Chapter Twenty: Ye Ling’s Daily Life

Ye Ling stood before a grand mansion, facing the old butler who had greeted her for the past twenty years. “Welcome home, Miss Ye,” he said. “The master is in his study. He asks that the family dine together at eight.” Ye Ling’s young face was solemn as she nodded. Every Friday, after finishing her week’s courses, she returned to this house—a world unto itself. Humble servants, a strict father, and...

Ye Ling rubbed her forehead, still reddened from the blows dealt by Xie Liu earlier that day. Her eyes grew cold. “I understand.”

As she entered, two maids opened the door for her. Ye Ling stepped inside, then paused, turning to point at one of the maids. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before. Where’s Xiao Mei?”

“She’s new. Xiao Mei has been dismissed,” the old butler replied respectfully. Anger flared on Ye Ling’s face. “Didn’t I say? No one is to dismiss Xiao Mei without my permission.”

Unperturbed, the butler bowed slightly. “Miss, this was the master’s decision. He learned about Xiao Mei’s mother and was very displeased, believing such ill fortune should not be brought into this house. He ordered her dismissal himself.”

“Did Father truly say this?” Fury surged within Ye Ling. Xiao Mei’s own father had died young, her mother was gravely ill, and the family survived on the meager income Xiao Mei earned here. Now, with her gone, how would they manage? Ye Ling knew pleading with her father was useless; he valued profit above all. Other people’s lives meant nothing to him.

The thought of that man made her want to run, but she knew escape was futile. Where would she go? Xiao Mei was dismissed, and there was nothing Ye Ling could do except hope someone would take pity on her. With a helpless sigh, Ye Ling crossed the threshold.

Everything was familiar—the opulence, the air both known and alien. She glanced around at the gilded halls and shook her head. “So the chandelier’s finally been replaced?”

“Yes, Madam had it changed this week. She said the lighting was poor before,” the butler replied.

“This house is very old,” Ye Ling said, a cryptic sadness in her voice.

“But now it’s new,” the butler answered, sensing her sorrow.

Ye Ling gave a cold laugh, mocking. “Yes, everything’s new—even the people.” She glanced at the servants with lowered heads and walked into the hall.

Her father wasn’t there; instead, a woman sat elegantly on the sofa, dressed in luxury. When she saw Ye Ling, she sneered. Ye Ling’s expression changed upon seeing her, and she turned to go upstairs without a word.

The woman called after her, “Have you forgotten your manners after a few days at school?”

Ye Ling froze on the stairs, fists clenched and trembling slightly from restrained emotion. She didn’t turn around. “I don’t recall owing you any courtesies.”

“How can you say that? I am your mother,” the woman said, standing and sauntering over.

“Sorry, but you’re not. My mother died when I was twelve.” Ye Ling still didn’t look back, but the woman stopped right in front of her, lifting Ye Ling’s chin with a fingertip. “But now, I run this house.”

“Just a few days away, and you’ve grown prettier—more and more like that wretch, which is unpleasant to see.” Ye Ling met her gaze. “And who are you calling a wretch?”

“Whoever you think,” the woman teased, her lips brushing Ye Ling’s ear. “You’re the lady of the house. I’m just your pitiful stepmother. Who am I to question you?”

“But…”

The atmosphere chilled. The woman’s smile receded like a tide. “You look more and more like your dead mother, and it’s unbearable.”

Ye Ling fought back her anger. She knew this woman was baiting her, and past outbursts had only ever brought her trouble. Her father was harsh; in his eyes, her resistance was nothing but a tantrum.

“You had them replace the chandelier, didn’t you? And you told Father about Xiao Mei’s mother?” Ye Ling kept her composure; these years had taught her endurance—a blade she bore alone.

“So what if I did?” the woman replied.

“Why?”

“Don’t you think the things in this house are too shabby? Everything’s from over a decade ago—even the servants! We can afford better; why keep such inferior things?” She swayed her hips. “Your father is quite pleased with his new home.”

