MAMA-16: Mother-daughter relationship.
Jian Wanji’s work involved frequent business trips and meeting many people. On the surface, she spent little time at the Company, but she was practically working all the time. Even during constant chats, her mind had to spin at high speed. To reach her current position, many friends who started alongside her had gradually switched careers over the years.
During the meeting’s break, people greeted her. The report inside seemed to have been swapped, a newcomer debugging something.
Jian Wanji was considered the most approachable among the management layer. Compared to Sui Yuqian, who wore headphones year-round like she was hearing-impaired to avoid idle chatter, everyone said she was the best fit for a career change. In reality, she was tired too. She’d outlasted too many people. Even if she’d long understood that being alone was her fate, facing her Grandmother with so little time left, she still wanted to hold onto her, hoping she’d leave without regrets.
As a teenager, she’d written in her diary wishing for the world to end immediately, wishing her Grandmother would become a kind old lady who doted on her. She wished weekends at home had no Sprite Bitter Gourd. She wished that while making the Bed, countless photocopies of her mother’s one-inch student ID photos wouldn’t come clattering out.
Those were the undercurrents beneath the surface of a superficially peaceful coexistence with her Grandmother. She felt she was hated. So when facing conflicts with classmates at school, Jian Wanji never thought much of it. Compared to the quiet, dead calm at home, it all seemed vivid and cute.
On the other end of the call, Mi Shanxin said nothing. Jian Wanji glanced at the call timer still ticking and said helplessly, “Was I too harsh?”
“Honestly, Zeng Baian and I are both old enough to be your mother. What’s there to like?”
“Just assume I’m a gerontophile.”
Mi Shanxin’s voice betrayed no emotion. Jian Wanji had dealt with countless people, but she had no experience with kids that age. When she herself was that old, she was living by her Grandmother’s whims, just wanting to become independent as soon as possible, no time to consider love and romance. That era had been big for love letters, stacks and stacks of them. She didn’t even have time to open them, but she never threw them away in front of the senders either. She kept them all at Zeng Baian’s house, later forgotten, probably thrown away by her.
“Fine, but just don’t develop a crush on Zeng Baian. She’s married, has a kid, and is straighter than a baguette.”
The girl on the other end remained unyielding: “It’s none of your business.”
Jian Wanji hissed. “Theoretically, it’s not my business, but…”
Someone called her back into the meeting. Mi Shanxin heard it too and said, very considerately, “You’re busy. I’ll finish class and go home.”
Jian Wanji made a disappointed sound. “But I said I’d take you.”
Mi Shanxin could tell she was faking it and couldn’t be bothered to engage. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She hung up. When Jian Wanji called back, it was the busy tone. Was she mad?
Jian Wanji wasn’t sure. During the meeting, she occasionally glanced at WeChat. She’d sent the girl a page full of messages, but Mi Shanxin hadn’t replied a single word. Didn’t they say students these days loved using emojis? Jian Wanji scrolled through her chat history with Mi Shanxin. It was mostly Jian Wanji who sent more messages.
Who exactly was the university student here? So old-fashioned. Her sexual orientation wasn’t old-fashioned, but her taste in partners was old-fashioned to the extreme. Amidst her sighs, Jian Wanji felt a sliver of relief that at least Mi Shanxin didn’t like men, otherwise, this gerontophilia would be even more terrifying.
Zeng Baian had decided not to meddle in her friend’s affairs anymore. At home, while supervising her child’s winter break Homework, she suddenly received a cryptic message from Jian Wanji.
[You’re truly still charming in your mature years.]
Zeng Baian frowned, unsure what madness Jian Wanji was spouting now. Her Daughter leaned over to look at her phone. The primary schooler had a word she didn’t recognize and asked her mother what the sentence meant.
“On the surface it’s praising me. It’s probably cursing me.” Zeng Baian ignored Jian Wanji, knowing this was just her quirk. Even without drinking, she had a tipsy vibe and could annoy everyone equally.
Because she harassed everyone equally, it became her most normal modus operandi. When people recalled her, their first impression was “frivolous.”
Logically, a frivolous person should also be a playboy in love. Jian Wanji, in that regard, could be described less as someone preserving her chastity and more as too lazy to engage. She’d say certain connections weren’t worth self-sacrifice to gain. If she couldn’t get them, so be it.
