Armed with exclusive news, Song Cong first shared the matter with Du Man.
When Jing's Father had his accident, Du Man was living in the Family Compound, but she hadn’t interacted much with the trio back then. After explaining, Song Cong asked her, “What would you do in this situation?”
He truly needed an outsider’s perspective to guide him through the turmoil.
“In my opinion, moving on is human nature,” Du Man said without any resentment toward Song Cong for keeping her at arm’s length in this matter. Understanding his concerns, she spoke from her own standpoint, “Staying devoted for a lifetime is certainly commendable, but having the courage to embrace someone new and welcome a fresh start is equally praiseworthy. Most people would probably agree with me, so…”
“So we need to make Qi Chi less subjective,” Song Cong interjected.
“Mm.” Du Man continued, “If Qi Chi could step back and see—that person isn’t just her mother, but a woman who once lost her beloved husband. She grieved and suffered, and now that her children are grown, she’s met someone else and wants to live her remaining years well for herself. She shouldn’t be denied that right.” After a pause, she added, “Though for Jing Qichi, stepping back won’t be easy.”
“I’ll give Huan'er a heads-up first,” Song Cong said after a brief silence. “They’ll all find out eventually anyway.”
“Right.” Du Man nodded. “It’s better if everyone helps him through the emotional hurdle now rather than him suddenly discovering it and struggling to accept it.”
Song Cong, ever the overthinker, sought Du Man’s opinion again. “Maybe we should wait a while? Qi Chi just joined the Research and Development Center—she’s probably swamped right now.”
“You.” Du Man poked his forehead. “Of course you should tell Huan'er right away. Xiao Chen has her own ways, and you can step in as backup when needed.”
Song Cong thought about it and chuckled. “True.”
Huan'er always had more tricks up her sleeve when dealing with that guy than he did.
“Actually, the sooner Jing Qichi knows,” Du Man blinked, “the better it is for his mom.”
Song Cong froze.
He suddenly realized that telling Du Man about this had been the right decision.
Precisely because she stood outside their circle, her perspective was broader—while he was solely preoccupied with how their friend would take the news, she was thinking about Jing's Mother, the one who truly deserved concern, her happiness.
Song Cong turned his head and quickly pecked her cheek.
“Hey!” Du Man glared at him. “I just put on foundation this morning.”
“You don’t need it.” Song Cong laughed, rubbing the spot he’d kissed. “You’re naturally beautiful.”
Not just in appearance—Du Man’s heart was as pure as her demeanor. That purity was an innate kindness, subtle yet profound, and a sense of empathy that allowed her to remain grounded and attuned to those around her, even in the midst of chaos.
“Next week or the week after,” Song Cong asked in a tone that brooked no refusal, “come home with me?”
Du Man gasped. “To your place?”
Song Cong teased her, “If the esteemed Dr. Du isn’t hurrying to consider life’s big matters, I’ll just have to take the initiative.”
“But I don’t have time to prepare!”
Thinking she meant meeting his parents, Song Cong was about to reassure her when he heard Du Man mutter to herself, “Your parents won’t quiz me on specific fracture signs or the principles of traumatic wound debridement, will they? If I fail that, I’ll never show my face again.”
What kind of mental gymnastics led her to equate meeting her boyfriend’s parents with a medical exam?
Song Cong sighed. “They won’t.”
“No way.” Du Man shook her head like a rattle-drum. “I’m nervous.”Song Cong couldn't help but laugh at her nervous expression. "Relax, no family would quiz their future daughter-in-law on clinical medicine."
"Huh?" Du Man snapped out of her thoughts at the term "daughter-in-law," her face instantly flushing red.
"Besides, you've got me," Song Cong patted her head. "I'll handle whatever you can't."
Du Man shook his arm playfully. "By the way, what do your parents like?"
"They like whatever I like."
Without thinking, Du Man blurted out, "Then what do you like?"
Song Cong looked at her, eyes sparkling as he uttered one word: "You."
Upon learning about Jing's Mother's recent situation, Huan'er immediately called her own mother. The news was rather sudden—even she felt that way—so she dared not tell Jing Qichi without proper preparation.
"I heard from Aunt Hao," Chen Ma said, having expected this call. "It's actually good that Song Cong found out. Whether sooner or later, this was bound to come to light."
"What about Aunt Lin..."
"Haven't told her yet. If she knew now, she'd just worry endlessly. She's already afraid Qi Chi won't take it well."
Everyone fears seeing their loved ones get hurt.
Huan'er hummed in agreement before asking, "Mom, when did this start?"
"They've known each other for..." Chen Ma paused. "Oh, it's been almost three years now—around the time you got into your PhD program."
