The Bitterness Between Mother and Daughter

Time slipped by in this manner. After every exam or every summons from the homeroom teacher, the result was always the same: Shen Yali’s face would darken with iron fury, her disappointment almost tangible. The more frequently it happened, the more irritable she became, her scoldings grew harsher, and her tendency to resort to physical discipline increased as well.

Every time, Mu Qingyang would rush to restrain his raging mother, frowning and raising his voice, “Don’t hit my sister anymore! If you keep doing this every day, she’ll end up hating you.”

“Hmph, hypocrite. Mind your own business.”

Clearly, his intervention was unwelcome.

Yet that single sentence from Mu Qingyang was enough to halt the Empress Dowager’s wrath.

Mu Qingxi, hearing her brother’s words, let out a cold laugh and said, “Hate? That word is too weak—what I feel is loathing! Hatred! Do you understand?” With that, she turned and entered her room.

Bang! The door slammed shut.

In the living room, only Mu Qingyang stood wide-eyed, while Shen Yali collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent.

Hatred! What a chilling word. What does it feel like when those syllables reach your ears?

No one truly knows—only those who hear it, only those who are hated, can truly comprehend the wretchedness of being despised by someone you love. That hatred came too suddenly, too violently, for Shen Yali to accept.

Her body trembled. Cold sweat pooled in her palms. Her scalp prickled with numbness. Her heart pounded faster and faster.

Every symptom betrayed the tumult raging inside her.

She hates her? Hates her own mother?

What a laughable thought. After all these years, her daughter now claims to hate her mother—what right did she have to feel such hatred?

Mu Qingyang never imagined his sister would say such a thing. He knew it was wrong for their mother to hit his sister all the time, but he hadn’t expected his sister to claim she hated their mother. He was still young, but he could distinguish between dislike and hatred. Dislike was just a feeling, but hatred—he couldn’t quite define it yet, but he knew it was something bad. His mother’s expression alone was proof enough that hatred was a terrible word and an even worse sentiment.

Tears streaming down her face, Shen Yali sobbed into the phone, “Mu Yuncheng, what right does she have to hate me? I only want what’s best for her, and yet she hates me!”

On the weekends, Mu Yuncheng returned home, brooding over the fraught state between mother and daughter—it was enough to give anyone a headache. What kind of family has a mother and daughter at such odds? It was absurd.

Other men mediated between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law, and he had once counted himself lucky not to be trapped in such disputes. Little did he expect that, spared from those quarrels, he’d find himself burdened with the even more troublesome task of reconciling his wife and daughter. He could only quietly do his best to ease the tension between them.

Mu Yuncheng spoke with his daughter, Mu Qingxi, and with his wife, Shen Yali, and even took the time to explain to Mu Qingyang how to speak thoughtfully to family.

In the living room, Shen Yali promised she wouldn’t raise her hand so lightly again.

“So you won’t hit me so easily anymore? What, you’ll wait until you really lose your temper, and then beat me half to death?” Mu Qingxi’s mocking, disdainful words hung in the air above them.

Mu Yuncheng’s brow furrowed tightly. “Qingxi, watch your tone. She’s your mother. There’s a limit to rebellion.”

Mu Qingxi protested at once, “Dad, you know what goes on here. She hits me for any reason or none at all, and yet she’s always in the right. Who cares about her so-called love? How much is it even worth?”

Mu Yuncheng looked at his daughter, a headache forming, and said helplessly, “Mu Qingxi, your mother is only thinking of you. Don’t be so willful.”

And so, in the days before high school, Shen Yali never laid a hand on Mu Qingxi again, nor did she scold her much. The homeroom teacher, Ms. Cheng, stopped calling for parent meetings. The relationship between mother and daughter began to ease, and though their exchanges remained brief and cold, at least they no longer resembled sworn enemies.

Yet beneath the surface, a strange unease persisted. The family, once harmonious, now seemed more like strangers forced to coexist.