Jason’s frustration didn’t explode all at once.

  It seeped out slowly—like water through hairline cracks—until it soaked everything.

  Another proposal rejected.

  Another meeting postponed with polite, meaningless words.

  Another email that ended with we’ll reconsider in the future, which Jason had learned was just another way of saying don’t bother.

  At first, Liu Mengmeng tried to soften the edges.

  She sold a bracelet.

  Then a necklace.

  Then a watch she’d once cherished.

  “It’s only temporary,” she told him, voice gentle, smile carefully held in place. “Every successful person goes through this.”

  Jason nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the wall behind her.

  Pressure lived there now.

  Heavy. Wordless.

  Then came his mother.

  It happened over dinner.

  The soup had cooled slightly—just enough.

  Jason’s mother lifted the spoon, paused, then set it down with a faint but sharp clink.

  “You know,” she said casually, “before you married him, Jason’s life was stable.”

  Mengmeng’s fingers tightened around her chopsticks.

  “He had a salary. A routine. A sense of proportion,” the woman continued, not looking at her. “Now it’s all big dreams and empty promises.”

  Jason kept eating.

  Didn’t speak.

  Didn’t defend her.

  That silence landed harder than any slap.

  “You encouraged him,” his mother went on. “Encouraged him to gamble on things beyond his reach.”

  “I only wanted to help,” Mengmeng said quietly.

  “Helping doesn’t mean pushing someone off a cliff,” the woman replied coolly. “Look at him now.”

  Jason’s jaw tightened—but he still said nothing.

  That night, he snapped.

  It was over nothing.

  The internet lagged.

  The printer jammed.

  The tea was too sweet.

  “Can you stop hovering?” he barked suddenly.

  Mengmeng froze mid-step.

  “I—I was just—”

  “Just trying to fix everything again?” His voice was sharp, impatient. “Do you think you’re smarter than everyone else?”

  Her breath caught.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Jason dragged a hand through his hair and turned away.

  From that night on, the house felt… off.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Quieter.

  Heavier.

  Like something fragile had cracked but hadn’t shattered yet.

  Zhuqing noticed.

  Not directly.

  Not openly.

  But the “eye” she’d placed beside Mengmeng—silent, patient—returned fragments.

  Raised voices.

  Financial strain.

  Behavioral drift.

  Stress indicators.

  Escapist tendencies.

  Zhuqing’s conclusion was unemotional. let me give a little push and see how much and how long can they bear it

  So she nudged.

  Just once.

  A name mentioned casually.

  A recommendation passed through a neutral third party.

  A private room. No cameras. No records.

  Jason went “just to look.”

  He won a little.

  The second time, he won more.

  The third time, he felt alive.

  Hope surged through him like oxygen.

  Soon, he needed money.

  Mengmeng gave it without hesitation.

  Then again.

  Then more.

  When she paused once—just once—he slammed his palm against the table.

  “You don’t trust me?” he demanded.

  Fear flashed through her.

  “No—of course I do,” she said quickly. “I’ll get it.”

  She went back to the Liu family.

  At first, it was small.

  Emergency funds.

  Short-term help.

  Jason just needs time.

  Yun Wantang handed it over without hesitation.

  “You’re my daughter,” she said warmly. “If I don’t help you, who will?”

  She didn’t see the cracks.

  The Liu Group was rotting quietly.

  Old supply chains.

  Outdated manufacturing.

  Competitors moving faster every quarter.

  Mr. Liu knew.

  He stayed up late night after night, voice lowered during phone calls, pride swallowed one sentence at a time. Some old friends stopped answering. Some offered sympathy instead of solutions. Some smiled awkwardly and said they’d see what they could do—and never called back.

  Then he saw the transfers.

  Repeated.

  Large.

  All routed to Mengmeng.

  He confronted Yun Wantang that very night.

  The bank statements hit the table with a sharp slap.

  “Do you know what this money is being used for?” Mr. Liu demanded, voice already tight. “Do you have any idea how bad things are?”

  Yun Wantang glanced down once—then lifted her chin.

  “Our daughter needed it,” she said firmly. “What kind of parents hesitate when their child asks for help?”

  “That was company money!” Mr. Liu snapped. “That was operating capital. That was survival money!”

  “You’re exaggerating,” she shot back. “You built this company from nothing, didn’t you? Everyone knows your story.”

  He laughed.

  It was short.

  Rough.

  Ugly.

  “Nothing?” he said hoarsely. “You really believe that?”

  Yun Wantang frowned. “What are you implying?”

  “You think I pulled capital out of thin air?” His voice rose. “You think clients just trusted me because I was charming?”

  He leaned forward, eyes sharp.

  “I had a stupid and silly Song Mengran who gave all help to get the company going.”

  The name dropped between them like a stone.

  For a split second, Yun Wantang’s expression froze.

  “Mengran's help opened doors I couldn’t very easily,” Mr. Liu continued coldly. “She had connections. Old families. Medical circles. People who didn’t even look at me until she spoke.”

  His voice lowered.

  “They trusted her. She vouched for me. I don’t have another Song Mengran to help with the company ”

  Silence pressed down hard.

  Then Yun Wantang laughed—thin, sharp.

  “So that’s it,” she said. “You’re still thinking about her.”

  Mr. Liu’s jaw tightened.

  “Even now,” she went on, bitterness slipping through her voice, “when she’s dead, when her daughter married well, when everything connected to her shines—you still bring her up.”

  “This has nothing to do with—”

  “Nothing to do with it?” Yun Wantang cut in. “Zhuqing is successful. Song Mengran was successful. And suddenly you’re full of regrets?”

  Her eyes flashed. “What about me? I stayed. I raised your children. I stood beside you all my youth.”

  Mr. Liu slammed his palm against the table.

  “Then answer me this,” he snapped. “Do you have her connections?”

  She stiffened.

  “Do you?” he pressed. “If you had even half of what Song Mengran had, I’d let you burn money however you wanted.”

  His voice turned icy.

  “But you don’t. So shut up—and behave according to understand the situation.”

  Yun Wantang’s face twisted.

  “You think she is better than me because she brought u some help?” she hissed. “You think Zhuqing is better than Mengmeng because of her?”

  “You’re the one who keeps comparing them,” Mr. Liu shot back. “Not me.”

  The words landed hard.

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other.

  No pretense.

  No warmth.

  No marriage left—only resentment and blame, stripped bare.

  Two people standing in the wreckage of their own choices.

  Neither willing to yield.

  Neither able to retreat.

  That night, Mengmeng sat alone in her room.

  Jason hadn’t come home.

  Unread messages piled up on her phone.

  She stared at her reflection.

  Hollow eyes.

  Tight mouth.

  A future that no longer followed her memories.

  And Zhuqing—

  Zhuqing was thriving.

  The thought twisted inside her like a blade.

  If I can’t live well…

  Her fingers curled around the phone.

  Then neither can she.

  The decision didn’t feel sudden.

  It felt inevitable.

  She opened a contact she’d saved long ago and never used.

  Typed a single line.

  I need a problem removed.

  Send.

  Her expression hardened.

  If fate refused to obey—

  Then she would force it to.