Chapter 20: Clearing Out Song Jianshe’s House

“That’s not up to you!” Wen Ran continued packing her things.

Old Mrs. Song was angry but dared not act rashly. If she tried to fight, she might not win against Wen Ran, who was no longer the little girl she once controlled. Now, they could only wait for Song Jianshe to come back and intervene.

Divorces were rare in these times, but with proof from the workplace, obtaining the divorce certificate was rather smooth.

In the residential compound, no news lasted till the next morning. Those at work aside, even those off duty craned their necks to watch the spectacle!

Song Jianshe and Lu Meiqin rode in silence, both clearly disdainful of each other.

No matter the era, sympathy tended to fall on the weaker side, and Lu Meiqin knew this well. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

Onlookers thought she was crying, and their gossip grew louder.

Song Jianshe scolded in a voice only she could hear, “Why cry now? Why didn’t you cry when you were so determined to divorce me?”

Lu Meiqin wore a look of grievance. “I don’t regret divorcing you, but I pity myself! You’re too cruel. Never mind the years we spent as husband and wife, have you ever thought about Ranran?”

Song Jianshe frowned. “Think about what?”

Lu Meiqin was defeated again by his coldness. “Think about what? She’s grown up now. Have you considered her marriage prospects?”

“Isn’t her marriage prospects tied to you?” Song Jianshe said dismissively. “How much dowry can three hundred yuan buy her? You don’t expect me to pay for that too, do you?”

Lu Meiqin sneered, “I don’t know how I ever saw anything in you back then. You don’t deserve to be her father! She always tried to win your favor, but it was like feeding a dog with true affection.”

Song Jianshe was speechless.

He had expected her to bring up money again, but instead, she was playing the emotional card.

Wen Ran had been pretty and adorable since childhood, but he always felt she wasn’t as warm and dear as Wen Xin.

He only asked her to take Wen Xin’s place in the countryside, never expecting the girl to be so defiant.

Thinking of her cold eyes made him uneasy.

“What exactly do you want to say?”

Lu Meiqin glanced at the small clusters of people nearby before saying, “I want to say loudly that you’re not a man!”

“You...” Song Jianshe ground his teeth.

Lu Meiqin added, “Director Wei arranged for us to live in the western bungalow. Ranran and I have packed up. If you want to keep your standing at the factory, here’s your chance: move my things to the bungalow yourself!”

Song Jianshe stopped in his tracks. “What did you just say?”

Lu Meiqin rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. If you say ‘no,’ I’ll go ask the director for help moving immediately!”

Song Jianshe was at a loss.

He didn’t understand how Lu Meiqin had a backer like the director. Suddenly, he wondered if impulsively divorcing had been a mistake.

---

Holding the divorce certificate, Song Jianshe asked, “Be honest with me—why does the director help you so much?”

“No comment!” Lu Meiqin wiped her dry eyes and raised her chin as she entered the dormitory building.

To others, she appeared to be forcing herself to stay strong.

Whispers filled the air.

Approaching closer, Song Jianshe overheard a few remarks blaming him, and some even speculated he was involved with a female worker in the workshop, pointing out who he was closest to.

The top suspicion was an affair, especially with Lu Meiqin’s earlier tearful gesture fueling imaginations. Rumors flew thick and fast.

With a stern face, he followed Lu Meiqin’s steps.

Once inside, he asked, “What do you want to move?”

Wen Ran, hearing this, knew her mother was getting along well with him. She pointed to the packed bundles. “These, these, and these all have to go. Also, all the things in my room must be moved too!”

Lu Meiqin wasn’t satisfied and added, “Take away my dowry items as well.”

Their family had been quite well off back then, and the dowry was substantial.

The factory assigned them a house. Song Jianshe bought a double bed; the rest were mostly purchased by her or gifted by coworkers.

The metal thermos had broken but was still usable after replacing the liner.

The vanity table must be taken—custom-made by her family.

The wardrobe and a pair of copper-buttoned trunks were custom orders, and the sewing machine had to go too.

She pointed to the items to be moved, and Song Jianshe almost bit his tongue off.

If all these things were taken away, the house would be an empty shell!

Old Mrs. Song was hysterical, fiercely protective of this and that. “Don’t take them! Not a single thing! These all belong to our family!”

Wen Ran turned to Lu Meiqin. “Mom, didn’t Uncle Wei say we could take everything?”

Song Jianshe’s ears perked up at the mention of “Uncle Wei.” “Which Uncle Wei?”

Old Mrs. Song’s eyes widened. “You shameless Lu Meiqin! You’ve got a wild man already, how disgraceful!”

Wen Ran leveraged the situation. “If Director Wei were a wild man, your son would have packed up and left long ago!”

Song Jianshe’s face twitched involuntarily. It had only been a day, and now they were calling him Uncle Wei. Things were slipping out of control, and it felt strange.

Ignoring Old Mrs. Song’s frantic shouting, he gritted his back teeth. “I’ll find someone to help move!”

“You fool! If they take everything, what will you live on?” Old Mrs. Song stomped angrily, slapping her thighs until they turned red.

Song Jianshe was even angrier but went off without looking back.

---

About ten minutes later, he returned with four or five coworkers, followed by curious onlookers.

They didn’t even bother with lunch, rushing over to watch the drama unfold.

A divorce was a rare event!

Some clueless onlookers thought Song Jianshe was bringing people to start a fight.

But as two single beds, a pair of trunks, a sewing machine, and a basin mirror were carried out, and Old Mrs. Song collapsed to the ground wailing, everyone realized it was a divorce and division of property.

They praised Song Jianshe’s generosity, and some enthusiastic bystanders even joined in the moving.

The louder Old Mrs. Song cried, the harder they worked.

It was like a coordinated chant.

Song Jianshe frowned deeply, looking almost manic, barely restraining himself from snapping amid the compliments about his magnanimity.

Wen Ran had even arranged for her most “valuable” secondhand cabinet to be moved out. The room was nearly empty.

She took two extra quilts as well, anticipating the coming cold season.

Lu Meiqin, reluctant to part with every item, carried a pot in one hand and a basin in the other, telling Wen Ran to take the remaining little over a pound of white flour, the eating bowls and chopsticks, and so on, all into the bungalow.

She had bought these things herself. Since Song Jianshe never handed over money to her, she felt justified in taking them.

The table and chairs were made later by someone she hired, so they couldn’t be given away for free either.

Used towels were for wiping feet; clean towels were for the face.

Mother and daughter moved without hesitation.

Being lenient with Song Jianshe would only be cruel to themselves, ultimately benefiting others.

The empty bungalow was no longer bare; with everyone’s help, it was simply arranged and felt like home.

Old Mrs. Song fainted twice from crying, revived each time by experienced neighbors pressing her acupressure points.

By the end of the move, Song Jianshe was numb but still held tightly to Old Mrs. Song, determined to protect his future livelihood.

Now, the room contained only a double bed, one quilt, eating utensils, his toiletries, clothes, and a few other unmovable items.

Lu Meiqin took a final look around the room, bidding farewell to the past.

Wen Ran’s eyes brightened as she pointed at the lightbulb. “Mom, you bought this lightbulb too.”