Reversed Life: Chapter 20 - Father Qiao: “Son, I love you!”
Chapter 20: Father Qiao: “Son, I love you!”
‘Trust and affirmation, huh…’
Qiao Nan parked the car outside the urban village, still some distance away from the Mu family home. Then he turned off the engine, opened the sunroof, and stared blankly at the stars overhead.
He pulled out a cigarette pack, took one cigarette out, held it between his lips for a while, then removed it and fiddled with it in his fingers. Before long, the slender little thing snapped cleanly into two pieces between his fingertips.
How strange. Now that nobody was around to interrupt him, he suddenly didn’t feel like smoking anymore.
The adrenaline from earlier gradually ebbed away. Qiao Nan couldn’t tell whether the exhaustion creeping over him came from the racing or from Mu Xiangxiang’s unnecessary comment.
He couldn’t even remember the first time he touched a steering wheel. But by then, the Qiao household had probably already been as silent as a graveyard. Truthfully, Qiao Nan had never been obsessed with street racing. A large part of why he tagged along was probably just boredom. So after realizing that the racetrack and the cheers of spectators didn’t actually make life feel any fuller, he quickly grew tired of the whole thing.
Back then, he often returned from different tracks late at night, parking downstairs under the starlight and zoning out. Thinking back now, it had really been childish. What was there to stare at in those pitch-black apartment windows?
The phone on the dashboard buzzed once. Lying there, Qiao Nan casually grabbed it and held it before his eyes—
[Mom: Xiang, it’s almost eleven. Are you back yet?]
Qiao Nan stared at the “Mom” in the contact name for a while. Then he abruptly sat upright, shoved the broken cigarette into the console without care, shut the windows, got out, and locked the car.
From far away, he could already see the large bulb glowing beneath the awning outside the Mu family’s first-floor window. Its warm yellow light mingled with the dim old streetlights of the neighborhood, illuminating the night. For all these days, no matter how late he came back, that light had always been left on until he entered the house. Like an arrow guiding someone home.
The Mu family members were as quiet and gentle as that light.
But tonight seemed different.
Before he even knocked, Qiao Nan heard a sharp sound of something shattering from inside the house.
Mother Mu opened the door. Seeing her daughter return on time, her eyes brightened. The light from inside and the noisy commotion both spilled outward as Qiao Nan’s gaze swept past her into the house.
Mother Mu lowered her voice. “Your brother’s back. He’s arguing with your dad. Don’t mind them.”
Ever since the body swap, Qiao Nan hadn’t met him once. Hearing this, he actually paused blankly for a second before remembering that Mu Xiangxiang did indeed have a younger brother. What was his name again? Mu Song?
Mu Song was several years younger than Mu Xiangxiang and currently in middle school. Though they lived in the same city, he usually boarded at school and only came home on weekends.
Today was Saturday.
Just as Qiao Nan processed this, a bedroom door slammed open with a kick, accompanied by a shout of “None of your business!” A boy around 1.7 meters tall stormed out of the room opposite Mu Xiangxiang’s. He radiated aggression as he headed straight for the front door, tugging a sweater over himself while walking.
Seeing him clearly, Qiao Nan was surprised. Mu Xiangxiang had mentioned that Mu Song was in a rebellious phase with a bad temper, but Qiao Nan hadn’t expected him to look so utterly different from the rest of the Mu family.
Mu Song was lean and wiry, pale like his sister. He wore loose-fitting jeans with enough rips to expose over a third of his legs. Qiao Nan’s gaze paused briefly on several reddish marks beneath the boy’s collarbone that looked suspiciously like hickeys. If he remembered correctly, Mu Song was only… fourteen?
Dyed gray hair poked out from beneath the sweater collar, followed by a pair of sharp eyes. The kid resembled Mu Xiangxiang a little—both had delicate, attractive features.
But their temperaments were completely different.
Standing in the doorway, the two met eyes directly. Mu Song froze for a second before recognizing that it was his sister. Dodging Mother Mu’s outstretched arm, he frowned at Qiao Nan. “Move.”
Pretty arrogant. Qiao Nan couldn’t remember how many years it had been since someone spoke to him in that tone. One eyebrow immediately arched high.
Father Mu limped out from the room behind him, his face livid with anger. “Where are you going this late?!”
