Chapter Fifteen: What Are You and Mother Arguing About in the Kitchen?

The courtyard grew cooler in the night breeze, rustling the leaves of the ancient locust tree with a soft, whispering sound, like silent sighs. Song Xingzhi listened quietly, his expression unchanged, but his eyes seemed deeper, like two bottomless ancient wells.

When she finished speaking, he finally spoke, his voice still low but carrying an inexplicable piercing quality: "Then what happened?"

"Ah?"

Zhang Chunxue was momentarily stunned. She had prepared a litany of self-deprecation, imagined countless reactions Song Xingzhi might have—disappointment, disdain, or simply turning away—yet she never expected him to ask that.

"Then what happened?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Indeed, then what? She had laid bare her flaws so thoroughly; shouldn’t he have just walked away in disgust?

Seeing her bewildered and helpless, a trace of barely perceptible tenderness flickered in Song Xingzhi's gaze, but he quickly masked it. He sighed softly, a sound both of lament and consolation.

"It's late. You should go back and rest," he said, his voice gentler. "The child should be asleep by now. It’s cold at night; don’t let her catch a chill."

He cast a long, deep look at Zhang Chunxue—an expression so complex it unsettled her, as if he could see through her entirely.

Then he turned and strode into the darkness without looking back.

Zhang Chunxue stood frozen, watching the direction of his disappearance. The little granddaughter in her arms puckered her lips slightly, shifting uncomfortably.

For some reason, an empty ache rose in her heart, a nameless sorrow.

She held the child tighter and slowly walked back into the courtyard, her steps heavy.

Just as she reached the door of the main room, before she could push it open, she heard a quarrel from the kitchen, Chong Xiaoxiao’s voice trembling with tears.

"Second brother! How could you do this? That porridge was made specially for sister-in-law!" Chong Xiaoxiao’s tone was angry and anxious, choked with sobs.

Zhang Chunxue’s brow immediately furrowed.

Then came Zhong Chengren’s indifferent voice: "What are you fussing about? Isn’t there still some crust at the bottom of the pot? Besides, she’s sick—how much can she eat? I’ve worked all day; I’m hungry, aren’t I?"

His tone was self-righteous, utterly without remorse.

"But mother deliberately saved that porridge for sister-in-law! How could you eat it all?" Chong Xiaoxiao was so angry she couldn’t finish her sentence; tears welled in her eyes, her voice trembling.

Zhang Chunxue’s face turned as cold as water. Cradling the child, she hurried inside.

In the kitchen’s dim yellow light, Zhong Chengren held a chipped coarse ceramic bowl, scraped clean to the bottom, with a few grains of rice clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Chong Xiaoxiao’s eyes were red-rimmed, glaring at him in fury, her small shoulders trembling—clearly upset to tears.

Zhang Chunxue’s anger flared suddenly, but she forced a gentle smile as she said to Chong Xiaoxiao, "Xiaoxiao, come, take Yuanyuan. You should soothe her so she doesn’t catch a chill."

Though puzzled by her mother’s smile at such a moment, Chong Xiaoxiao obediently sniffed, carefully taking baby Zhong Yuanyuan from Zhang Chunxue’s arms and gently patting her back.

The instant Chong Xiaoxiao took the child, Zhang Chunxue’s smile vanished like ice breaking; her eyes became sharp as lightning.

She spun around abruptly and scanned the stove area with a fierce glare.

Leaning against the stove was a pair of shiny black fire tongs, quietly lying there.

With a single step forward, Zhang Chunxue grabbed the heavy fire tongs.

"Ah!" Zhong Chengren barely had time to react before a searing pain erupted in his backside as the fire tongs struck him hard.

"Ahhh—!" he screamed in agony, dropping the empty bowl which shattered on the floor.

"You beast!" Zhang Chunxue’s voice trembled with fury, but she did not pause. The fire tongs fell like rain.

"Your wife is bedridden sick, and you don’t bring her tea or water, don’t care for her, yet you dare to steal the porridge made to nourish her?"

Each strike of the fire tongs landed with a muffled thud that made one’s scalp tingle.

"Mom! Mom! Stop! I was wrong! I was wrong! Ow!" Zhong Chengren howled, clutching his head, scrambling around the small kitchen in vain to escape Zhang Chunxue’s wrath.

"How could I give birth to such a heartless fool!" she chased him, each blow accompanied by the whistle of the air. "Didn’t you hear a word of what Secretary Song said to you in your room? Did you just ignore it?"

Her chest heaved violently; she was furious beyond measure.

"Your wife is giving birth and risking her life for the Zhong family! And when she’s sick, you can’t even save her a mouthful of porridge!"

The fire tongs struck his back, legs, even arms several times.

Zhang Chunxue was truly relentless, each blow delivered with all the force of years of pent-up disappointment and anger.

Zhong Chengren wailed, begging desperately, "Mom! I won’t dare again! Please stop! Spare me!"

Only then did Zhang Chunxue pause, panting, sweat beading her forehead.

Pointing to the corner, her voice still cold and cutting, she ordered, "Go kneel in that corner! Don’t get up without my permission!"

Chong Xiaoxiao, holding Zhong Yuanyuan, watched in stunned silence.

She had never seen her mother so angry, nor so merciless in punishing her older brother.

In her memory, her mother had always been gentle. Even when the brothers made big mistakes, her mother’s harshest response was a few scolding words or a light spanking—not this fierce, weapon-wielding assault.

Is this really her mother?

Zhong Chengren, face contorted in pain, trembled all over but dared not argue. He crawled to the corner and knelt with a thud, head bowed, barely daring to breathe.

Zhang Chunxue’s anger still simmered as she pointed at him. "No food for you tomorrow! Reflect properly! When you’ve figured things out, then you can get up."

She took Zhong Yuanyuan back from Chong Xiaoxiao, who still looked dazed, and gently patted the baby. Her tone softened, though weariness lingered, "Xiaoxiao, it’s late; you should go back to bed. You don’t need to worry about things here anymore."

"Okay… okay," Chong Xiaoxiao nodded blankly, still shaken, glancing once more at her kneeling second brother before hurrying out of the kitchen.

Zhang Chunxue gave Zhong Chengren one last cold glance, then turned back to her eastern room.

With a loud bang, the door shut.

In the kitchen, Zhong Chengren knelt alone on the cold floor, the scent of porridge mixed faintly with a metallic tang in the air.

He knelt there so long he lost track of time, only daring to lift his head when all sound from the eastern and western rooms had ceased. Groaning, he painfully got up, rubbing his sore backside and back, muttering curses under his breath.

"Mom really went all out! When has she ever hit me this hard? Maybe she took the wrong medicine today..."

Just as he reached his door and was about to push it open, the door to elder brother Zhong Chengfa and Li Hongjuan’s room creaked open.

Zhong Chengfa, in light clothes, peeked out sleepily, frowning as he asked, "Second brother, what were you and Mom yelling about in the kitchen so late? Breaking bowls and shouting, you woke everyone up."