Chapter 30: Yuzao’s Indifference Is Unsettling

"Gasp! Sister? You... what are you doing..."

Yu Yue covered her mouth, screaming in shock.

Fu Yiyi jumped down from Zhao Yueyao’s arms, shielding his beloved "mommy" with his tiny body.

"Bad woman, get away from my mommy! You stink, and you’ll make my mommy sick to death!" The little boy gestured wildly.

The bruised, delicate skin on his body, previously hidden beneath his clothes, was suddenly exposed to Yu Zao’s eyes. Her chest tightened with a dull, sharp pain. Three years ago, the sight of her son crying day and night, begging for his mother to return, pierced her already exhausted nerves.

Action always outpaced thought. Driven by maternal instinct and guilt, she scrambled up from the ground, desperate to check the bruises on Yiyi.

"Yiyi, let Mommy see. Does it hurt? Is someone bullying you? Tell Mommy, Mommy will—"

*Slap!* A tiny hand struck her face.

It didn't hurt—not really. But why did it feel a hundred times more agonizing than being sliced to death or torn apart?

Fu Yiyi kicked her in disgust and quickly ran back to Yu Yue, who was being held by Fu Shiyong. He grabbed "Mommy's" hand and demanded that a servant disinfect him with alcohol.

"You filthy thing, you are not Yiyi’s mommy! Yiyi only has one mommy. Daddy said Yiyi is the fruit of the love between Daddy and Mommy."

To be insulted and treated this way by the very son she had carried for ten months and brought into the world through life-and-death struggle—Yu Zao felt like a rootless duckweed, swaying, yet desperately clinging to the last of her strength to keep from collapsing in humiliation.

Her cold eyes were vacant, devoid of emotion.

Fu Shiyong, who had been watching the scene coldly, felt his heart squeezed by an unseen, restless hand. It was a sensation of bitterness and panic. He subconsciously moved to follow Yu Zao as she walked toward the basement without a word.

Yu Yue reached out toward Yiyi.

The next second, the little boy began to wail heart-wrenchingly, another blood-seeping bruise appearing on his skin. Fu Shiyong, caring most for his son, rushed to soothe him.

In the basement, Yu Zao found the painting in the corner based on her memory. The brushwork was neat, the lines as gentle as the Goddess Victoria, looking down upon all living things with primordial emotion. A line was inscribed at the bottom: *To my dearest daughter, Little Yu.*

In the painting, under the sun and amidst a rainbow, a young girl with a carefree smile ran across the grass, her beauty lingering in every turn. During the years her mother was at her sickest, she would often hold her and murmur, "My treasure is so beautiful and kind, but why? Why does God have to give me this illness and force me to leave you?"

Back then, as a teenager, Yu Zao hadn't understood. Why did her mother, clearly so exhausted, dance on her bed day and night?

It wasn't until she gave birth to Fu Yiyi, became a mother herself, and fell ill, that she understood. The breakdown, the grievance, the helplessness against fate—as the daughter of her mother, she had tasted it all, drop by drop.

"Mom, I'm sorry. Your Little Yu can no longer run under the sun."

She leaned against the painting, inhaling the scent of gardenias lingering on the dried watercolors, as if her mother were still holding her shattered soul in the warmest embrace.

"Also, I’m sick too. I thought I could be with Fu Shiyong forever, that we could love each other for a lifetime. But the current me... I can’t do it anymore. Let them hate me, just as you let Dad hate you back then, leading to his infidelity..."

Tears slid down silently.

Outside, Yu Yue and her mother were pampered by two men. Everyone envied them for their beauty, kindness, and good fortune. In the filthy, claustrophobic basement, Yu Zao clutched her mother’s only legacy and left through the back door, a ghost in her own home.

