Chapter 7 – A Grown Daughter Cannot Be Kept

Xu Li's sobs filled the air, her hands pressed over her face, a performance of grief that made no move to stop her daughter. Dad didn't even glance at Fu Xiaoya, her venomous words still hanging between us. To him, her scolding and roughing me up was as natural as the sun setting. I stood there, crushed, defeated, a hopeless weight pressing down on my chest. I didn't fight back—what was the point?

"Zhou Yan, you'd better burn this into your skull—don't you dare get involved with Yu Qingman again! That little slut makes me sick just looking at her," Fu Xiaoya hissed, as she look bavkher voice ice-cold, sharp as a blade

What had Yu Qingman—sweet, innocent Qingman—ever done to deserve her wrath? The injustice of it burned, but my voice came out weak, bitter. "My life's none of your damn business."

I paused, then added, "We'd barely even started… and you tore it apart. There's nothing left now."

"Hah! Good! That's how it should be!" Fu Xiaoya's laugh was sharp, triumphant. She let go of my collar, and then, without warning, pinched my cheek gently, her touch soft but mocking.

Xu Li saw it through her fingers. Her hands dropped, her eyes widening with shock. What Fu Xiaoya did next sent Xu Li spiraling.

She hugged me. Tightly. So tight I couldn't breathe. I froze, my body rigid as a rush of heat flooded through me, my face burning like fire. The pressure of her chest against mine sent my pulse racing, a dizzying mix of shame and something I couldn't name.

"Xiaoya! What the hell are you doing?!" Xu Li screamed, rushing toward us, only to trip and nearly fall flat.

"None of your damn business!" Fu Xiaoya shot her a glare, then slid her hands into my pockets—deep. I was stunned, my mind blank. In broad daylight, in front of everyone…

But no. It wasn't what it looked like. Her fingers fished out the cash—my lunch money, all 380 yuan—and she stuffed it into her own pocket without a shred of shame. She ran to the curb, flagged a taxi, and hopped in, leaving without a goodbye.

I stood there, dazed, her embrace lingering on my skin like a brand. It was something else—something I could never erase. And then there was Xu Li's stare, frozen like a statue, her eyes dark with malice, resentment.

"Are you two… together?" Her voice was cold, cutting like death itself.

"No!" I denied it, my voice sharp, desperate.

Fu Xiaoya's stunt had planted all the wrong ideas in Xu Li's head, and I couldn't explain—not now. The more I said, the worse it would look.

"A grown daughter can't be kept," Dad muttered, like an old proverb, shooting me a disgusted look before marching Xu Li to the car. They drove off, leaving me behind, broke and alone on the darkening street.

Hands shoved in my empty pockets, I walked home, the city's lights blurring into streaks. But inside, I was warm, her touch still alive on my skin. My lips curled into a smile I didn't notice, a traitor to my own anger.

At home, Dad and Xu Li had eaten, leaving only cold scraps on the table. I finished what I could, pocketed the 1,000 yuan sitting there, and went upstairs. Say what you want about Dad—he beat me, cursed me—but he never shorted me on money. That was thanks to Mom, written into their divorce agreement. He'd stuck to it, at least.

But it didn't change how I felt. My hatred for him, for Xu Li, grew like a weed, choking out everything else. I wanted out, a future far from their reach. I'd get into college, build my own life. I shoved every stray thought aside and buried myself in review books.

Midnight came, and with it, Xu Li's moans—loud, shameless, echoing through the house like a bad dream. I yanked the blanket over my head, my face burning. Did they not even close the door? What the hell was wrong with her? She'd never been like this before—things with Dad were always quiet, so quiet you'd think nothing happened.

The next morning, Dad was gone again, off on another business trip. The table was a shock: four beautiful dishes, a steaming bowl of millet porridge, snow-white steamed buns. Xu Li almost never made breakfast, and when she did, it was slapdash—soy milk powder, a couple of boiled eggs, done. Today felt like I'd stumbled into the wrong house.

Xu Li emerged in an apron, smiling sweetly. "Xiao Yan, eat up!"

I nodded stiffly, wary. "Thank you."

"You've grown so tall. Taller than me now!" She stepped close, measuring herself against me, her perfume drifting over—expensive, heady, unsettling.

I sat down fast, head low, avoiding her gaze. "I've lost my daughter," she sighed, her voice soft. "I don't want to lose you too."

She sauntered back to the kitchen, hips swaying, black stockings hugging her legs, red heels clicking. Mature. Sultry. Dangerous. The nicer she acted, the more uneasy I felt. From day one, she'd seen me as a thorn in her side, scheming to push me out. No way she'd changed overnight. From now on, I'd keep my guard up, keep my distance.

At school, I spotted Yu Qingman, two rows ahead, head bowed over her book, quiet as always. Sometimes her eyes met mine for a split second, then darted away, her sleek black hair swinging like a curtain. I thought we were done—until a note came, passed from desk to desk, landing in my hand.

My heart lurched. "After school. South side of the track. By the trees. I'll wait." Yu Qingman. She wanted to meet.

I read it over and over, barely breathing, my chest hot, my eyes stinging. Outside, the sun shone bright, sparrows chirping in the blue sky. I just wanted it to set faster.

The final bell rang. I ran, across the track, to the grove beyond the sports field. She was there, standing still in the golden light of sunset, gazing into the distance. Her profile was flawless, like a painting.

Then she turned.

Her face twisted with rage as she slapped me hard across the cheek. The sting flared, my concussion throbbing in protest. I froze.

"Zhou Yan! I never thought you—behind that quiet face—you're a goddamn freak!" Her words cut deep, her voice trembling with fury.

She raised her hand again, but I grabbed her wrist, shouting, "Yu Qingman! Tell me what the hell I did?!"

"What's going on between you and Fu Xiaoya?!" Her cheeks burned crimson, her glare piercing. "You got beaten bloody—and then lied to clear her name? If you care about her that much, why the hell did you toy with me?!"

My mouth opened, but no words came. The accusation hit like a punch, twisting the truth into something ugly. "It's not like that," I said, my voice shaking. "I lied to protect her—because they made me. My dad, Xu Li—they'd throw me out if I didn't. But I swear, there's nothing between us. She's not even my real sister."

Qingman's eyes flickered, doubt warring with anger. "Then why? Why protect her after what she did to me? To you?"

"Because…" I faltered, the weight of it all pressing down. "Because I had to. Because this family—this house—it's a cage. And I'm stuck in it, just like she is."

Her lips trembled, tears welling. "You should've told the truth," she whispered. "You should've let her face what she deserves."

"I know," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

She stepped back, wiping her eyes, her voice cold. "I can't trust you, Zhou Yan. Not anymore." She turned, her silhouette fading into the sunset, leaving me alone in the grove, the sting of her slap burning hotter than the one from Dad.

I stood there, the world blurring around me, Fu Xiaoya's embrace and Qingman's rejection tangling in my chest. The college entrance exam was my way out, but every step toward it felt heavier, weighted by lies, shame, and a family that was no family at all. Fu Xiaoya's touch lingered, a brand I couldn't shake, and I hated myself for it. I hated her, too—but not as much as I hated the boy in the mirror, caught in a web he couldn't escape.