Chapter 330: The Wayward Son Returns Home

2022-05-20

In those few seconds when Rob met Lü Zhiqiu, every memory of humiliation and anger rushed back. The scenes of shame, his girlfriend sobbing helplessly on her knees—all of it played over and over in his mind like a film. In that moment Rob was convinced it was Lü Zhiqiu who’d pushed him to this point. He never even considered what he’d do after killing her.

Rob had never realized how easy it was to take a life. One strike with the brick and Lü Zhiqiu was gone. Instinctively, Rob took the brick with him. He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he did that. But that brick, hidden in his clothes, was the very weapon Xu Man had spotted on him.

Finally, the truth was out. As for the rumor online accusing Rob of abusing a dog, that wasn’t Lü Zhiqiu’s doing—Wang Xin started it to save his pride in front of the other workers. Wang Xin proudly bragged to us that Rob lost his job not long after.

But Wang Xin never understood what Rob really went through after seeing those few words online.

Maybe, down in the afterlife, Wang Xin will finally realize his spiteful accusations destroyed someone else, and in the end, himself as well.

Lü Zhiqiu had always met the world with kindness, but all she got in return was suspicion and malice. Whether people benefited from her help or not, they assumed her goodness was a front—maybe she wanted to look like a good person, get her teacher’s favor, or just draw attention from the opposite sex.

At some point, whenever people receive kindness, they begin wondering, ‘What’s their angle?’ I don’t know when it started, but maybe that’s the most bitter mockery of genuine goodwill in our world. Lü Zhiqiu never wanted anything in return—she really just hoped to make the world a little warmer. But life has a way of turning even the best intentions upside down.

In the end, when death came for her, some people even felt glad in their hearts.

Can kindness, when shown in the wrong way, actually make people uncomfortable?

At that moment, I suddenly thought of something from my own middle school days. Back then, I had no friends except my deskmate. My adoptive father would pack an apple in my bag every day for school. Every time I pulled it out, my deskmate would eye it hungrily but pretend not to care.

So, for a while, I asked my dad for an extra apple each day and gave it to my deskmate. But then, one day, he snapped. He hurled the apple to the floor and shouted, “Get lost! What, you think I can’t afford fruit?”

I was shocked and hurt. Much later I found out his family was poor and fruit was a luxury for him. For a long time, I thought he was in the wrong—but eventually I understood. Deep down, everyone has something they’re sensitive about, and you can’t just trample in with kindness because you mean well.

Human nature is like that—think being good means you can barge into someone’s life? Maybe that’s why someone as kind as Lü Zhiqiu ended up the way she did. Kindness, I guess, has its time and place. The hardest, most exhausting way to live might just be to be endlessly selfless, without limits.

But Lü Zhiqiu never figured that out. Having grown up without feeling much love, she believed that if she was kind enough, others would love her back. Maybe she was just too naive.

A day later, Gu Chen brought Rob back to his hometown.

After seven years away, Rob finally got to see his mother again. By then, the twenty-six-year-old son she remembered had become a middle-aged man. He was meant to be the pillar of the family, and in reality, he was.

Rob knew he’d end up caught someday, so he’d sent most of the money he earned home—over seven years, a hundred thousand yuan. Enough for a woman in her sixties to live out her days in comfort. But what’s the point of comfort if you lose your only son?

When Rob met his mother, his reaction wasn’t what I expected, at least not from Gu Chen’s description.

I thought Rob would drop to his knees and bawl his eyes out. But he didn’t. Instead, when he saw his mother, he greeted her with a smile. He hugged her tight, and she hugged him just as fiercely.

The lost son had finally come home, but just as quickly, he’d have to leave again.

Rob didn’t shed a tear. He simply cleaned up the courtyard, pruned the old jujube tree, and pulled the weeds in the yard. He insisted on emptying the water vat and refilling it, even though the villagers had just changed the water the day before.

