21
The incident caused an uproar, but Tề Thừa Tiêu’s parents were too busy, so they only sent a lawyer to the school.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses.
“Our family member has undergone a medical examination to assess his injuries.”
“Once we have the results, proving that you used excessive force in self-defense will be a piece of cake.”
“Young lady, you picked the wrong person to mess with.”
“But since we attend the same school, we don’t want to make a big deal of this.”
“All you have to do is apologize publicly and sign a pledge not to bring up the exams, and we can let this go.”
He acted as if victory was already in his grasp, thinking I’d be scared, but I wasn’t the old Tiểu Ngũ anymore.
I was Trịnh Hảo—a girl with people in her corner.
I stayed silent until my parents appeared in the doorway.
“What’s the point of threatening a child? Talk to us instead.”
The lawyer glanced at my parents’ plain appearance, his eyes full of disdain.
“Are you Trịnh Hảo’s adoptive parents?”
He emphasized the words “adoptive parents.”
My parents didn’t bat an eye as they sat down beside me.
“We’re Trịnh Hảo’s biological parents.”
The lawyer laughed.
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll be blunt, since I’m an adult.”
“Your daughter used excessive force in self-defense and injured young master Tề. All we have to do is get the media involved, and it could seriously damage her future.”
“I suggest both sides compromise and settle this.”
22
Mom gave a cold laugh.
“You know it was self-defense, do you? What was she defending herself against if she wasn’t being threatened?”
The lawyer said,
“But your daughter is fine, while young master Tề was seriously injured.”
Mom said:
“My daughter’s fine because her father taught her martial arts. What would have happened otherwise?”
The lawyer said:
“Just wait until the medical report comes back. Don’t come crying to me.”
Mom said:
“Don’t worry about us. My husband is a police officer, and the first thing he teaches in martial arts is how to fight without causing serious injury. Whether it was excessive force in self-defense is for the court to decide. You’re a lawyer—how can you pass judgment before the court does? What would the bar association say if they knew?”
The lawyer said:
“Teachers certainly know how to talk. Are you really choosing to go up against the Tề family?”
Mom sat up straight.
“We’re not going up against anyone. We’ll stand up to whoever bullies our daughter.”
The lawyer nodded, his eyes cruel.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A few days later, we understood what he meant by “media resources.”
The internet was flooded with stories about Trần Vân and me. They said I’d been competing with her since we were little—over toys, our adoptive parents, and then her boyfriend.
Tề Thừa Tiêu and Trần Vân had supposedly been in love, and I’d come between them. Angry at being rejected, I’d beaten Tề Thừa Tiêu so badly he was seriously injured.
The story was carefully fabricated. They even found Trương Chí Soái to testify that I’d once stolen money.
The backlash exploded, and people called me a “love-rival villainess” and a “born evil woman.”
Our email inboxes filled with abuse.
Only now were people commenting:
[Tề Thừa Tiêu went too far…]
[This time it wasn’t Trịnh Hảo’s fault. She didn’t even make the first move.]
[I’m suddenly fed up. Does being rich mean you can twist the truth?]
This whole thing gave me a headache, but my parents stayed calm. Our family life was as warm as ever—except that their bedroom light stayed on all night.
23
When I woke up the next morning, my parents were both gone.
There was only a note on the table:
[There’s rice in the pot and goose soup. Remember to eat.]
As I wondered where they’d gone, I got a message from my former class president:
[Trịnh Hảo, turn on the TV.]
The local news channel was interviewing my parents live. The captions beneath them read:
Trịnh Nghị — Second- and Third-Class Meritorious Service Medals; transferred to the city police after being wounded.
Vương Thư — Outstanding Teacher; named Person of the Year after rescuing a student from drowning.
There was a reason my parents couldn’t have children: one was covered in injuries, while the other had lasting complications after rescuing a student from drowning in winter.
They had been wonderful people long before they became my parents.
