Chapter 14: The Face of Greed

From the platform to the residential complex, there was still some distance to cover. But my hands and feet itched to move; spotting a utility pole, I began punching and kicking it fiercely right in front of the passersby, producing a loud "thud, thud" sound.

Madam looked at me oddly and asked, “Young master, what are you doing?”

“Practicing martial arts! Madam, remember the master taught me kung fu. Kicking around everywhere will naturally lead to skill!”

Madam furrowed her brows for a long moment before saying, “You must call me ‘Mom’! People will make fun of you otherwise! Remember, you have no master now; I’m in charge of things.”

I was about to retort that she wasn’t my mother when a voice came from afar: “Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing kicking that utility pole?”

Madam and I turned around simultaneously but didn’t recognize the person. I couldn’t help but ask, “What did you say?”

A balding man in his forties approached, dressed in camouflage from the market, wearing fake leather shoes. He stopped in front of me and said, “This is a public utility pole. If you damage it, you’ll have to pay!”

It was my first time encountering such a nitpicker who cared about everything—even a utility pole. I felt stifled and glared at him angrily, shouting, “Whether I kick it or not is none of your damn business! Got nothing better to do?”

The man in camouflage grew angry but, thinking it over, tried to reason with me his way: “Listen, the utility poles belong to us! These facilities cost a lot of money. Whoever damages them must pay!”

Madam found his words reasonable and grabbed me by the hand, trying to persuade and pull me away.

The more she did that, the more humiliated I felt. Clenching both fists, I shook them threateningly near his head, “Don’t let me catch you again, or watch out for your dog’s head!”

Unexpectedly, he got aggressive, gesturing wildly. He had no nose and no eyes, yet he snorted at me.

Three or four bystanders forcibly dragged him away, looking fierce.

“Don’t you know who I am? Back in the day, I trained in martial arts with the master. I knocked down five thugs with a few punches. Am I afraid of some fake camo-wearing fool? Just because I’ve turned into a woman now doesn’t mean I can’t beat you up and make you understand!”

I swung my arm, pushing Madam aside, ready to attack.

The crowd around was large, some pulling, some restraining me. My fists couldn’t land.

The young master’s mother rushed over and desperately tried to pull me back. With a sudden force, I felt a sharp pain in my lower body, unbearable enough to curse under my breath. Reluctantly, I followed Madam away.

The crowd gradually dispersed as we arrived at the residential complex, hoping to check on the injured security guard. However, another staff member came out of the guardhouse.

At that moment, I recalled Madam’s words: cars were parked chaotically in the complex, but a quick glance revealed that wasn’t the case.

Since there was someone managing the area and parking lines were drawn, it seemed orderly. Feeling groggy and unfamiliar with the surroundings, I followed along.

Madam walked alongside me, tightly gripping my arm and said, “Young master, don’t lose your temper and fight people so easily! If something happens, you’ll have to pay compensation! Can’t you hold back? Ever since the surgery, you’ve changed completely—not like a girl at all!”

Taking this opportunity, I wanted to clarify: “Madam, I’m not your child. I have my own name—Qu Shilai. I’m a boy.”

Madam was already tired of hearing this. Despite various suspicions, after all, I came from her own body and grew under her careful care. Could she listen to such nonsense? She had no choice but to say, “How many times must I tell you? That’s superstition! Your mother has heard these stories many times—they’re all lies! Remember, always call me ‘Mom’!”

I was speechless. Arguing was useless; if she wanted to be my mom, so be it! After all, she was only a few years younger than me; it wasn’t easy to say it.

Suddenly, Madam seemed to remember something. She grabbed my hand and led me to the electric bike shed, having me stand at the entrance while she went inside.

I found it strange—what was she up to?

The electric bike came out and stopped beside me. Without needing to be told, I knew what to do. I swung up onto the back seat, my long legs lightly brushing the ground. Madam didn’t even glance back; she started the bike and sped out of the guardhouse, riding straight ahead before suddenly stopping.

I took out my phone to check the time: 4:40 p.m. The green light flashed; Madam rode quickly again, twisting and turning until she pulled over, pushed the bike to the roadside, locked it with a U-lock, and took me to a small shop counter, asking, “Are you done threading it?”

Behind the glass counter stood a woman in casual clothes, wearing distinct lipstick—obviously a privately owned small shop. She took out a string of green beads. Madam glanced casually and asked, “How much?”

“Normally it’s free, but threading the beads takes time. Twenty yuan will do.”

Madam was a bit annoyed. Threading a string of beads with just a nylon thread, even by hand, shouldn’t cost this much. Although displeased, she scanned to pay with her phone and put the beaded bracelet on her left wrist. The beads looked too large.

