It was from the attending physician at the county hospital.

"Hello, is this Ms. Nora? I am Dr. Li, the doctor in charge of your mother Beth’s condition."

"Yes."

"Your mother’s liver function failure has entered the decompensated phase. If a suitable donor isn't found within a month, the situation will be very grim. We are currently doing compatibility screenings, and we’d like to ask you to come in for an examination—"

"Dr. Li, I refuse."

There was a two-second pause on the other end.

"Ms. Nora, I understand you may have family concerns, but as a direct relative, the probability of you being a successful match is the highest—"

"I know the probability. But this is my body, and I have the right to refuse."

"Of course, it’s entirely voluntary. It’s just... your mother has been constantly murmuring your name."

I didn't speak.

"She says she wants to see you one last time."

I held the phone, standing in the kitchen, a row of prepped ingredients neatly lined up on the counter.

"I’ll think about it."

After hanging up, I realized my hand was indeed trembling.

Not out of a soft heart.

It was because those two words, "murmuring," were too jarring.

When did she ever murmur my name?

When I had a forty-degree fever and was locked in the storage room? When I was curled up in a corner, beaten, unable to make a sound? When I walked five miles in the dead of winter in a thin shirt to get to school?

What was she murmuring back then?

"Little money-loser."

"Why don't you just die with your father?"

"Raising you was a waste."

I’ve carried those words for twelve years. Every word, every syllable, carved into my bones.

Now she’s murmuring my name.

Because she needs my liver.

Returning home that night, Grandma C was watching TV in the living room.

She is seventy-five this year, her hair completely white, but she still has energy; she gets up early every day to practice Tai Chi and cooks herself an elaborate lunch.

When I was fourteen, I was digging through foam boxes behind a small restaurant on the outskirts of the city looking for food. It was raining that day; I was soaked, and my hands were covered in chilblains.

Grandma C passed by and saw me.

She didn't ask where I came from or where my parents were; she only said, "Hungry, aren't you? Come with me."

She took me home and made me a bowl of wontons.

That was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life.

From that day on, she kept me.

Later, I learned she was a head chef at the provincial government guest house in her youth, lived alone after retiring, her husband had passed early, and her children were abroad.

She taught me to cook, taught me to read, and taught me how to be a person.

She said, "Remember, you don't owe anyone anything. You are your father’s daughter, and your father was a hero."

I sat down next to her, leaning against her shoulder.

"Grandma, the hospital called. They said she wants to see me."

Grandma C turned down the TV. "Do you want to go?"

"No."

"Then don't."

"But..."

"But what?"

"I’m afraid that if she dies, others will say it was my fault."

Grandma C patted the back of my hand. "Her illness is her destiny, not your debt. You left that house twelve years ago and fought your way to where you are today entirely on your own; you have nothing to be ashamed of. What others say doesn't matter."

I murmured, "I see."

"However—" Grandma C started again.

"However what?"

"If you want to go see her, then go. Not for her sake, but for your own. Say what needs to be said, and finish what needs to be finished. Don't let this weigh on your heart and affect the way you cook."

I smiled. "Everything comes back to cooking with you."

"Cooking is the same as being a person. If you have a knot in your heart, your heat control won't be precise."

I thought about it all night.

The next morning, I called the hospital back.

"Dr. Li, I will go see her. But I have three conditions."

"Please, go ahead."

"First, I will not undergo a compatibility screening."

"...Understood."

"Second, Gary cannot be in the room."

"That... I will try my best to coordinate."

"Third, the visit will not exceed ten minutes."

"Very well, I will arrange it."

At two o’clock in the afternoon, I stood in the corridor of the county hospital's inpatient department.

The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant, mixed with a certain odor of decay.

At the end of the corridor was Room 506.

The door was closed.

I stood at the door, took a deep breath—I stood there for three seconds.

Then I pushed the door open.

Lying on the bed was a gaunt, frail woman.

Her skin was sallow, her cheekbones protruding, her eye sockets deeply sunken, her lips chapped and peeling.

If it weren't for the medical chart at the head of the bed that read "Beth," I almost wouldn't have recognized her.

She looked twenty years older than in my memories.

She had lost thirty pounds.

Like a crumpled piece of yellow paper, spread out on the white sheets.

Her eyes were half-open, and hearing the sound of the door, she slowly turned her head.

The moment she saw me, her pupils dilated.

"No... Nora?"

The voice was as raspy as sandpaper dragging across an iron plate.

I stood before the hospital bed, a meter away from her, not taking a single step closer.

"Beth, why did you look for me?"

Chapter 7

Her hand stretched out from beneath the quilt, veins bulging, looking like a withered tree branch.

"Nora... Mom missed you."

I stood there, motionless.

"You've grown thin," she observed with great effort.

"I've never been fat. That was your doing."

She pulled her hand back.

"Nora, Mom knows I was wrong to you in the past—"

"Is that all you called me here for?"

"Mom really knows I was wrong." Her eyes began to redden. "When you were little, Mom had a bad temper, and I hit you too hard..."

"Too hard?" I looked at her. "What is your definition of 'too hard'? Is a rolling pin 'too hard'? Are iron tongs 'too hard'? Is being kicked out in the dead of winter 'too hard'?"

"Which one of those do you consider 'light'?"

"Back then... Mom was listening to your Uncle Gary." She suddenly shifted the blame. "It was him who said you needed discipline, Mom had no choice—"

"Don't put this on Gary," I interrupted her.

"The first person to hit me was you, not him. Just because of a bun, you smashed my head with a rolling pin. I was seven then, and he sat on the sofa without saying a word."

"You chose to hit me yourself."

Beth’s lips trembled.

"You’re looking for me now, not because you miss me, but because you need my liver."

"No—"

"Dr. Li told me everything. Your liver failure requires a living transplant, and Lucy failed the matching test. They checked the entire family, and it turns out I’m the only one left—the biological daughter you beat for six years."

She didn't deny it.

"Mom really misses you—"

"That's enough." I took a step back. "I said I won't do the matching test."

"Nora!" She struggled to sit up, and the monitor connected to her body began to beep.

A nurse pushed the door open and looked at me. "Family members, please be careful; the patient cannot get too emotional."

"I am not a family member," I said.

As I turned to walk out, I heard her sobbing behind me.

Thin and weak, punctuated by gasps, like the cry of an injured cat.

I didn't stop.

The moment I stepped out of the hospital room, I almost collided with someone.

Gary.

He was wearing a dirty jacket, standing at the door, holding a plastic bag containing a lunchbox.

Clearly, he had been waiting outside the whole time.

I told Dr. Li that I didn't want him present, and he had complied, but he had simply decided to eavesdrop at the door instead.

"Nora," he called out.

I walked right past him.

"Stop right there." He grabbed my arm.

I looked down at his hand.

"Let go."

"Your mother is begging you, and this is your attitude?"

"I said let go."

"You ungrateful wretch, you white-eyed wolf!" His voice grew louder, and several people in the corridor turned to look.

I jerked my arm away and stared into his eyes.

"Gary, the lawyer is currently looking into the fact that you used my father’s resettlement apartment as collateral for a three-hundred-thousand-yuan loan. The court summons will arrive soon; you’d better start preparing."

His face drained of color instantly.