Chapter Seventy: Speaking Plainly

“If Grandma said that you would never see your mother again, would you be sad?” As soon as Zhao’s mother finished speaking, Zhao Yuner’s eyes widened, her voice trembling with the threat of tears.

“Wh-why? Why can’t I see Mommy?” she whimpered.

A look of distress crossed Zhao’s mother’s face. Yuner was too young—only five years old. Was it really right to tell her the truth?

While Zhao’s mother hesitated, Zhao Fan spoke. “Give the child to me.”

She looked at him in surprise. “To you? Xiao Fan, what are you planning to do?”

“There are things she needs to know,” he replied, reaching out—only for Yuner to slap his hand away.

“No, I don’t want you! I don’t want you!” The little girl clung desperately to her grandmother’s neck, sobbing so hard it was heartbreaking. Despite her age, she clearly sensed something was wrong.

Zhao Fan, his hand still raised, could only smile wryly. For all her childishness, she understood far more than she let on.

“Yuner, how could you hit your uncle?” Zhao Haitian admonished.

Her sobs only grew louder.

“Don’t cry. If something’s wrong, we can—”

“Your parents are divorced.” Zhao Fan cut him off coldly, his tone stark and unyielding. “You got sick, and your mother refused to treat you, so they divorced.”

Zhao Haitian’s breath caught. “Brother, how could you say that?”

“Big Brother, she may be a child, but she knows the truth.” Zhao Fan’s words were calm. “Yang Qingqing has never hidden her dislike for Yuner. Children are sensitive—how could she not sense the change?”

“If you want to be with your mother, I can take you back to the Yang family right now.”

But Yuner only buried her face deeper in her grandmother’s shoulder, crying harder.

They were standing at the entrance of the hospital, and passersby were beginning to stare, some even slowing to watch. Sensing the attention, Zhao Fan stepped back. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

Zhao’s mother stroked Yuner’s head, her face pale, and followed. Zhao’s father said nothing, but his occasional glances at Zhao Haitian were thoughtful.

They moved to a nearby restaurant, where Zhao Fan asked his mother to set Yuner down.

Red-eyed and small, Yuner sat huddled on a chair, looking utterly forlorn.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, seeking out Zhao Haitian instinctively. “Daddy, hold me.”

He reached for her, then hesitated, pulling his hand back. “Brother, if you have something to say, say it now.”

Zhao Haitian’s gesture told Zhao Fan all he needed to know, and he was satisfied.

He looked calmly at Yuner. “You are a child, yes, but you’re very clever. You already know why your parents divorced, don’t you?”

Yuner gazed at him shyly, no longer crying but silent.

Zhao Fan became even more certain. “To be honest, I understand why you want your mother. But, Yuner, you must know—without me, you would have died.”

Abandoned by her mother’s family, left with only her father’s protection, even that couldn’t shield her from illness. Hospitals do not offer charity. Without him, Yuner’s life would have ended quickly.

The little girl twisted her hands together, on the verge of tears once more.

Seeing this, Zhao Fan frowned, but before he could speak, Zhao’s mother swept Yuner into her arms, her heart aching.

“Why are you saying these things? She’s just a child—how could she understand? Enough, let’s not waste any more time here. Let’s go home.”

Zhao Fan fell silent. He had expected his mother to dote on the child, but not to undermine him at such a moment. Did she really think Yuner was just an innocent child?

“Mom, this matter has to be settled today,” Zhao Fan insisted.

Unwillingly, Zhao’s mother replied, “What is there to settle? Yuner is a child of the Zhao family. What problem could there be?”

“I’m afraid she may not see herself as one,” Zhao Fan said carelessly.

Zhao’s mother was about to reply, but Zhao Haitian spoke up instead, anxious now. “How could she not be? Her surname is Zhao—she is one of us.”

Having witnessed the Yang family’s reaction to Yuner’s illness, Zhao Haitian would never allow her to go back.

Zhao Fan coughed lightly; his brother’s vehemence surprised him. “Big Brother, that’s not what I meant.”

“Whatever you meant, she is a member of the Zhao family. This is my responsibility—I’ll talk to her.”

So Zhao Haitian truly intended to sever ties with Yang Qingqing? No, it was for Yuner’s sake.

When the leukemia was first diagnosed, the Yang family declared they would abandon Yuner. Yang Qingqing even said she’d simply have another child.

Now, though surgery had improved Yuner’s condition, everyone knew leukemia was not so easily cured. If it recurred, how would the Yang family respond? They hadn’t wanted to treat her once—next time, the child would be left on the streets.

“I’ll talk to her myself,” Zhao Haitian repeated.

Zhao Fan gazed at him for a long moment. “If that’s your decision, I won’t refuse. But by tomorrow—no later than tomorrow—I need an answer. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Zhao Haitian agreed without hesitation.

“Then let’s go home.” Zhao Fan glanced around and stood.

Because there weren’t enough rooms at home, Zhao Fan had already arranged for Zhao Haitian to have a place in the same neighborhood. So, they parted ways.

Once home, Zhao’s mother couldn’t hold back her frustration. “Xiao Fan, that’s your brother’s child. They’re already divorced—how can you be so harsh with a child?”

“You think I’m being harsh?” Zhao Fan was surprised. He’d been strict, yes, but he wasn’t picking a fight with a child.

“Isn’t that so?” His mother’s heart twisted at the memory of Yuner’s red, swollen eyes. “She’s only five—of course she wants her mother.”

“I know it’s natural. That’s why I’m giving her another choice.”

“What choice?”

“She can return to the Yang family.”

Zhao’s mother was stunned. “If she goes, your brother will go with her. Isn’t that—?”

Zhao’s father, who had been silent, suddenly spoke. “Enough. Let it go.”

His wife fell silent at once. “Why should I let it go?”

“Xiao Fan has his reasons. He’s covered all of Yuner’s treatment costs—do you think he’d be careless about this? Don’t interfere. He’ll handle it.”

Zhao Fan nodded at once. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what I’m doing.”

“Fine. Are you hungry? I’ll cook for you.” She left for the kitchen, leaving Zhao Fan and his father facing each other. Zhao Fan’s first instinct was to rub his nose.

“Come here and sit,” his father said.

Zhao Fan sat opposite him. “Dad, is something the matter?”

“Tell me—do you think your brother will become a burden?”

Zhao Fan waved his hand. “That’s not what I think at all.”