It’s Not Your Fault

Conversations with God once wrote: you will never be cast into hell, because God never created hell.

No matter what you have done in this world, the God of infinite love—our Creator—will never blame you. Nor will He condemn you after death, sending you to suffer some inhuman judgment.

Yet you hesitate to believe it.

If such an infinitely loving God truly exists, then why is our world still filled with famine, plague, and war? Why must so many tragedies unfold beneath the same sky?

The year 2008 would become one of the most turbulent years in modern China.

The devastating snowstorms before the Spring Festival, the riots of March 14, and the catastrophic Wenchuan earthquake of May 12, 2008—one of the deadliest earthquakes in modern Chinese history—were disasters known to everyone. Yet countless other tragedies unfolded quietly in unseen corners of the world, where no one happened to be looking.

The Jiang family, living in Haishi—a coastal city in China—had managed to escape those national catastrophes.

What they could not escape was the tragedy written into their own fate.

Years later, Jiang Wannan（In Chinese tradition, the family name comes first, so Jiang was her surname.）would still wake from sleep in sudden terror, staring blankly out the window as fragments of memory returned to her: that evening, that terrible firelight, and the hopeless gray dusk surrounding it.

Sometimes she wondered how the history of the Jiang family might have been rewritten if the disaster had never occurred.

Would they have continued living together in hollow harmony?

Or would everything have collapsed sooner or later?

At other times she wondered why the fire had happened at all, and what it truly meant for her life.

But one thing was beyond dispute.

Jiang Wannan had survived the fire.

And precisely because she had survived, a far more difficult life awaited her.

“Brother! Brother—!”

Twelve-year-old Jiang Wannan burst into her brother’s room in a blaze of red riding clothes, running straight to the desk where a boy sat buried in his books. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him impatiently.

“Brother, brother,” she cried again, deliberately repeating the word, savoring the rare chance to sound a little spoiled, a little soft—as though she were still allowed to be a child.

Hearing his sister’s voice, fifteen-year-old Jiang Chengyan stretched lazily.

For a fleeting moment, a warm happiness spread through him. It was like a gentle wave of warmth, wrapping around him and rocking softly against his tired heart.

He pinched her cheek.

“What mischief are you up to this time, little rascal?”

Jiang Wannan lifted her head.

Her pale face glowed with a charming smile, and her wide dark eyes sparkled with a childlike innocence that could melt anyone’s heart.

“I want to go horseback riding!”

Seeing her dressed head to toe in riding gear, Chengyan laughed as though he had already guessed.

“Horseback riding, huh? Come on then. I’ll take you.”

He agreed without hesitation.

In many ways, Jiang Chengyan resembled their grandfather in his youth—tall, strong, and athletic. Horseback riding and boxing were his greatest passions.

As for studying?

Studying was something he simply had to do.

For thousands of years, people had poured endless effort into shaping the eldest sons of families into extraordinary men. Under the lash of a whip, even circus lions could perform breathtaking tricks.

Jiang Chengyan’s excellent grades were much the same.

The only difference was that the whip striking the lion’s body struck his heart instead.

He pushed himself mercilessly, squeezing every ounce of potential from his mind.

The reason was painfully simple.

Only when his grades were excellent would the surveillance at home loosen slightly, allowing him to steal a few brief moments to breathe.

Under such suffocating pressure, his performance fluctuated constantly.

Fortunately, in the most recent monthly exam his ranking had climbed back into the top ten of the grade, rising from beyond the hundredth place and leaving more than nine hundred classmates behind.

At last, his “good form” had returned.

And with it, he had earned himself a short reprieve.

Chengyan reached into a drawer and handed two bus cards to his sister.

“The usual plan,” he whispered. “We sneak out first. Just make sure Xiuhé doesn’t see us.”

Zheng Xiuhé had worked as the Jiang family’s housekeeper for years. She was dutiful and meticulous. In addition to the daily household chores, she had another responsibility that most housekeepers did not.