“To stay at a classmate’s house.” Mu Song’s voice was icy. Seeing that Qiao Nan still hadn’t moved, he apparently assumed his sister was trying to stop him, too, so he repeated himself. “Move!”
Qiao Nan folded his arms and simply leaned against the doorframe, unmoved.
Mu Song blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction. Irritation flashed across his face as he looked up— And met a pair of eyes every bit as sharp as his own.
The gray-haired kid froze. Then all the momentum in his body abruptly deflated. He pressed his lips together. For some reason, he suddenly didn’t dare raise his voice at his usually soft-tempered sister the way he did with their parents. So he pushed the door open, squeezed awkwardly past Qiao Nan, and slipped out from the side.
Looking oddly pitiful.
Mother Mu stamped her foot with an “Aiya!” “How did things turn out like this again?”
Father Mu said nothing. He raked a hand through his hair, went back into the room, then emerged carrying a coat. Looking at Mother Mu, he said, “Go after him.”
Mother Mu accepted the coat helplessly and hurried outside. The house fell quiet. Father Mu stood there hunched over, his complexion growing grayer and more defeated by the second. His eyes were so dim they seemed almost devoid of light.
Qiao Nan straightened up. Seeing the utterly crushed look on the man’s face, he hesitated before finally asking, “…What happened?”
“We ran into your uncle and aunt. They… said some unpleasant things. Your brother wanted to hit them, and I stopped him.” Father Mu sighed, then forced a smile toward his daughter’s complicated expression. “It’s fine. He’ll calm down in a few days. How was the party today? Since it was a classmate’s birthday, you must’ve eaten something good, right?”
Qiao Nan stared at the man before him, whose eyes churned with heavy despair. After a moment, he looked away. “I’m hungry.”
Father Mu had been replaying the image of his son furiously lunging at his elder brother’s family, only to be stopped by him. How disappointed the child must’ve been—he’d only been trying to stand up for his father.
But Father Mu had no choice except to think about the consequences after that moment of satisfaction. He wasn’t a competent husband or father. Forget giving his family a comfortable life—he couldn’t even provide them with an environment of dignity and equality.
He was drowning in self-loathing. So when his daughter answered him, he didn’t immediately process it. “You didn’t eat enough tonight?”
Qiao Nan complained with a straight face, “Yeah. The food at the party was awful. I spat out everything after a few bites.”
“How can that be!” Father Mu’s expression changed instantly. Bracing himself against the wall, he struggled upright. “You child, no matter what, you can’t let yourself go hungry this late! Do you want Dad to make you a late-night snack?”
Because his daughter had finally permitted it, he’d gradually been allowed back into the kitchen these past few days. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even have dared suggest it.
Qiao Nan immediately ordered without shame: “Yeah. Noodles. Add two fried eggs.”
Father Mu instantly rolled up his sleeves and limped energetically toward the kitchen, his back suddenly full of vigor.
After stuffing money into her son’s hands and sending him off with a coat, Mother Mu returned beneath the starlight looking dejected. But when she pushed open the door, she found the atmosphere at home surprisingly different from what she’d expected.
This wasn’t the first war their household had experienced. Mu Song was young and didn’t know how to endure quietly. He often exploded over conflicts like today’s, and it usually ended with him storming out.
Mother Mu could sense her husband’s guilt. Every time their son left, Father Mu would spend the entire night awake in a daze. Sometimes he even cried in secret. After crying, his eyes would become especially hollow.
Sometimes that state lasted for days.
But tonight felt different.
The kitchen occasionally rang with clattering noises. Carefully shutting the door behind her, she tiptoed over and asked her daughter, seated at the dining table, “What happened?”
Qiao Nan was currently speechless over Father Mu making such a huge fuss. “I just wanted a bowl of fried egg noodles! It could’ve been something simple!”
Father Mu was standing on tiptoe, vigorously kneading a pale yellow dough in a basin. The dough looked ordinary enough, but Qiao Nan had just watched him take a pork tenderloin and a chicken drumstick from the fridge, mince them into paste, and mix them in. Father Mu’s hands moved incredibly fast—the cleaver flashed so quickly it almost left afterimages. He even looked relaxed doing it, but—
Wasn’t this a little too much for “noodles”?! Even back at the Qiao residence, he’d never eaten noodles made through such a troublesome process!
