Chapter Fifty-Two: Forgiven?

Stepping out of the room, Zhang Ye glanced around somewhat guiltily. Not seeing Wang Mengzi, he let out a silent sigh of relief.

“What are you looking at?” Suddenly, Wang Mengzi’s voice sounded right by his ear, startling him.

Feeling a bit sheepish, Zhang Ye coughed, trying to appear nonchalant. “N-nothing!” It turned out that the bathroom was right next to Wang Mengzi’s room, and when Zhang Ye came out, the bathroom door was only slightly ajar; that’s why he hadn’t seen her. Now, as she emerged with especially light steps, Zhang Ye hadn’t heard a thing.

While replying, Zhang Ye snuck a glance at her—sure enough, her face was set in that familiar stern expression, looking somewhat angry.

“Go wash up and drink the ginger soup first. There’s also some millet porridge; if you’re hungry, eat some.” Wang Mengzi’s face remained expressionless as she spoke, walking into her room without another word, not making it clear what she was about to do.

Wang Mengzi was attentive and meticulous; she knew Zhang Ye would have a headache after his hangover, so she’d already prepared both ginger soup and millet porridge.

Zhang Ye opened his mouth as if to say something but decided to head to the bathroom first. After washing up, he picked up the ginger soup from the table and drank it in one go. He took a few steps, and as he began to feel a bit better, he started in on the porridge.

The millet porridge was slightly sweet, with a hint of honey water. He understood at once—Wang Mengzi must have added that as an extra precaution, worried the ginger soup alone wouldn’t suffice. Warmth flooded his heart, and at the same time, he felt both ashamed and regretful for what he’d done the night before.

Even though it was the result of drunkenness, what was done was done. Zhang Ye had no intention of comforting himself with denial.

Knock, knock, knock.

Zhang Ye rapped on the door, then carefully opened it.

He saw Wang Mengzi sitting at her desk, head bowed as she sewed clothes. When Zhang Ye entered, she didn’t get up; her face was cold, and her expression deep and unreadable. Zhang Ye knew she was genuinely angry, and awkwardly rubbed his hands together, opening his mouth to say, “Um, Aunt Wang, about last night, well, um, hehe…” He didn’t know whether to stand or sit, simply standing there, stammering.

“I called Sister Liu last night, told her you stayed at my place. It’s getting late; you should head home.” Wang Mengzi didn’t even look up, just tied off the thread, bit it loose, and set the clothes aside.

At this moment, Zhang Ye couldn’t be bothered with anything else. He stood his ground, gritted his teeth, and said, “Aunt Wang, I’m sorry. I drank too much last night and didn’t know what I was doing. If you want to hit me or scold me, just do it. But please don’t just keep that face; it scares me.” He didn’t want last night’s events to create a rift between them, so he apologized sincerely.

Wang Mengzi still didn’t move, her face cold and distant. She casually picked up a book from the desk and flipped through it.

This kind of paper book, of course, couldn’t be read at a glance, but Wang Mengzi flipped page after page at speed, clearly distracted and preoccupied.

“Aunt Wang…” Zhang Ye stepped closer, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder.

Smack!

Wang Mengzi slapped his hand away.

He tried again, and again she batted him off.

It became like a child’s game—Zhang Ye would put his hand on her shoulder, and Wang Mengzi would swat it away, again and again. Gradually, Wang Mengzi lost her composure; she slammed the book down on the desk, stood up abruptly, and began beating Zhang Ye with her fists, scolding him as she did, “All you know how to do is bully your aunt, always bullying your aunt…”

As she spoke, tears began to stream down her face, falling like raindrops, unstoppable.

Zhang Ye panicked, hurrying to steady her, apologizing and comforting her in a flurry, “Aunt Wang, please don’t cry. I know I was wrong. You can hit me, scold me, whatever you want, just please don’t cry. It’s not good for you to upset yourself, please…” He wanted to reach out and wipe the tears from her face, but was afraid she’d resent it; hesitating, unsure what to do.

Wang Mengzi, half laughing through her anger, suddenly grabbed Zhang Ye’s hand and pressed it to her face, wiping away her tears with his fingers.

But as she did so, she instantly regretted it, her face flushing bright red.

Zhang Ye was overjoyed. At that moment, he knew without a doubt she had forgiven him. He gently lifted her chin and carefully wiped away all the traces of tears from her eyes and cheeks, watching her expression with keen attention as he did.

“All right, you should go home now. Otherwise, Sister Liu will worry.” Last night, when she’d called over, Liu Meiju had already sounded suspicious. If it hadn’t been so late, she probably would have come over to check.

“Yes, yes!” Zhang Ye nodded repeatedly, backing out of the room as he did, his gaze lingering on Wang Mengzi’s bright, lovely face.

She truly didn’t seem angry anymore. Though she looked a bit haggard from lack of sleep, there was no displeasure on her face. Zhang Ye felt completely at ease.

As he reached the doorway, Zhang Ye paused and said, “Aunt Wang, what I said last night was from the heart.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, but dashed downstairs like the wind.

Faintly, he heard Wang Mengzi’s voice—an angry scolding, and then… a suppressed laugh?

When he got home, it was already past nine; his father and mother were both out. Zhang Ye breathed a sigh of relief, changed out of his clothes that still reeked of alcohol, and went to the phone. After a moment’s thought, he dialed Yuan Yuqing’s number.

It was already Monday. Surely, there would be news by now.

Sure enough, as soon as Zhang Ye asked, Yuan Yuqing’s laughter came over the line, “Is that you, Xiaoye? Does your injury still hurt? I have some medicinal liniment here—want to come over for some?” In those days, phones didn’t have caller ID; Yuan Yuqing could recognize Zhang Ye’s voice at once, obviously keeping him in her thoughts.

“No need, I’m already healed.” Zhang Ye explained, then asked directly, “I wanted to ask about the Hongjiang matter—how did it go?” Until the issue was fully resolved, he couldn’t rest easy.

Though Wang Mengzi had resigned from the newspaper—or rather, had been dismissed—Zhang Ye couldn’t help but feel uneasy as long as Gao Ming, the true culprit, remained unpunished.

He admitted he could be a bit petty; for most matters he might let things go, since in life one must sometimes take a loss. But when it came to Aunt Wang, he couldn’t and wouldn’t back down.

“That? I just called to check in. The process is already underway; there should be results today. Don’t worry, Hongjiang won’t be able to hold onto his position. If he doesn’t get caught in a double investigation, he’ll be lucky.” Yuan Yuqing didn’t boast, nor did she seek credit; her voice was calm and steady.

“That’s great, thank you so much!” Zhang Ye’s excitement was palpable. Once Hongjiang was toppled, Gao Ming—without his protector—would be nothing more than meat on the chopping block.

Zhang Ye mused that Hongjiang would probably never guess that his downfall was all thanks to his own nephew. If Gao Ming hadn’t provoked Zhang Ye, if he hadn’t recorded some of Hongjiang’s secrets, if Zhang Ye hadn’t found Yuan Yuqing, then with Hongjiang’s relatively young age, there’s no way his career would have ended here.