Chapter Sixteen: Mending the Broken Mirror

When we returned to her place, I realized she wasn’t faring well. The room was especially messy, and it was tiny—a dozen or so square meters, if that. There was a single bathroom, a double bed, a wardrobe, a table, and the rest of her belongings were strewn haphazardly across the floor, packed into several travel bags. Clothes were soaking in a basin, the pot had rusted, and the room was generally dim and slightly damp.

I asked her, “When did you come to Beijing?”

She replied, “It’s been more than a year. The wages here are higher than in Shijiazhuang, and the working hours are shorter—just two or three hours a day.”

“Have you graduated?” I asked.

“Yes, I graduated with a bachelor’s degree. I wanted to be a teacher, but no school would take me.”

“Why not? On what grounds?” I pressed.

She answered with a touch of resignation, “What else? Because of my hand, of course.”

“That’s discrimination,” I said.

She shrugged. “It is. But what can I do?”

I asked, “You never told me—how did your hand end up like that?”

She replied, “When my mother was pregnant with me, she tried to break up a fight and got hurt. I was born this way.”

I said, “There’s nothing you can do about it but face it. Still, you’re doing much better than I am, aren’t you?”

She conceded, “I suppose so.”

Then she turned the conversation back on me. “Why did you come to Beijing? Have you ever tried to find me?”

I nodded. “I did. Your mother told me you’d gone to Beijing. I didn’t know how to find you, so I just came, with a mix of hope and fear about seeing you again.”

She looked at me curiously. “Why were you afraid?”

I hesitated. “I didn’t know how you were doing—if you had someone you liked. I was the one who suddenly disappeared back then. I was afraid you’d resent me, and maybe you’d think less of someone like me, who doesn’t even have a degree…”

“Then why look for me at all?” she asked.

I replied, “Originally, I didn’t plan to. But, well, fate threw us together again, like a blind cat running into a dead mouse.”

She gave an amused snort, then turned suddenly. “A dead mouse? Who are you calling that?” She grabbed my ear and pinched my cheek, then leaned into my chest, unable to hold back her tears. Her petite shoulders shook, her cheeks glistened with tears. After all these years together, nothing could replace our feelings. So we just sat there, holding each other. My hands occasionally wandered, but she smacked them away, and I had no choice but to stop.

She asked, “You’re not going to run away again, are you? No—disappear.”

I grinned. “I don’t think so. Depends on how you behave.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if I’d care.”

Suddenly she asked, “Is everything settled with your father? Whose fault was it? Was there compensation?”

I hesitated. “Well, my dad drove drunk and ran a red light. We were fully at fault…”

She fell silent. “I never imagined it would be like that. I hope he’s at peace, wherever he is.”

I thought to myself that it was best to leave it at that. If there was compensation, I’d be digging my own grave by mentioning it. This way, perhaps I could get away with giving less bride price. After all, if my father ever met her parents, had a drink, and spilled the story of my time in jail, there’d be a risk—any girl’s parents would balk. Then I’d lose everything. Given my circumstances, I had no choice but to take things one step at a time. My family truly couldn’t afford any bride price, and it weighed heavily on my mind.

She asked, “What are you doing now?”

“I work at a hospital,” I replied.

She was visibly stunned. “At a hospital? As a security guard?”

“No, as a doctor’s assistant,” I said.

She was even more surprised, her big eyes darting left and right in disbelief. “You? An assistant? Seriously?”

I quickly showed her a photo on my phone—me in a white coat, sitting confidently in an office.

She shook her head. “I’m amazed. How did you end up in a hospital? How did you even get in?”

I explained, “I used to do housekeeping for a doctor’s family. They saw I was thorough, could cook, and manage paperwork. Most importantly, I could drive. They thought it was a waste for me to just do cleaning, so they got me a job as a hospital driver. Later, they realized I was good at comforting patients’ families and helping out—fetching medicine, filling out forms, organizing appointments—no worse than his regular assistant. So they transferred me to be a specialist’s assistant.”

She eyed me skeptically. “Is your hospital legit? Not some shady clinic, right?”

I scoffed, “Who do you take me for? We’re a proper, accredited hospital. Not large, but respectable!”

She laughed, “My goodness, what kind of hospital hires anyone?”

I was taken aback. “What do you mean? Are you mocking the hospital or me? It sounds like you’re talking about me.”

I started tickling her, and as my hand brushed her chest, both of us froze. Her face flushed, glowing like the sunset, while I felt like an old ox plowing the field, breathing heavily. A young man in his twenties, full of vigor, reunited with the woman who once, now, and forever would be unforgettable—wasn’t this the very moment when words fail to capture deep emotion? To hesitate would be unthinkable. If the uncle can’t resist, how could the aunt? What happened next—words, actions, images—you’ll have to imagine for yourself…

And so, thirty-seven thousand words are omitted here…