"So early?" Huan'er was surprised.
"Yes, right after your PhD acceptance. One day, your dad said he wanted to introduce someone to your Aunt Lin. To avoid awkwardness, he suggested a group dinner so everyone could meet first." Chen Ma shared everything openly. "It happened to be a weekend, and Qi Chi came home that same day. I figured if Aunt Lin went out, the boy would just eat whatever, so I skipped that first meeting. Qi Chi had dinner at our place that day."
"You didn't tell him?"
"I did, but he probably wasn't paying attention." Chen Ma reminisced. "Back then, it was just a casual meeting—nothing serious—so I didn't bring it up again. Besides, Qi Chi was in a bad mood at the time. You only told him about your PhD at the last minute—who wouldn't be upset? I was too busy smoothing things over for you to worry about anything else."
Huan'er tightened her grip on the phone and sighed softly.
Chen Ma pressed her advantage: "Now you understand a parent's heart, don't you?"
Huan'er chuckled, laying on the flattery. "Dr. Qian's kindness is unparalleled under heaven!"
Chen Ma laughed before continuing, "Over the years, we've met a few times. Lao Liu is genuinely decent. When he learned about Qi Chi's father, he even visited the cemetery privately to pay respects. For someone unrelated to show that kind of consideration speaks volumes about his character. He never mentioned it—we only found out by chance later."
"Anything else?" Huan'er probed for more details.
"Plenty," Chen Ma mused. "Oh, earlier this year, Qi Chi's uncle got embroiled in a lawsuit and was scammed out of over 500,000 yuan. Your dad has an army buddy who transferred to the court system, right? He said Lao Liu helped find a lawyer ranked among the nation's best—someone who charges by the minute. Distance tests a horse's stamina, my girl. What matters isn't what people say, but what they do."
It was abundantly clear—everyone around Aunt Lin approved."Mom, I'll talk to Qi Chi about it." Huan'er steadied herself, suddenly recalling a summer day when they all went grape-picking together. "Uncle Jing... would rest in peace, right?"
"He would." Chen Ma was uncharacteristically solemn. "This must also be what Qi Chi's father wished for."
Truthfully, Huan'er didn't have a perfect solution—just a gradual approach through everyday conversations. She'd mention how Nathasha's Russian father and stepmother brought her younger siblings to visit her in London, the lively laughter of their family of five wherever they went. Or she'd muse about how time flew, how some high school classmates were already posting baby photos, their little families having fully left the parental nest. She'd also gently suggest Aunt Lin go out more and make friends, since they couldn't pop back to Tianhe every weekend like before.
Finding the right balance was tricky. Too direct, and Jing Qichi might feel guilty; too subtle, and he might miss the underlying message. Too frequent, and he might panic and suddenly fly home; too sparse, and he might dismiss it as idle chatter.
Day after day, Huan'er carefully selected seemingly casual yet thematically linked topics. She never spelled it out, patiently guiding Jing Qichi to consider other possibilities.
Her subtle approach bore fruit. One day, discussing a burglary at the Family Compound where a doctor's home was robbed (luckily just for money), Jing Qichi murmured, "Thinking of my mom alone during something like this... I can't stop worrying."
Huan'er almost countered with her own experience—"Old Chen's always with the troops, yet Qian Yisheng manages alone"—but reconsidered. "Even if it happened to Aunt Lin, she wouldn't tell you. Though she'd surely want someone there to share the burden."
Jing Qichi fell silent.
It was past 11 PM in China. Huan'er wisely changed tack: "Get some rest, don't stay up so late."
She knew the seed had been planted, though still just a sprout.
"Huan'er," Jing Qichi said softly, "I'm... not much of a son, am I?"
"Of course you are."
"An intern left early today to pick up a cake—making up for missing his mom's lunar calendar birthday. It changes every year, easy to overlook." He continued unprompted, "Mom used to celebrate that way too, then somehow switched to her ID date. Probably because I couldn't be bothered to remember, so I took the easier option."
Huan'er understood. "What matters is that you remember. She wouldn't care about lunar or solar dates. You even sent Mother's Day gifts—making me and Song Cong look like ungrateful wretches by comparison."
Normally this would draw a laugh, but Jing Qichi remained quiet.
"I..." His voice grew heavy. After a long pause: "I do worry about her."
Huan'er thought—that sprout in his heart must be growing wildly now.
Because its fertilizer was the simplest subject-verb-object structure:
I worry about you.
The child had become an adult, finally seeing companionship through grown-up eyes. The past mattered, memories mattered, but nothing mattered more than the present.The person before you is the one who should be most cherished.
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