“How could that be okay! You’re still growing. Those plain noodles are nothing but starch water. Besides making you fat, they have no nutrition at all!”
Father Mu clearly disagreed with his daughter. His voice was louder than usual, his entire body brimming with fighting spirit, as though he was determined to make sure his daughter ate well, ate enough, and ate happily.
The pot on the stove had come to a boil. The lid rattled noisily from the steam, and a rich aroma drifted out. Qiao Nan froze for a moment. He had only been pretending to comfort Father Mu earlier, but now he was genuinely hungry.
Mother Mu smiled knowingly. “Oh~ so that’s why you went all the way to the market this morning to buy chicken carcasses and pork bones. You were making soup stock?”
Father Mu chuckled sheepishly. Their family finances were tight, and he couldn’t afford expensive ingredients, so he could only buy cheap materials at the market. A stripped chicken carcass cost only four yuan, and leftover pork and beef bones that nobody wanted were still reasonably affordable. The entire pot of soup cost less than twelve yuan altogether, yet it could make several bowls of noodles for his daughter.
The dough was rolled flat, then finely sliced into evenly sized strands with a kitchen knife. Father Mu boiled another pot of water and shook the noodle strands evenly into it.
When he worked, his expression was incredibly focused, and his movements were quick and precise. Since he didn’t need to walk around, it was almost impossible to tell he was disabled.
Mother Mu leaned against the table, watching her husband. Her expression gradually softened.
Qiao Nan suddenly felt a pat on his shoulder. Looking up, he met a pair of eyes overflowing with happiness. “Your dad’s handsome, right?”
He didn’t answer. The atmosphere suddenly felt strange to him. If he had to describe it, it was like being wrapped in a blanket warmed by the sun—dry, soft, comforting.
So relaxed that he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Mother Mu kept smiling, her expression full of nostalgia, as though she were seeing her husband from many years ago. “You know, your dad was always like this when he was young. Back when we first met, we hadn’t even held hands yet, and he invited me over to his house and personally cooked an entire table of dishes for me. The moment I took the first bite, I decided—I was definitely going to marry this man.”
As she spoke, she suddenly cupped Qiao Nan’s face in both hands and leaned in—Smack.
Qiao Nan: “………………”
After a brief moment of mental blankness, he awkwardly raised a hand to wipe his face.
“You little brat, all grown up now, huh? You’re already starting to dislike your mom.” Mother Mu burst into laughter, then raised her voice toward the kitchen. “Old Mu, make me a bowl too! Extra cilantro and chili oil!”
Father Mu didn’t even look up as he chopped scallions. “Got it, got it.”
Even when the noodles were finally served, Qiao Nan was still in a daze. He lowered his head and stared at the huge soup bowl in front of him. The pale meat-colored noodles lay neatly inside. The broth was crystal clear, topped with a sprinkle of fresh green scallions, two plump fried eggs with runny yolks, and finally a small mound of translucent, ruby-red chili oil.
The aroma could only be described as overwhelming.
Qiao Nan had never lacked money, and he’d tasted countless delicacies before. Not to mention elsewhere—even in City A alone, every famous restaurant, private estate kitchen, and gourmet establishment had seen his footsteps. Yet despite all those culinary experiences, none of them could dim the brilliance of the bowl before him.
The handmade noodles had an incredibly rich texture. Perhaps because of the minced meat kneaded into the dough by Father Mu, the noodles themselves were already seasoned, savory, and deeply flavorful, which made the broth comparatively lighter.
And yet that seemingly plain broth—made from who knew what ingredients—combined with the chopped scallions and chili oil into a flavor every bit as delicious as the noodles themselves.
Sitting beneath the dim yellow light of the Mu family dining room, drinking a mouthful of that steaming noodle soup made every bone in one’s body loosen and relax.
Father Mu himself didn’t eat any. After taking a few bites, Mother Mu fed him a mouthful with her chopsticks. Probably embarrassed to show such intimacy in front of the children, he turned his head away awkwardly after swallowing it. “I don’t really have any talents. I just know how to mess around making food.”
“Don’t listen to your dad being modest. Back then, your dad was the star chef of our factory cafeteria. He earned twice as much salary as Mom did.” Mother Mu smiled as she picked up a piece of meat from near the bone and placed it into her daughter’s bowl. “You must be starving. Eat more.”
