Grandpa’s laughter used to fill the courtyard like sunlight breaking through clouds. He would scoop me into his arms, kiss my cheek, and call me his “Silly Girl.”
But when I turned six, the warmth of that laughter vanished. Grandpa fell gravely ill, and the house descended into chaos. Grandma and my aunts wept endlessly, while the nanny led me by the hand to the hospital each day. It was there, in that sterile room heavy with the scent of medicine, that I first met my father in any real sense.
He had just returned from abroad. Grandma nudged me forward and whispered, “Call him Dad.”
I froze. My father’s eyes swept over me, his brow furrowing.
“Why are you so tall?” he asked.
Grandma quickly defended me:
“You’re six years old, of course you’re tall.”
That was the moment I understood—my father did not like me.
When Grandpa passed away, I was sent to live with him. Though he stopped traveling, he was still a stranger, always too busy, too absent.
The following year, he remarried. My childish heart rebelled. I refused to attend the wedding, and for the first time, he spanked me in fury. That beating carved resentment deep into my bones.
His new wife tried to win me over with toys and dresses. I hurled them out the window, shredded her silk cheongsam with scissors. She complained, and I was beaten again.
I remember standing in the center of the room, fists clenched, back straight, refusing to cry. My voice rang out like a curse:
“You witch! You wicked queen! My mother is watching you from heaven! You will be struck by lightning!”
Her face twisted with rage. My father’s expression darkened. From then on, he rarely intervened, and our household became a battlefield.
Yet even with me, he was quick-tempered, his patience razor-thin. Tonight was no different. He sat in the small living room with his uncles, sipping tea, when Uncle Wang leaned forward with a grin.
“Sir, there was an interesting thing today.”
Father raised an eyebrow.
“What’s the interesting thing?”
Uncle Wang chuckled.
“The promotion list of the Second Fleet came in. They were reviewing it when they saw a photo. Everyone was stunned. I thought they were joking—mixing in one of your old photos to tease us. But no, it was real. The resemblance was uncanny.”
Uncle Li scoffed.
“Could it be that similar? I’m skeptical.”
Uncle Wang insisted.
“Several people agreed. Only Jilai denied it. He stared at the photo for ages before saying, ‘How is it like Mr. Murong Feng? I think it looks quite a bit like Mr. Murong Feng.’ Everyone burst out laughing.”
Father laughed too.
“Only Jilai likes to brag. If you say it looks like me, he’ll argue. Maybe it really does, so he can’t deny it—so instead he says it looks like my father. But don’t I look like my father?”
The uncles roared with laughter. Uncle Chen added his own tale:
“Coincidences happen. Once, we found a photo of someone who looked like me. Old He teased me for days, saying I should reflect on my youthful debts—maybe I had a hidden son somewhere!”
The room filled with mirth, and Father’s mood lightened. He teased back:
“Oh? Then shouldn’t I also recall whether I recognize this person’s mother?”
The laughter grew louder. I lowered my head, hiding a secret smile.
Uncle Wang leaned in again.
“Sir, if you really know his mother, tell me first. I’ll flatter the Crown Prince myself. He’s just been promoted from lieutenant to captain. I’ll say, ‘What’s a captain? Hand me the form and I’ll make him a general!’”
Father chuckled.
“Nonsense!”
But Uncle Wang was prepared. He pulled a file from his briefcase and handed it over.
“Take a look. Don’t you think they look alike?”
Father squinted, holding the photo at arm’s length. I stole a glance—and froze.
The young man in the picture could have been my father’s twin. The same thick brows, the same piercing eyes, the same proud Murong nose. Only the lips differed—thinner than Father’s—and his chin was sharper. But he was strikingly handsome, almost breathtaking.
Father studied the photo, astonished.
“Yes! He really does. When I was his age, I was also in the army. If he wore the old uniform, we’d be identical.”
Uncle Lei smiled knowingly.
“You outranked him back then. Your last promotion was brigadier general.”
Father asked quietly, almost to himself:
“How old is this man?”
And in that moment, the room fell into a thoughtful silence.
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