She was quite the free spirit. During the year-end bonus season without bonuses, she’d cry about her lost project commissions, wailing and howling, swiping Zeng Baian’s card to order the most expensive champagne, ending up dead drunk.
This habit only changed after Zeng Baian got married. A large part of the reason was Jian Wanji’s stomach giving out—first an ulcer, then a perforation. Even the wildest person, to drag out an ignoble existence, had to adopt a more healthful lifestyle. Once slightly better, she’d head back to drinking dinners; at most, she stopped drinking recklessly in private.
Seeing Zeng Baian not reply, Jian Wanji sent another message: [Don’t privately contact Teacher Shanxin behind my back.]
Zeng Baian could barely contain her rage. She told her Daughter to do her Homework first, then fired off a voice message full of curses: “What do you mean ‘behind your back’? She’s a teacher at the same institution. To foster Yueyue’s interests, why shouldn’t I add the teacher’s WeChat? You’re the one with a guilty conscience!”
As for Jian Wanji liking such a young girl—Zeng Baian wasn’t suspicious. Over the years, she and Sui Yuqian had observed Jian Wanji. Even if she didn’t date, she liked women with vitality. Whether young or not was another matter, but at least they had to be good conversationalists. Otherwise, her rapid-fire mouth wouldn’t find an equal match and she’d get bored even faster.
Mi Shanxin was beautiful but gloomy, utterly lacking energy. She probably wasn’t even talkative in her dreams. Even setting aside the terrifying age gap, Zeng Baian saw zero possibility.
Jian Wanji was still in the meeting. She stared at her phone, smiling at the speech-to-text output. Her smile made the newcomer presenting the PowerPoint above feel a chill.
Even though the boss had a Smile-Lip Surgery result, combined with her squinting eyes, she was a complete, walking Smiling Tiger. Being amiable depended on the context. During a meeting, smiling too broadly was even scarier than losing the smile entirely.
Given that Jian Wanji hadn’t made any important comments, the newcomer could only continue.
[Of course I have a guilty conscience. You know what, Mi Shanxin said she likes your type.]
As Jian Wanji typed, her fingertip tapped the screen, the sound swallowed by the microphone audio. Her outfit was classic black, white, and gray. The red silk scarf was incredibly flamboyant, almost like an extension of her long hair. But in this setting, no one dared look at her longer than necessary, afraid she’d suddenly find fault.
In this aspect, the other boss was actually easier to talk to. Sui Yuqian wasn’t as energetic as Jian Wanji. As the Founder, she held significant sway, but Jian Wanji was the one she had brought on board, so she’d consider her opinions.
Zeng Baian nearly hurled her phone: [Are you sick? Don’t make that kind of joke.]
[No joke, Little Sister meant that.]
Zeng Baian didn’t understand the dynamics of their circle; occasionally hearing some jokes from Sui Yuqian was quite amusing. But being the target of the joke wasn’t funny. She chalked it up to Jian Wanji farting around.
[Stop being so boring. Look at how old I am.]
Jian Wanji sent a sighing emoji: [The current market really is like this.]
Zeng Baian’s chat with her was intermittent; she guessed Jian Wanji was in a meeting.
Jian Wanji had always been like this, picking and choosing what to listen to, saying there was too much nonsense but she couldn’t leave, and so on.
Back in their school days, Jian Wanji’s ability to filter information was outstanding. Zeng Baian couldn’t deny that her career change back then was the right move either.
But she had no interest in her friend’s work. She asked about the contract between Jian Wanji and Mi Shanxin: [So you and Teacher Mi are going to sign a contract, right? What about her Parents?]
[Divorced. The grandparents she lived with passed away too. She lives alone now.]
Zeng Baian stared at this line for a long time, feeling a bit of empathy. [So pitiful.]
[Don’t you bully her.]
Mi Shanxin’s poverty was written on her exterior. Her personality was the opposite of Jian Wanji’s—too introverted. Social phobia’s double meaning was on full display. Zeng Baian knew her old friend was sly, but she also wouldn’t deny her capacity for kindness.
[If your Grandmother accepts her, give her more pay.]