Qiao Nan stared at the sudden piece of meat in his bowl. The spot on his cheek where he’d been ambushed with that kiss earlier still seemed faintly numb. Without saying a word, he stuffed the meat into his mouth, then secretly glanced at the woman sitting beside the table from the corner of his eye.
Everything about her radiated a special warmth, gradually overlapping with another figure from Qiao Nan’s memories.
Almost ten years had passed. Qiao Nan had thought he’d forgotten. But he realized he still remembered that gentle face clearly. He simply never mentioned it to anyone anymore, except in the occasional longing dream.
Father Mu smiled bashfully at his wife’s praise, but the smile soon carried traces of melancholy. “…That’s all in the past now. Times have changed. The factory’s gone. I’ve been eliminated by the world.”
Mother Mu froze for a moment. Husband and wife looked at each other in silence.
Qiao Nan could hear the deep inferiority hidden in Father Mu’s words, and for some reason it made him extremely uncomfortable. Frowning, he said, “What do you mean eliminated? You’re incredibly capable. A bowl of noodles like this could sell for over a hundred at any restaurant. With your skills, you could make a fortune doing any small business.”
To be honest, he’d found it strange for days already. Father Mu spent all day weaving bamboo baskets and making brooms. Even together, they probably didn’t earn a thousand yuan a month. What was the point? You couldn’t call him lazy—he worked from dawn till dusk. Yet he wasn’t exactly content with the status quo either. And if you said he had no special skills—then what exactly had just been inside those now-empty soup bowls on the table?
Having grown up in a business family and absorbed entrepreneurship from childhood, Qiao Nan genuinely couldn’t understand it. If his own father, Qiao Yuanshan, got hold of Father Mu’s cooking skills, he’d probably have chain hotels and food companies opening branches in Antarctica by now.
His mind had already started calculating projects like company formation and investment fundraising. Only after finishing the last scallion in his bowl did Qiao Nan realize how strangely quiet things had become.
He looked up and met two pairs of stunned eyes.
Qiao Nan: “??”
Mother Mu withdrew the gaze she’d been directing at her daughter and slowly turned toward her husband. Father Mu also stared blankly back at his wife.
Their minds felt swollen, as though a fog had suddenly begun to clear, leaving them both speechless for a long moment.
*******
Amid a silence as dead as the grave, Qiao Nan inexplicably returned to his room to sleep. The next morning, when he woke up, his phone was flooded with random text messages—
[Unknown Number A: Hi, is this Mu Xiangxiang? I’m XXX from Class XX.]
[Unknown Number B: I’m XX, Gao Yan’s friend. Mu Xiangxiang, are you free this weekend? Want to hang out together?]
[Unknown Number C: Mu Xiangxiang, can you save my number? I’m OOO. You were seriously amazing last night~]
[Unknown Number D: Sister Xiang! Want to go eat hotpot together? Quite a few classmates from Class A are coming too!]
[Unknown Number F: Mu Xiangxiang, this is Big Dog. Sorry for messing up your friend’s birthday yesterday. Can I treat you to milk tea this weekend to apologize?]
[Thirty-plus more omitted below.]
What the hell was all this? Qiao Nan skimmed through them once, ignored every single one, and directly deleted them all. Then he found Mu Xiangxiang’s contact—
[Qiao Nan: “Idiot, sober up yet?”]
After sending the message, he got up to wash up and prepare for his morning run. While brushing his teeth, washing his face, and getting dressed, he kept glancing at his phone to see whether she had replied. But the messages sank like stones into the sea…
Qiao Nan climbed out the window in frustration, deciding he absolutely had to run ten kilometers this morning and thoroughly torture Mu Xiangxiang’s body.
*****
Mu Xiangxiang truly felt wronged.
Last night she’d drunk alcohol, sweated, gotten blown by the wind, cried, gone home, showered, and then slept without drying her hair. When she woke up this morning, her head felt like it was about to explode—or rather, not just her head. Her entire body felt as though it had been thrown into a frying pan.
She immediately realized something was wrong. The moment she sat up, exhaustion hit her so hard she nearly collapsed.
