76: Chapter 79 Saturday, the four people at that table

Saturday afternoon at 1:40 PM, Fang Jiming stood in the empty classroom at the far east end of the first floor of No. 19 Middle School.

This classroom was usually unused, with stacks of dusty old textbooks in the corner and window glass that wasn't very clear even after being wiped.

Fang Jiming moved the old books next door and wiped the windowsills and tabletops again with a rag.

Four chairs surrounded a desk, arranged in a somewhat irregular square.

Four bottles of mineral water were placed on the table, with a box of tissues right in the center.

Fang Jiming looked at the box of tissues, thought for a moment, then pulled a spare pack from his pocket and stuffed it into the desk drawer.

One box might not be enough.

In the small office next door, Lin Wei, the family counselor recommended by Chen Jianhua, was already in place, wearing glasses and flipping through the family situation briefing Fang Jiming had sent in advance.

Fang Jiming walked over and gave her a few instructions.

"Teacher Lin, I'll handle the first round. If the situation gets out of control, then you come in."

Lin Wei pushed up her glasses and looked at this young homeroom teacher wearing a hoodie and jeans.

"Teacher Fang, in my experience, the first formal dialogue in a separated family has a nearly 100% probability of an emotional outburst. Are you sure you want to handle it yourself first?"

Fang Jiming smiled slightly.

"I teach Class 18; handling emotional outbursts is a basic skill."

Lin Wei said nothing more and nodded.

1:52 PM.

The classroom door was pushed open a crack.

Han Bingbing walked in sideways.

She was wearing a blue dress, her hair tied in a ponytail, with no makeup on her face, but her mental state was significantly better than when Fang Jiming first saw her at the night market.

Fang Jiming: ╮(•ω•)╭

This girl knew today's occasion was important, even dropping that deliberately rebellious look.

Han Bingbing scanned the layout of the classroom, her gaze lingering on the four chairs for a moment, her lips pursed.

"Teacher Fang, will my dad really come?"

"He'll come."

"What about my mom?"

"She'll come too."

Han Bingbing lowered her head, her hands starting to rub the hem of her dress, her knuckles tensing.

She sat down on the chair by the window, her back very straight, but her knees were shaking slightly under the table.

Fang Jiming didn't try to comfort her intentionally; he just unscrewed the cap of the mineral water bottle in front of her.

1:55 PM.

Footsteps came from the hallway, very light and hesitant.

Two steps, then a pause; two more steps, then another pause. The footsteps were drawn out.

Fang Jiming walked to the door.

Han Zhiguo stood at the end of the hallway, clutching a plastic bag with something inside.

He wore a white shirt that was washed and faded but ironed flat, and his hair was combed back with gel, looking like he was trying hard to make himself look decent.

But his feet were rooted to the ground, not daring to move forward.

Fang Jiming walked over and patted his shoulder.

"Mr. Han, go on in."

Han Zhiguo's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Teacher Fang, I, I'm still a bit..."

Fang Jiming didn't wait for him to finish; he placed a hand on his back and half-pushed, half-guided him into the classroom.

The moment Han Bingbing saw Han Zhiguo, her hands rubbing the dress stopped.

Her eyes instantly turned red.

Three years.

She hadn't seen this face for three years.

Han Zhiguo stood at the door, looking at his daughter sitting in the chair, his lips trembling a few times, but he couldn't say anything.

He slowly walked to the chair opposite Han Bingbing and sat down, gently placing the plastic bag on the table.

Inside the plastic bag was a plush rabbit, pink, with a bow tied on its ear.

Han Bingbing stared at the rabbit for three seconds.

She used to love these pink plush rabbits in elementary school; she once had a whole row of them at the head of her bed.

Later, Auntie Zhao threw them all away, saying they interfered with her studies.

Han Zhiguo remembered.

He actually still remembered.

The classroom was quiet for a few seconds, with only the faucet at the end of the hallway dripping one drop at a time.

1:59 PM.

The sound of high heels came from the other end of the hallway, the rhythm very fast, every step hurried.

Auntie Zhao appeared at the classroom door.

She wore a black dress, her hair combed neatly.

Her makeup was light, but the concealer on her dark circles was thick; it was obvious she hadn't slept well these past two days.

Auntie Zhao's gaze passed over Fang Jiming and fell directly on the man in the white shirt in the classroom.

Han Zhiguo.

They hadn't seen each other in three years.

Auntie Zhao was rooted in front of the doorframe, her fingers gripping the edge of the frame so hard that the shape of the bones in her knuckles showed.

Fang Jiming stood by the door, his voice very low.

"Auntie Zhao, Bingbing is watching you."

Auntie Zhao's gaze moved from Han Zhiguo and fell on her daughter's face.

Han Bingbing was looking up at her, her eyes filled with tears, her lips tightly pursed.