This time, they’d come prepared. They brought a copy of the security footage.
It clearly showed Tề Thừa Tiêu cornering me.
The audio clearly captured his threat:
“Come with me, and I’ll make sure you get into college through early admission. But if you keep being stubborn, don’t blame me for ruining you.”
Right then, I understood why my parents had agreed to the interview.
If we gave in or agreed to settle, there was no telling what the Tề family would do next.
Only by bringing everything to light could we make sure that, whatever happened to me afterward, the Tề family couldn’t escape public scrutiny.
My parents sat solemnly, their faces grave.
“This is a country of the people. I refuse to believe any capitalist can trample the people underfoot.”
24
The interview was cut short, but that afternoon,
the topic “Don’t Let Heroes Bleed and Weep Again” shot to the top of the trending searches.
Public opinion completely turned around.
[Just looking at those two sitting there, you can tell they’re honorable. I don’t believe their daughter did anything wrong.]
[Something was off from the start. Why bring four or five male students to corner a girl in an alley?]
[Thank goodness the girl knew martial arts. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened?]
[If this isn’t dealt with severely, it’ll be a disgrace to justice.]
People were sick of “celestial dragons”—privileged people like Tề Thừa Tiêu, who abused their power and deserved to be punished.
His academic record was dug up, and it turned out he’d gotten by on connections alone.
The authorities launched an investigation, and Tề Thừa Tiêu was taken in for questioning. Apparently, he still showed no remorse before he left.
He didn’t regret what he’d done. He only regretted giving us the chance to expose the truth.
People mocked him as the first “prisoner-style male lead,” saying that once his family background was stripped away, all that was left was an ordinary, boring guy.
25
With Tề Thừa Tiêu no longer bothering me, I took my exams without a hitch. At lunchtime on the day I returned to school after the exams, Trần Vân invited me to eat with her.
We sat across from each other. Ours should have been the most complicated relationship of all, yet I felt strangely at peace.
Trần Vân lowered her head.
“Tiểu Ngũ, you’ve changed so much.”
I said, “I went from being Tiểu Ngũ to Trịnh Hảo, so of course I changed.”
Trần Vân shook her head.
“No, everything about you has changed. You really did choose the right path.”
Her voice was bitter.
“Thừa Tiêu said he never expected things to turn out like this. You’re happy now, but what about my happiness?”
I pursed my lips.
“If you keep searching in the dark, you’ll never find it.”
“Stop and look around. Maybe you’ll find it.”
“Trần Vân, you’ve had it better than most people. Stop carrying your sadness around all the time. If all you think about is men, it gets old.”
Trần Vân smiled. “Easy for you to say.”
I stood up.
“We’ve only had enough to eat for a few years. Don’t waste food.”
As I was leaving, Trần Vân called after me:
“If you could choose again, would you trade adoptive families with me?”
I turned around and gave her a thumbs-down:
“No way in hell!”
26
I was admitted directly to Peking University. I heard that Trần Vân transferred schools not long afterward.
The investigation exposed a whole string of “privileged kids,” but no one knew where she went.
When Trần Vân disappeared from my life, the comments vanished too. Maybe it meant I’d finally escaped the female lead’s world.
From now on, I was just me—not anyone’s supporting character.
…
On move-in day, my parents took me to the university gates.
They were beaming as they asked an alumnus to take a picture for us.
We stood beneath the big university sign.
Dad asked:
“What should we shout?”
I grinned:
“Let’s shout, ‘We love our family!’”
“That’s right! An educated daughter makes all the difference.”
“One, two, three—”
“We love our family!”
My parents.
They were good at raising anything.
Their flowers and plants flourished, their fish were healthy, and even the sparrows that perched on the balcony were plump.
They raised me, too.
Though I’d once been a rotten piece of wood,
now I was greeting spring, putting out new shoots.
Everything was “Trịnh Hảo”—just right, and good.
I loved my family more than anything.