MAMA-45: She really wanted to love her.
Mi Shanxin had just sent the message when the caregiver inside called her name.
“What’s wrong?” Mi Shanxin went over. The old woman on the hospital bed was clamoring for ice.
“In the dead of winter, she wants iced watermelon. Where am I supposed to find that?”
The nurse aide sighed, “…I think it’s hard to endure. The old lady’s breathing has been choppy these past few nights, and I’m just afraid… ah.”
Even now, the old lady’s breathing sounded abnormal. The caregiver had already pressed the call button, and soon a doctor arrived, placing an oxygen mask on the old woman who was yelling for iced watermelon.
During her time playing Wan Lingling, Mi Shanxin had witnessed Wan Qingqing’s resuscitations a few times.
If a person cannot have complete fortune, prosperity, and longevity, then at least Wan Qingqing’s longevity was complete.
She had lived long enough, and been unwilling to accept things for too long.
Even if Wan Qingqing never clearly explained how she treated Jian Wanji, Mi Shanxin could roughly piece together the process.
The one more tormented was clearly Jian Wanji. Her finding an actress to play her deceased mother and fulfill filial piety for her grandmother was also a form of struggle.
Instead, it benefited Mi Shanxin, who pieced together a version of Jian Wanji others didn’t quite understand from diaries and documents, even learning her childhood nickname.
“Notify the family sooner,” the doctor said.
Jian Wanji wasn’t there. It was daytime where she was, and the afternoon meeting concerning a contract signing was extremely urgent. Her phone was on Do Not Disturb, so Mi Shanxin couldn’t get through either.
The caregiver was the same, unable to notify anyone, so she had to stand with Mi Shanxin and watch the emergency treatment.
Some words weren’t appropriate to say at this time. The caregiver glanced at Mi Shanxin and found the young girl standing silently to the side, staring unblinkingly at Wan Qingqing, also somewhat abnormal.
Although Mi Shanxin was young, she lacked the vitality typical of children her age. Even working alongside the nurse aide, she rarely spoke. She never initiated sharing anything, but if the aide spoke to her, she would respond.
After all, with no adults at home looking after her, alone and forlorn, it was normal she wasn’t lively. Seeing someone nearing death, Mi Shanxin was also plain and indifferent.
Grandma had passed away at home; Mi Shanxin was the one who found her. She had to leave for the school bus before dawn, and Grandma usually saw her to the alley entrance before going to the morning market to buy groceries.
The day before, Grandpa hadn’t been home, having gone on a tour with a senior group. Mi Shanxin opened the door, and the old woman on the bed had long gone cold, perhaps dying in her sleep.
After that time, Mi Shanxin learned that when someone dies at home, you must call 120 and you need a death certificate.
Grandpa was brought back from the hospital and passed away on that very bed of Grandma’s. Father was there then, so Mi Shanxin didn’t need to handle the aftermath.
Now, she was in front of someone else’s grandmother’s bed, watching the doctor work busily. It seemed they had revived her, but the situation was no better than last time, basically meaning she had little time left, and they asked where the family was.
Jian Wanji’s phone couldn’t be reached. She had gone on a business trip at the worst possible time. The nurse aide couldn’t help complaining, asking what kind of work was so important that she wouldn’t even answer the phone.
Unless it was something extremely important, Jian Wanji wouldn’t be like this.
Just like this business trip, she had apologized to Mi Shanxin for a long time. Mi Shanxin had assumed she was the company’s Big Boss, holding absolute power.
Jian Wanji said, where is there anything absolute? She’s not an emperor yet.
Some questions Mi Shanxin felt were very childish to ask, but Jian Wanji didn’t mind, and chatting was easy.
“Still can’t get through on the phone?” The female doctor who had met them once before looked at Mi Shanxin. “Ms. Wan doesn’t have much time left.”
Every day in the hospice ward was like this. Wan Qingqing had already held on for quite a long time.
Soon, everyone withdrew. The nurse aide went outside to call her family, seemingly starting to worry about her next job.
Mi Shanxin sat back down by the bedside, watching the old lady wearing an oxygen mask, breathing weakly.
She stared with open eyes at the ceiling. Between breaths, the oxygen mask fogged up and cleared, over and over. Who knew if it was in sync with her heartbeat.
