Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Confession Before Death Terminal cancer. After the diagnosis, seventy-four-year-old Zhang Qibao had no intention of seeking treatment. If he sought treatment, it might cost him a million yuan or so and buy him another three to five years. Without it, he had only six months left. He had been cold-hearted and selfish all his life. Now that he was dying, he didn't want to burden his wife and children any longer. Besides, he was a miser. He would sooner give up his life than his money. While he could still get around, Zhang Qibao wanted to put his affairs in order. He had 2.5 million yuan in savings. Each of his four children would receive 500,000 yuan, and the remaining 500,000 would go to his wife, Lu Wanwan, to support her in old age. Between them, he and his wife owned three properties: a two-story villa in the city, worth ten million yuan. A 156-square-meter lake-view apartment in the county, worth about 1.2 million yuan. And a house in his rural hometown. It wasn't worth much, but it was the family's ancestral home, with a small grove, a pig farm, and roughly three mu^[1] of land. Three houses, four children—no matter how they were divided, arguments were inevitable. In recent years, the sight of his sons and daughters smashing bowls and quarreling over money right in front of him had been etched into his memory. He was truly afraid of it. As death approached, all he wanted was to close his eyes in peace. It took just one week to transfer all three houses into his wife's name. During that time, none of his children said a word about his illness. Zhang Qibao understood what was going on, but he was sympathetic toward them. It was better for them to pretend they didn't know. If word got out that his children had refused to get him treated, the people back home would curse them for being unfilial^[2]. He would lose face too. Everyone was waiting for him to die, and he was waiting to die as well. What he hadn't expected was the enormous confession Lu Wanwan had in store for him before his death. “Zhang Qibao, you're dying…” Lu Wanwan took his hand with rare tenderness. Zhang Qibao quietly accepted this final moment of warmth in his life. As his life drew to a close, he had no regrets. Although his children hadn't cared for him for even a single day, Lu Wanwan had never left his side. “I've been waiting for this day.” Lu Wanwan drew a deep breath, as though steeling herself. “Qibao, I'm sorry. Now that it's the end, I don't want you to die without knowing the truth. Zhendong, Zhenxi, Xiuli, and Xiu'e aren't your biological children. Only Zhenbei is! I gave birth to Zhenbei for you. I never intended to let your Zhang family line die out, but Zhenbei was unlucky. He happened to be caught in a year of disaster…” Lu Wanwan said it all in one breath, without a single pause, as if stopping even once would rob her of the courage to continue. “Qibao…” Lu Wanwan's voice finally trembled with a sob. “Don't blame me. I had my own difficulties. I know you've treated me well all these years, and I never once thought of leaving you. In life, I belong to your Lu family; in death, I'll be buried in your Lu family's ancestral graveyard. Don't worry. Until the day I die, I won't tell the four children the truth. They'll always be children of the Zhang family. I swear, I promise: you're the only father they'll ever have. After you're gone, I'll have the boys carry the funeral banner and smash the offering basin for you.” Zhang Qibao was stunned. His mind went blank. All his awareness seemed to be sucked away by something inexplicable in an instant. Then, slowly, a cold clarity returned. Not his biological children. Not one of the four was his. Zhenbei—the child he had personally thrown into that miserable patch of woods—was his only biological son. His eyes, which had gone unfocused, slowly regained their focus. He stared at Lu Wanwan's face. Lu Wanwan was already seventy-five, but with her hair dyed and her makeup done, she showed none of the gauntness of old age. Her face was still gentle and pleasing, her brows and eyes delicate, and even the corners of her mouth curved in a kindly smile. But how could she be so ruthless? She'd hidden it so well! Who was the adulterer? Four children born of adultery—and she still wanted them buried in the Zhang family's ancestral graveyard. He, Zhang Qibao, was the orphaned child of a martyr. How could such filthy blood be allowed into the Zhang family's ancestral graveyard? Never! And then there was the fortune he'd worked so hard to accumulate all his life. He wanted to lunge at her, but all he could force out of his throat were broken, hoarse sounds: “Bastard… children… unworthy!” Lu Wanwan's face suddenly turned deathly pale. But when she saw Zhang Qibao trembling all over, the veins standing out on his neck, yet unable even to lift a hand, she gradually recovered her composure. As in countless arguments before, she said nothing. She merely lowered her eyes and avoided his