73: Chapter 76 Han's father appears, a man who has been on the run for three years.

At the end of the old street, there was a fast-food restaurant that had been open for over a decade.

The storefront was small, and half the red paint on the sign had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white backing underneath.

Fang Jiming pushed open the greasy glass door and walked in; the smell of fried chicken and cooking fumes rushed straight into his nose.

He looked around, his gaze locking onto a table in the corner.

A middle-aged man wearing a gray short-sleeved shirt sat there, rubbing his hands together nervously, his eyes fixed on the cup of cola in front of him that had long since gone cold.

This was Han Bingbing's father, Han Zhiguo.

Through Chen Jianhua's channels, Fang Jiming had dug up everything about this man in less than half a day.

The so-called "constant business trips" were nothing but a lie.

Han Zhiguo had signed a separation agreement with Auntie Zhao three years ago.

He was currently living in a rented room in an urban village in the neighboring city, working as a technician at a small company that made spare parts, with a monthly salary of less than 8,000 yuan.

Fang Jiming pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down; the chair legs scraped against the floor, making a harsh sound.

Han Zhiguo was startled; he looked up at Fang Jiming for a moment, then quickly averted his gaze.

"Y-you must be Teacher Fang."

His voice was very soft, carrying the timidity of someone who had been suppressed for a long time.

Fang Jiming leaned back against the plastic chair, sizing up the man.

He was short, his hair was thinning, and the cuffs of his short-sleeved shirt were frayed.

Fang Jiming silently scoffed to himself; his status in the family was even more pathetic than a support character in a game, not even qualified to scout out the bushes.

He took out a tissue and wiped the greasy stains off the table with a look of disgust.

"Mr. Han, I won't beat around the bush. Your daughter, Han Bingbing, is currently staying in the dormitory I arranged, and she is very safe."

Upon hearing his daughter's name, Han Zhiguo's tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Thank you, Teacher Fang. Bingbing, she... she hasn't caused any trouble, has she?"

Fang Jiming threw the tissue he had used to wipe the table into the trash can.

"She hasn't caused any trouble. The trouble was created by you adults."

Han Zhiguo's expression shifted, his lips trembling, but he couldn't find the words to speak.

Fang Jiming stared into his eyes.

"You haven't been home for three years. Your daughter thought you were working desperately in another city to support the family, but in reality, you were hiding in a rented room in the neighboring city."

"Mr. Han, can you explain to me what kind of new expression of fatherly love this is?"

Han Zhiguo's fingers dug hard into the edge of the disposable cup, his knuckles turning white.

He kept his head down, his voice beginning to tremble.

"Teacher Fang, you don't understand. I really, I really couldn't stay any longer."

He held it in for a long time, gathering his strength before he could force those words out of his throat.

"Auntie Zhao, she... she is sick."

Fang Jiming did not interrupt him, just listening quietly.

"From the moment she got pregnant, everything in the house had to be done according to her rules."

Han Zhiguo's speech became faster and faster, carrying a sense of breakdown that had been suppressed for a long time.

"The curtains at home had to be light blue because she said dark colors would affect the fetus's development."

"After the child was born, what time to drink milk, what time to sleep—it was precise down to the minute. If it was off by a minute, she would go crazy."

"I had to get home at exactly 6:30 every day after work. If I was five minutes late due to traffic, she would blow up my phone."

"Later, when Bingbing started elementary school, I began finding all sorts of excuses to go on business trips, just to stay away for an extra day whenever I could."

Han Zhiguo looked up, his eye sockets red, his eyes bloodshot.

"I didn't even dare to breathe loudly at home. That wasn't living; it was like being in prison."

Fang Jiming watched his breakdown, his fingers tapping slowly on the table twice.

Someone at the next table was tearing open a fried chicken bag; the sound of the plastic being ripped rang out with startling clarity in the greasy air.

A control freak, a runaway.

Han Bingbing was caught in the middle, using rebellion as oxygen.

Fang Jiming pushed the tissue box on the table toward Han Zhiguo.

"So you asked for a divorce."

Han Zhiguo pulled out two tissues and covered his face, his voice muffled behind them.

"I did. Three years ago, I really couldn't take it anymore, so I asked her for a divorce."

He put down the tissues, his eyes revealing a fear that went deep into his bones.

"She rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen knife, and held it to her own throat."

"She told me that if I dared to walk out that door, she would kill herself right in front of me."

Han Zhiguo was shaking all over, his eyes unfocused, still trapped in that desperate night from three years ago.

"I was scared. I was truly afraid that something would happen to her."

"In the end, we signed a separation agreement. I send more than half my salary to her every month; I just beg her to let me go."

He looked at Fang Jiming, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I know I'm a coward. I don't dare to face her, and I don't even dare to sneak a look at Bingbing because I'm afraid of triggering her."

"Teacher Fang, I really don't know what to do."

The fast-food restaurant was noisy, with a few young people at the next table loudly discussing a game.

Fang Jiming sat in this greasy corner, watching the pathetic man in front of him sobbing uncontrollably.

He felt no sympathy, nor did he feel contempt.

"Mr. Han, you've been running for three years. Do you feel like you've been liberated?"

Han Zhiguo froze, staring at him blankly.

Fang Jiming leaned forward, crossing his hands on the table.

"Your wife's condition is getting worse and worse, and she has transferred all her desire to control you onto your daughter."

"She installed cameras in your daughter's room, locks her door, and goes through her diary."

"To escape, your daughter jumped from a second-story window, sprained her ankle, and sat alone in the night market until midnight."

Han Zhiguo's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling, unable to speak.

"You thought that by hiding away, everything would be fine? You've left your own flesh and blood in a detention center where the person in charge could have a mental breakdown at any moment."

Fang Jiming's tone was flat, but with every word Han Zhiguo heard, his face grew paler.

Han Zhiguo covered his face and began to sob painfully.

Fang Jiming waited for him to cry for a while before speaking again.

"Mr. Han, your daughter is currently in my class, and she is very safe."

"But I need you to do one thing."

Han Zhiguo looked up, his eyes red and swollen as he looked at him.

"Teacher Fang, please tell me. As long as it helps Bingbing, I am willing to do anything."

Fang Jiming stood up and pushed his chair back under the table.

"Saturday at two in the afternoon, at No. 19 Middle School, in the empty classroom on the far east side of the first floor."

"Your daughter, you, and Auntie Zhao—the four of us will sit down and have a proper talk."

Han Zhiguo shuddered in fear, shrinking back against the back of his chair.

"No, I can't. I don't dare to see her. She'll go crazy."

Fang Jiming walked over to him and looked down at him.

He was silent for two seconds, his voice dropping a little lower.

"You've been running for three years; it's time to walk back."

He patted Han Zhiguo on the shoulder.

"If you don't even have this bit of courage, don't ever say you love your daughter again."

After saying this, Fang Jiming turned around and strode out of the fast-food restaurant.

The moment he pushed open the glass door, the breeze from outside blew in, dispersing much of the greasy smell in the restaurant.

Fang Jiming stood on the steps and took out his phone to check the calendar.

There were still two days until Saturday.

He put his phone back in his pocket and walked in the direction of the school.

His mind was already calculating how to get Auntie Zhao to sit at that table as well.