Summer's Rose

Chapter 7: Endless Quarrels

Liu Ma took Wen’s school bag with a gentle smile. “Wen Wen, you’ve already made new friends at school?”

Wen nodded lightly. “Yes.”

“Are you getting along well with them?”

Wen gazed at her reflection in the glass. “Pretty well.”

Liu Ma looked at her with warmth. “Madam has been busy simmering chicken soup for you at home. She’s been waiting for you to come back and enjoy it.”

Wen smiled faintly but didn’t reply.

Liu Ma, noticing Wen’s hesitation, chose not to press her. She had known Wen since she was a chubby little toddler, all wide eyes and clumsy steps, and had watched her grow into a poised, graceful young woman. Wen was an enigma—quiet, obedient, and remarkably diligent. She excelled in her studies, consistently ranking at the top of her class, but never boasted about her achievements. Liu Ma often marveled at how self-reliant Wen was, a trait shaped by her parents’ constant absence.

Mr. and Mrs. Jiang, always busy with their businesses in the city, entrusted Wen’s upbringing entirely to Liu Ma, visiting only briefly and sending money regularly. Despite their distance, Wen never voiced complaints or showed signs of rebellion. She lived her days quietly, as if in a world of her own design, where every movement was calm and deliberate, every word measured and thoughtful.

But for all her solitude, Wen wasn’t entirely alone. Her one anchor in the world was Helen, a girl as bold and lively as Wen was reserved. The two had been inseparable since childhood, their bond defying their differences. While Helen’s laughter often echoed through the halls, Wen’s smile was a quiet, fleeting thing, something only Helen seemed to draw out effortlessly.

Had it not been for the evening Liu Ma brought milk to Wen’s room, she would never have found her unconscious. That night at the hospital, Liu Ma stayed by her side, gripping her hand tightly as if her sheer presence could bring Wen back. The diagnosis the next day hit like a punch to the gut: late-stage gastric cancer.

When they returned home, the air was already heavy with the sound of raised voices.

“Jiang Loong, don’t you think you’ve gone too far this time?”

“How have I gone too far?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about your antics outside. If it weren’t for Wen Wen, I’d have left you long ago.”

“Li Jun, what the hell are you accusing me of? Just say it!”

Wen lingered at the doorway, the argument washing over her like white noise. Without a word, she walked past them, her expression unreadable. Liu Ma followed close behind, her face lined with worry.

These fights were routine. For as long as Wen could remember, her parents were either absent or locked in their endless cycle of bickering.

Later that evening, Li Jun knocked softly on Wen’s door. Wen had just finished her shower, her damp hair falling over her pale-yellow pajamas. She opened the door slightly, her gaze falling on the bowl of chicken soup in her mother’s hands.

“Wen Wen, Mom made this for you. It’s full of nourishing ingredients—simmered for hours.”

“Just leave it on the table,” Wen said flatly.

Li Jun hesitated. “Alright, but try to get some rest, okay?”

“Mm.”

Wen closed the door, sat at her desk, and finished the final line in her diary. After locking it away, she glanced at the bowl of soup. The rich aroma of the chicken soup lingered in the air, but her stomach churned violently with nausea. She bolted to the bathroom, retching until it felt like everything in her stomach had been expelled. Yet, the dry heaves continued, her body convulsing in pain as her stomach twisted in near-spasms.

The argument outside raged on, their raised voices slicing through the walls. They thought she couldn’t hear them, but every word was painfully clear.

She gagged a few more times, clutching the sink for support, when hurried footsteps approached from the hallway.

“Wen Wen, are you alright? Let me in!” Li Jun’s voice cracked with worry.

“Don’t come in,” Wen managed, her voice trembling. She clutched her stomach, swallowing a handful of pills with a sip of water.

“Wen Wen, please. Let Mom in,” Li Jun pleaded.

“Open the door, Wen Wen!”

Ignoring the desperate knocks, Wen collapsed against the bed, her breathing shallow and labored. Exhaustion overtook her.

When Li Jun finally unlocked the door with a spare key, she found Wen on the floor, pale and barely conscious. Rushing to her side, she cradled her daughter in her arms. Wen’s gaze was distant, her voice barely a whisper.

“I just want to rest,” she murmured.

Li Jun gently carried her to the bed, tucking her in as she whispered, “Rest, my dear. Just rest.”

For once, the house was silent. In the living room, Jiang Loong and Li Jun sat apart on the sofa, their usual fire replaced by an uneasy quiet.

Meanwhile, across the city, Zhou Heng on the sofa, dressed in a black tailored suit, wearing silver-rimmed glasses. His sharp features were well-defined, and his eyes, with the charm of peach blossoms, were undeniably handsome.

“How’s Zhou Nan been doing at school lately?”

Yong Guan hesitated for a moment before answering, “Young Master hasn’t caused any trouble recently.”

Zhou Heng nodded, acknowledging the answer, and then returned to flipping through the newspaper without saying anything more.

The sound of the door opening broke the silence. Zhou Heng glanced up, his gaze briefly landing on Zhou Nan, who entered wearing his school uniform in a casual manner. The top button of his shirt was undone, and a bandage was visible on his face.

Yong Guan licked his lips. Just as he had said that Zhou Nan hadn’t caused any trouble, the boy came back with a fresh wound on his face.

“What happened to your face?” Zhou Heng asked, his voice calm.

“I fell,” Zhou Nan answered simply, then walked straight upstairs without another word.

Zhou Nan gave him a fleeting glance before turning his attention back to the newspaper. Father and son exchanged almost no words—when they did, it was typically only a few sentences.

The next morning, Zhou Nan entered the classroom looking exhausted. Yong Ming noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “Bro, were you up all night?”

“No,” Zhou Nan replied flatly. He had spent the night scrolling on his phone, and could not sleep.

Hao Ming popped up beside them with a breakfast bag. “Bro, didn’t eat, right? I brought this for you.”

“Not hungry.”

“It’s soup dumplings! It's superb, man.” He hesitated and asked again, “You sure you don’t want any? I waited in line for a while to get these.”

Zhou Nan glanced at him. “Give it here. I’ll transfer you the money.”

“No need for that, man. Talk about money ruins friendship. Haha.”

“Already sent.” Zhou Nan took the breakfast, stuffed it in his drawer, and laid his head down to nap.

Meanwhile, Yong Ming grumbled, “Where’s mine?”

Hao Ming smirked. “The forecast says there’s nutritious dirt today. Go outside and catch some with your mouth.”

"Hao Ming, you bastard! I’m not eating dirt for you. You eat dirt yourself!"

“What the hell, b**ch! Don’t you dare touch my soup dumplings!” Hao Ming shouted as Yong Ming lunged at him like a starving tiger. Hao scrambled backward, clutching the soup dumpling as if it were a treasure.

"You’re so damn stingy, Big-Head Hao." Yong Ming grinned wickedly, snatched the box right out of Hao Ming’s hands, and tore it open. Without hesitation, he shoved a steaming dumpling into his mouth, yelping as the heat hit him. Still chewing, he said through a burning tongue, "Not bad! Bring me some tomorrow, too."

Hao Ming shot him a glare, stretching out his hand. "Pay up."

Yong Ming waved dismissively. "Come on, man. Talking money ruins friendships."

Across the room, Alicia spotted Wen entering the classroom and waved eagerly. “Wen Wen!”

Wen returned a faint smile, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder as she walked to her seat. She glanced at Zhou Nan, who was slumped over his desk in a nap, before pulling out her Chinese textbook and flipping it open without a word.