She was tasked with watching Jiang Chengyan study.

“Don’t worry,” Jiang Wannan said confidently. “Xiuhé was downstairs cleaning the bathroom just now. She won’t notice us.”

“Perfect,” Chengyan replied. “As long as we take the route without cameras, we’ll be fine.”

The path had been carefully “discovered” by the siblings together.

By climbing out through the side window of Chengyan’s room, they could avoid both the surveillance cameras and Xiuhé’s watchful eyes.

“Here,” Chengyan said, reaching for his sister’s waist to lift her.

“Hey—!”

She burst into helpless laughter, squirming as his hands tickled her.

Her laughter rang clear and bright, like wind chimes struck by a sudden breeze.

“Let go! Chengyan, stop it! I can climb out by myself!”

Chengyan released her, laughing mischievously.

He particularly liked the way she called him “Chengyan”—“his name”—when she was flustered, instead of the more childish “brother.”

It made him feel, for a moment, like a real adult.

Finally catching her breath, Jiang Wannan glared at him.

Beneath the bed was a whole crate of floral mosquito repellent. Chengyan kicked the box over so she could step on it and climb out the window.

Just as Jiang Wannan placed one foot on the crate—

A sharp sound of approaching footsteps cut through the room.

The joyful moment was suddenly frozen, as if someone had cruelly pressed pause.

The footsteps were unmistakably familiar.

Her body reacted before her mind could. Fear seized her instantly, locking her in place.

Then came the furious knock on the door.

The door was already wide open.

Turning around, she saw her mother standing in the doorway, her face rigid with anger.

“Jiang Wannan,” Ge Yumei said coldly, “stop disturbing your brother’s studies. Get out.”

Ge Yumei and her husband Jiang Feng had their bedroom next door to Chengyan’s.

Only a few days earlier, the couple had traveled to the Capital Gymnasium in Beijing to attend a large charity gala titled “Warm Hearts for Wenchuan—We Stand Together.” On behalf of Fengyan Construction Company, they had donated two million yuan to help the victims of the Wenchuan earthquake.

They had returned late the previous night on the last flight home. Even now, Jiang Feng’s faint snoring could still be heard through the wall.

By all reason, Ge Yumei should have been sleeping as well.

She was a well-educated woman. No matter how much she disliked her daughter, she never used crude language. Yet her cold expression and icy tone often cut far deeper than any insult.

Her sharp eyes swept over the cardboard box beneath Jiang Wannan’s feet and finally settled on the two bus cards in the girl’s hands.

Jiang Wannan’s face went pale.

She hurried to hide the cards behind her back—but it was too late.

“Give them to me.”

There was no choice.

Jiang Wannan stepped forward and placed the cards into her mother’s hand with both hands, respectful and obedient.

Behind her, Jiang Chengyan clenched his fists.

Those cards had not been easy to get. He had slipped out secretly just to apply for them.

To him they were more than bus cards—they were his sister’s small wish, and a fragile symbol of freedom.

Ge Yumei’s thoughts moved swiftly.

My supervision still isn’t strict enough, she decided.

No. The problem wasn’t her discipline. The real problem was Jiang Wannan—this troublesome girl who was always stirring up trouble.

She fixed her daughter with a severe stare.

“So selfish,” she said coldly. “Do you want to ruin your brother? Ruin this entire family?”

“I didn’t…” Jiang Wannan stammered. “I only come to see him on weekends…”

“Weekends aren’t important?” Ge Yumei snapped. “Your brother is in high school now. Every other student is racing against time!”

“Racing against time…?” Jiang Wannan murmured. “Do they never eat or sleep? Can’t he relax for even a moment?”

“That’s enough!” Ge Yumei’s voice rose sharply. “If you want to waste your time fooling around, that’s your problem—but you are not allowed to drag my son down with you!”