Mi Shanxin made many voice calls, sent voice messages, and texts to Jian Wanji.
The last line read: Jian Wanji, you might not get to see your grandmother one last time.
Should she say sorry? Mi Shanxin didn’t know.
She held the old woman’s hand, its touch very similar to her own grandmother’s. Soon, Wan Qingqing turned her head. She took off the oxygen mask, and when Mi Shanxin was about to put it back on her, she waved her hand and asked, “Where’s Wanji?”
Mi Shanxin answered truthfully, “She’s on a business trip.”
There were three days until Chinese New Year, and five days until Mi Shanxin’s contract with Jian Wanji ended.
The prediction made before the contract started was quite accurate. Though it couldn’t determine the exact moment of death, it had given a range. They had seen too many patients and knew what true end-of-life looked like.
But Wan Qingqing no longer needed comfort. She made a couple of “oh” sounds, her graying hair in thin strands, like washed-out cotton thread.
“Who are you?” Wan Qingqing’s face had an unhealthy flush, perhaps a result of the recent resuscitation, but her eyes seemed a bit clearer.
Mi Shanxin knew she didn’t have much time left. Grandpa had been the same in the end, finally demanding Father promise that no matter what, he would support Mi Shanxin through university.
“I’m the person Jian Wanji paid to play your daughter.” Mi Shanxin didn’t know if Wan Qingqing could understand her saying it like this.
Wan Qingqing’s parents’ generation were also intellectuals, so she herself possessed a certain pride. But there were too many disappointments in life. A person is but a grain of sand in the era. She thought if she couldn’t live the life she wanted, then her daughter could. She never expected her daughter wouldn’t want to, and her daughter’s daughter wouldn’t either.
Her consciousness was unprecedentedly clear, remembering the events that had happened recently.
“How old are you?” Wan Qingqing stared at Mi Shanxin, her gaze different from before. Mi Shanxin answered, “Twenty.”
“Wanji this year…” Before moving into the hospice ward, her mind wasn’t very clear anymore. Even now remembering, the fragments were scattered.
“She’s thirty-nine this year. It’s the 27th of the twelfth lunar month, almost Chinese New Year.” The TV had been turned off earlier. Inside the room, one could hear the beeping of medical instruments. Mi Shanxin glanced twice at the ECG, her surface calm, but she secretly clutched the hem of her shirt.
She still didn’t want to witness death firsthand, even if it wasn’t the first time.
“It’s almost Chinese New Year… this year…”
“Bingwu Year.”
They were strangers to begin with. Even though Mi Shanxin had diligently played the role for nearly a month, with Wan Qingqing’s consciousness clear, she had nothing to say to her.
Mi Shanxin called Jian Wanji again, still unable to connect.
Wan Qingqing knew what she was doing and said, “She should have thought about this day.”
The old woman’s enunciation was slightly clearer than when her mind was foggy. Mi Shanxin looked at her profile; it was actually a similar face shape to Jian Wanji’s. Three generations of grandmothers and granddaughters, there are always similarities.
But that mole was unique, like Jian Wanji’s external signal source, still able to receive some emotions from others.
“You don’t have anything you want to say to her?” By this time, Mi Shanxin had already pressed record.
“We have always…” The old woman coughed twice again, “had… had nothing to say to each other.”
“She hates me, just like Lingling did.” Having said this, Wan Qingqing looked at Mi Shanxin again, examining her very carefully this time, as if comparing her to the forever-young daughter in her blurry memories. “You and Lingling… aren’t very alike.”
Mi Shanxin had seen the photos and knew her own aura was completely different from Wan Lingling’s. “Jian Wanji chose me.”
“…You are the mother in her eyes, cough cough cough…” The old lady coughed a few times with every couple of sentences. Mi Shanxin was tormented. Not only did the wound on her lip ache, but her heart also faintly throbbed, loathing this sense of a passing she couldn’t grasp.
In that instant, Mi Shanxin missed Jian Wanji so much that she resented her.
Why go on a business trip, leaving her here, facing her soon-to-be-lost relative, reminding Mi Shanxin of her own deceased grandparents.