*Bang, bang, bang—*

Dazzling fireworks erupted into the sky. Hundreds of drones formed colorful, intricate patterns, finally settling into a line of text: *Congratulations to Ms. Zhao Yueyao for proving her copyright and reclaiming the glory that belongs to her.*

In a single second, a swarm of reporters, long since lying in wait, surged forward. They surrounded Yu Zao—who was still clutching her mother’s work—with their cameras and microphones.

"Miss Yu Zao, Mr. Yu announced on Weibo this morning that you would personally come tonight to apologize for your mother. Is that true?"

"Miss Yu Zao, you were greedy for vanity and abandoned your husband and child three years ago, and now your mother has become a habitual plagiarist. Is this the result of a naturally evil gene?"

"Miss Yu Zao, now that you’ve appeared at Ms. Zhao’s birthday banquet, does this mean you admit to your mother’s depravity and are filled with guilt?"

Every word hammered down on her. Yu Zao was still struggling to grasp the situation. The Yu family servants grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her knees to hit the rough stone floor with a loud thud.

"Old Yu, Yu Zao is your daughter after all. Maybe we should let this go," said Zhao Yueyao, now over fifty but still young and beautiful, nourished by her husband's care.

But when her own mother died, she had been malnourished and skeletal. On a night no one paid attention to, she had jumped from a dilapidated rental house in the urban village...

"How can we? I’ve already discussed it with our son-in-law," Yu’s father said righteously. "A mother’s debt must be paid by the daughter. Yu Zao has the obligation to apologize to you on her mother’s behalf."

Fu Shiyong, holding Yu Yue’s hand, kept his dark eyes inscrutable. "That's right, Mother-in-law. Their mother-daughter pair is so base that they have caused both you and Yu Yue harm. Today, let’s settle the bill once and for all, and give those who are truly kind and innocent an explanation."

What a pleasant voice. Deep, husky, and perpetually seductive.

Pinned to the ground by servants, Yu Zao felt the ache of being deceived by her own father on one side, and on the other, the man she had loved—and who had once loved her—was now crushing the last shred of her and her mother's dignity into the mud for his new flame.

Cameras were shoved into her face. The scene was broadcast live across major media platforms.

Under the gloomy moonlight, Yu Yue crossed her arms, triumphantly whispering, "Rejected by your father, loathed by your son, and now even Shiyong stands firmly on the side of me and my mother. Hahaha, Yu Zao, you really have lost everything!"

Yet, over a decade ago, when her father had kicked her out, she had screamed hysterically at Zhao Yueyao, "Zhao Yueyao, you mistress! God has eyes; you will meet a miserable end! You will never replace my mother’s status in the art world, never!"

But ironically, her mother’s photo, once hanging at the highest point of the Jingbei Art Museum, had long since been tossed into the trash, replaced by Zhao Yueyao’s. Her mother's works, because of the Fu Group’s backing, were all declared plagiarisms, and the original author was listed as: Zhao Yueyao!

Even more ridiculous, three years ago, she had shouted the same thing to Yu Yue: "Steal Shiyong? Yu Yue, you’re dreaming. This man is mine in life and in death. As long as I, Yu Zao, am alive, he will never fall for you!"

How confident she had been. But now?

*Bang, bang, bang—*

Her head was grabbed by a servant and slammed down. Once, twice, until she was bloodied, until Yu Yue and her mother were both leaning comfortably into the arms of the men who loved them.

One was understanding: "Old Yu, it’s a birthday celebration; let’s not have too much blood."

The other stood on her tiptoes, acting spoiled: "Shiyong, my feet are tired. Will you carry me back to the room to rest?"

"Of course."

The man was gentle and affectionate. He scooped up his precious fiancée, and before leaving, he coldly commanded, "Clean up this filth. Don't let it disturb the cleanliness of the Yu residence."

"Yes, Chairman."

That night, Yu Zao was thrown out, covered in blood. When Yang Chen heard the news and rushed over frantically, he found her unconscious, still clutching the oil painting to her chest, as she was taken away by a black luxury car...