Chapter One: Why Don't You Hurry Up and Die

Stage IV stomach cancer, only three months left.

Yao Shan gripped her phone as she sat in the park, her vacant gaze staring blankly into the distance. Dampness welled in her eyes.

A month ago, she fainted while on a business trip out of town. The hospital diagnosed her with stomach cancer. She thought it was a misdiagnosis. Today, upon returning from her trip, she went straight from the airport to the city’s largest tertiary hospital.

The result was unchanged.

A despair she could not suppress surged within her. If she died, what would become of her husband and son?

She covered her face, tears seeping through her fingers.

Only after a long while, when her emotions settled, did she dial her husband's number.

“Qizhou…”

“Miss Yao? Sorry, this isn’t Brother Qizhou. He’s in the kitchen cooking and can’t answer the phone right now. If you need anything, you can tell me!”

A young woman’s cheerful voice came through the line.

“Pei Qizhou… is cooking?”

Her voice was weak, still trembling from her tears.

They had been married for seven years, and she never knew that Pei Qizhou could cook. Even when she was gravely ill with a fever, he’d never set foot in the kitchen.

Neither he nor their son liked takeout. She remembered three years ago, after her surgery, the father and son pitifully complained that they were sick of takeout and wanted her cooking.

She had dragged her still-recovering body home to cook for them, reopening her wound and ending up hospitalized for another week.

Even then, Pei Qizhou had never cooked for her.

Yet now, another girl spoke of it as if it were the most natural thing in the world—Pei Qizhou was cooking.

Yao Shan’s face grew even paler.

“Let me speak to him. I have something important to tell him.”

“Miaomiao Mommy, the last dish is ready! Daddy asked me to call you to sing the birthday song. Come quick!”

A child’s bright, innocent voice suddenly came through the phone.

Yao Shan couldn’t believe it.

There was no mistaking it—that was her son, Pei Yi.

He was calling another woman “Mommy”...

She didn’t want to think about it, but panic flooded her heart, and her tone grew stern. “Put Pei Qizhou on the phone!”

There was a clatter as the phone was dropped.

Soft sobbing came from the young woman, as if she’d been greatly wronged.

“Yao Shan, what are you doing? I was busy just now, so I asked Xu Miao to answer for me. Was it really necessary to lose your temper over this?” Pei Qizhou’s reproachful voice came through.

He showed no concern for why she had called.

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He didn’t care whether she’d run into trouble during her business trip, or why she might be calling them.

Even Pei Yi complained over the phone, “Mommy is so annoying, why does she keep calling? She’s such a bother! Daddy, don’t answer her, Miaomiao Mommy is crying so sadly, come comfort her!”

Yao Shan’s breath caught—she couldn’t believe these words came from Pei Yi.

She opened her mouth, her voice hoarse, “Pei Qizhou, I won’t ask who that woman is. Can you come out for a moment?”

She didn’t want to say it over the phone, didn’t want Pei Yi to hear. He was still so young; she was afraid he couldn’t bear it.

But, instead—

“Yao Shan, I know what you’re trying to do. Miao Miao isn’t the kind of woman you think she is. Don’t project your filthy suspicions onto others. I have more important things to do. If you have something to say, call again tonight.”

Pei Qizhou’s voice was full of impatience.

Yao Shan’s heart turned cold, but she refused to give up. “If… if I said I was dying, would that still not be as important as celebrating another woman’s birthday?”

“Aren’t you still alive?”

Before Pei Qizhou could answer, Pei Yi’s childish, angry voice burst in, “Can you stop being so annoying? Daddy and I are celebrating Miaomiao Mommy’s birthday. Just hang up!”

“Xiao Yi…”

She called out to her son, but the call was coldly cut off.

Yao Shan sat frozen, still holding the phone, tears streaming down her face.

This was the husband she’d known since childhood, from school uniforms to wedding gown, and the son she bore after ten months of pregnancy and a near-fatal hemorrhage.

Once, they had been her greatest source of happiness.

Now, they had become the executioners who snuffed out her every hope.

She dialed again, but no one answered. Desperate, she tried her son’s watch, only to discover she’d been added to his blocklist without her knowing.

Her face ashen, she slumped on the bench…

Her phone suddenly rang, and hope flared in her eyes. She hurriedly answered the video call, “Honey…”

No one spoke; only a silent image appeared on the screen.

Her husband and son sang a birthday song for Xu Miao, cut the cake, wished her a long life, and kissed her cheek.

In the background were the gifts Pei Qizhou had sent home through her colleagues, keeping it a secret from her.

Back then, everyone had teased her about her happiness.

Everyone had assumed those gifts were for her.

Now, they were in another woman’s home.

Yao Shan stared blankly.

But as she watched, tears began to flow uncontrollably.

Amid the jubilant cheers, she heard Xu Miao ask Pei Yi what wish he’d made.

The son for whom she’d nearly died in childbirth said loudly, “I wish Mommy would never come back from her business trip. I wish Miaomiao Mommy could move in and stay with me and Daddy forever! I wish we could be a real family!”

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The bitter wind cut straight through her coat into her bones, each gust like a knife hacking at her heart.

Pain to the marrow, her soul in shreds.

“Daddy, do you want Miaomiao Mommy to be my new mother too?”

Pei Yi’s eyes shone with hope.

Yao Shan stopped breathing for a moment.

She hoped her husband would deny it, hoped he would correct their son’s misguided wish.

She gripped her phone, waiting.

But all she saw was the man nod ever so slightly.

In that instant, something shattered completely inside her.

Nausea surged, her stomach churning.

She didn’t know if it was her body or her broken spirit; she clung to a tree and retched.

She hadn’t eaten all day—what could she throw up but bitter bile and salty tears?

It was evening before Pei Qizhou bothered to call her. Yao Shan had sat in the park for four hours, her hands and feet numb with cold.

Pei Qizhou didn’t ask where she’d been all this time; he simply said, “Xiao Yi wants snow-skin red bean cake and candied sweet potatoes.”

He paused, as if checking with someone else, and an eager voice came through, “Is that okay? I want something sweet and sour. Anything is fine—sweet and sour fish would be great.”

Yao Shan’s heart trembled.

She heard it clearly—it was Xu Miao’s voice, not Pei Yi’s. It was Xu Miao who wanted to eat.

“Stop by the supermarket on your way home. We have a guest tonight who likes sweet and sour dishes. Think of something to make. There’s also something else—I’ll tell you when you get back.”

Pei Qizhou was notoriously difficult and arrogant, never caring about anyone’s feelings, least of all in trivial matters like food.

But for Xu Miao, he made an exception.

On her way home, Yao Shan bought groceries, her mind so distracted she nearly got into a car accident.

The other driver berated her for half an hour. Staring at the scattered vegetables and meat, she couldn’t hold back any longer, collapsing over the steering wheel, wracked with heartbroken sobs.

She was dying—why did she have to learn of such humiliation?

She hated herself for falling ill, hated even more that she couldn’t die quickly enough.

Until her phone rang.

It was her mother.