Thirteen, the Wang family came to present their betrothal gifts.

When he spoke, his tone was unnervingly calm, as if he were merely discussing what to have for dinner that night. Without waiting for a response from Su Wan and her brother, he turned around and went back into his house. Less than a minute later, he emerged again, holding the items the siblings had brought.

“My circumstances may not be great, but at the very least, I can afford to feed myself.”

Su Wan’s patience snapped. “The chicken is for your stew. Eat it if you want, throw it away if you don’t.” She grabbed Su Chen’s hand and stormed off without another word.

The scorching summer heat pressed down relentlessly as Jiang Mochen watched the siblings walk away with an indifferent gaze. He glanced at the lunchbox in his hand, and without a second thought, prepared to throw it out.

“Wait! Spare the chicken!” an elderly voice suddenly called out.

Jiang Mochen turned to see the old doctor hurrying toward him from the shade. The doctor snatched the lunchbox from his hands. “You rascal! You just finished eating and now you’re already learning to waste food.”

“Go ask around—who would give up an old hen that could lay eggs? They gave it to you, and you don’t even appreciate it.”

Jiang Mochen shot him a glance. “When did you get here?”

The old doctor bit into a chicken leg and replied, “I followed in your footsteps. Saw you arguing with someone and figured I’d keep out of it.”

“There was no argument,” Jiang Mochen explained.

The old doctor teased, “No argument? That’s how you talk to people?”

Jiang Mochen fell silent and started walking back. The old doctor quickly caught up. “What’s this, changed your mind?”

“All because they think you’re not good enough?”

Jiang Mochen remained silent.

Once inside, the old doctor kicked the door shut behind him. “Don’t be so picky. Just wait until they return home—you’ll see. When the time comes, you’ll have to shoulder the marriage alliance, and you’ll never escape it for the rest of your life.”

Still silent, Jiang Mochen’s mind suddenly flashed with the image of Su Wan clutching Wang Luo’s leg and sobbing that morning. He wished someone could treasure him like that.

He had lived so long, yet everyone around him was always ready to leave at any moment. Not one person genuinely cared for him. Even with time running out, he wanted to find someone who saw nothing but him in their eyes.

The old doctor rambled on, food bits flying from his mouth. “What are you thinking? I heard the An family adopted a goddaughter overnight just to arrange a marriage with you! When your birth parents show up, you’ll be working for their youngest son for the rest of your life.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, “But you know, I don’t think that’s so bad—wealth and status won’t pass you by.”

Jiang Mochen shoved him away with an expressionless face. “Mind your own business.”

The old doctor cackled, stuffing the lunchbox back into Jiang Mochen’s hands. “All right, I’ve eaten my fill. I’ll be on my way.”

Once the old doctor left, Jiang Mochen was alone once more in the empty courtyard. He sat on the threshold of the main room, his gaze distant and cool. Suddenly, a tall, slender man in a smoky gray robe appeared in the center of the yard. His figure was poised, a plain fan in his hand, and he sang opera in a lilting, delicate falsetto:

“Fearing the fleeting years flow by and spring fades to nothingness; the same heart feels a different sorrow. It’s not that I seek trouble without reason—when fortune’s pearl slips from my grasp, oh, slips from my grasp.”

Suddenly, the man’s gaze shifted, and he looked at Jiang Mochen with a deep, mournful expression. Step by step, he approached, his voice heavy with sorrow:

“He taught me to let go of lingering hatred, to forgo petulance, to renew myself, to change my nature, to cease longing for lost time, to return from the sea of bitterness, to awaken early to destiny... Alas, I suffer such poverty from nowhere, such poverty—my child!”

The opera’s rising and falling notes stopped abruptly as the man’s face twisted in a grimace and he lunged at Jiang Mochen.

An old woman, perched atop the courtyard wall, saw Jiang Mochen, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly arch backward, his body convulsing violently. Startled, she cried out and rushed into Jiang Mochen’s yard.

“Child, what’s wrong?” Though her steps faltered with age, she moved with surprising speed.

Jiang Mochen clutched his neck, his face flushed bright red. “No, no, I don’t want to die.”

The old woman struggled to help him up. “Wake up, child, no one wants you dead.”

“He’s still here. He wants to kill me.”

The old woman sighed, recognizing another episode. She slipped a coat beneath Jiang Mochen’s head, her thoughts drifting back to that thin, unhinged man and those dark times.

She remembered that at first, the man had been kind. Whenever he earned money, he’d buy sweets for the children, and the courtyard rang with their laughter. Every day, the man would sing, his voice as pure and clear as jade.

Then one day, the man’s lover arrived, and a fierce argument erupted. The man smashed everything he could lay hands on, the noise echoing through the house. The youngest child cried out in terror.

The man’s curses filled the courtyard as he went berserk, hacking a pear tree to pieces with a kitchen knife. When the old woman entered, his hands were covered in blood, his eyes red as a demon’s. The children cowered in the corner like quails, hardly daring to breathe.

Afterwards, the man turned to drink and smoke. It wasn’t long before his voice was ruined. To make money, he began forcing the children to train. The whip’s crack echoed from the courtyard time and again.

The old woman peered over the wall, watching the shaking children, their eyes fixed straight ahead, terrified of making the slightest mistake and facing a beating.

The man’s temper grew worse; what began as normal training soon became random violence. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, his sobs would shatter the silence, followed by the sound of the whip. The poor children gradually learned to endure the beatings without a tear.

Jiang Mochen convulsed on the ground for a while, then pulled himself up. The old woman, tears in her eyes, said gently, “Child, you should find yourself a wife soon.”

“It doesn’t matter if she’s plain, as long as she’s honest and willing to settle down.”

Jiang Mochen lowered his head with a bitter smile. Given his circumstances and his illness, how could he possibly have the face to propose to anyone? Just moments ago, he’d dreamed of finding someone whose eyes held only him. Reality had slapped him hard in the face.

Perhaps, he thought, he should simply wait for the arrangements others had planned for him. After all, he’d never had any say in his own fate.

The old woman patted his shoulder and walked away, leaving Jiang Mochen alone in the courtyard once more.

As darkness fell, the sounds of children crying and a man singing opera echoed through the yard. Jiang Mochen hugged himself tightly in silence.

.

The next morning, when the sky was bright, Su Wan came downstairs to find the courtyard filled with boxes wrapped in red cloth. Wang Luo’s father stood at the front with a retinue of people, while Grandfather sat at the table, his face stern and silent.

Su Wan sidled up to Su Chen and whispered, “What’s going on? Are the Su family here to break off the engagement?!”

Su Chen cast her a complicated look and whispered back, “They’re here to propose marriage.”