Tears flooded Jiang Wannan’s eyes at once.

The injustice of it was unbearable.

Her grades were excellent. Later that year she would likely enter a prestigious middle school, and someday perhaps even a top university.

She worked harder than most children her age. In every aspect of her life she held herself to the same standards their parents demanded of her brother.

And yet—

None of it mattered.

Because she had been born a daughter.

In this lifetime, no matter what she did, it would always be wrong.

Her very existence, it seemed, was already a mistake.

Perhaps it was simply the deep bond between siblings.

Perhaps it was some unconscious rebellion buried deep inside him.

Or perhaps it was both.

The more their mother disliked Jiang Wannan, the more fiercely Jiang Chengyan protected her. His devotion to her had almost become extreme.

If his sister asked for something, he would never refuse.

He simply could not bear to see her wronged.

“Mom, this has nothing to do with Wannan! I—”

“Stay out of it!” Ge Yumei cut him off sharply.

“This isn’t ‘staying out of it’!” the boy shot back. “I got the bus cards. If you’re angry, blame me!”

For years he had noticed the coldness in his mother’s eyes whenever she looked at his sister.

When they were younger, Ge Yumei had at least tried to hide it. But Jiang Chengyan had always been observant beyond his years.

Eventually, after enough persistent questions, she stopped hiding it altogether.

Her favoritism toward her son was now unmistakable.

And yet, in Chengyan’s own heart, this so-called favoritism felt suffocating.

Jiang Wannan was undoubtedly Ge Yumei’s biological daughter—his full sister.

He simply could not understand why their mother disliked her so deeply.

Was it truly just because she was a girl?

If so, it was the most absurd thing in the world.

Male and female had existed together on Earth for millions of years. How could one be inherently superior to the other?

This obsession with sons was nothing more than the remnants of feudal thinking.

Those ancient prejudices had once slowed the development of their civilization for centuries. By the late Qing Dynasty, the Chinese people had suffered humiliations at the hands of foreign powers partly because of such backward traditions.

Ge Yumei no longer cared about the bus cards.

She turned her attention back to her son.

“Chengyan,” she said earnestly, “you are the only boy in this family. Do you know how many people are watching you? We cannot afford to lose face. You must get into a top university.”

The only boy.

He had heard that phrase hundreds—perhaps thousands—of times since childhood.

“I ranked in the top ten this time,” he replied bitterly. “What more do you want?”

“This time is acceptable,” she said coldly. “But what about last time? Your score then disgraced this entire family! If we look at your results over a longer period, they’re far too unstable. What does that mean? It means you’re intelligent—but not hardworking enough.”

She continued decisively.

“From now on, you will devote even more time to studying. I’ll call your tutor and arrange extra lessons for both days this weekend.”

Jiang Wannan could not stay silent any longer.

“Mom, please don’t put any more pressure on him! He already has so many tutoring sessions—he won’t be able to handle it—”

“Kneel!”

Ge Yumei shouted the word like a thunderclap.

“You will kneel there until lunch. If you get up before then, you won’t eat.”

“Mom, please don’t do this!” Chengyan said desperately. “I’ll take the lessons! I’ll do whatever you want. Nan’er, just go!”

The boy’s Adam’s apple rose and fell.

A heavy sigh escaped him.

Jiang Wannan turned and ran from the room, tears streaming down her face.

Her heart ached with an indescribable sorrow.

Her mother had never liked her—simply because she was not a boy.

But how could anyone choose the sex they were born with?

After learning basic biology at school, she had been even more puzzled. If her mother truly wanted to blame someone, shouldn’t that blame fall on her father?

After all, it was the sperm that determined a child’s sex.

Because her mother cared only about her brother, the distance between mother and daughter had grown wider with every passing year.

Yet Jiang Wannan felt no jealousy toward Chengyan.

On the contrary, she loved him deeply.

Partly because he loved her in return—perhaps even more unconditionally than their parents ever had.