Wan Qingqing was more clear-headed now than before dinner. Mi Shanxin was still unwilling to let go and asked once more, “Do you hate Jian Wanji?”
Mi Shanxin just didn’t like to talk; that didn’t mean she was stupid.
If not for the increasing lack of sleep after Grandpa’s death combined with the pressure of the college entrance exams, her mind actually worked quite fast. Getting into a famous university also proved her ability.
But her energy was as narrow and limited as her attention span, so managing time was difficult. She was poor but couldn’t work many jobs a day, nor could she juggle multiple romantic interests like some classmates.
Whoever was in her sight, that was the only person there.
“Hate.”
Compared to cursing her daughter as a cheap slut and her granddaughter as a cheap bastard, these two words were not very damaging.
It shows that when people are lucid, they are practiced at pretending. This was just the tip of the iceberg of Wan Qingqing’s honey-tongued, dagger-hearted ways while raising Jian Wanji.
Unwilling to waste such an opportunity, Mi Shanxin pressed again, “Why? She is Lingling’s daughter. Do you hate Lingling too?”
Playing Wan Lingling was a great job for slacking off, no need to write a character biography like a professional actor.
Wan Lingling’s life was far too short.
Whether it was a marriage unaccepted by her parents or the sudden arrival of death, it all seemed written with excessive carelessness. Yet every single day within it was lived by her alone.
Wan Lingling wrote in her diary: I never regret my choices.
Mi Shanxin had read her diary many times. Watched her recount her worries, her mother’s demands, the secret thoughts of love, envisioning a future without anyone’s interference.
She saw Jian Wanji’s birth, saw Jian Wanji babbling, saw Jian Wanji start kindergarten.
Her comical nickname had a full name so auspicious it was too simplistic, yet it was full of Wan Lingling’s hope. A mother hoped her daughter would be free, to learn and do whatever she wanted. Wan Lingling would raise her in a way completely different from how her mother raised her, respecting her, without excessive expectations, never forgetting her expectation when she was pregnant: as long as she was healthy, safe, and happy.
Regrettably, Jian Wanji’s growth ran counter to her hopes.
Wan Lingling died too young. Her daughter might have originally been an ordinary sausage, but stained with the blood of her parents’ unnatural deaths, she became a glaringly red sausage. Sliced open, she might stain Mi Shanxin, this piece of naturally white mourning cloth, red.
“Lingling…” At the mention of Wan Lingling, Wan Qingqing’s gaze was again colored with emotions Mi Shanxin couldn’t comprehend. “She was the child I wanted to bear for myself.”
Sons are born for the husband, daughters are born for oneself. Mi Shanxin had heard such talk during neighborhood gossip.
These women were of Wan Qingqing’s generation. Having lived to this age, they no longer cared about having a son or daughter. Having one was fine; not having one was also fine. Seemingly beaten dizzy by the torrent of change, they knew they couldn’t change others. To die comfortably was considered a blessing.
“Lingling came out feet first. Back then, I was supposed to die with her, ah, luckily we both lived.”
“She took after me, her voice was pleasant, her figure was good. She should have studied broadcasting, become a host…”
“Do you hate her?” Mi Shanxin interrupted her rambling. She didn’t know what was making her so agitated. Was it Jian Wanji, unloved by her kin throughout her life from childhood to adulthood? Or the relief that she wasn’t present, spared from hearing Wan Qingqing’s cruel ‘we have nothing to say’ and ‘hate’.
After all, they were blood relatives. Could it truly be so heartless?
Then Grandpa had really, really been very good to her.
Would Jian Wanji be sad? Would she still smile when she was sad?
Ah, the smile-lip surgery was also something Wan Qingqing had demanded.
Compelled to smile.
“At first, I didn’t hate her. Later, she became disobedient, and then I hated her.” They say words of the dying are kind, but for Mi Shanxin, these words were too piercing.
She didn’t belong in this entanglement spanning three generations. Even a bystander felt inexplicably chilled, let alone the people involved.
“She thought that once the child was born, I would change my mind. She thought… cough cough,” Wan Qingqing’s breathing quickened. Mi Shanxin put the oxygen mask back on her, “thought her way of education was right, wanted to prove to me… prove I was wrong.”