In the past, whenever she got sick at home, her parents would take care of her, so now Mu Xiangxiang was genuinely at a loss. Her first instinct was to look for medicine, but she had no idea where the Qiao family kept their everyday supplies.
Fortunately, Luo Meisheng, who had stayed home from work that morning, discovered her wandering around the living room in pajamas, rummaging through things. When asked what she was doing, Mu Xiangxiang calmly informed her that she had a fever and needed some medicine.
Luo Meisheng was terrified. How could she possibly neglect her like this? But because of Qiao Nan’s past rejection of closeness, she didn’t dare personally fuss over her too much. Instead, she immediately called a doctor for a house visit and coaxed her stepson back into his room with great effort.
The doctor arrived quickly with all the necessary equipment. After an examination, he confirmed that the young master of the Qiao family had a raging fever of forty degrees Celsius and absolutely needed bed rest.
After efficiently feeding Mu Xiangxiang medicine, setting up an IV drip, and giving instructions on what to watch out for, the doctor left, leaving her alone in the Qiao family’s spacious, almost empty room.
The world suddenly felt unbearably quiet.
Half-conscious, Mu Xiangxiang’s thoughts drifted aimlessly—to her family.
Back when she occasionally got sick with a fever, Mother Mu would always take leave from work and stay beside her together with Father Mu.
Changing the towel on her forehead, cooking thick white porridge, tucking in her blanket, feeding her water—
They were all such tiny, ordinary things, yet she remembered them clearly. Maybe more important than whether those old home remedies actually worked was simply the fact that her parents stayed by her side.
It had already been a week since she and Qiao Nan swapped souls. She wondered how they were doing now.
Mu Xiangxiang sniffled, her eyes turning sore as tears uncontrollably streamed down her face. Drowsily, she cried herself to sleep.
The moment Qiao Rui and Qiao Yuanshan learned that their younger brother/son was sick, both immediately dropped their work and rushed home. Their offices were in different places, so Qiao Rui arrived first.
He didn’t even bother changing out of his suit after entering the house. Kicking off his shoes, he hurried upstairs and coldly asked as he walked, “How is he?”
Luo Meisheng was rather intimidated by this eldest stepson and answered softly, “He’s already taken medicine and started the IV. The doctor said it’s probably because he drank alcohol and caught a chill. He’ll be fine if he rests properly.”
Qiao Rui blamed himself immediately. Last night he shouldn’t have just casually dried his brother’s hair because he didn’t want to wake him. Falling asleep after drinking without properly drying his hair—of course he’d get sick. This was entirely his negligence.
The more he thought about it, the colder his expression became, frightening even the assistant who had followed him home enough that the man didn’t dare go upstairs.
Qiao Rui quietly pushed open the bedroom door. What greeted him was the sight of a figure lying on their side in bed. He sighed softly, walked over, and sat on the edge of the bed.
The IV bag was already half empty. He adjusted the drip rate, and as he remembered Luo Meisheng telling him over the phone how his brother had dragged his feverish body downstairs to search for medicine himself, his heart filled with indescribable emotions.
All these years, he and his father had rarely been home. Whenever this child got sick before, had he always just muddled through alone like that?
Perhaps because he was a boy, Qiao Rui had never thought of his younger brother as someone weak. This kid had had a terrible temper since childhood, and in recent years throwing punches at the slightest disagreement had been common. Recently, the fact that he’d begun showing even a little willingness to accept his family had already felt like an extraordinary softening.
Both he and their father had been delighted.
But now, Qiao Rui suddenly realized his own neglect. All this time, it hadn’t just been his younger brother shutting them out.
Qiao Rui sat there in silence. Just then, the figure on the bed trembled slightly.
Thinking his brother had woken up or needed something, Qiao Rui quickly stood and walked around to the other side of the bed. “Nan—”
Then he froze.
**
Qiao Yuanshan arrived home about ten minutes later. After handing his briefcase and leather coat to his wife, he hurried upstairs and immediately spotted a figure crouching outside his younger son’s room.
Recognizing Qiao Rui, he quickly asked, “How’s your brother?”
Qiao Rui lifted his head. His reddened yet icy eyes startled him. “What happened?!”
Seven parts accusation and three parts disgust filled the eldest son’s gaze as he stared coldly at him for several seconds before jerking his head toward the room. “Go see for yourself.”
