Jiang Bozhi spoke in a loud, booming voice brimming with cheerfulness. “Hansheng, Fang-yi and I are back. She picked out quite a few gifts for Zhou Jin. How about we all have dinner together tonight?”
The “Fang-yi” Jiang Bozhi referred to was Fang Rou — his second wife, and nominally Jiang Hansheng’s stepmother.
Jiang Hansheng had little particular interest in their warm invitation, but they had brought gifts for Zhou Jin, and seeing them might make her happy.
He agreed without hesitation.
Hearing that his son seemed to be in reasonably good spirits, Jiang Bozhi continued: “So, when are you and Zhou Jin planning to have children? Fang-yi says these things take early preparation. Your current place is fine for the two of you, but add a child and it won’t do at all. Didn’t I buy a three-bedroom unit for you over in Tianfu Garden a while back? It’s in a good school district too — quite nice. If you don’t like it, talk it over with Zhou Jin and pick something else.”
Jiang Hansheng’s smile was faint. “I’ll get things sorted,” he said.
He made no mention of what he intended to do with the apartment.
Jiang Bozhi paused. He didn’t hang up, but he didn’t speak either. A strange silence stretched between them.
Jiang Hansheng seemed to sense something. “Was there something else?” he asked.
“It’s like this, Hansheng…” Jiang Bozhi’s words came out somewhat haltingly. “Fang Rou and I are thinking about having another child. She said it’s not just a matter between the two of us, and asked me to hear your thoughts first.”
“…”
“Hansheng?”
“What answer are you hoping to hear?” His voice went cold in an instant.
“…”
Jiang Hansheng switched the phone to his other hand. His tone was neither warm nor harsh — but there was something suppressed and heavy beneath it. “You’ve always been this way,” he said. “Whenever you feel you’ve failed me somehow, you want to make up for it with something — anything — regardless of whether I need it. At least then your conscience feels easier.”
“Hansheng, that’s not what I mean. If you’re against it, then we won’t — after all, you and Zhou Jin…”
He was explaining himself in a rush.
Jiang Hansheng’s expression darkened, and he cut him off. “If you’re already prepared to be a capable father — if you’re certain that in the future you’ll spend your time being present with him instead of running after business deals; that you’ll take him to the playground instead of casually buying a gaming console he won’t ever touch; that you won’t miss a single parent-teacher meeting or graduation ceremony; that when other children are taking photos with their parents he won’t be standing alone on the stage, needing a teacher to help him take his graduation photo — if you’ve genuinely thought all of that through, then I won’t object.”
“…”
Jiang Hansheng had never spoken so much to him with such contained emotion. Jiang Bozhi was left speechless, slightly dazed.
In his memory, Jiang Hansheng had always been well-behaved — perhaps because of the divorce, he had been more mature than other children his age, quiet, yet remarkably sensible.
His sensibleness had spared Jiang Bozhi a great deal of worry and trouble — and yet sometimes it also made him feel a deep guilt, because Jiang Hansheng never acted spoiled or cried and made a fuss the way other children did.
It was precisely because of this that Jiang Bozhi had always felt an indescribable distance between them.
The fingers gripping the phone had gone nearly white. Jiang Hansheng looked at his own reflection in the mirror — his expression harsh in a way he barely recognized — and closed his eyes, slowly bringing himself back to stillness.
“Dad,” he said, “I’m past the age where you owe me anything. You don’t need to consult me on something like this. You only need to be responsible to Fang Rou — and to whatever child you may have.”
“…”
He ended the call. Jiang Hansheng set down his phone and washed his hands — once, then again, and again.
Zhou Jin woke to the sound of running water. The bathroom door was unlocked, so she walked straight in.
Still drowsy, she reached for her toothbrush and asked him: “Whose call was that? It sounded like you were arguing with someone.”
Then again, not quite — she couldn’t really picture Jiang Hansheng arguing with anyone. Partly because his self-restraint was too well-cultivated, and partly because he was so composed by nature that conflicts rarely arose.
Jiang Hansheng wordlessly squeezed toothpaste onto her brush for her, but didn’t answer.
By the time Zhou Jin had also washed her face and was haphazardly dabbing at the water droplets, Jiang Hansheng said: “Zhou Jin — how would you feel about us moving somewhere a bit bigger? The kind of place with a children’s room.”
Zhou Jin peered out from behind the towel, her gaze drifting toward him with a slightly unsteady look. “Hansheng, I…”
“Mm?” He leaned in slightly, listening attentively for her answer.
After a pause, Zhou Jin set down the towel, leaned up, and pressed a soft kiss to Jiang Hansheng’s lips. There was a faint taste of mint.
“Alright,” she said.