Chapter 432 - 243: Jiang Guoqiang Berates Lu Fan! An Internal Conflict: Should He Forgive?

Chapter 432: Chapter 243: Jiang Guoqiang Berates Lu Fan! An Internal Conflict: Should He Forgive?

「It turned out that this had all started half an hour ago.」

Pan Lanfang couldn’t take it anymore.

She once again stood at the door to Jiang Yixia’s bedroom, her hand resting on the doorknob. She hesitated for a long moment before pushing the door open.

Ever since she found out Lu Fan and Jiang Yixia’s secret, Jiang Guoqiang had constantly noticed she wasn’t acting right. But she couldn’t tell him what was wrong. With no other choice, she had to sneak into Jiang Yixia’s room to look at that old photograph.

She walked to the side of the bed, squatted down, and began dragging out the cardboard boxes from underneath, one by one.

The first, the second, the third.

The smallest one, its corners frayed with age.

Her hand paused on the lid. She took a deep breath and opened it.

The book was still there—the yellowed one with the curled cover.

She took the book out and opened it. The photograph was tucked quietly inside.

Her fingers traced the lettering—the indentations left behind by a ballpoint pen pressed hard into the paper.

She stared at the photograph for a long time.

What she didn’t know was that Jiang Guoqiang was standing in the hallway, right outside her door.

He had come upstairs to look for something. When he reached the door and saw it was ajar, he was about to push it open but stopped when he heard a noise from within.

He peeked inside and saw Pan Lanfang squatting on the floor, holding a photograph and studying it intently.

Her shoulders were trembling slightly, as if she were crying, or perhaps trying not to.

He didn’t make a sound. He just turned and went back downstairs.

A little while later, Pan Lanfang tucked the photo back into the book, put the book back in the box, pushed the box under the bed, then stood up, dusted off her knees, and left the room.

When she came downstairs, Jiang Guoqiang was sitting in the main hall watching television, a cup of tea in his hand.

She glanced at him, but he didn’t look back.

So Pan Lanfang went into the kitchen and started preparing vegetables for dinner.

Jiang Guoqiang turned off the TV, stood up, and went upstairs.

He pushed open the door to Jiang Yixia’s room and walked inside.

The room was quiet, the curtains still half-drawn.

He squatted down and dragged out the boxes from under the bed, one by one.

The first: textbooks and notebooks from high school and college, stacked neatly.

The second: old clothes, folded properly.

The third: the smallest one.

He opened it. Inside were a hairpin, a bracelet, a few letters, and a book.

At first, Jiang Guoqiang assumed Pan Lanfang had been crying because seeing these old mementos from Jiang Yixia’s youth made her sentimental.

Just as he was about to put the book back, he happened to notice something tucked inside it.

He took out the book and opened it.

A photograph slid out, fluttering to the floor.

Jiang Guoqiang bent down to pick it up. The moment he turned it over, he froze on the spot, as if he’d been struck by lightning.

In the photo, Jiang Yixia was leaning against a young man’s shoulder, her face flushed as she smiled a particularly beautiful smile.

The man in the photo had a bold smile, his eyes brimming with youthful bravado.

Jiang Guoqiang stared at the face, his pupils contracting sharply.

Even twenty years younger, with more hair and fewer wrinkles, he still recognized those features.

It was Lu Xiaofan.

The same man he had been calling "Xiaolu" for months.

The same man who had helped him repair the irrigation channel, catch fish, sell fish, and run errands at the hospital.

The same man who brought him tea every time he visited, drank with him, and called him "Uncle."

His fingers trembling, he flipped the photo over.

A line was written on the back. The ballpoint ink had smudged a little, but every word was still perfectly clear.

"Yixia and Lu Fan, the tenth day of being together."

The words seared into his eyes like a red-hot brand, burning straight into his chest.

The color drained from Jiang Guoqiang’s face.

He stared at the words, his hands starting to shake.

The photograph trembled between his fingers, making a faint rustling sound.

His eyes turned red—not from tears, but from the blood rushing to his head.

Jiang Guoqiang thought of eighteen years ago, when Jiang Yixia had returned to the village alone with two children, so thin she was barely recognizable.

He had asked her who the man was, but she wouldn’t say.

When he pressed her, she would just cry.

Eventually, he stopped asking.

The villagers pointed fingers and gossiped, the relatives mocked and ridiculed them, and he endured it all.

He had assumed the man was dead, that he would never see him again in this lifetime.

But not only was the man not dead, he’d been right under his nose this whole time.

Helping him fix the channel, helping him catch fish, calling him Uncle, pouring him tea.

Jiang Guoqiang’s legs gave out, and he had to grab the edge of the bed for support.

He gasped for air, his chest feeling as if it were blocked by something, making it hard to breathe.

He clutched the photograph tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

His lips trembled. He wanted to say something, but no words would come out.

He stood there for a long while before he finally collected himself.

He put the photograph in his pocket, pushed the boxes back under the bed, stood up, and walked down the stairs, one step at a time.

Pan Lanfang was in the kitchen preparing vegetables when she heard footsteps and looked up.

Jiang Guoqiang was standing in the kitchen doorway, his face ashen and his eyes red, clutching something in his hand.

"Old woman," he said. His voice was low, as if forced from the depths of his chest.

Seeing the look on his face, Pan Lanfang dropped the vegetables she was holding. "Old man, what’s wrong?"

Jiang Guoqiang didn’t answer. He walked into the kitchen and slammed the photograph down on the cutting board.

SMACK! A cucumber rolled across the floor.

Pan Lanfang looked down, and the color instantly drained from her face.

Her lips trembled. She wanted to say something, but no words would come out.

Jiang Guoqiang looked at her, his voice trembling. "You knew all along, didn’t you?"

Pan Lanfang opened her mouth. "Old man, I... I..."