My parents’ generation had little formal education.

Dad finished high school and went straight to work to support the family. Mom never even attended high school.

Xiangcao City is a top-tier metropolis—but that doesn’t mean every nearby village shares its modern comforts.

If 99% of people around Xiangcao have escaped poverty, my parents were that remaining 1%.

The village I grew up in was all winding mountain paths. Older phones couldn’t even place emergency calls in the hills. Many families still drew water from wells. Without transport, reaching town meant a half-day walk.

You could say my parents poured every single penny they had into my schooling.

Through farming, raising pigs and chickens, odd jobs, and sweating under the scorching sun at construction sites—they lifted me out of the countryside and pushed me toward the city.

Though I saw Mom less after middle school, across seventeen years, I could clearly feel she truly treated me as her own daughter.

That kind of… burning themselves out, devoting their whole lives… hardship didn’t matter, as long as her daughter grew up healthy and successful.

Mom gave me everything she possibly could.

Which led to a thorny question: Should I ask Mom to take a DNA test?

Walking from the hospital toward Grandma’s rental in Liao Family Village, my mind kept circling this.

Solving the mystery was simple.

One more DNA test at Sixth People's Hospital would confirm if I was Dad’s biological child. I remembered it was a top-tier Grade-A hospital. And unlike ten years ago, tests today are highly reliable.

If the result showed blood relation with my current father—happy ending. Dad apologizes, they remarry, family reunited. We could even sue that TCM hospital in Lichun City for emotional distress.

But if it matched the old report—that I wasn’t Dad’s daughter—then regardless of his pain over the years, I’d need to test with Mom too.

If I *was* Mom’s biological child? The issue lay with her side.

But if… if I shared no blood tie with Mom either? Then “switched at birth” became possible. We’d check birth records at Linghai County Hospital, like Dad mentioned.

*Let the Bullets Fly* has a line: “He’s feigning ignorance despite knowing full well.”

My real dilemma: Should I really ask Mom?

DNA tests in Xiangcao cost around 2,000 yuan. With my current funds? Impossible. Wait till I’m richer and secretly test with their hair—or ask them to pay now.

Even if Mom, with her limited education, somehow agreed and learned the science… what then? If the result said we weren’t related?

She’d poured her life into raising me. How could I tell a woman in her forties—the daughter she loved isn’t hers? That she’s been separated from her biological child for seventeen years, not knowing if she’s alive? How would she bear it?

Even the “luckier” outcome—Mom is my mother, Dad isn’t—how could she face him afterward?

So this choice must be theirs.

Thanks to my past-life memories, I’m not some immature kid spiraling over blood ties. My reason whispers: some truths are kinder left blurred.

Ten years ago, Mom refused to believe the test and firmly called me her daughter. So I’ll follow her lead—be her most devoted, comforting daughter. Dad already laid that path. He told her everything back then; if she wanted answers, she’d have acted.

Not everyone clings to blood. I recall news: babies switched at birth, discovered years later via blood tests. Yet families chose to let sleeping dogs lie—love had already grown deep.

Dad chose to return regardless of blood. So I’ll keep calling him Dad.

If Mom ever seeks truth, I won’t refuse the test. The choice is hers.

Personally? Investigate when we can. I’ve memorized the hospital names. No rush. Both are nearby. Later, I can take a bus to check birth records. But the DNA test? That’s for them to decide.

On the way back, I called Grandma.

Dialed. Two rings. Hung up. Dialed again.

No answer this time.

“Probably still selling douhua and liangfen,” I murmured, checking my phone.

From noon to 9 PM, she usually set up near the pedestrian street entrance.

Just past eight—nothing strange.

I turned into Liao Family Village market.

“Little miss! Tilapia? Fresh shrimp and crabs just arrived—so plump!”

“Bighead carp? Perfect for fish-head tofu soup!”

At 8 PM, the market was nearly empty. Stalls held leftover fish and meat, looking less than fresh.

Vendors were warm though. I smiled politely at every auntie and uncle who greeted me.

“Uncle,” I said half a minute later at a decent-looking pork stall, speaking local dialect. “How much?”

“Oh! Little girl helping Mom shop so late?” He glanced at my bear-print hoodie, assuming I was a student. “27 a jin—25 for you, haha!”

“Hmm…” I pointed. “Slice from here. About this much.”

“Got it!” He weighed it. “8.5 yuan. Enough for you? Want more?”

“No thanks. Just Grandma and me at home.” I smiled, scanned the WeChat QR code.

“Take care!”

Bag of lean pork in hand, I grabbed ginger from the veggie section, left the market, and called Mom.

“Mom, I just visited Grandpa at Sixth People’s Hospital…” I said the moment she answered, voice lightly coquettish. “Dad’s here too.”

“Your dad…?” She hesitated. “Did he… say anything?”

“He said I’ve grown up. Wants to be with us again—blood or not. And… he wants to apologize to you.”

“Huh? Apologize? He really said that?”

“Yes. He feels he wronged you. At the hospital, he even mentioned how he and Grandpa got tricked into a pyramid scheme ten years ago…”

“Pyramid scheme? When?”

“Around ten or nine years back. They were lured far away.”

Then—a train station announcement crackled through:

*“Ding dong! Attention passengers: Train B1467 from Guyu to Chang’an is now boarding at Gate 8…”*

“Huh?” I switched ears. “Mom, are you at the station?”

“Ah… yeah.” She sounded reluctant. “Should arrive by noon tomorrow.”

*But you told Dad you weren’t coming…*

“Should I take time off? Grandpa doesn’t seem well. I thought—”

“No. I’ll handle it. Don’t skip school.” She cut me off. “Still at the hospital?”

“No, at the apartment. Bought pork to cook for Grandpa. Dad’s takeout had too little meat.” I tapped my access card—*beep*—pushed the door open. Grandma’s parking spot was empty. “She’s probably still out.”

“Huh? You can cook?”

“Mom! Don’t underestimate me! I’ve been learning with friends at school!”

“Hehe. After cooking, head back early. Stay safe.”

“Okay. You too—dress warmly. Night trains get cold.”

“Mm.”

I unlocked the apartment.

Silent. Spotless. Grandma must’ve cleaned thoroughly after making sweets.

In the kitchen, I washed a board and knife, minced the pork, mixed in ginger slices, added cooking wine to cut the gaminess.

Once marinated, remove ginger, add salt, simmer gently. Liver patients prefer light flavors—this broth might stir Grandpa’s appetite…

Well, thanks to my past life as a single guy who graduated college and hustled through adulthood, I knew a thing or two about practical living.

While the pork soaked, I tidied the apartment—sorted Grandma’s clothes, stacked leftover liangfen packets.

Done, I flopped onto my small bed and called Chen Xiaorui.

“Ah… Xiao Xue?” Wind howled on her end. Her voice crackled. “What’s up?”

“Just worried a creepy old man snatched you.” I watched lights glow in the building across. “Seems unnecessary.”

“Not unnecessary! I wanna cry… Half an hour left! Freedom in thirty minutes!”

“Huh?”

“Gotta go. This boss is a total creep. Endured him long enough. I’ll tell you everything back at the dorm. Bye!”

“Oh. Okay.”

Somehow, her tearful voice lifted my heavy mood.

“Hang in there,” I whispered with a smile.