would no longer run away. I would wait until they had exhausted every cruel word, and then settle the accounts one by one.

I reheated the food over and over again, staring at the clock hands as I paced back and forth across the living room. Occupied by work in my past life, I hadn't paid attention, but could my daughter already have been bullied today? At nine-forty, the front door finally clicked open. My daughter stepped inside, her face as pale as paper. Fortunately, there were no visible physical injuries on her body. The heart that had hung suspended all night finally plummeted back into my chest; my vision blurred with hot tears as I stepped forward and pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Si Dao, I was so worried about you."

She froze for a moment before slowly wrapping her arms around me. Her movement was incredibly tentative, her fingers clutching at the fabric of my back, tightening bit by bit before a very faint sob escaped her lips.

"Mom," she paused for two whole seconds, "could you help me apply for a suspension of my schooling?"

"Lately... my mental state isn't good, and I'm afraid it will affect the final sprint toward the college entrance examinations. I want to take a year off to adjust, would that be alright?"

Hearing my daughter's cautious, pleading tone, my heart surged back into my throat.

"Alright."

All I wanted was for my daughter to be safe and sound, escaping the fatal trap of my past life. Compared to the devastating news awaiting us a month later, what did suspending school even matter? As long as she didn't leave my side, anything was acceptable. Taking advantage of the time she spent in the shower, I helped tidy up her school jacket which had been tossed onto the floor, and a crumpled piece of paper fell out from the pocket. I unfolded it. A funeral portrait of my late husband was printed on the paper, marked across with a large red cross, and next to it, someone had scrawled:

"Your dad is down in hell watching your mom play the whore."

Beneath that were several different handwritings:

"Spawn of a mistress, get out of class twelve-two."

"Why didn't you go die with your dad?"

I smoothed out the photograph and folded it up. Turning around, I knocked on the bathroom door.

"Si Dao."

"Yes."

Hearing my daughter's mosquito-thin response felt like a needle piercing my heart, sending a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest.

"Mom has something she wants to ask you."

Shortly afterward, the bathroom door creaked open. My daughter stood at the threshold, her hair still dripping wet, standing completely still. Fetching a towel, I gently dried her hair while leading her over to sit on the sofa. Her fingers twisted together, and she looked at me with a hesitant expression, wanting to speak but holding back.

"Someone bullied you today."

I spoke the words for her.

"Tell me, who led the group behind this picture?"

Catching sight of the funeral portrait resting on the coffee table, my daughter's shoulders began to tremble. She did not cry, pressing her lips into a tight line.

"Mom, is there really nothing between you and Uncle Zheng?"

I looked straight into her eyes, refusing to dodge her gaze.

"Nothing at all. Our chat history is still there, you can look at it whenever you wish."

Lowering her gaze, her voice dropped until it was barely audible.

"They blocked me in the restroom and forced me to look at the picture."

"They said Dad was useless garbage, and they said Mom was..."

Her voice choked. I continued drying her hair with deliberately slow movements: "Si Dao, remember this: your dad was a hero. Anyone who dares speak half a word against him again, Mom will tear their mouth apart." She gave a soft nod.

"None of the people who bullied you will get away with this."

Looking at her, I dialed my lawyer's number.

"Mom promises you."

Without a word, she reached out and squeezed my hand tightly. Early the next morning, I arrived at the school. The administrative office kept me waiting for nearly an hour before the person who finally emerged was the head teacher, Teacher Liu.

"Mother of Si Dao, yesterday's business in the chat group wasn't even settled, and here you are again today. This hardly seems appropriate."

"I am here to process a suspension of schooling."

Teacher Liu's mouth twitched: "Just because of a few remarks? You are already in the twelfth grade, suspending school at this stage is equivalent to letting all your efforts go down the drain."

"Where do I process the paperwork?"

"Go back home first, I need to discuss this with the dean of students."

"I will wait right here."

Throwing me a sidelong glance, Teacher Liu turned and walked back inside. Twenty minutes later, I stood inside the dean's office. The dean greeted me: "Mother of Si Dao, right? Please sit down. I heard you wish to suspend your child's schooling?" I cut straight to the point: "My daughter has been ostracized and verbally abused. As a parent, shouldn't I care about my child?" The dean furrowed his brow: "Kids at this age are just playing around and making a fuss, it's completely normal. Classmates exchanging a few teasing remarks shouldn't be taken too seriously."

"Someone printed out a funeral portrait of my daughter's father for their amusement. Is that what you call playing around?"