But there was another, deeper reason.

She understood him.

Despite being favored, Chengyan was no happier than she was.

His life, too, was heavy with silence, pressure, and pain.

Even primitive humans thousands of years ago had learned to huddle together for warmth.

She and her brother were much the same.

Their suffering came from different causes—but its weight was the same.

That shared sorrow bound them together as confidants… and as silent allies against the authority of their elders.

The indifference and contempt from her mother had left scars on Jiang Wannan that would never fully heal. Yet strangely, that same neglect had also granted her a certain freedom.

Pain and freedom worked upon her at the same time. Under their combined pressure, her mind matured far earlier than those of other children her age.

And so she often wondered:

Was she someone deserving of pity?

Or someone strangely fortunate amid misfortune?

She could never quite decide.

The Jiang family villa was enormous.

Jiang Wannan’s grandfather had never been a highly educated man, but he possessed a remarkable talent for business. In his youth he had served in the army. After retiring from military life, he built a construction company from nothing and named it Fengyan.

Through sheer determination he expanded the company into a thriving enterprise. To outsiders he was the very image of a tireless workaholic.

Five years earlier he had died of lung cancer.

The old couple had four children. The only daughter had been the third child—but she died shortly after birth.

Jiang Feng, the father of Jiang Wannan and Jiang Chengyan, was the eldest son.

After the grandfather’s death, Jiang Feng naturally became the chairman of Fengyan Construction. And his own eldest son, Jiang Chengyan, was already considered the family’s future successor.

In fact, the character “Yan” in Chengyan’s name had been personally chosen by his grandfather.

The meaning behind it was obvious. The intention was clear—his name symbolized that he would one day inherit Fengyan Construction.

Yet despite this apparent hierarchy, the true authority in the household belonged not to Jiang Feng, but to his mother—the family matriarch.

Two strange “laws of nature” seemed to govern the Jiang family.

First: although the men had built the family fortune, the women ruled the household with overwhelming force. Whether young or old, the wives seemed able to dominate their husbands and sons alike.

Second: women in the family disliked other women the most.

This hostility appeared everywhere—between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law, between sisters-in-law… even between mothers and daughters.

Anyone who truly knew Jiang Wannan would never think of her merely as a fragile girl.

But the women of the Jiang family neither knew her nor cared to.

Fortunately, there was still one woman in the house who was different.

Feeling dizzy and unsettled, Jiang Wannan wandered toward her second aunt’s room—— Liu Juan, her father’s second brother’s wife, the wife of Jiang Wannan’s second uncle.

Her aunt was pregnant. Jiang Wannan did not intend to complain about anything. She simply wanted to sit quietly beside her for a while.

That would be enough.

“Shh!”

Just as she reached the doorway, her grandmother suddenly raised a finger to her lips.

The grandmother cast Jiang Wannan a sideways glance filled with familiar irritation.

“Don’t wake my grandson.”

Jiang Wannan stopped abruptly.

She had not expected to see her grandmother here. The old woman had always looked down on Second Aunt and would never normally enter her room.

Grandson?

Only then did Jiang Wannan notice the baby in her grandmother’s arms.

Three nights earlier, Second Aunt had been rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night.

So she had given birth.

And to a boy.

It was strange. Only a few months earlier, a well-connected doctor had confidently declared that the fetus was a girl during an ultrasound examination.

Jiang Wannan could still remember the disappointment on her grandmother’s face then—the twisted expression, the venomous words.

Yet fate had suddenly reversed itself.

A boy.

Jiang Wannan almost laughed.

At least now her brother Chengyan would no longer be the Jiang family’s “only boy.”

Perhaps the grandmother would stop watching him so obsessively.

The old woman now performed what Jiang Wannan privately called a perfect Sichuan opera face-change (the lightning-fast shift of expression used in traditional Chinese opera.)

