Chapter 753

Though the Jiang parents’ younger son and daughter were totally self-reliant and never needed help, their eldest son? No idea what was wrong with him. He’d be flush with cash one day, then broke the next. He spent lavishly and saved nothing. And when he was broke, he’d come running home, asking for money.

For all these years, Father Jiang had worked hard every day at the fast food stall, making decent money. Yet he hadn’t saved a dime. All of it went to patching up Jiang Song’s debts. The worst part? Jiang Song himself didn’t even care about the debt. He could owe a few million and still drop 10 or 20k in a single night like it was nothing.

In the last couple of years, the gray hair at Father Jiang’s temples had multiplied. The slight belly he’d built from years of cooking had melted away—not from exhaustion, but from sheer worry over Jiang Song. And the person causing all this worry didn’t give a damn.

Mother Jiang, with her overflowing energy and no place to spend it, didn’t like dancing in public squares. With no one to talk to, she naturally developed the skill of spending hours on the phone with Father Jiang.

Each call could last an hour or two—young couples in their honeymoon phase didn’t talk as much as Mother Jiang  did. Her main topics were complaints about Xu Xuedie—how she irritated her every day—or gossip from back home.

Father Jiang didn’t care much for local gossip, but he did enjoy hearing about their eldest son’s situation. He would mostly listen quietly, occasionally chime in with a few comments, and join Mother Jiang in condemning Xu Xuedie for her unfilial behavior.

Sometimes, after listening for a long time, Father Jiang would advise, “If it’s really that bad, why don’t you just come home? Our hometown’s doing so well now—even without relying on Songzi, we can take care of ourselves.”

Whenever Father Jiang said this, Mother Jiang  would fall silent.

Living with her eldest son and being cared for by him had been her dream and obsession ever since Jiang Song was born. If he hadn’t gone missing for eight or nine years, it might not have been such a deeply rooted fixation. But during those years without any news, she’d shed countless tears in the dead of night, thinking, ‘If only my eldest son were here, I wouldn’t have to suffer all these humiliations!’

Even though her younger son rarely came home and her daughter hardly spoke to her when she did, Mother Jiang still felt slighted by both. Every time Jiang Ning came back, Mother Jiang ended up feeling furious. Everywhere she went, it felt like people were laughing at her.

These thoughts had been circling her mind for a long time.

One day, Xu Xuedie said to Jiang Song, “Can you stop letting your mom come to the canteen? She’s already that old—why can’t she just enjoy some peace at home? She doesn’t know how things work, yet she tries to control everything in the kitchen.”

Jiang Song just held her and coaxed her, “The old lady’s in a completely unfamiliar place with no one she knows. She’s just bored. Let her meddle—it’ll save you some trouble.”

Xu Xuedie was fuming!

For all these years, Jiang Song had refused to marry her. That alone left her feeling insecure, even though she stayed by his side and made it her mission to ruin every one of his relationships. Deep down, she’d always felt inferior because of her time working in a dance hall when she was younger. Still, she never regretted leaving the factory job and stepping into that flashy world of neon lights—if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met Jiang Song, nor would she be living so comfortably now.

Compared to the girls her age back in the village, who now looked like old housewives—some even already grandmothers—she was the only one who, thanks to Jiang Song, still lived well and looked good. Though she hadn’t returned to her hometown in years, she’d reconnected with old girlfriends from the village. And among them all, she was the only one still glowing.

But she was terrified Jiang Song might actually marry someone else one day. Then everything she’d built over the years would vanish—chickens gone, eggs broken.

That deep insecurity also fueled her frenzied spending of Jiang Song’s money. Anyway, he was always generous with money to those close to him. Clothes, jewelry—she bought as much as she could. Whatever she could get her hands on, she did.

Jiang Song’s construction site employed quite a few workers. The canteen alone brought in several hundred yuan a day. Such a profitable gig—and she was supposed to hand it over to Mother Jiang

No way. And so, she and Mother Jiang  continued their cold war.

Jiang Song also tried persuading Mother Jiang, “Mom, Xuedie still has to manage the workers at the canteen.”

But Mother Jiang had finally found something she could do—how could she possibly let it go? More importantly, she really couldn’t stand the way Xu Xuedie ran things.

“You’ve no idea how dirty that woman is,” Mother Jiang  scolded. “She doesn’t even use the veggie basket—just throws everything straight on the floor. That radish? Half-eaten by rats! And she still cooks it for the workers to eat.”

Mother Jiang had spent her life working diligently and seriously. She simply couldn’t tolerate the way Xu Xuedie handled food.

Back when she was young, Mother Jiang  loved to nag. But in recent years, as Jiang Ning’s political career soared higher and higher, Mother Jiang had become increasingly quiet at home, less inclined to speak. Now, staying with her eldest son, it was like she was unleashing all the pent-up words from all those silent years. She nagged constantly in the canteen—at the workers, at Xu Xuedie, and even at Jiang Song, “Is this how you cook? You’re going to kill someone like this! And that oil—how can anyone eat that? You think eating out every day is a good idea? I’m telling you, it’s all like this outside. No one washes their vegetables. Just look at your wife! You don’t feel it now because you’re young.”

“Eating out every day, not listening to a word I say. And your wife? Lazy! Never cooks, never prepares a meal. Just spends and spends. That room is filled with mountains of clothes—she still keeps buying more! Even if she had ten bodies, she couldn’t wear them all! And she’s never even thought about buying anything for Yuanyue.”

Jiang Song’s head was spinning from the barrage. He scrambled to escape, “Mom, I just remembered I have something to do. You talk to Xuedie about this, okay?”

He quickly pulled out a thick stack of cash from his wallet, stuffed it into Mother Jiang’s hands, and bolted.

Once Jiang Song left, there was no one left for her to talk to—and she felt completely stifled.

She wanted to call Father Jiang, but he was always busy—either buying, washing, or cooking food. When he was cooking, the sizzling oil made it impossible to hear anything. And by lunchtime or dinnertime, customers would come in and he’d be too busy serving food to even think about chatting.

Luckily, he had hired an elderly widower from a nearby village to help him wash and collect the dishes, otherwise he wouldn’t even be able to keep up.

Only in the early mornings—when Father Jiang wasn’t busy—could Mother Jiang  call and rant to her heart’s content.

No one to talk to, no familiar faces, nothing to do—life in Sichuan was even worse than life back in the village.

At least back home, she had Father Jiang to talk to every day. She could visit Uncle Jiang’s wife and chat. If the store wasn’t too busy, she could even play a little poker or mahjong with the villagers.

They did play mahjong in Sichuan—everywhere, in fact—but the rules were different from back home. No one understood her dialect, and the stakes were high. She didn’t dare join.

With nothing better to do, she picked fights with Xu Xuedie every day. They argued constantly. When she lost, she’d complain to Jiang Song. But he always sided with his mom, which infuriated Xu Xuedie. So she retaliated in secret, making life harder for Mother Jiang in every petty way she could. Once, she even made Mother Jiang so angry she fainted.