The Missing Daughter – CH 001

Chapter 1. Look After 1

August 14, 2024
“Look After”
“After my mother passed away, I had no one to look after me.”
By Zhen Bai

**

I flew back from another province to handle my mother’s funeral arrangements.

My mother, alone at home, passed away due to carbon monoxide poisoning.

After ruling out murder, the police initially suspected an accident or suicide.

I didn’t want to think that my mother would end her life by suicide.

Knowing her as I did, she wasn’t someone who would easily give up her life.

But the facts were undeniable.

Sometimes, we thought we understood our family well, but that’s just wishful thinking.

Gorky said that a mother was the most important person in our lives, and her love was the most precious treasure.¹

I wholeheartedly agree with the first half of that statement, but not entirely with the second.

Because I love my mother far more than she loves me.

My father died in a car accident when I was fifteen, and from then on, my mother raised me alone.

I had no other relatives; the phrase “depending on each other for survival” truly encapsulated our lives. She was just an ordinary housewife, unemployed and with little savings.

My illness required money; the medical and living expenses were astronomical, plunging our lives into darkness, suffocation, and oppression… a world without light.

During that time, my mother grew increasingly haggard and thin.

Those were the most difficult and darkest days, but we survived.

With the family savings, my father’s car accident insurance, and student loans, I finished university and found a well-paying job after graduation.

The first thing I did after receiving my salary after becoming a full-time employee was to buy my mother a beautiful dress she had always wanted but couldn’t afford, along with a new digital watch.

“Look, this watch can make calls, monitor your health data, and even locate you. If you can’t find it, just check its location. The emergency contact is me; if anything happens, you can call me…”

Receiving this gift and listening to my gentle, detailed instructions, she cried.

This dress cost as much as six months’ worth of living expenses during our most difficult times.

But now, I could buy it for her without hesitation.

I helped her put on the dress and said, “You are the most beautiful, the prettiest mother in the world.”

My mother just smiled through her tears, unable to say a word, but I could see she was pleased and proud of me. Sometimes emotions didn’t need words; a single glance was enough.

I thought we had weathered the darkest night and that the rest of our lives would be bright and promising.

But now I had received news of her death.

I wasn’t by her side when she died.

I couldn’t imagine how my mother was before she left this world, what she went through, and how I… wasn’t there for her when she needed help the most.

I wasn’t there for her.

I wasn’t even by her side.

I couldn’t forgive myself. For a long time, I was depressed, consumed by intense pain and self-blame.

But no matter how painful it was, as her only daughter, I had to come and handle her funeral arrangements.

My rent wasn’t due yet, and I had nowhere else to go in the city, so I decided to stay in the apartment my mother had rented for the time being.

After it was confirmed that it wasn’t a murder, the area was reopened, but the neighbors still talked about how a woman had recently died in the innermost room on the third floor.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs with my suitcase, I heard the piercing siren of an ambulance.

Paramedics rushed upstairs from behind me, and soon after, they carried down an emaciated girl. I only had time to glance at her; the stretcher was covered in blood, a bright red color indicating it had just flowed, like fallen plum blossoms on snow, gradually blooming, merging into a vast expanse.

Following closely behind the emergency responders was the girl’s mother, a middle-aged woman with short, curly hair, who appeared to be in her fifties.

The middle-aged woman looked panicked, repeatedly pleading with the paramedics to save her daughter.

Downstairs, a crowd had gathered, discussing the family’s plight—

The woman’s name was Zheng Feng. She was a long-time resident of this building on Changmian Street, having lived there for at least four or five years. She was usually very warm and cheerful, but her life was incredibly difficult.

She was a single mother. To support her family, Zheng Feng worked two jobs: a cleaner at the nearby shopping mall during the day and a parking attendant at night, often working half the night, getting very little sleep, and doing the dirtiest and most exhausting work.

Even though I now lived a life free from financial worries, there were still many people in this world, just like we had been back then, struggling at the very bottom of society.

Zheng Feng’s workplace, a shopping mall, was two kilometers away. She couldn’t bear to spend the bus fare, so logically, she didn’t need to go home at noon. But she still came home every day, rain or shine, even though it was such a long walk.