Qiao Yuanshan hesitated before finally entering. When he reached the bedside and looked carefully— His mind exploded with a roar. His whole body went numb.
His usually sharp-tongued, violent younger son was crying in his sleep.
The pillow beneath him was soaked through with tears, and more continued slipping silently down his face. His complexion was pale, the tip of his nose flushed red, and every now and then his body twitched faintly between sobs and feverish sleep—
He looked so fragile Qiao Yuanshan almost couldn’t recognize him.
Fear rose in his chest. It took him a long while before he finally gathered the courage to step forward and sit carefully by the bed. He gently touched his son’s face and wiped away a tear.
Lost in feverish dreams, Mu Xiangxiang felt warmth brush her cheek. It felt like her mother wiping her face. Her subconscious instinctively leaned toward that comfort, and she murmured hazily: “Mom…”
Qiao Yuanshan froze again.
Then an indescribable ache surged through his chest.
His wife had been dead for many years. In all that time, he had never once heard this child mention his mother, so he’d naturally assumed he’d forgotten her.
And this child really had seemed strong. Strong enough that Qiao Yuanshan felt comfortable leaving him alone in City A. Whenever father and son met, they always ended up arguing. Each time, Qiao Yuanshan had wondered what went wrong with his two children—one ignored him completely, while the other openly hated him. But when they were little, they clearly hadn’t been like this.
He had once carried them on his shoulders, playing horse rides like an ordinary father.
The clothes he’d received from his child a few days ago had felt like some sort of signal. He’d been delighted, but also inexplicably anxious, wanting to hold on to that feeling yet not knowing how.
But now, he suddenly understood. All this time, he’d been waiting for his children to accept him, while never once taking the initiative to give anything himself.
Qiao Yuanshan realized that over the years, he truly had failed this child terribly. Pain filled his heart. Sitting beside the bed, he gently stroked his son’s hair, only to realize how unfamiliar the texture felt.
Since his wife’s death, nearly ten years had passed without father and son being this close.
Outside the room, Qiao Rui straightened up from where he’d been crouching by the doorway. Leaning against the hallway wall, his expression had returned to normal, and there was no sign his eyes had ever reddened.
Hearing the door open, he cast the same cold sideways glance he always did—just a casual look.
Qiao Yuanshan quietly shut the bedroom door without making a sound, then looked up at Qiao Rui.
Qiao Rui raised a brow. Usually this was how the Qiao father and sons interacted: silent, communicating through brief words and glances, then returning to their own business. Their relationship was more distant than ordinary superiors and subordinates in a company.
He waited for his father to give instructions, probably something like telling him not to disturb his brother’s rest.
But unexpectedly, the silent middle-aged man suddenly stepped forward and hugged him.
Qiao Rui froze completely. “…What are you doing?”
“Ruirui.” The tired voice of the middle-aged man sounded by his shoulder. “All these years… Dad’s been sorry. Sorry to you, and sorry to your brother too.”
“….” Qiao Rui was at a total loss. This was practically the first time in his life he had ever seen his father show weakness. Normally, no matter the situation—even when arguing with his younger brother—Chairman Qiao would rather die than lose face.
The cold expression on his face suddenly became hard to maintain. The corner of Qiao Rui’s eye twitched. He’d intended to stay stiff and awkward, only to realize his father had no intention of letting go and had even buried his face against his shoulder, quietly sobbing.
Now Qiao Rui was truly dumbfounded.
In the end, he helplessly lifted an arm and patted his father’s back. “Alright. What’s the point of saying all this now?”
Qiao Yuanshan cried for a while before finally releasing him. Wiping away his tears, he suddenly strode downstairs at high speed.
Luo Meisheng, waiting by the staircase, was startled by the speed of his movements. “What are you doing?”
Then she saw the man who probably hadn’t touched cold water more than a handful of times in his entire life—the arrogant Chairman Qiao who always carried himself like the king of the world—rolling up his sleeves furiously as he marched, radiating the aura of someone about to start a street brawl.
“Rice! Where’s the rice?! Our Nannan is sick like this—I need to cook him some porridge!”
Author’s Note:
Mu Xiangxiang, after drinking Chairman Qiao’s very first pot of porridge in his life —————— died.
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: