“Let go!”
Chen Ru was furious. “Don’t pull this stunt every time, thinking you can just gloss over problems!”
On the TV, “Starry River with You” was at the scene where Hu Man, playing a diva, scolded the female lead, played by Li Mengjiao, calling her “audacious” and “disrespectful.” The lines felt eerily fitting for the moment—
Wen Ying clung to Chen Ru’s arm like an octopus, refusing to let go no matter how Chen Ru struggled.
Wen Dongrong stood on the balcony, back pressed against the window ledge, playing the silent backdrop. Seemingly detached, he was keenly observing and listening, closely monitoring the situation.
Wen Ying glared at him: Taking money and not doing the job—utterly unprofessional!
Wen Dongrong’s eyes went blank: What’s professionalism? He was already destined to sleep on the balcony. What joy was left in spending money?
To be fair, he hadn’t spent the money.
Initially, he took 1,000 yuan monthly from Wen Ying, guided by Deng Shangwei, to fund underprivileged students.
Later, it rose to 2,000—one thousand for students, one thousand for himself. He indulged a bit the first month, but from the second month, all of it went to the students.
Wen Dongrong didn’t know when he’d become so noble. Maybe doing good was addictive.
Skipping a few new clothes or lavish meals could prevent a student from dropping out, change their fate, even bring hope to their family… Thinking of this, his desire to spend on himself faded. Sponsoring students gave him profound spiritual satisfaction, fueling his commitment.
So, since he didn’t spend the money, why should he bear the fallout of Black-Hearted Cotton’s bomb?
Wen Dongrong had an epiphany.
Black-Hearted Cotton didn’t treat him as a father, but he still saw her as his daughter. “Fatherly love” wasn’t just Song Foxiang’s poetic term—he had it too, just buried deeper.
Old Wen zoned out, indulging in self-inflicted sentiment to escape reality.
Little Wen couldn’t play dead like Old Wen.
Her plea for help failed; she had to rely on herself!
“I’m not trying to gloss over anything. I’ve earned some royalties, but I swear I haven’t squandered a cent. I thought about telling you about the Tianjiao investment, but I was too scared!”
Wen Ying tried to lay bare her thoughts: “I’m not making excuses. Every word is sincere. Can we talk calmly?”
To show sincerity, she released Chen Ru’s arm.
Chen Ru’s emotions were a furnace.
This wasn’t just the “ten-million Tianjiao investment” bomb—it was the buildup of everything.
Would she harm her own daughter?
As a mother, she only wanted the best for Wen Ying!
Wen Ying rejected studying abroad, hid the Tianjiao investment—Chen Ru was angry but also felt powerless. Were there any high schoolers in the country more “independent” than Wen Ying?
Chen Ru felt she’d changed a lot.
With career success, her perspective had broadened, influenced subtly by her friend Wu Chunqin. Compared to two years ago, her parenting views had transformed immensely.
Yet, these changes seemed unacknowledged by Wen Ying.
Chen Ru was now confused.
Maybe no matter what she did, she’d never be a mother Wen Ying trusted?
Look at others—Zou Weijun, Mrs. Wang, Li’s mum—they were mothers too, without such deep rifts with their kids!
Anger at being kept in the dark, frustration at not earning trust, self-doubt about her abilities—these emotions churned in Chen Ru, making it impossible to “talk calmly” with Wen Ying.
“Let go of me first.”
Chen Ru moved her arm. Wen Ying hesitated but released her.
If she had to take a scolding, so be it. Without letting her mum vent, the talk wouldn’t progress.
Unexpectedly, once free, Chen Ru didn’t scold her but went straight to her room—refusing to talk!
Wen Ying was stunned.
How could she control the conversation now?
Wen Dongrong pricked up his ears. No sound from the room.
Sigh, even smashing something would be better than this silence~
He drifted from the balcony to the living room. “This is bad. What now?”
Wen Ying glared at him. “You have the nerve to speak? I didn’t expect you to take the hit, and I knew you’d sell me out to save yourself. But couldn’t you have tipped me off quietly so I could prepare?”
Wen Dongrong was indignant. “Don’t just blame me. You should’ve known the Writers’ Rich List would blow up. Why didn’t you warn me? This hit suddenly, but I stayed calm, weighed the pros and cons, and defused the hidden bomb for you. You’re not facing the full blast now. I’m the real victim!”
Wen Ying was the mastermind; Wen Dongrong, the accomplice.
She hid it deliberately; he knew but didn’t tell.
In Chen Ru’s eyes, it was hard to say who was guiltier.
Since Chen Ru was asking about Wen Ying’s plans for the ten million, unless Wen Ying kept lying, the Tianjiao investment had to come out—either from her or Wen Dongrong!
If Wen Dongrong spoke, he’d be the one scolded this afternoon and sleeping on the balcony tonight.
He’d sacrificed so much, and Black-Hearted Cotton still wasn’t satisfied!
Father and daughter glared, then simultaneously turned away, only to lock eyes again in sync.
“So what do we do now?”
“You’re the head of the family. Figure it out!”
“Head of the family doesn’t mean I pay for your mistakes…”
With the room’s situation unknown, their bickering was hushed.
After a while, Wen Dongrong pretended to wash a plate of fruit and brought it to the room.
He retreated almost instantly.
“How is it?”
“Not good. Your mum doesn’t want fruit. She’s mad at you.”
Actually, Chen Ru only said “Get out.” Who she was mad at wasn’t clear.
Wen Ying looked at the closed door, thought for a moment, and headed to the study.
Wen Dongrong followed.
“Running away won’t solve this. You need to fix it!”
He didn’t want to sleep on the balcony forever.
“Stop nagging. I’m solving it.”
Panic was useless.
She had to control the conversation’s rhythm.
Comrade Chen Ru didn’t want to talk?
That wouldn’t stump Wen Ying. She was a writer, after all.
Sometimes, words on paper outweigh spoken ones. If face-to-face talks couldn’t be calm, a letter was another way to communicate.
Seeing Wen Ying take out paper and pen, starting with “Dear Mum,” Wen Dongrong muttered, “Will this work?”
Useful or not, she had to try. Annoyed by Old Wen’s presence, she shooed him out of the study.
Over an hour later, Wen Ying emerged, rubbing her hand, and slipped a thick letter under Chen Ru’s door.
…
Chen Ru heard a noise at the door, thinking it was that dog Wen Dongrong, cluelessly bringing fruit again.
Looking closely, no one entered—just something at the door.
A letter.
—To the most beautiful Ms. Chen Ru.
It was Wen Ying’s handwriting.
Chen Ru couldn’t resist opening it.
“Dear Mum, I have so much to say to you. Countless times I wanted to talk, but I was too afraid…”