gaze. Zhang Qibao used to adore Lu Wanwan's quiet gentleness. Only now did he realize, to his sorrow, that it wasn't that she didn't know how to argue. She simply considered arguing with him beneath her, because every advantage was already in her hands. All his breakdowns and rages had amounted to nothing but helpless fury. Lu Wanwan quietly withdrew her hand, gently placed his back beneath the covers, and carefully tucked the blanket around him. So gentle, so quiet, with the easy condescension and good temper of a victor. Zhang Qibao kept his eyes fixed on Lu Wanwan. Every word came out as a painful, rasping breath: “The adulterer… my money…” The moment he uttered the word “adulterer,” Lu Wanwan's calm expression twisted for an instant, then returned to normal as though nothing had happened. “The money's already been divided…” Lu Wanwan still didn't look at him. At the mention of money, her whole face brightened, and she could barely suppress a smile. There was a hint of pity in her tone. “Qibao, don't be too upset. Zhendong, Zhenxi, Xiuli, and Xiu'e have all been quite filial to you over the years. They're no worse than biological children. Besides…” Lu Wanwan paused, as though hesitating over whether to speak. She looked as if she was trying not to laugh. At last, she glanced up at Zhang Qibao and quickly lowered her eyes again. Her tone, however, carried a cutting edge of gloating satisfaction. “Every time I slept with someone else, I slept with you afterward too. Your own seed was no good. You can't blame me for that.” Fury surged through Zhang Qibao. He wanted to strangle the woman before him, along with those four bastards. The houses, the savings, everything he'd worked for his entire life! He struggled to reach for his phone, wanting to contact his six older sisters. But at the thought of them, Zhang Qibao's blood ran cold again. He had six older sisters. His eldest sister had died long ago, hacked to death with a kitchen cleaver by her husband. During the great famine, she had carried all the food left in her household back to her parents' home, causing her two daughters to starve to death. After killing her, her husband had taken his own life. His second sister had also starved to death during the great famine, clutching her newborn son on the kang^[3]. His third sister had raised him herself. After their parents died, she'd been both father and mother to him, paid for his schooling, and helped him get married. Yet he'd lost his conscience and turned against her for Lu Wanwan's sake. He hadn't even gone to see her when she died. His fourth sister had married a man with a mental illness to earn the bride price for Zhang Qibao's marriage. The child she bore also had a mental illness. When his fourth sister was close to death, he did go to see her once. Her child had taken a bowl of scalding porridge and poured it straight into her mouth. Her mouth and face were covered in blisters, but he had taken one look and fled, afraid of being hit for no reason by the mentally ill person. His fifth sister was the prettiest of them all, and the quickest-witted. After marrying, she and her husband opened a shaobing shop, and business boomed. Lu Wanwan coveted the shop and forced his fifth sister to hand it over to Lu Wanwan's younger brother. His fifth sister actually did so, then got divorced. He could still remember his fifth sister's words: “Qibao, you're the only younger brother I've got. As long as you're doing well, I'm doing well…” And there was his sixth sister. She was his twin, but she was simple-minded. During the great famine, Lu Wanwan had driven her out, and she had never come back. One incident after another, one scene after another, gnawed at Zhang Qibao's mind. Not one of his sisters was left. All his strength drained away, and he sank into a numb, desolate panic. The last person to come to mind was his third sister's son—his only nephew. The family fortune could not be left to those four bastards. It ought to go to his nephew. But his limbs were stiff, and he couldn't get out even one complete sentence. As he lay dying, he heard Lu Wanwan make a phone call. Her voice was as gentle as ever. “He has only a day or two left. Don't let him die in the villa. A death there would make the house difficult to sell.” The person on the other end seemed to say something. Lu Wanwan was silent for a moment, then continued calmly. “While his body is still warm, find a van and take him back to his hometown. Just dump him at the bridgehead. The Zhang family won't leave him there…” Zhang Qibao's gaze began to lose focus. He slowly breathed his last. Lu Wanwan was still speaking. “When the time comes, just say I was so heartbroken that I fell ill and can't be left alone. The children have to take care of the living first. Let the Zhang family make whatever fuss they want—just don't go back. We won't have to deal with them anymore anyway…” Zhang Qibao lay staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide open. He died unable to rest in peace.