[She’s at the best age; of course she should dress up more.]
Jian Wanji’s reply was still utterly unserious. Her serious side was rarely seen outside of work. Even at work, some people bought into her style—talking felt easy, with no pressure of requiring a signed contract. Only when they came to their senses did they realize the contract terms were almost all drafted.
[I will. After all, she’s the Little Mother I chose.]
Zeng Baian’s brow twitched. She struggled to pull from past memories the image of the memorial portrait she’d seen in Jian Wanji’s old house. In an instant, a refreshing clarity washed over her.
Mi Shanxin did indeed resemble Jian Wanji’s late mother, Wan Lingling, but much thinner and smaller.
The memorial portrait had a black-and-white version, but any spot in that house that could hold a photo frame held a color photo. Wan Lingling before marriage was like a lustrous, dewy peach. Mi Shanxin’s faint similarity to her was a fragmentary, overlapping melancholy in the brows and eyes.
A child unwanted by her parents would of course be melancholy. Wan Lingling had been cherished by her parents; that melancholy was more like fate’s prophecy of her dying at her happiest moment, a premonition descended early.
Zeng Baian couldn’t help but calculate the ages of Wan Lingling and Mi Shanxin. She thought it didn’t add up either—Wan Lingling had passed thirty years ago; Mi Shanxin wasn’t even twenty yet. Was there a traffic jam on the Bridge of Helplessness?
Thinking about this layer, even though Jian Wanji had revealed Mi Shanxin’s sexual orientation, Zeng Baian was even less worried these two could ever become an item. What normal person would be attracted to someone who resembled their own deceased mother?
As for Jian Wanji saying Mi Shanxin liked her—that was purely because the child was abandoned too early, unconsciously projecting hope onto older women. It probably wasn’t just her. Any silhouette reminiscent of a mother figure would elicit goodwill from the child.
The more Zeng Baian thought, the more she pitied Mi Shanxin. When she got home, she asked her Daughter if she wanted to take the Calligraphy Class.
Her Daughter shook her head: “Mommy, I already take too many tutoring classes. It’s tiring.”
Zeng Baian: “Alright.”
The Little Child then added: “But Aunt Daji said she’s really busy. Since she enrolled in the class, I could take it too.”
Zeng Baian was speechless. She thought to herself: this person truly is always so calculating, afraid the little teacher might run away, having to add an extra layer of insurance. With such deep schemes, no wonder no one wanted her.
Mi Shanxin ignored Jian Wanji for a whole day. The next day at work, she didn’t see her either. After class, Teacher Wang came to find her, mentioning the one-on-one matter.
“Shanxin, have you thought it over?”
Mi Shanxin asked: “Is this still about the one-on-one lessons with Jian Wanji?”
She’d omitted the word “course,” and Teacher Wang found it sounded a bit odd too. Considering this was the first client from Mi Shanxin’s adult class, she still wanted to consider the girl’s opinion. “If you agree, the institution will only take a 20% commission on the hourly fee. Pay will be calculated by your clock-in time.”
The One-on-One Course had a dedicated Clock In machine, with payment by class hour. Mi Shanxin had envied such high tutoring fees before, but her subject wasn’t core academics, making it difficult to justify tutoring.
Now that a big spender had fallen out of the sky, the Person in Charge, the teacher, was even less willing to let this opportunity slip away than she was.
Mi Shanxin looked at the fee calculation Teacher Wang had done for her. If she agreed, assuming Jian Wanji attended full-time, Mi Shanxin could earn fifty thousand yuan. This was on top of the income for being a temporary mother.
Mi Shanxin’s future was far too unstable. Her Father could easily cut off her living expenses. Both this job and her body were problematic. She needed to save as much as possible.
“I’ll think about it.”
On WeChat, there was still a message from Jian Wanji saying she hoped Mi Shanxin would reply once she’d calmed down.
Having nothing to do after class, Mi Shanxin simply followed the GPS to Jian Wanji’s Company.
The Company building was much grander than the institution’s. The Receptionist was as beautiful as a model. Hearing Mi Shanxin was looking for Jian Wanji, the Receptionist scanned the girl’s Backpack and smiled, asking, “What is your relationship with her?”
Mi Shanxin: “Mother-daughter relationship.”