The reason was simple: the girl the ambulance just took away.

It was said that the child that Zheng Feng raised with great difficulty suffered from depression. She dropped out of school after the first year of junior high and had been out of school for about three or four years. During this time, ambulances came countless times; each time, the girl had self-harmed, and her mother, upon returning home, noticed something was wrong and called for emergency help.

Zheng Feng was a kind-hearted person who liked to chat with her neighbors. Given her child’s special circumstances, most of the residents in the building knew about their family.

I sighed.

After everyone left, I carried my suitcase to my mother’s house and opened the door with the key the landlord gave me.

The one-bedroom apartment was cramped and sparsely furnished. Outside, it was overcast, and inside, a damp, gray haze hung in the air.

I sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the empty room.

In a fleeting moment, a realization dawned on me: from this day forward, I would be utterly alone in this world.

My mother didn’t have much money, and she didn’t like spending it. The fruit on the table was no longer fresh; perhaps she had bought the cheapest, soon-to-be-rotten fruit.

My mother had always been frugal. Even after I started working for a few years and the family had more money, she still didn’t spend much. I was the one who bought everything for her.

I began sorting through her belongings.

In her wardrobe, I saw the dress that had been hanging there, but it was torn. The more expensive something was, the less practical it often was; a slight scratch could damage it. But my mother hadn’t thrown it away; she had simply kept it deep inside the wardrobe.

In the boxes inside the wardrobe were some bankbooks, bank cards, her ID card…

And the digital watch I had bought for her. The watch face was broken; it was ruined, too.

No wonder she couldn’t call me immediately. I should have realized it, but the busyness of work made me neglect her in the years that followed.

The word “belongings” alone was enough to bring silence.

Every item here was her belongings; every corner carried the shadow of my mother’s life.

Her phone password was still the same. My mother had a bad memory; all her electronic devices’ unlock passwords and payment passwords were the same: her birthday.

There were few contacts in her phone, and the text messages were all spam sales pitches. The latest message was from me.

【Mom, I will come see you next week after I finish handing over this project.】

Looking at the message, my tears silently fell onto the phone screen.

If I hadn’t been delayed by the project and had come earlier, could I have saved my mother? Could… this tragedy have been avoided?

I should have noticed something was wrong when she didn’t reply to my messages.

But there was no going back.

**

Waiting for the final investigation results and purchasing a burial plot both required time.

Burial plots were expensive, and I didn’t want to give my mother a poorly chosen one.

Money used to be our biggest problem, but now it had become the least of our problems.

I took a long leave from work, saying I couldn’t go back until I finished dealing with things here, and the company understood.

Three days later, I heard a noise next door. I looked out the window and saw that Zheng Feng had returned. The girl who had been taken away by the ambulance was sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed by Zheng Feng to the hallway outside to bask in the sun.

I looked at her more curiously.

The girl looked extremely thin; her exposed skin tightly covered her bones, like a skeleton. Her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, and her eyes stared blankly at the potted plants in the hallway, as if in a daze.

Because of the nearby building’s obstruction, only half of the corridor received sunlight, and the warm light fell upon her, softening her sharp features.

If she were a healthy child, she would now be as beautiful and vibrant as a flower among green leaves.

Occasionally, the girl’s eyes would flicker; if it weren’t for this movement, I would have almost thought the person in the wheelchair was a corpse.

Zheng Feng was watering several potted plants nearby.

She turned her head and met my gaze, but instead of showing displeasure, she smiled and nodded at me.

I thought that she seemed like an easy person to get along with.

**

In the afternoon, around lunchtime, I opened the refrigerator, intending to cook something, but seeing it was empty, I realized I hadn’t gone grocery shopping much in the past few days, and the expired items had been thrown away.

The aroma of chicken soup wafted from next door, rich and irresistible.

I took a deep breath, somewhat missing the taste of home-cooked meals. My mother never cooked; I always did the cooking. Later, I often traveled for work, so I could only prepare many convenient, hot meals for her in advance, but how could those compare to freshly cooked vegetables?

Making chicken soup required not only a special base but also a special container.

