Chapter Fourteen: Not Worth Your Remembering

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But when she tentatively brought it up to her three sons, the eldest, Zhong Chengfa, was the first to jump up in opposition. The second son, Zhong Chengren, even said some harsh words, and the youngest, Zhong Chengyi, wore a face full of reluctance.

The children had grown up and had their own thoughts—what could she do?

In the end, she could only suppress that forbidden longing deep in her heart.

So what about this life?

Heaven had granted her a second chance; could it be...

Yet, whenever she thought of the last time Song Xingzhi came to see her in the previous life, those eyes filled with disappointment and loneliness, the faint spark that had just kindled in Zhang Chunxue’s heart was cruelly snuffed out.

She gave a bitter smile. In this life, she only wanted to protect Zhong Xiaoxiao and Zhou Mingli, the mother and daughter, to protect this family. Beyond that, she dared not hope for more.

When the rice soup cooled, Zhang Chunxue carefully fed it to Zhong Yuanyuan.

After a bowl of rice soup, the little one smacked her lips, clearly wanting more.

Zhang Chunxue held the child, gently patting her back, her ears constantly alert to the sounds coming from the main room.

She didn’t know how long she waited—long enough for her granddaughter in her arms to nearly fall asleep—when finally, the courtyard gate creaked open faintly, followed by footsteps fading away.

They had left.

Zhang Chunxue let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

Only then did she walk to the kitchen door, poke her head out, and call toward the main room, “Xiaoxiao, the porridge has cooled. Go pour a bowl and feed your sister-in-law.”

No sooner had she spoken than, instead of Zhong Xiaoxiao’s response, a figure emerged from the second son Zhong Chengren’s room.

It was Song Xingzhi!

Zhang Chunxue’s pupils contracted sharply, her entire body stiffening.

He... why hadn’t he left yet?

Song Xingzhi walked straight up to her, his gaze calm and steady, and said, “Chunxue... sister-in-law, I want to talk to you about something.”

Zhang Chunxue’s heart skipped a beat, rising instantly to her throat.

She instinctively hugged the child tighter, her voice dry, “Talk... about what?”

Song Xingzhi’s eyes briefly flickered to the child in her arms before returning to her face. “I just spoke with Zhong Chengren. But some things, I think I should discuss with you, the head of the family... mainly about your current situation.”

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From his tone, this was going to be serious.

Zhang Chunxue steadied herself, though her heart was restless, and nodded. “Alright, then... let’s talk at the courtyard gate.”

Cradling the child, she led the way outside.

Song Xingzhi silently followed behind her.

The courtyard was quiet; Doctor Li and Zhou Mingli had likely already returned indoors.

The main room door was closed, leaving only the kitchen’s dim yellow light.

They walked in single file to the gate, the night breeze carrying a hint of chill.

Song Xingzhi stopped, and Zhang Chunxue followed suit, turning to face him.

Just as Zhang Chunxue expected him to speak about serious matters, Song Xingzhi unexpectedly asked, “Are you avoiding me?”

Her face instantly paled, as if her secret had been exposed. She was suddenly flustered and at a loss.

“No... no!” she blurted out, her voice faltering. “Why... why would I avoid you?”

Yet her shifting gaze betrayed her inner turmoil.

Song Xingzhi looked at her deeply, his expression complex and inscrutable—part self-mockery, part something else.

He sighed softly, his tone calm but laced with a subtle distance. “You don’t need to avoid me, and I won’t pester you. I know you don’t like me.”

Those words struck Zhang Chunxue’s heart like a gentle hammer—not painful, but heavy and oppressive.

“So, you can just treat me as an ordinary brigade secretary, or... as Xiaoxiao’s teacher,” Song Xingzhi said softly, as if afraid to disturb the quiet night.

Zhang Chunxue felt her chest tighten even more, unsure how to respond.

Her cheeks burned, her ears flushed.

Biting her lower lip, she forced herself calm and changed the subject, “Secretary Song... didn’t you say you wanted to talk about something serious?”

A flicker of hurt crossed Song Xingzhi’s eyes but was quickly masked.

He composed himself, his voice returning to its previous low tone. “Yes, mainly about your family.”

“Your second son, Zhong Chengren, has been quite irresponsible,” Song Xingzhi’s tone carried a barely perceptible sternness. “His wife had a high fever, and he, as her husband, didn’t notice at all?”

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Hearing this, Zhang Chunxue’s face was tinged with embarrassment—after all, it was her son.

She sighed. “I’m responsible too. I didn’t discipline him well or notice Mingli was ill... Once Mingli gets better, I’ll make sure to properly educate Chengren, so he learns his lesson!”

After that, an awkward silence settled between them.

Only the rustling leaves of the old locust tree in the courtyard whispered in the night breeze.

Holding the child, Zhang Chunxue lowered her gaze, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the soft swaddling. Inside, her emotions were a tumult of bitterness, sourness, and unexplainable unease.

In truth, in both her past and present lives, her interactions with Song Xingzhi had been limited.

She always felt that Song Xingzhi’s special regard for her stemmed from the faint, hazy affection from their first meeting and later... the debt of gratitude when she had accidentally saved him once.

What he saw was perhaps just a strong, independent widow, a kind lifesaver.

But if he knew of her inner calculations, her weaknesses, and those petty, shameful thoughts she never showed...

Zhang Chunxue smiled wryly.

He surely wouldn’t like her anymore.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head to meet Song Xingzhi’s penetrating gaze. “Secretary Song, actually... I’m not what you think I am. I’m just a selfish, ordinary woman.”

Saying this, she felt a weight lift from her heart, as if a thousand-pound burden had been removed.

“I’m petty and calculating, sometimes very cowardly—not as strong as you see me.”

“I do many things thinking only of myself, my children, my family.”

“I’ve even... sometimes thought that if I had someone to rely on, I wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

She lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze, her voice growing softer.

“I’m not worthy of your kindness, nor deserving of... your concern.”