Chapter Thirty-Three: Sowing Discord

Wang Hongzhen’s emotions, which had just begun to settle, suddenly flared up again. Clearly, Ning Shuyi had guessed correctly. There was evidently some unresolved conflict between her and Deng Qingrong—a deep enough rift to leave this timid, fearful woman still seething with anger even after seven or eight years, or perhaps even longer.

“Officer Ning, this is our first time meeting, so you probably don’t know much about what kind of person I am. I’ve always had a gentle temperament since I was a child. I’m most afraid of conflict and quarrels, so I’m polite to everyone outside and don’t fuss over things too much. Among neighbors upstairs and downstairs, I get along pretty well,” Wang Hongzhen said, wiping her tearless eyes with the back of her hand, blowing her nose. It seemed she hadn’t had anyone to confide in for a very long time. Facing the inquiries of Ning Shuyi and Huo Yan, she couldn’t help but open up.

“I was twenty-two, just past the legal age to get married, when I rashly tied the knot. When we were dating and even in the early days of marriage, my husband wasn’t like he is now. If he had been, I would have run away long ago. Back then, we had been married nearly four years without conceiving our son, and life was relatively calm. Sometimes we’d bicker over small things. He had this terrible habit of throwing and smashing things whenever he got angry. I only worried about the things being broken and never thought it would be directed at me.

One day, he was supposed to come home for dinner but suddenly changed his mind and said he had plans to drink with friends. I didn’t think much of it but was a bit upset—he had promised to eat with me but then ditched me for his friends. I was full of anger, planning to confront him when he got home. When he returned drunk that night, before I could say a word, he suddenly exploded, shouting and pushing me.

He said that even though he was a respectable man outside, marrying a woman like me—married nearly four years without bearing a child—made people suspect there was something wrong with him. He said that even a hen is only valuable if it lays eggs; I was less than a hen, unable to produce eggs, yet dared to make demands because I had been spoiled by him.”

Recalling this, Wang Hongzhen’s body trembled uncontrollably. She pulled a jacket nearby around herself, trying to ease the shaking.

“I’d never suffered such injustice before. I was upset and hit him, demanding an apology, or else I wouldn’t live with him anymore. But he was drunk and not very sober. Angrily, he pushed me hard, and I crashed against a small side table, breaking it. My lower back hurt so badly I couldn’t move. My husband was terrified and sobered up immediately. He took me to the hospital. Fortunately, it was just a bruise—I hadn’t broken any bones.

The next day, fully sober, he knelt down to apologize, slapped himself, even told me to stab him with a knife. He said he had finished work early that day and was already home before I returned. He went downstairs to buy groceries, planning to cook together that evening. At the bottom of the stairs, he ran into Deng Qingrong, the mother of Chang Junchao. That woman asked how long we’d been married and, after all this time, why we didn’t have children yet. She questioned whether there was something wrong with either of us.

She kept asking if my husband had a problem and said that if it wasn’t him, then I was a hen that wouldn’t lay eggs, worthless. If there was a real problem and I couldn’t conceive, then we’d be doomed, unable to give our elders any explanation. My husband was already anxious about having children, and the woman’s words lit a fire in him. He went out drinking with friends and came home to turn against me. That was the first time he laid a hand on me since we got married.”

Wang Hongzhen was breathing heavily. Reliving those memories was no easy matter—the wounds of the past still inflicted pain, for they were the root of all the suffering that followed.

“Why did Deng Qingrong say those things to your husband? Were your families close enough to discuss such personal matters?” Ning Shuyi asked, puzzled.

Wang Hongzhen shook her head. “That’s the bitterest part! Our families barely knew each other—we’d just nod or exchange greetings in passing. That was all. After my husband hit me, he felt guilty. He apologized and begged for forgiveness. When I asked what had really happened, he told me the truth.

He said that when he went downstairs that day, his parents called and asked whether there was any news about me being pregnant. He was already irritated. Just after hanging up, Deng Qingrong, who was sitting on a nearby bench, made those comments. I was angry but thought maybe some people are just nosy and speak without thinking, without ill intent. So, after I felt better, I met Deng Qingrong downstairs and told her not to say those things to my husband, as it affected our marriage.

You won’t believe how that woman replied! She looked me up and down with a sidelong glance and said, ‘Who told your belly to be so useless? If my belly were useless and I couldn’t have a son, I wouldn’t need my husband to hit me—I’d be kneeling at home slapping my own face every day!’

I was so furious I couldn’t speak. She clearly knew we had argued over this, even that my husband had hit me because of it, but she didn’t feel any guilt! She deliberately wanted to stir up trouble between us, just for her own amusement. It shocked me—I never imagined anyone could be so cruel.”

Ning Shuyi was somewhat enlightened. Previously, when hearing the young mother’s complaint near the crime scene, she noted that Deng Qingrong, despite her thoughtless remarks, had tried to smooth things over to maintain her public image. But living above Wang Hongzhen’s home, Deng Qingrong seemed to have adopted a more reckless, defiant attitude.