Chapter 24: The Mistake Wasn’t Yours, It Was Theirs
Lin Yuejiu’s expression turned cold as she stared at Grandpa Lin, who was angrily scolding her.
She glanced at Lin Rumeng, whose eyes were brimming with schadenfreude, then looked back at Grandpa Lin. When he paused, she asked, “Grandpa Lin, whatever your granddaughter says, you just believe it? If she says it, it must be true?”
Although Grandpa Lin didn’t understand what exactly she meant by that, since it involved his own granddaughter, he still replied, “Would my granddaughter lie to me?”
Lin Yuejiu turned to Lin’s father, Lin’s mother, and Lin Yimo, “And you? Do you also believe her?”
The three remained silent.
Lin Yuejiu understood. She gave a faint smile.
From their standpoint, believing their own family wasn’t wrong.
But…
“You really are disappointing.”
Seeing her smile, Grandpa Lin’s anger flared, “What do you mean by that? Mengmeng is my precious granddaughter—if I don’t trust her, should I trust you, a white-eyed wolf? The Lin family raised you all these years, and even gave you a million yuan. And you still aren’t satisfied, still daring to barge in here?”
He wanted to continue, but suddenly took a step back. Lin’s father and mother were startled, thinking he was about to faint, and hurriedly said to Lin Yuejiu, “Look at how you’ve made Grandpa so angry! Aren’t you going to apologize?”
Lin Yimo stood rooted to the spot without moving.
Lin Yuejiu lifted her eyelids, sweeping her gaze over each of them, “So you’re all so willing to believe her? Even if it means turning truth into lies?”
“Lin Yuejiu!” Lin’s father shouted. “Grandpa’s about to faint from anger, and you still won’t admit it?! Wasn’t it you who barged in here yourself? Or are you saying Mengmeng forced you in?! Hurry and apologize!”
Lin Yuejiu looked at them, smiling faintly, but her eyes had turned red.
She couldn’t understand what kind of hearts these people had. Even if she wasn’t their biological daughter, they had raised her for at least ten years. Even a dog would inspire some affection after that long. How could the moment Lin Rumeng came back, they erase ten years of shared life as if it had never existed?
Was blood relation really so magical? That a daughter they hadn’t seen in years could suddenly feel so close?
Or… had they always been this cold and heartless?
Oh, she forgot—she had always been nothing more than a stand-in, a replacement for their real daughter.
“I just want to ask one question. Once I’ve asked it, I’ll never come here again.”
Father Lin frowned, first helping the old man sit down before asking, “What question?”
“In the past… did you ever truly, sincerely see me as your daughter?”
Father and Mother Lin fell silent.
Grandpa Lin sat down and caught his breath, “She’s not even your biological daughter—why would you treat her like one? She was always just a replacement.”
Lin Yuejiu looked straight at Father and Mother Lin, locking eyes with them, “Is that how you feel?”
Mother Lin pressed her lips together. Before Mengmeng came back, she had treated her like a real daughter… but…
Father Lin also stayed silent. Back when she was still their “daughter,” he had felt proud—because she was outstanding, sensible, and never embarrassed him in front of outsiders…
The two of them looked over at Lin Rumeng at the same time.
They didn’t say a word, but Lin Yuejiu saw the look in their eyes when they glanced at Lin Rumeng. Something threatened to well up in her eyes, but she forced it back.
“…I understand your answer.”
She turned her gaze to the always-silent Lin Yimo, “The day we severed ties, you asked me something. I didn’t answer. You said you didn’t know what the number written on my card meant—so today, I’ll tell you.”
Lin Yuejiu’s eyes gradually grew moist, but she tilted her head back so the tears wouldn’t fall. Her gaze stayed fixed on Lin Yimo.
“That number was something I started writing down from the very first day I came to the Lin family—counting the days I had been here. I didn’t write it because I had some ulterior motive. I wrote it to remind myself that this family affection was hard-won, and I wanted to treasure it with all my heart.”
Lin Yimo’s head snapped up to look at her.
Father and Mother Lin were also stunned.
“I was abandoned by my parents when I was little, and grew up in an orphanage. When I came to the Lin family, you treated me well—you gave me a warmth I had never felt before, made me feel like I finally had a home. So I treasured this family bond. I understood the law of the jungle from a young age, so when I came here, I worked hard to make myself excellent—so that you would all be happy, and wouldn’t so easily cast me aside.”
She paused here, taking a moment to catch her breath, as if she could hardly breathe.
“It’s precisely because I treasured it that I never refused anything you asked of me.”
Even though her tears blurred her vision, she still looked straight at them.
“You said to make my room pink so it would feel like a princess’s—I said fine. You told me to perform in front of a crowd—I said fine. One night, I happened to eat a lot of fruit. You said I liked eating fruit at night—so after that, I ate fruit every night.”
Lin Yimo’s hands at his sides clenched tighter and tighter, trembling slightly.
“I’m telling you now—I don’t like pink. I don’t like being forced to perform in front of so many people. I don’t like eating so much fruit every night.”
Each sentence was like a knife, slicing open another wound in Father and Mother Lin’s hearts—sharp, stinging pain.
“From the moment I was adopted, I knew I was just a stand-in, and that one day I would be thrown out.”
Mother Lin opened her mouth, but no words came out—it was as if her voice had been silenced.
“In the past, I was a replacement. But now, I—Lin Yuejiu—am only myself. I am not anyone’s substitute.”
She turned to the silent Grandpa Lin, bowed politely, “Sorry for the trouble.”
Then she turned and walked away, her back straight, her steps unwavering.
Lin Yimo wanted to chase after her, but it was as if chains were shackled to his ankles—he couldn’t move at all. He could only watch her figure grow smaller and smaller, something in his chest hollowing out, as if it could never be filled again.
Lin Yuejiu walked out of the Lin household with her head held high. She would never look back.
Just as she stepped through the gates, she saw Xu Nianshen leaning against the wall.
Lin Yuejiu froze for a moment, “What are you doing here?”
Her voice was hoarse, her eyes rimmed red.
Xu Nianshen acted as if he hadn’t noticed and said, “I have a math problem I don’t know how to solve. Can you take a look at it for me?”
His tone was utterly ordinary—like he was asking what was for dinner.
She sniffled. “Okay.”
Lin Yuejiu followed him back into the Lin house, found the living room empty. Xu Nianshen led her upstairs to his room, had her sit down, and pointed to a problem, “This one—I can’t figure it out. Can you take a look?”
Lin Yuejiu looked at it—it didn’t even seem like something within her scope of knowledge. She stared at it for a long while, but still didn’t understand. All the emotions she had been holding back burst in that moment—her tears broke free, falling one by one onto the math book.
“It’s so hard. I can’t do it…”
She grabbed Xu Nianshen’s wrist, “I can’t do it, Xu Nianshen. I really can’t…”
Xu Nianshen patted her head, “It’s okay. I can’t either.”
“Why? Why? Why…?”
Why do they have to treat me like this?
Did I do something wrong?
Why?
Lin Yuejiu collapsed over the desk, unable to stop the tears—crying as if she could finally pour out all the grievances she’d ever suffered.
Xu Nianshen gently patted her back, his gaze fixed on her figure hunched over, crying without restraint.
“It’s not you who’s wrong—it’s them.”
“From today on, don’t think about them anymore.”
“Lin Yuejiu—look forward.”
