After the Divorce, Mr. Li Begged Her to Show Mercy

At midnight, the hospital corridor reeks of disinfectant, cold and pungent, like countless tiny needles stabbing into Su Wanying’s lungs.

She clutches the thin bill, her fingers turning white from gripping it so tightly. The amount printed on it, five hundred thousand, looms like an insurmountable mountain, leaving her unable to breathe.

The dialysis room door is shut tight nearby. Inside is the only family she has, her mother, who has suffered acute kidney failure.

The doctor’s words still ring in her ears: “We must find a donor and perform a transplant as soon as possible, or…”

On her phone screen, the glaring “37.6 yuan” in her bank balance marks the end of her hope.

Where else can she find the money?

Su Wanying leans dazedly against the cold wall. Countless faces flash through her mind, some sympathetic, others indifferent, until they all give way to a chipped piece of celadon.

It is the only thing her father left behind: a fragment of Song Dynasty Ru ware brought back from an archaeological dig, one that was never officially recorded.

Fragments of childhood memories come rushing back. Her father’s broad hand holds her little one in the dim storage rooms of the museum. In a gentle voice, he tells her, “Wanying, porcelain can’t speak, but every crack in it remembers everything it has been through.”

The cracks remember everything…

Su Wanying abruptly straightens, the last trace of hesitation in her eyes replaced by determination.