Ye Ling understood. It wasn’t the house or the servants this woman resented—it was her. This house had been bought and decorated by her own mother and father. Xiao Mei had been hired by her mother, working faithfully for years, only to be cast aside in the end.

“Fine. As long as you’re happy.” Ye Ling took one last look at the familiar yet foreign house and turned to go upstairs, only to hear footsteps descending.

A middle-aged man in a suit came down the stairs. Ye Ling’s heart skipped a beat; she stepped aside and murmured, “Father, I’m home.”

This was her biological father, Ye Tianzhao, founder of the renowned Tianzhao Consortium in S City. Rising from humble beginnings to a titan of the business world, he exuded an authority that had only grown since her mother’s death, making even his own daughter afraid to approach him.

Ye Tianzhao was tall and imposing, once a handsome youth who had married Ye Ling’s mother—a woman from a wealthy family—thus launching his own ascent, aided by national reforms. The moment he entered the living room, the air seemed to freeze.

Ye Ling kept her head down, not daring to meet his gaze. He frowned. “Why are you dressed like that?”

She wore a sailor uniform, the safety shorts beneath her skirt barely visible, her long legs exposed. She had forgotten, caught up in Xie Liu’s antics earlier, to change out of the cheerleading outfit she’d worn for a school event.

“Go take a shower and change immediately!” Ye Tianzhao snapped. Instead of more scolding, Ye Ling felt relieved. But the heavily made-up woman sidled up to him. “Tianzhao, Ling’er is still so young. Dressing like that isn’t proper. What if she attracts the wrong kind of men?”

Ye Ling cursed her inwardly but had to admit, she was already being hounded by the wrong kind of people.

“Father, it was my fault for coming home like this. There was a school event—I was on the cheer squad and got back late, so I didn’t have time to change,” Ye Ling said with a placating smile.

“Is that so?” Ye Tianzhao considered this, then shot a warning look at the woman, who wisely fell silent, though her glare at Ye Ling was venomous.

“Tonight’s family dinner is canceled. I have business to attend to—bring me my coat. Where’s Xiao Mei? Bring my coat!” he barked.

Ye Ling immediately replied, “Xiao Mei’s been dismissed, Father. You can’t—”

“Is that so? Yes, I did say that,” he interrupted, unconcerned. “Someone else, bring my coat.” Another servant brought a black coat, and Ye Tianzhao left without even glancing at the new chandelier.

Ye Ling and the woman watched him leave. For all their strife, neither mattered to the man they fought over; he didn’t even spare them a glance. With a mocking smile, Ye Ling looked at the woman as if to say, “See what your meddling accomplished,” then ascended the stairs.

Behind her, the woman shrieked, “Ye Ling, just you wait—one day I’ll drive you out of this house!”

“Out! Out!” echoed a little boy’s voice. He skipped to the woman’s side, jeering at Ye Ling as she climbed the stairs.

Ye Ling glanced at the boy, her eyes full of pity. “A child born but never raised,” she thought. “What a shame.”

The sharp-eared woman nearly exploded with rage. “Say that again! I dare you!”

Ye Ling ignored her and went up to her room at the corner of the second floor. Inside, she breathed in the familiar air, switched on the light, and looked around at a room unchanged in the week she’d been away. A faint smile touched her lips—this was where she’d grown up, where most of her memories lived.

Her pale fingers traced the bed she’d slept in for twenty years. The quilt still smelled of sunshine from being aired out. Maybe tonight she could finally sleep well, she thought, when a soft knock sounded at the door.

Turning, Ye Ling saw a servant at the threshold. “Miss, before Xiao Mei left, she asked me to give you this.” Ye Ling took the old envelope, nodded, and dismissed the woman. Closing the door, she sat at her desk, picked up a photo frame that had lain there for years, and gazed at it, unable to look away.