He pasted posters all around the house to keep dust from falling into his mother’s food. That took an entire afternoon. Five times, people tried to stop him from working so hard, but each time Gu Chen quietly shook his head and let Rob finish.

Gu Chen just watched silently, signaling the others to let Rob do what he needed.

When dinner came around, Aunt Wu—stubborn as her son—insisted on making the meal herself. Rob, ever the dutiful son, didn’t argue. So she cooked the last meal she’d ever make for her boy. She didn’t say a word the whole time, just watched as Rob bustled around the house.

Later, Gu Chen told me that seven years ago, when Rob left home, Aunt Wu already knew this day would come. She knew what Rob had done. They say fathers know their sons best, but I think mothers know just as well.

Rob had been on the run for seven years, and so had his mother. Aunt Wu knew exactly what kind of person her son was.

So she let him run around, doing chores and repairs, never stopping him. She understood that Rob was making up for the seven years of missed filial piety. She cooked for him one last time because she knew that no matter the sentence, by the time Rob got out, she’d be long gone. This was the last thing she could do for her child.

The meal was plain and simple, but it felt like any other night. No one said a word at the dinner table, just ate quietly. Aunt Wu’s eyes were red, her tears threatening to spill, but unbelievably, Rob was still smiling.

After the meal came time for goodbyes. Rob didn’t hide his farewell from anyone. He hugged his mother and spoke a few words: “Mom, I probably won’t get to come back to see you again. That’s just how it is. Whatever you want to eat, just eat it. Don’t save anything for me—if you do, all my work will have been for nothing.”

Aunt Wu couldn’t hold in her tears any longer. She’d managed all day, but now they streamed down her face.

Rob, on the other hand, still didn’t cry.

“I failed you, I didn’t raise you right, I never had an education—it’s all my fault!” Aunt Wu sobbed.

“I’m going,” Rob said softly.

As he walked out the courtyard, the whole world seemed to fall into darkness.

Gu Chen glanced back at the old jujube tree—its branches twisted in the dark like some kind of monster’s claws.

In the car, Rob began to tell Gu Chen why he dropped out of school during his sophomore year of high school.

“Back then, I was in my second year and honestly, I just wasn’t cut out for studying. I was a rebellious teen, resented my mom for not being successful, blamed her because I couldn’t get anything I wanted. I wasted her hard-earned money, spent all day reading novels and goofing off in class.”

“One day, my mom came to school looking for me. She said I’d left a book at home. She’d seen me working hard every night reading this book and thought it was something I needed for class. So she brought it to me. Guess what—the book I was so focused on was just a story I liked to read in secret. My mom couldn’t even read!” Rob let out a sudden laugh.

Gu Chen told me that Rob then laughed like he’d heard the world’s funniest joke—he just couldn’t stop. But no one else joined in. Inside the car, his laughter echoed, and everyone felt like Rob had lost his mind.

Rob went on, “Everyone thought I should’ve been embarrassed, but instead, I realized something. My mom, a farm woman who knew nothing about the world and not even her own name—she still raised me. She pushed me to study so I wouldn’t end up like her. When I realized I wasn’t cut out for it, I dropped out, went to work, and swore I’d give her a better life.”

Nobody responded, but Rob didn’t stop talking.

“Tell me, why didn’t I ever think about my mom back then? If I’d just calmed down, would things have been so bad?”

“Yeah,” Rob murmured. “Why didn’t I think of my mom? Why did things turn out this way?”

“Yeah,” Gu Chen said quietly, “there was no reason to kill anyone.”

A moment passed before Rob spoke again. “There’s a song you all know, right? That one.”

And then Rob began to hum:

A wanderer out in the world missing you,

My dear mother,

My footsteps have carried me so far,

Yet I still have no home.

Winter winds whip up the snowflakes,

Blowing tears from my eyes.

Rob closed his eyes and hummed the tune quietly.

Gu Chen noticed, in the end, that single tear finally fell.