Wen Ying lingered outside the neighborhood until 9:30 PM, finally heading home after wandering the streets.
In the living room, Chen Ru sat while Wen Dongrong stood, the Fukang car keys glaringly obvious on the coffee table.
Wen Ying barely said “Mom” before Chen Ru, stern-faced, demanded: “What’s with the car? Explain.”
Wen Ying stared at her toes. “I wrote a script a few days ago, and it was accepted. The car money came from the script’s payment.”
So that’s how she got the money.
It aligned with Chen Ru’s guess.
Chen Ru wanted to scold Wen Ying harshly but recalled her old classmate Wu Chunqin’s advice: “The smarter the child, the more space they need.” Repeating this to herself, she barely suppressed her anger.
“You earned the money, and I let you manage it, not squander it. Just because you can afford a car, you buy one?”
Chinese culture values saving over spending ahead. Many resisted mortgages years ago. With ten yuan, most would spend one. A mortgage meant borrowing fifty from a bank, plus interest. What if a job wasn’t stable enough to repay?
If Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong didn’t have secure jobs, they wouldn’t have mortgaged two homes. Carefree spending wasn’t in their generation’s vocabulary.
Wen Ying earning script money was great, but spending it immediately? That mindset was wrong!
Chen Ru didn’t know scriptwriting rates, assuming Wen Ying’s age and experience earned her ten or twenty thousand at most—likely due to Li Mengjiao’s classmate favor. Who else would hire a high schooler?
Ten or twenty thousand from the script, the rest from Shrimp King’s dividends.
Shrimp King’s main branch, thriving on the night market street, surely paid well.
By that math, Wen Ying affording a car made sense, but the act itself infuriated Chen Ru.
Spending every cent without saving?
Wen Ying used to save her allowance!
“Mom, I didn’t buy it casually. Dad takes the earliest bus to work weekly—it’s too hard… Don’t scold him, it was my idea.”
Wen Ying spoke honestly.
Not to save Old Wen, but a strategic “retreat to advance,” paired with “diverting trouble eastward” for maximum effect.
Sure enough, Chen Ru turned to glare at Wen Dongrong.
“She’s a young girl, clueless, but you’re grown and still clueless? Knowing she wanted to buy a car, why didn’t you stop her?”
Wen Dongrong’s mouth was dry.
He’d explained eight hundred times—he didn’t know beforehand. Another two hundred explanations wouldn’t convince Chen Ru.
Wen Dongrong was exhausted.
Fine, let Chen Ru say what she wanted. Arguing more meant no sleep tonight.
The car was bought, the scolding endured. Wen Dongrong decided to take the blame: “We were buying one next year anyway, just moved up the timeline. The car Wen Ying bought isn’t expensive, right, Wen Ying?”
“Yeah, it’s used, just over forty thousand.”
Wen Ying backed him up, but Chen Ru wasn’t having it. “No place for you to talk. Back to your room!”
She escaped that easily?
“Oh, I’ll go do homework.”
Wen Ying wished she had extra legs to flee faster.
Wen Ying had her homework excuse; Wen Dongrong didn’t.
After she left, Chen Ru berated him for prioritizing personal comfort over family needs, using Wen Ying’s money for a car.
“You’re so selfish!”
“Talking about parental authority, yet you used Wen Ying’s money, making me lose face!”
Only Wen Dongrong needed the car most, which is why Chen Ru didn’t believe he was unaware.
Poor Old Wen, chewed out thoroughly, was kicked out of the bedroom.
Their rented place, unlike their hometown home, had only two rooms. Wen Dongrong curled up on the sofa, sighing, hoping for his wife’s pity.
No response by midnight. Black-hearted Wen Ying, perhaps guilty, sneaked him a blanket, scurrying back to her room without a word, clearly sheepish.
Head of the family?
What head sleeps on the sofa!
He didn’t want to take the fall, but Wen Ying’s “gift” was too perfect.
How could he resist such a sugar-coated cannonball?
Chen Ru was right—driving a car Wen Ying bought, how could he act authoritative?
Old Wen tossed and turned, wanting to peel off the sugar coating and return the cannonball, but couldn’t figure out how.
Financially, he’d lost his daughter’s respect. Only career success could reclaim his guidance over her life. With ten times her courage, she wouldn’t dare trick him again.
And that increasingly fiery tigress at home would revere and obey him again.
Wen Dongrong consoled himself to sleep.
At 6 AM, he got up, bought breakfast, left it on the table, and drove to work with the car keys—his years of experience: when you can’t confront an opponent, follow your heart and wait for them to soften.
At the office gate, he saw Old Li cycling to work.
Wen Dongrong valued his reputation, as did Old Li. They often played up their integrity. Wen Dongrong avoided private use of public cars; Old Li went further, riding a rickety bike to show his uprightness.
Seeing Old Li, Wen Dongrong perked up.
Griped since yesterday, Old Li was a pillar of his resilience!
Wen Dongrong honked, drawing Old Li’s attention, and lowered the window despite the winter chill, ensuring Old Li saw him clearly.
Old Li’s new leather coat still shone in the morning cold.
Wen Dongrong grinned, calling “Old Li.” Old Li propped his bike, waiting to hear what nonsense he’d spout.
Sleepless after sofa exile, Wen Dongrong had dozed off near dawn, sporting sore muscles and dark circles.
Old Li, seeing the circles, chuckled: “Heard you’re always running to Rongcheng. Feeling the strain? Long-distance marriage is tough. Find a way to fix it.”
End the distance?
Either Chen Ru transfers back, or Wen Dongrong leaves.
If Wen Dongrong left, Old Li would set off firecrackers!
Wen Dongrong touched the steering wheel, thanking Old Li’s concern.
“Long-distance is hard. If not for our kid’s studies, my wife and I couldn’t have managed. Kids these days, always new ideas, one slip and they do something headache-inducing, like this time—hey, Old Li, why’re you running?”
Wen Dongrong barely started, and Old Li pedaled off like mad.
Fooled once, Old Li was unprepared.
Fooled twice, he was careless.
A third time? Old Li wasn’t stupid. Wen Dongrong’s bragging stench was too strong. Old Li pedaled furiously to escape.
Whatever Wen Dongrong was flaunting, Old Li refused to play along.
—I’ll choke you, you turtle!
Old Li was wary, harder to fool.
But Wen Dongrong wasn’t deterred.
Old Li wouldn’t listen, but other colleagues would. With effort, every place was a stage for showing off, and Comrade Old Wen achieved his goal.
At noon, the office cafeteria became his podium. By afternoon, poor Old Li heard from others Wen Dongrong’s boast: his daughter, who won first in an essay contest, earned script money over winter break and bought him a car.
A car!
Used, Wen Dongrong admitted.
But a used car was still a car!
Not only was Old Li green with envy, even the big boss was jealous.
At their age, they compared whose kids were better.
If all kids were excellent, it came down to filial piety.
Filial piety was hard to measure, but summed up: penniless kids spending on parents, or rich kids spending time with them, were top-tier filial.
Some big boss’s kid, successful outside, bought parents houses or cars—heard of, not seen.
But a high school daughter buying her dad a car?
No wonder Wen Dongrong flaunted it—the first case in the office!
The big boss, beyond envy, saw Wen Dongrong anew: raising a child both excellent and filial, Comrade Dongrong had skills. Time to give him more responsibilities.
