I pulled a key from my bag.

I had secretly duplicated this key on the day I left home at fourteen. I knew then that one day I would return.

Not to come home.

But to return and take back what was mine.

I inserted the key and turned it twice.

The door opened.

The house smelled of mildew mixed with stale smoke.

I turned on my phone’s flashlight and swept it quickly across the room.

The layout of the living room was completely different from when I was a child. The sofa had been changed, the TV had been changed, and there was a wedding photo of Gary and Beth hanging on the wall.

I didn't linger; I went straight to the attic.

This apartment had a small attic, a storage space that came with the design, accessible by climbing a wooden ladder.

The ladder was still there.

I climbed up and shone the flashlight around.

A pile of dusty cardboard boxes, old clothes, and broken furniture.

In the deepest corner, I saw a military-green woven bag.

The zipper on the bag was rusted; I had to pull hard a few times before it opened.

Inside was a military uniform jacket that had been washed until it was faded white.

I took the jacket out, my hands trembling.

The button on the left breast pocket was still there.

I undid the button and reached inside.

My fingertips touched something hard.

It was a red passbook.

The cover was a bit faded, but the words were still legible: Postal Savings Bank of China.

I opened the passbook.

Account holder: Jiang Nora.

Opening date: March 12, 2004.

My father passed away in September 2004.

Which meant he had opened this passbook for me six months before his death.

Balance: 46,000 yuan.

Forty-six thousand yuan.

Forty-six thousand yuan twenty years ago.

My father’s allowance was only a few hundred yuan a month; I don't know how many years he saved to reach that amount.

In the remarks column on the last line of the passbook, a line was written in crooked ballpoint pen.

"For Nora’s college tuition."

I squatted in the attic, the flashlight beam illuminating those words.

For Nora’s college tuition.

He thought his daughter would go to college.

He thought the money he saved would be enough.

He didn't know his wife would treat his daughter like a beast of burden after he died.

He didn't know his daughter would drop out of school and leave home at fourteen, nearly starving to death next to a garbage dump on the edge of town.

I pressed the passbook to my chest and closed my eyes.

Dad, I didn't go to college.

But I survived.

I’m living very well.

As I climbed down from the attic, I took one more look at the wedding photo on the living room wall.

Beth and Gary were standing together, smiling very happily.

The date of the photo was printed in the bottom right corner: March 18, 2006.

They had taken the photo the day after they were married.

Which meant, a year and a half after my father died, after she had collected the pension money, she had walked smiling into another man's home.

And my father’s uniform had been thrown into a woven bag in the attic, piled together with rags.

I folded the uniform and put it into my bag along with the passbook.

When I left, I didn't lock the door.

Leave it open.

This house would return to my name soon enough.

Downstairs, Cole was leaning against the car waiting for me.

Seeing the uniform I was cradling, he didn't ask a single question.

He just opened the car door.

"Let's go."

As the car pulled out of the compound, I took one last look at that building.

The fifth-floor window was still dark.

Dad, I’ve come to get it.

Everything you gave me, I won't lose a single bit of it.

Chapter 17

Early the next morning, I did two things.

The first was to go to the Postal Savings Bank with the passbook.

The counter staff checked the system for a long time and told me the account had been frozen.

"Frozen? Who froze it?"

"The account guardian applied to freeze it in May 2006. The reason listed was 'protection of minor's account'."

"Who was the guardian?"

"Beth."

My hand gripping the passbook tightened.

She froze this account.

She knew this passbook existed.

Liu Tiezhu said Beth told him she "didn't remember" where the passbook was. But she had frozen this account back in 2006.

It wasn't that she didn't remember; she had deliberately hidden it.

Once frozen, the money couldn't be withdrawn, effectively locking up my father’s money.

Then she used "where the passbook is" as a bargaining chip to force me to submit.

"Can it be unfrozen now?"

"The account holder needs to come in person with their ID. If there was a guardian set up when it was frozen, the account holder can lift it themselves after turning eighteen."

"Then unfreeze it."

Twenty minutes later, the account was unfrozen.

Balance: 46,000 yuan.

Including twenty years of interest, it totaled over 51,000.

Not much.

But every penny was the fruit of my father’s hard work.

I transferred all the money into my main account.

The second thing.

I had my lawyer, Sienna, add an item to the lawsuit filings for the property dispute: Beth’s unauthorized freezing of a ward’s personal deposit account.

At noon, a piece of news exploded on the local forum.

I didn't post it.

It was an announcement issued by the Political Work Department of the Provincial Military Region.

The content was brief:

"Announcement regarding issues related to the survivors of Martyr Jiang Yuanzheng. Recently, our department received a petition regarding support issues for Comrade Jiang Yuanzheng’s daughter, Jiang Nora. Upon verification, the petitioner Gary is not a direct relative of the martyr, and the situation reported is inconsistent with the facts. At the same time, our department has learned that the legitimate rights and interests of the martyr’s orphan, Jiang Nora, have been infringed upon, including the misappropriation of pension funds and the irregular transfer of resettlement housing. Our department has transferred the relevant clues to local judicial authorities for processing."

As soon as the announcement was released, the comment section went wild.

"The military region has already characterized it; that stepfather actually went to petition with false accusations?"

"The martyr's orphan has been abused for so many years; these people's consciences have been eaten by dogs."

"Embezzling a martyr’s legacy—isn't that illegal?"

"Please, relevant departments, do something."

Gary’s phone was blown up.

He must have gotten the news from some relative and called me directly.

I answered.

"Nora! Did you get the military to come after me?!"

"You were the one who went to petition. You accused me of being unfilial, and the military investigated and found you were the one with the problem."

"You—I did that for your mother—"

"Gary."

"Listen. The property case goes to court next Wednesday. If you don't show up, the court can issue a default judgment."

"Don't you even think about taking my house!"

"That is my house. It always has been."

He cursed a string of obscenities over the phone. I waited until he was done, then hung up.

At 3:00 PM, Lu ran in.

"Nora, a reporter is here. Not a local one, but from the provincial station."

"What?"

"From the provincial station's social news department. They said they saw the military region's announcement and want to do a special report."

I thought for a moment: "Let them in."

The reporter was a woman in her early thirties named Fang Ran. Short hair, capable and sharp.

She got straight to the point: "Ms. Nora, we’ve seen the provincial military region’s announcement and have been following the online discourse. We want to do an in-depth report on the protection of rights for martyrs' orphans. Would you be willing to be interviewed?"

"I have one condition."

"Go ahead."

"Stick to the facts. No sensationalism, no playing the victim. My father was a hero; his daughter doesn't need sympathy. I need justice."

Fang Ran looked at me for a few seconds, then extended her hand.

"Deal."

Chapter 18

The provincial station interview aired on the third day.

The twenty-minute special was titled "Twenty Years Behind a Steamed Bun."

The piece featured my interview, explanations from Officer He at the Veterans Affairs Bureau, legal analysis of the case by Sienna, and Liu Tiezhu appearing on camera to recount the events of my father’s sacrifice.

The final shot was of me holding that passbook, the camera zooming in on the last line—

"For Nora’s college tuition."

On the night it aired, online views surpassed two million.

Two topics trended on Weibo: "Martyr's Orphan Abused" and "The Price of a Steamed Bun."

Everyone who had previously called me cold-blooded fell silent.

The comment section shifted direction entirely.

"Cried watching this; her dad saved 46,000 for her to go to college, but she dropped out at fourteen."