Chapter 25 — When the Spider Plant Turned Black

Mother, you are even more tech-savvy than I am now.

She let out a cold hum.

Being oppressed by others once is quite enough.

After that, the lawyer presented the evidence one by one. Bank transfer histories. Chat logs. Blood samples. Forged commitment letters. Inspection reports. And even the video of the mother-in-law shamelessly saying, If you sign without reading, who can you blame? Tran Nghihen finally gave in and signed. On the day he put pen to paper, he looked visibly aged.

Ha Vu, I am sorry.

I neatly stored away my copy of the agreement.

Your mistake cannot be compensated by just a single apology.

He lowered his head, saying nothing more. The mother-in-law was finally brought to justice. The scale of Lieu Xuan Ha's illicit network expanded the more they investigated; the police uncovered that she had also colluded with numerous underground clinics and private cold storage facilities. The man at the scrap yard did not escape punishment either. The progress of the case was slow, but every single step moved forward. I returned to the hospital for a follow-up examination. The doctor said my health indicators were gradually recovering.

Do not eat random things anymore, and always keep your spirits relaxed.

My mother, standing right beside me, immediately nodded repeatedly.

Did you hear that? Keep your spirits relaxed.

I replied: I know, Mom. On the way home, Mom asked me: That spider plant, do you still want to grow one? I pondered for a moment. That previous spider plant had been shredded to pieces; its roots and soil taken away for testing, and the remaining leaves sealed up. It was like a silent witness, battered to the point that not even an intact form remained. I answered: Let us buy a different pot, Mom. Mother looked at me.

Still buying a spider plant?

Yes.

I looked out at the fresh green shoots sprouting outside the car window.

This time, I will only water it with pure water.

Half a month later, I moved into a new, cozy apartment. The balcony was not large, but it was flooded with sunlight. I bought an ordinary spider plant, its leaves slender and long, intertwined with green and white stripes, the soil still carrying the damp, earthy scent of the flower shop. I placed it on the windowsill and poured a cup of clean water over it. The water slowly seeped down, carrying no bitterness, no tea dregs, and no one standing behind me staring intently. In the evening, Mom sent a message asking: *Did you lock the doors and windows carefully?* I texted back: *I have locked them.* Mom asked again: *Did you water the spider plant?* I smiled. *I have watered it, with pure water.* The breeze outside the window blew past, causing the tips of the spider plant leaves to sway gently. It grew very slowly. Expanding just a tiny bit each day. Yet looking at it filled my heart with an extraordinary sense of peace. In life, growing up too fast is not necessarily a good thing. Growing slowly, step by step, is what it truly means to be alive.