Auntie Zhao's hand let go of the doorframe.

Her chest heaved once, her back straightened, and she walked into the classroom step by step, sitting down in the chair next to Han Bingbing.

She didn't look at Han Zhiguo once from beginning to end.

Fang Jiming closed the classroom door and sat down in the fourth chair.

Four people around a table, four bottles of mineral water, a box of tissues.

Fang Jiming scanned the room, taking in everyone's state.

Han Bingbing's hands were rubbing the hem of her dress, her head lowered, her knees shaking.

Han Zhiguo's hands were folded on the table, fingers interlaced, knuckles protruding.

Auntie Zhao sat opposite, her jaw tight, everything from her neck to her shoulders stiff.

Fang Jiming pushed the box of tissues toward the middle of the table.

"Today's rules are very simple."

"Everyone has five minutes to speak. While one person is speaking, others are not allowed to interrupt."

"After they finish, others can respond."

His speech rate was not fast, but every word was steady.

"Who goes first?"

None of the three moved.

Han Zhiguo kept his head down and didn't speak.

Auntie Zhao kept a stern face, and Han Bingbing was biting her lip beside her.

The silence lasted for nearly ten seconds.

Han Bingbing suddenly looked up.

"I'll go first."

Her voice trembled slightly, but the tone was steady.

Fang Jiming nodded to her.

Han Bingbing stared at the unscrewed bottle of mineral water on the table and spoke.

"Mom, why did you tear up my diary?"

Her voice was very small at first, kept very low.

Auntie Zhao's body tensed, her lips opening and then closing.

Fang Jiming raised his hand to signal her to wait, and Auntie Zhao swallowed the words at the tip of her tongue.

Han Bingbing continued.

"I wrote in that diary for three years, starting from my third year of middle school, one page every day, sometimes more, sometimes less."

"In it, I wrote about the songs I liked, the movies I watched, the arguments I had with classmates, and the times I didn't do well on monthly exams."

"You dug it out from under my pillow, tore it into pieces in front of me, and stuffed them into the kitchen trash can."

Han Bingbing's voice began to tighten, as if something was stuck in her throat.

"You said the things written inside were all useless and a waste of time."

"But those were my things."

Han Bingbing looked up, tears finally falling.

"That diary was the only place where I could tell the truth."

Her fingers clutched the edge of her dress hem, nails sinking into the fabric.

"Because at home, I have to be cautious even when speaking. If I say one thing wrong, you'll flip out; if I say two things wrong, you'll say I'm being immature, and then you'll bring up how 'everything I do is for your own good' to shut me up completely."

Auntie Zhao's eyes turned red, her hands clenched into fists on her knees.

Han Bingbing's voice grew louder.

"You installed a camera in my room. Do you know how I feel every night when I'm sleeping?"

"I feel like someone is watching me even when I just turn over. I don't even dare to cry out loud because you'll rush in and ask if I'm thinking about that guy again."

"I didn't have a boyfriend! At that time, I didn't have a boyfriend at all!"

She sniffled hard, tears pitter-pattering onto her dress.

"You locked my room door from the outside. I banged on the door for half an hour inside, but you wouldn't open it. I could only jump down from the second floor."

"I sprained my ankle when I jumped. It hurt so much that I sat on the ground for ten minutes before I could stand up."

"I walked to the night market alone, found a random place, ordered two bottles of beer, and sat there until midnight."

"Do you know what I was thinking that night?"

No one in the classroom moved.

Han Bingbing wiped her face, her hand smeared with tears.

"I was thinking if I shouldn't be alive."

Auntie Zhao recoiled, her back hitting the chair's backrest.

"Because if I weren't here, you wouldn't have to work so hard. You wouldn't have to watch me every day, argue with me every day, or live so exhaustingly every day."

Han Bingbing's voice was intermittent, barely forming sentences.

"I'm not trying to be rebellious; I just want a room where I can close the door and no one is watching me."

"I just want to live normally."

After saying the last word, Han Bingbing buried her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking continuously.

Muffled sobs came from the gaps between her arms, one after another.

No one spoke in the classroom.

Han Zhiguo covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Auntie Zhao's tears flowed silently from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the collar of her black dress, soaking into a small, dark patch.

Auntie Zhao's lips were trembling, and very faint gasps came from her throat, as if she wanted to say something but was choked up.

Fang Jiming didn't speak.

He reached out and pushed the box of tissues on the table to where Han Bingbing could reach it.

Then he leaned back against the chair and waited quietly.

In the hallway outside the classroom, the laughter of students passing by drifted in from afar, having absolutely nothing to do with the atmosphere in this classroom.

Thirty seconds.

Auntie Zhao slowly raised her head.

Her makeup was ruined, and the dark circles that the concealer couldn't hide were exposed under the fluorescent light.

Her lips moved.