Next time, I would buy a better clay pot, a free-range chicken, some ginger, dark soy sauce, light soy sauce, cooking wine… Bring it to a boil over high heat, skim off the foam, then simmer over low heat for two or three hours. After cooking, sprinkle with seasonings and chopped green onions…

I suddenly froze.

My mother was gone. What was the point of even the best-tasting chicken soup?

Knock, knock, knock.

The knocking interrupted my thoughts. Opening the door, I found it was Zheng Feng, carrying a half-full pot of soup, with a considerable amount of chicken and herbs inside.

It seemed every cook had their own secret recipe.

“My daughter can’t eat meat, only soup. I can’t even finish a whole pot myself. I heard you’re new here, living alone…”

Zheng Feng’s face didn’t show any heaviness or pain; instead, it was full of optimism and enthusiasm.

She didn’t have much money. This chicken soup was clearly not something she could afford every day; there was no way she could finish it all.

Zheng Feng didn’t hide her purpose in bringing the chicken soup. She frankly asked me to keep an eye on her daughter while she was at work and to call her anytime if there were any problems. Knowing I was on leave, she repeatedly asked me to check on her daughter from time to time.

“You are really doing so much trouble for me; you’re so kind.”

“Having a neighbor like you is my blessing; thank you so much!”

It was clear that she was genuinely worried about her daughter, but had to go out to work to earn money.

From that day on, Zheng Feng and I became familiar. She was indeed, as the neighbors described, a kind-hearted person. Her daughter, named Zheng Yurou, took her surname. Knowing about my family’s troubles, Zheng Feng felt very sorry for me and often brought me some vegetables for dinner.

Of course, she was also thanking me for helping look after her daughter.

Actually, I didn’t do anything.

Because it had been so quiet next door these past few days, I went to her house several times, using the spare key under the cushion to open the door. Each time, I saw her daughter sitting quietly in her wheelchair, motionless, like a soulless puppet.

Out of politeness, I never stayed long at her house.

I asked Zheng Feng, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal something from your house if you give me the spare key?”

Zheng Feng just smiled and said, “We are dirt poor. The most valuable thing we have is the child’s medicine. What would you need that for?”

The current situation of this mother and daughter reminded me of the days when my mother and I depended on each other. We were so similar, yet so different. Zheng Yurou’s mother loved her so much, while my mother had abandoned me…

I truly envied Zheng Yurou for having such a devoted mother.

**

A few more days passed. My mother’s funeral was almost over. We didn’t have many relatives or friends, so the funeral didn’t need to be grand, but the necessary rites still had to be observed. After everything was dealt with, the police had reached a conclusion:

It was confirmed to be an accident. An investigation revealed that the neighbors all stated my mother had no history of suicidal tendencies. A few days before her death, she had even become a member of a newly opened supermarket nearby; a person intending to commit suicide wouldn’t do that.

Suicide was ruled out, and no other biological traces or unusual circumstances were found at the scene, so it was classified as an accident.

It was currently the peak holiday season, and plane tickets were hard to book. I was only able to snag a ticket back to the company in three days.

That day, I returned from the funeral home, too exhausted to keep my eyes open. Completely worn out, I lay down without even showering. In my dream, I saw my mother again, trying on a dress. Just as I was about to hug her, I was awakened by a rapid knocking on the door.

I checked my phone; it was 2:15 AM.

It was eerily quiet; not even a car was passing by. In the cold, dark night, the house was pitch black. I could only see a shadowy figure standing in the corner. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and realized it was just a coat hanger.

It was so late; no one should be knocking at the door.

But the knocking went on persistently, as if determined not to give up until I opened the door.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

The knocking sound and rhythm were eerie and monotonous; a normal person wouldn’t knock like that.

The knocking wasn’t loud; the person wasn’t using much force.

I called out, “Who is it?” and, throwing on my coat, went to the door. Looking through the peephole, although it was dark outside, I could still see no one, and no one answered my question.

Knock, knock, knock.

The knocking started again.

Something was wrong. There was no one outside, so why was the knocking on the door still there?

I was an atheist; I didn’t believe in ghosts.

If ghosts really existed, why hadn’t my mother’s ghost come out to see me after living here for so many days?

Knock, knock, knock.

The eerie knocking continued.

Whether it was a person or a ghost, I decided to open the door and see.