Chapter 6 – Severing Ties Letter

Song Zhenzhen was extremely unwilling, but she also knew this wasn’t the time to act spoiled. If someone reported her, her previous background would be exposed. Even though she had technically severed ties with her former family, there was no guarantee the Revolutionary Committee would accept that. She had heard those people were like mad dogs—completely unreasonable.

She turned and went back into her room, closed the door, pulled a leather suitcase from under the bed, and took a stack of money out of its inner compartment—2,400 yuan and a bundle of ration coupons. All of it had been prepared by Song Hao and Bai Qingxia, practically draining their household of cash and coupons. The sum had been divided into three parts. This was two of the three; the last part was originally meant for her, and she would never hand it over. Even if Song Ziyi was found, she could still claim that portion was hers—after all, Bai Qingxia had handed it over in Song Ziyi’s presence.

Song Zhenzhen came out holding the money. When Song Weiguo and Li Shulan saw such a large sum, their eyes turned red with greed. They had no idea their biological daughter had brought so much money and coupons from her previous home. Earlier, Li Shulan had tested the waters, and Song Zhenzhen had firmly claimed she’d only received a few dozen yuan for travel expenses. They hadn’t doubted it, assuming her foster family wouldn’t have given much to a girl who wasn’t their real daughter.

After all, even when they thought Song Yun was their own daughter, they’d never given her a single cent.

Now Song Weiguo deeply regretted everything. That was a lot of money.

But regret came too late. Song Yun directly snatched the money from Song Zhenzhen’s hands and counted it right in front of Song Weiguo and Li Shulan—2,400 yuan in cash, plus a bundle of ration coupons: grain, cloth, sugar, cotton, and more, worth another 700 or 800 yuan.

She wrote the exact amounts into the severance letter so that they couldn’t later turn around and accuse her of anything.

“The severance letter is already written,” Song Yun said calmly, placing the document on the table. “Now just give me the letter of introduction, and I’ll sign and press my fingerprint.”

Song Weiguo struggled to tear his gaze away from that thick stack of money and coupons. He kept reminding himself: Your life matters. Life is more important than money.

After carefully reviewing the severance letter, Song Weiguo’s eyes darkened, and he gave Song Yun a fierce look.
“Wait here. I’ll go write the introduction letter.”

After he left, Song Yun ignored the bloodshot stare from Li Shulan, who was clearly eyeing the money. She returned to her small, dark room and quickly packed a few clothes into an old cloth bundle. She took a few dozen yuan and several coupons and stuffed them into her coat pocket. The remaining money and coupons went into a small cloth pouch the original Song Yun had sewn by hand. She then used a needle and thread to sew the pouch into her clothing—a trick she had learned from a movie. In these times, pickpockets were everywhere.

By the time she stepped out of her room again, Song Weiguo had returned. He handed her the letter of introduction with a dark face.

Song Yun didn’t hesitate—she and the Song couple signed and stamped their fingerprints onto the severance letter, in triplicate. Each party kept one copy, and one would be sent to the neighborhood office for official record.

Though his heart ached over the money, Song Weiguo still felt a huge weight lifted from his chest. To him, Song Yun had become a ticking time bomb. Severing ties was the only way he could find peace.

“Since I’m no longer part of this family, my household registration should be moved out as well,” Song Yun said coldly.

Naturally, Song Weiguo had no objections—he couldn’t be happier.

Since Song Yun had nowhere to go for now, she transferred her hukou (household registration) and grain registration to the neighborhood committee temporarily. Normally this was hard to do, but she got lucky—Zhang Hongmei, mother of her friend Yang Lifen, happened to be at the office and knew her well. Feeling sorry for her situation, Zhang helped her process it quickly.

Song Weiguo glanced complexly at the small cloth bundle hanging from Song Yun’s shoulder but ultimately said and did nothing, turning to leave.

He might have been greedy for the money, but he also knew it was linked to rightists. Touching it could spell his doom if the Revolutionary Committee caught wind of it.

Of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to report Song Yun either—if they investigated too deeply, his whole family, including the “newly recognized” daughter, might get dragged down with her.

More importantly, he believed Zhenzhen hadn’t handed over all the money. She must have kept some, and as her biological father, he’d end up benefiting from it eventually.

Unaware of the schemes in Song Weiguo’s mind, Song Yun thanked Zhang Hongmei and hurried toward the bus station. It was already 1:30 PM—who knew how long it would take to reach the suburbs? She couldn’t waste a single second.

Fortunately, luck was on her side. Just as she arrived, a bus headed for the outskirts was departing. She finally reached Fengtai Station at 3:00 PM, then rented a donkey cart to head to the address Song Zhenzhen had given her: Xiaba Village.

Zhenzhen hadn’t picked Xiaba Village at random.

She had once overheard a cleaning woman at Jingbei University chatting with someone, saying there was a family in Xiaba Village with five daughters, who were desperate for a son. At the time, reborn Song Zhenzhen hadn’t thought much of it. But later, when Song Hao and Bai Qingxia entrusted her with Song Ziyi, the first thought that came to mind was to give him to that family.

And that’s exactly what she had done.

When Song Yun arrived at Xiaba Village, it was already 4:30 PM. Afraid she wouldn’t find a way back, she gave the donkey cart driver one yuan and asked him to wait at the village entrance.

The driver, thrilled by the generous tip, happily agreed.

Song Yun asked around briefly and quickly found Wang Daqiang’s home.

Like most houses in the village, it was made of mud bricks, surrounded by a makeshift fence, with all sorts of junk piled in the yard. Given her height, she could easily see everything inside from outside the fence.

She immediately spotted a boy crouched in the corner, washing clothes in a wooden basin. His back was to her, and beside him lay a pile of filthy laundry. A fat woman sat under the eaves with two teenage girls, cracking sunflower seeds and occasionally yelling at the boy—sometimes calling him slow, other times scolding him for not washing properly. When she got angrier, she would even throw pebbles or clumps of dirt at him.

Song Yun’s heart pounded wildly.

She pushed open the loosely latched fence gate and ignored the fat woman’s loud shouting. She rushed to the boy’s side and called out, her voice trembling:

“Ziyi?”

The boy, silently crying, suddenly looked up—and saw a face that felt both unfamiliar and strangely familiar. He had never seen it before, but it resembled his mother’s.

Song Yun choked on her words. She couldn’t speak.
It really was Ziyi—her younger brother from her previous life, the one who had died at eight years old. That face was exactly the same.

Just as she was about to speak again, someone shoved her shoulder.

“Who are you? What are you doing barging into our house?”

The fat woman stood there, blocking Ziyi from view, her huge frame shielding him from his sister.

In this era of poverty and starvation, it was rare to see anyone this fat.

Song Yun quickly composed herself. Her gaze turned icy as she pointed at the boy—who had a rope tied around him—and said coldly:

“That’s my little brother. I’ve been searching for him for a long time, and now I’ve finally found him. You people are bold—how dare you engage in human trafficking? Do you know what kind of crime that is?”