"Come downstairs for a walk with me—let your mother and Wen Nuan have a chat," the old man said.
After dinner, the old man cleared the table. When Wen Nuan tried to help with the dishes, he shooed her out of the kitchen, muttering that she would only get in the way. Left with no room to argue, Wen Nuan stepped out obediently. Han Qian, bracing himself, followed the old man into the elevator.
Though Han Qian usually joked around with his father, he knew to be genuinely wary when things got serious.
In the elevator, the old man said nothing. When they stepped out of the building, Han Qian pulled out a cigarette, only to have it snatched away by his father. The old man's voice was cold. "What's this about a bite mark on your forehead? Don't lie to me. Men don't bite each other's foreheads in a fight—it's too awkward a spot. So, there's some woman outside? Let's take a walk. Maybe we'll find a stick or two along the way."
"No way," Han Qian retorted.
"Fine, I'll go find one myself. You'd better start running," the old man said.
"Why are you always itching to beat me up? We haven't even seen each other in ages, and that's your first instinct? Yes, it was a woman who bit me, but it's not as shady as Wen Nuan made it sound. There's no affair. I set myself a goal: to see how much money I could earn in a year."
Han Qian quickly summarized the situation, mentioning the money involved and how he owed Wen Nuan. He didn't mention the divorce, spinning a simpler tale.
The old man didn't press for details—he knew there was probably some trouble, and that his son was caught up in it. He gave up on finding a stick, sighing. "So you helped your manager sort out a mess. This woman—she's rather bold, I suppose. How she carries herself is none of my concern. But remember this: before you're married, I don't care how many women you chase. After marriage, you stay honest. Our family has seen good men and bad men, but never a man who cheated on his wife. Who left those marks on your back? I'll have a word with him."
Every father hurts for his son, though the old man wasn't one to show it through gentle words. When he said he'd have a word, Han Qian knew it would be far more than that.
Seeing his father wasn't going to lay a hand on him tonight, Han Qian grinned. "Mom told me you used to fight a lot when you were young. Said the whole village was scared of you."
"I was better than you," the old man said with a snort. "I never liked violence, but if someone insulted your mother, I didn't just stand by. A man's shoulders are broader than a woman's. Bow your head at home—that's not shameful. But outside, if you bend your back, that's when you lose face. Don't be like your father-in-law—soft as dough inside and out."
Han Qian didn't argue; he knew his father was right. The old man smiled suddenly. "I envy your father-in-law, though—he's educated, knows so much. Unlike me—just a farmer who only knows how to scrape by. But you—be good to Wen Nuan. You and I both know who saved your mother's life."
The old man still didn't know Han Qian had done time, a secret he and Wen Nuan kept buried deep.
They paused to watch children playing basketball. The old man's eyes held a look of faint contempt, as if he were some undiscovered master. Han Qian raised an eyebrow. "What, you can play basketball too?"
"A bit," the old man said casually. "I can do anything—except read properly."
"How about cross-stitch?" Han Qian teased.
"You think that 'Boundless Ambitions' hanging in the living room was embroidered by your mother?"
"You're impressive."
"That's why I'm your father," the old man said dryly.
"What if one day I surpass you?" Han Qian needled.
The old man let out a dry laugh. "I won't beat you now, but you're itching for it. Are you sure you don't want to take me to meet the man who hurt you? Just once. After that, you're on your own."
"I'm a grown man. I can't hide behind you forever. Why didn't you protect me when I was a kid, getting beat up all the time?" Han Qian asked.
"Your mother wouldn't let me," the old man said bluntly.
Han Qian looked at him with feigned despair. Just then, the old man's phone rang. Han Qian watched enviously as his father pulled out a sleek touchscreen phone—his own was practically an antique. The old man, who always spoke with such steel to Han Qian, answered the call with uncharacteristic softness.
Han Qian grumbled, "Look at you, giggling like a lovesick teenager. Who is it—some little vixen?"
"It's your mother," the old man said.
"Ah, of course. She's so beautiful, it's no wonder I'm so good-looking. If I took after you, I'd have trouble finding a wife."
"Your mother wants an ice pop. We didn't think to stock any at home," the old man said.
"Wen Nuan eats ice cream like a maniac during her time of the month. I didn't dare keep any in the house."
"Women are all the same," the old man said dismissively.
Their banter was as sharp-edged as ever. Han Qian's childhood friend Ke Xin once asked him if he didn't get beaten up for talking to his father this way—she herself wouldn't have dared. She'd been thrown to the ground by her own father once for a poor test score, and she'd been too scared to go home for days. When Han Qian told the old man, he went to Ke Xin's house himself—and by the time he came back, she'd moved in with Han Qian's family.
Ke Xin's math grade had been five out of a hundred; it was hard to argue with that.
Thinking of Ke Xin, Han Qian pulled out his phone and called her. The two of them traded insults, no real conversation, ending with vague plans to meet during the New Year holidays.
Afterwards, the old man asked how Ke Xin was doing. Han Qian said she was fine. The old man sighed. "She's a good kid. But her cousin… he was doing well a year ago, always checking on your mother's health. Last month I saw him, looking like an old man already. Something's happened—I asked, but he wouldn't say. When you're home for the New Year, see what's going on. If you can help him, do it. You kids grew up together."
"I will," Han Qian promised.
"I didn't buy you an ice pop," the old man said.
"That's all right. I don't want one."
"I didn't buy one for myself either. Go get me one—I don't want to break a whole bill," he grumbled.
Han Qian laughed. "That hundred in your pocket's been there for years! Wait here—I'll be right back."
He went across the street to an ATM and withdrew a thousand yuan. When he came back, he pressed five hundred into the old man's hand. "Don't tell Mom."
The old man chuckled. "Well, well. It's rare for me to get money out of you."
"Shut up and take it," Han Qian retorted. "I'm just worried you'll starve to death one of these days."
The old man just smiled, tucking the bills away. He walked home with four ice pops—two for Wen Nuan, two for his wife. He'd taken Han Qian's words to heart: a daughter-in-law deserved a treat too. These weren't cheap either—two yuan a stick.
That was all the money he had left, after slipping everything else he'd saved into Han Qian's pocket. Just two thousand yuan in total—small change, but given freely. Han Qian might grumble, but he'd remember.