I felt one bead’s color was off but couldn’t be certain. Feeling confused, I followed Madam back to the electric bike. She unlocked the U-lock, rode, and let me sit behind her. The more I thought about it, the more wrong it felt.

I asked, “Madam, those beads belong to Molly Ping. They need to be returned. Also, you wearing the bracelet, the beads are too big and don’t suit you!”

She scowled and snorted, “You must call me ‘Mom.’ What’s wrong with you? After all this time, you still don’t remember? I like this bracelet; otherwise, why would I have it threaded?”

“I wanted to tell Molly Ping long ago. That day she came looking for us in the hospital because of my lies but couldn’t find us. We were right here. Where else could we be?”

“Don’t tell her. I’m your mother! Your arm can’t just wander around; you won’t know who’s family or who’s a stranger!”

“Even though she doesn’t know it’s with you, my heart feels uneasy. It’s better to return it to her.”

“You’re too naive! If the beads are lost, then lost. Why keep looking for them? Don’t tell her! I like it, and we don’t have money to buy one. Whoever finds it gets to keep it.”

I was at a loss with Madam. I hadn’t expected her to be so greedy. Did she know the value of this jade bracelet? I couldn’t help but ask, “Did the shop owner tell you how much it’s worth?”

“I’m not having it appraised, so how would she know?”

As she spoke, the bike stopped at the entrance to the complex’s bike shed. After getting off, I felt gloomy and couldn’t figure out how to ask Madam to return the jade bracelet.

Madam came out of the bike shed, eyes fixed on the beads, rubbing them left and right. They were already shiny; I wondered what she was trying to clean. As the beads turned from bottom to top, I noticed one was smaller and its color different.

I said, “This bead must be a replacement. When I gave you the bracelet, it didn’t have this bead.”

Madam was indifferent: “Smaller is smaller. What does it matter? As long as you don’t tell anyone, nothing will happen.”

“I heard from Molly Ping that this bracelet was a wedding gift from her husband, bought at an auction house.”

“How much?” Madam’s eyes showed confusion.

“Sixty million! I already calculated it. If there are twelve beads, losing one means a loss of five million yuan.”

“What? Five million? Can it be worth that much?” Madam’s mouth dropped wide open, her eyes nearly bulging. She counted the beads carefully—there were indeed twelve. The smaller one was very different in color. She panicked, hurried into the bike shed, rode out, breezed past the guardhouse, and called out, “Young master, let’s go home!” In the blink of an eye, she disappeared from my sight.

This was my second time here. I had never stepped inside Young Master’s home and hesitated, unsure where he lived. I wanted to call his father’s phone but thought it inappropriate. From the bike shed, I watched the security staff. A uniformed man, nearly sixty, stood inside. I didn’t recognize him and didn’t want to greet him.

I regretted not going with Madam; she had left so quickly.

Outside the guardhouse was a bustling asphalt road, full of traffic and crowds, lively and noisy. I sat on a round stone on the sidewalk waiting. My phone showed 5:50 p.m. Unable to wait any longer, I was about to look for the bus stop when Madam rode up on the electric bike and stopped in front of me, asking, “Why are you still here?”

“I couldn’t find the house, so I was waiting for you.”

“Enough! Your brain’s got issues. Come with me!” Madam rode off, and I followed closely behind her. Soon we entered the complex and into the bike shed.

I waited by the door for a long time before Madam came out and asked, “Did you find that bead?”

Madam took off the bracelet from her left wrist, spun it around for me to see, and said, “The bead was lost, so I replaced it with another. The shop owner said it slipped off during threading, rolled somewhere unknown. I told her it was valuable, so she swept everywhere and finally found it under the counter.”

I finally felt relieved but remained conflicted—should I tell Molly Ping? Madam’s firm stance made me uneasy and burdened with guilt.

We climbed to the fourth floor and stopped before an iron door. Madam used a key to open it, revealing a familiar face—Young Master’s father, about thirty-six years old, twenty-one years older than Young Master.

He wore a red and green striped pullover T-shirt and blue casual pants. His appearance was ordinary, without a smile. He let us in and closed the door behind us.

The home was unfinished—just a raw shell. The balcony was no longer than three meters and only one and a half meters wide. The living room was about twenty square meters, the master bedroom fifteen, and a small room eight square meters. Including the kitchen and bathroom, the total was less than seventy square meters. Madam probably referred to the built area.

No matter what, this was their home. Even if Molly Ping’s home was nicer, it wasn’t theirs.

Madam was busy, coming and going with a school bag. She told me to sit at the desk in the small room and quickly catch up on missed lessons.

While speaking, she took all the bed sheets and duvet covers out and threw them into the washing machine. Soon, the sound of electricity and the machine’s rotation filled the air.