The photograph showed a young couple with a laughing little girl of seven or eight. Ye Ling’s thoughts drifted back to those days, and she smiled in spite of herself. Setting the photo down, she remembered the envelope and opened it in haste. The first lines were Xiao Mei’s crooked handwriting:

“Miss, I can’t stay by your side anymore. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…”

The page was covered in apologies, unable to express all of Xiao Mei’s regret and sorrow. Ye Ling’s face stiffened. The words were a testament to bitterness and despair. Xiao Mei wasn’t the first servant to work for her family, but she had served the longest—her mother’s last gift, her final support. Now, she too was gone. Ye Ling had always known this day would come; it was only a matter of time.

Outside, the sky grew dark, and soon a torrential rain began to fall. Ye Ling folded the letter and put it away. “Xiao Mei, I wish you a lifetime of happiness and peace.”

…

Lying in the spacious bathtub, Ye Ling let the warm water envelop her, drowsiness washing over her. Since her mother’s death, her father’s affection had grown cold. After the stepmother arrived, she’d made life miserable for Ye Ling at every turn. With the birth of her half-brother, things had only worsened; the woman wanted nothing more than to drive her out.

“It’s been eight years of this,” Ye Ling thought, lifting her arm to watch water droplets roll down her pale skin. At school, she was a star—bright, outstanding, beloved by all. Yet no one knew that, inside this mansion, she was a pitiful creature forced to live with her tail tucked between her legs.

But even someone so wretched would one day break free from her cocoon. In this city of illusions, Ye Ling gave a cold laugh. She had found the strength to change her fate. “Give me a few years, and I’ll walk out of here with my head held high.”

The rain outside eased, falling in a sparse drizzle. After bathing, Ye Ling ate a little and returned to her room in her robe.

“Father probably won’t come home tomorrow,” she thought. “As long as I stay out of that woman’s way and keep to my room, I’ll get through these two days and be back at school.”

She lay on her bed, reaching for the stuffed bunny she’d always slept with as a child. In school, she couldn’t bring such things, but at home, she found comfort in it.

“Hm?” Ye Ling had just closed her eyes when she opened them again, glancing at the toy.

With a soft slap, she threw the bunny to the floor.

“Mrs. Wu! Mrs. Wu!” Ye Ling shouted, startling a servant who hurried upstairs. “Miss, what’s wrong?”

Sitting upright, Ye Ling pointed at the toy. “Where’s my bunny? The one I had before?”

“Miss, Madam said that old one was too tattered and had it thrown away. She got you a new one instead. This one’s much softer…”

“Where is it? My bunny! Where is it?” Ye Ling jumped up, grabbing the servant by the collar. Mrs. Wu was frightened by Ye Ling’s near-manic strength—she nearly lifted her off the floor.

“How does Miss Ye have such strength?” the woman wondered, but when she saw Ye Ling’s eyes—now like a cat’s, with vertical black slits—her heart skipped a beat. So eerie, so frightening.

“It’s… it’s in the trash pile outside. It hasn’t been collected yet…”

Ye Ling released her, darting out barefoot.

The rain still hadn’t stopped. In the backyard trash heap, Ye Ling’s slender figure, clad in pajamas, searched through the mud and rubbish.

“Where is it? Where is it?” she muttered, as if the loss of her precious toy meant the end of her world. Like a madwoman—perhaps she had gone mad long ago—she searched desperately. That bunny had been a gift from her mother, many years before.

Rain and mud soaked her, streaking her face, her clothes, but she didn’t stop, hair wild, more like a beggar than a lady. “Where is it? Where is it?” She tore through everything, shards of glass cutting her fingers, but she kept digging.

At last, in a corner, she saw the worn, filthy stuffed bunny.

Soaked in mud and rain, Ye Ling picked it up, cradling it gently in her arms. On her face—who could tell—were those rain or tears?

“Mother…”