“How could a mother… be wrong?”
“Century egg wontons are delicious, Lingling wants to eat them…” Her heartbeat became abnormal again. Mi Shanxin stared at the old woman’s face. More than an explanation, it sounded like a statement: “Lingling hated eating century egg wontons the most. You are the one who loves them.”
The heartbeat seemed to have a faint change. Mi Shanxin thought for a moment, then said, “Mom, you can go in peace.”
With no one else around, Mi Shanxin’s bangs shaded her brows and eyes. Her large eyes, with too much white, still lacked spirit, and looking down hid another half, making her seem eerily spectral.
“I will take good care of Wanji.”
A rasping sound came from the old woman’s nose and throat. She reached out a hand, as if wanting to grasp something. Mi Shanxin dodged and pressed the call button again.
Soon, the doctor arrived, followed closely by another person.
Sui Yuqian was about the same height as Jian Wanji, but thinner. She wore a long gray coat, clearly having come in a hurry.
“Shanxin,” Sui Yuqian’s hair was tied back, her features bearing a hint of illness, “thank you for your hard work.”
The doctor patted Sui Yuqian’s shoulder, “I’ll take you back to continue the IV drip later.”
Only then did Mi Shanxin see the hemostatic patch on the back of Sui Yuqian’s hand. The other offered no explanation. Perhaps knowing the old lady had only this much time left, Sui Yuqian stood with Mi Shanxin to one side, watching the ECG go from fluctuating to flatline. Listening to her call for Lingling, but heaven didn’t hear; Jian Wanji was destined not to have a deep bond with her.
“9:16 PM.” Sui Yuqian pursed her lips, seemingly sending a message to Jian Wanji, then said to Mi Shanxin, “I’ll handle things from here. You go rest.”
She patted the girl’s thin back, “Don’t blame yourself.”
“Jian Wanji thought about this day long ago.”
“Even if she were here, she might not have come anyway.”
Mi Shanxin didn’t understand and looked up at her. Even when puzzled, the girl’s gaze would never be filled with overt curiosity. It was more like an animal tilting its head, where intelligence and dullness overlapped, making one involuntarily want to reveal all secrets.
Sui Yuqian held the majority stake in the company, but her health was also declining day by day. Compared to Jian Wanji, now truly completely alone in the world, Sui Yuqian at least had parents and siblings with whom she had good relations.
She worried Jian Wanji was still trapped in the year her parents died a violent death, trapped in the resentment of her grandmother poking her forehead and cursing her for bringing death to her mother.
That was the incompetence of adults. But having grown into an adult herself, she understood that adult incompetence was also human nature, but at the very least, one must not be inhuman.
She felt no pity for the dead old woman on the hospital bed. Some people remain stubborn and unrepentant their whole lives, tormenting their descendants, refusing to change even in death.
Sui Yuqian had put herself in her shoes many times. If it were her, she wouldn’t go to such great lengths to find someone to play her deceased mother, rushing to offer comfort.
Mi Shanxin was a pleasant surprise. Some secrets even the best of friends can’t penetrate; that’s why a more intimate relationship is needed.
Even if intimacy wasn’t all-powerful, Sui Yuqian still hoped Jian Wanji could have that sliver of chance.
After all, no matter how old Jian Wanji was, no matter how well she could handle things on the surface, she wasn’t a thoroughgoing singleton.
Jian Wanji had expectations and some fantasies too.
It was that hazy, drunken utterance: save me.
Sui Yuqian knew she couldn’t save her. She had looked for many people; none could solve this pitiable person pressed down by a nameless boulder.
Mi Shanxin perhaps could. She didn’t need strength to uproot mountains; she was more like an animal with a powerful digestive system, breaking down weathered rocks, pecking at fine sand, yet still tenaciously surviving.
Sui Yuqian responded to Mi Shanxin’s unspoken question: “She knows very well why her grandmother treated her this way.”
Mi Shanxin had asked twice already and naturally understood. On the surface, she just gave a faint “Oh,” and said, “So she’s a masochist.”
Sui Yuqian couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing, “Maybe. If you harshly abuse her, she might love you even more.”
Mi Shanxin shook her head: “I couldn’t bear to.”
She really wanted to love her.