She turned her gaze away from her granddaughter with obvious disdain and looked down at the chubby baby boy sleeping in her arms.

Instantly her face bloomed with delight.

Her grin stretched so wide that Jiang Wannan half expected the old woman’s heavy cheeks to split apart.

A young woman stood nearby, looking nervous and submissive.

When the baby began to cry, the grandmother called out sharply.

“Xiaocui! Time to feed him.”

“Yes, Madam.”

The young woman stepped forward obediently, took the baby, and lifted her blouse to reveal her full breast.

The infant latched on greedily.

Watching him suck with noisy enthusiasm, the grandmother nodded with satisfaction.

“I chose a good wet nurse,” she said proudly. “Look how well he feeds! ”

Jiang Wannan frowned with quiet disgust.

She glanced around the room but saw no sign of her second aunt.

The baby was large and healthy. Her aunt, however, had always been frail. Most likely the child had been delivered by surgery.

At the time, Jiang Wannan barely understood what a cesarean section was. She had only heard adults mention it in fragments of conversation.

Still, she imagined the pain her aunt must have endured.

Where is she now? Jiang Wannan wondered.

Still in the hospital?

If so, why bring the baby home already?

Why separate mother and child at such a moment?

Was this simply because the grandmother wanted the baby near her?

No one in the world is more selfish than that old woman, Jiang Wannan thought bitterly.

The more she considered it, the angrier she became—and the more sympathy she felt for her second aunt.

Liu Juan was beautiful but fragile, both in body and spirit. Her temperament was gentle and subdued.

In many ways, she was a tragic figure.

Soon after marrying Jiang Wannan’s second uncle , she had obediently given up her own career. Yet fate had not rewarded her sacrifice.

She remained childless for years.

In a family that valued sons above everything else, this placed her in the lowest position imaginable.

Now at last fortune seemed to have smiled upon her.

She had given birth to a boy.

But Jiang Wannan doubted that her aunt’s position in the family would truly change.

In human relationships, inertia was powerful.

If you had long been treated as someone insignificant—someone others could easily bully—then unless you possessed the courage to transform yourself completely, you would remain trapped in that position forever.

A lamb awaiting slaughter.

The baby cousin had not yet been given a name.

Boys in the Jiang family were precious, and such matters required long discussions.

Grandmother may dislike me, Jiang Wannan thought, but surely she will love this child.

Then another thought followed.

Or perhaps he will grow up like my brother—

another puppet on invisible strings.

A wave of sorrow surged through her again.

She clenched her teeth to keep from crying.

Her body trembled.

She felt ashamed—ashamed of being born a daughter, and ashamed for her brother and this newborn boy, whose lives already seemed destined to follow invisible threads.

Why must people live such painful lives? she wondered.

Turning away in despair, she suddenly encountered a gentle face.

The old house steward, Zhang Wannian, stood at the doorway carrying a large bag of diapers.

For someone already immersed in sorrow, unexpected kindness could be almost unbearable.

“Grandpa Zhang—”

The moment she spoke, her tears spilled over.

“Wannan, why are you crying?” Zhang Wannian asked anxiously.

His heart tightened at the sight of the girl’s tears. He hurriedly set the package down and reached for her shoulder.

“Come,” he said gently. “Come talk to Grandpa in my room.”

It was Sunday.

Yet the vast Jiang villa felt strangely empty.

The Jiang family had never been particularly large. Before the birth of this newborn cousin, only Jiang Feng—the eldest son of the matriarch—had produced children: Jiang Chengyan and Jiang Wannan.

The men of the Jiang family seemed cursed with premature misfortune.

A year earlier, the matriarch’s youngest son—Jiang Wannan’s Fourth Uncle—had died in a car accident.

His wife had been pregnant at the time.

The child was only two months old when both lives were lost.

Zhao Ping, the wife of Jiang Wannan’s fourth uncle , was an ambitious and capable woman barely over thirty.

