The Cinnabar Mole of a Beijing Circle Tycoon

Shen Qingyao suddenly raised her head, stared at her mother with wide eyes, and her eyes instantly reddened.

What she heard from her mother growing up was, "Your grandparents favored boys over girls, Mom wouldn't treat you like that."

But now, these words are like a joke, slapping her hard in the face.

Were all those tender promises just an act?

Mr. Shen chimed in, speaking with an air of self-righteousness: "Girls these days have high standards. Your brother's wedding will cost a lot of money; he'll need to buy a car, a house, and pay a dowry."

A torrent of emotions surged within Shen Qingyao. Looking at the two familiar yet unfamiliar people before her, tears finally streamed down her face. Her voice trembled as she asked, each word carefully enunciated, "And what about me?"

The mother paused for a moment, then, as if finding her question ridiculous, casually replied, "You're a girl, you're different."

"How am I different?" Shen Qingyao pressed, tears falling onto the back of her hand, burning hot.

"Your brother needs to buy a car, a house, and give a dowry for his wedding, but you don't need to." Her mother's words were like a cold knife, piercing straight into her heart.

"Mom, I'm also your child."

"You yourself said that both your sons and daughters are your flesh and blood, and that you would treat them equally. Were you just lying to me?"

"But Mom and Dad," Shen Qingyao's voice choked with sobs, "have you ever thought about what I'll do if my husband finds out I have no savings after we get married? What will he think of me?"

"The man will take care of everything, so you don't need to worry about it."

Shen's father and mother spoke in unison, their tone of matter-of-fact shattering Shen Qingyao's last shred of illusion like a heavy hammer.

"The man has married my daughter, so he'll definitely have to pay some price," the father added, his tone laced with calculation.

"Are you selling your daughter, or marrying her off?"

These words, like a volcano that had been holding back for a long time, finally broke through the shackles of reason, and Shen Qingyao shouted them out almost hoarsely.

"Snap—"

The crisp sound of a slap echoed throughout the small living room.

Shen's father slapped her hard across the face with astonishing force.

Shen Qingyao's head was turned to the side by the blow, and half of her cheek instantly burned with pain. Her head was buzzing, as if countless bees were flying around.

"If it weren't for the policy, I wouldn't have given birth to you!" Mr. Shen pointed at her nose, trembling with anger. "Who gave you the right to yell at me like that!"

He turned to complain to Shen's mother, "I've told you before, girls don't need to study so much. If they study too much, they'll become wild!"

"Why are you hitting the child!" The mother rushed forward and reached out to support the swaying Shen Qingyao. Her tone didn't show much heartache, but rather seemed more like she was afraid of things getting out of hand.

Shen Qingyao stood there, her mind blank.

The sounds of my parents arguing and the howling wind outside the window filled my ears, and all those long-forgotten memories rushed out at this moment.

When I was little, my parents bought a lot of toys for my younger brother when they came back from working. I didn't understand why I didn't have any. My parents said, "You are the older sister, so you have to give way to your younger brother."

It turns out that all these years, she was never the one who was expected to be there.

She raised her hand and touched her burning cheek, her fingertips feeling a dampness.

Looking at the unfamiliar parents in front of her, Shen Qingyao's heart grew colder and colder, turning into a desolate snowfield.

Without saying a word, she pushed her mother's hand away and rushed out the door.

A biting wind instantly rushed into her collar, but Shen Qingyao seemed not to feel the cold at all.

She walked on the cold cobblestone path in slippers, tears blurring her vision, the wind whistling in her ears.

Shen Qingyao walked aimlessly until the bluestone path under her feet turned into a gravel path in the park, and then she stopped.

The park was deserted, with only a few dim streetlights casting a hazy glow against the inky sky.

She walked to a stone bench by the lake and sat down. The cold stone surface, seeping through the thin fabric of her trousers, sent a shiver down her spine.

The artificial lake in front of us was covered with a thin layer of ice, and the moonlight falling on it looked like a handful of shattered silver.

The wind swept across the lake, stirring up small pieces of ice that hit the railings with a soft, rustling sound.

She hugged her knees and buried her face in her arms.

The burning sensation on my cheeks hadn't subsided, and it intertwined with the chill in my heart, congealing into a dense, throbbing pain.

Where can we go?

She asked herself the same question over and over again.

This small town, where she grew up, had no place that could truly be called a home.

The myriad lights behind me, none of them are lit for myself.

I could have gone to my stepparents' house, but my grandmother was at my stepmother's house. If I went there, my grandmother would definitely think I was being disrespectful and would scold me.

Tears fell silently, landing on the back of my hands, which were red from the cold.

My childhood days suddenly came vividly to mind.

When I was a child, my younger brother and I lived in the countryside, and my grandparents' preference for boys over girls was deeply ingrained in us.

Grandpa and Grandma would secretly save the good things for their younger brother.

I remember when I was little, I drank a carton of milk because I was craving it, and my grandma scolded me for being a reincarnated starving ghost.

Grandpa would secretly slip money to his younger brother, telling him not to tell his older sister.

Every time my younger brother and I fight, my grandma protects him and hits me instead.

But I'm only a few years older than my younger brother, so why should I always give in to him?

My dad locked himself in his room to play mahjong, and he cried himself unconscious on the floor.

Later I discovered that as long as I was nice to my younger brother, my grandparents would give me a nice look; and as long as I behaved well, my father would give me a nice look.

But since I started high school, my grandparents have treated me much better.

But why has my mother, who has always treated me and my younger brother equally since we were little, changed?

When I got my period for the first time, I was in so much pain that I couldn't sleep. My mom got up in the middle of the night to put hot water on my stomach.

She had a high fever and was delirious when her mother took her to the town's health center and bought her snacks.

When did it change?

Shen Qingyao raised her head and looked at the moon in the sky, her eyes filled with confusion.

Since when did those gentle, warm gazes gradually become replaced by calculation and favoritism?

she does not know.

All she knew was that her mother, who used to protect her, had slowly become like this.

They would take it for granted that she should pay for her brother's clothes, and they would justify making her give up graduate school, get married early, and use the dowry money to buy her brother a house.

The sweetness of those memories seems to linger there, but it can no longer sweeten the present moment.

The phone vibrated in my pocket, the screen lit up and then dimmed, dimmed and then lit up again.

Shen Qingyao knew without even looking that it must be Meng Jiangyu.

She clutched the hem of her clothes, her fingertips trembling slightly.

She didn't want him to see her in such a disheveled state, and she didn't want him to know that she was an unloved and superfluous person.

But the vibrations seemed to possess some kind of magic, striking her heart again and again.

The wind picked up a bit, making the reeds by the lake rustle.

As Shen Qingyao gazed at the frozen lake, she suddenly remembered Meng Jiangyu's words: "Baby, don't be afraid, I'm here."

I am here.

These three words, like a faint ray of light, pierced through layers of dark clouds and settled in her heart.

She slowly took out her phone, and the name flashing on the screen was so clear.

The fingertip hovered above the screen, hesitant to fall.

The phone was still vibrating persistently in my pocket, the screen flashing on and off, "Ayu" appearing and disappearing in the darkness like a star that refused to go out.