Within days of her husband’s death, she had miscarried.

When relatives visited her in the hospital, she lay pale and tearful on the bed, repeating again and again that she had slipped accidentally and fallen.

Her secretary had been the one who brought her to the hospital.

The secretary was a quiet woman who barely spoke. Whenever questioned, she only nodded in agreement with Zhao Ping’s story.

Zhao Ping herself had grown up in an orphanage.

With no one to rely on, she had pushed herself fiercely since childhood. Though she stopped formal schooling after high school, she later passed the national judicial examination and became a respected lawyer in Haishi at a young age.

She was small in stature and far less beautiful than Jiang Wannan’s mother, Ge Yumei.

Yet she possessed a remarkable charisma.

People said Jiang’s Fourth Uncle had pursued her tirelessly for years before finally winning her heart.

After marrying into the Jiang family, Zhao Ping’s career flourished even further. She established her own law firm and built an extensive network of powerful contacts.

But misfortune seemed determined to stalk the Jiang family.

Only a few months earlier, Jiang Wannan’s Second Uncle had begun coughing uncontrollably.

At first it seemed harmless.

Then he collapsed.

When doctors examined him, the diagnosis was devastating: advanced lung cancer.

Three months later, he too was gone.

Jiang Wannan would never forget that bleak day.

The funeral had been held on what should have been his fortieth birthday.

Liu Juan, the wife of Jiang Wannan’s second uncle, wept until her voice broke. Her grief was so intense that it nearly triggered premature labor.

Fortunately she carried the baby to term and gave birth to the boy now sleeping in the matriarch’s arms.

At the funeral, the old grandmother had fainted from crying.

When she regained consciousness, she cried out in bitter fury, accusing fate of cruelty.

Zhang Wannian led Jiang Wannan slowly to his small room.

His limp was the result of an injury suffered decades earlier during the Tangshan earthquake of 1976.

At the time he had been a young soldier sent to assist with rescue operations. A violent aftershock had crushed his leg, leaving him permanently disabled.

“Sit down first,” he said kindly, pulling out a chair for her.

“Tell Grandpa—who bullied you?”

Jiang Wannan knew that Zhang Wannian truly cared about her.

But no matter how gently he asked, she refused to reveal what had happened.

Instead she sat silently, staring at a stack of newspapers on his desk while tears slipped down her face.

Suddenly she lifted her head.

“Grandpa Zhang,” she said firmly, “please take me to the horse ranch. I want to go riding.”

Tears still clung to her eyelashes, but her voice carried an unexpected determination.

Although Jiang Wannan was young, she understood something clearly.

Zhang Wannian was only an employee of the Jiang household.

He might care deeply for her, but he could not protect her from the hidden battles within the family.

At most, he could offer comfort.

The old man hesitated.

He remembered the matriarch’s strict instructions about keeping the children at home.

And the horse ranch was some distance away.

After a moment, however, his expression softened.

Instead of refusing, he pointed out the window toward the garden.

In the courtyard stood a white wooden swing shaped like a hammock, entwined with blue and white morning glories. In the gentle spring sunlight it looked peaceful and inviting.

“How about we sit on the swing instead?” he suggested kindly.

Jiang Wannan shook her head vigorously.

“I only want to ride horses.”

The stubborn determination in her eyes finally melted the old man’s resistance.

“Alright,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Grandpa promises.”

He reached out and patted the girl’s head affectionately.

In an instant Jiang Wannan’s sorrow seemed to lift.

After all, she was still only twelve years old.

The moment hope appeared, her earlier misery faded like a passing storm.

With a mixture of nervous courage and childish excitement, Zhang Wannian quietly drove out the old blue car he once used years ago.

These days the vehicle was mostly used by Xiuhé for grocery shopping.

Together they set off toward the horse ranch.

Neither of them could possibly have known—

that when they returned,

everything would be different.

The world they left behind would no longer exist.