Fake Poverty, Real Mansions: My Parents Lied

I swallowed hard and handed over the poverty certificate once again. "Ma'am, this has the village committee's official seal on it. Are you sure there hasn't been some mistake?"

The staff member sized me up and responded flatly, "Do you honestly think the system could be wrong? Don't think you can come here, play the victim, and pull the wool over our eyes just because your parents live in the countryside and registered you under a separate household!"

The moment her words fell, the gazes from the surrounding crowd pierced into me like needles, accompanied by whispers and murmurs.

"This young lady looks like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Who would've thought she'd have the nerve to do something so shameless? Stop holding up the line for everyone else and move aside!"

My face flushed a deep crimson, and even the tips of my ears were burning. The staff member at the counter was already calling for the next person, not bothering to spare me another glance.

My heart sank. Ultimately, I turned and walked out of the hall. The midsummer sun beat down on me, yet I felt as though I was wrapped in a sudden chill, unable to stop myself from shivering.

As one of the many children in the mountain village whose parents worked far away, ever since I could remember, the days I spent with them could be counted on one hand.

While other families gathered to ring in the New Year together, I could only sit alone in our mud-brick house, staring blankly as I listened to the sound of firecrackers in the distance.

Over the years, every time I brought up wanting to go to the city to find them, my parents would stall and come up with all sorts of excuses.

"Nicky, the place your dad and I rent in the city is only a few square meters," Mom had said. "There's barely enough room to turn around, so you wouldn't have a place to stay if you came.

"Study hard, and once you get into a good university in the future, your dad and I will move into a bigger place. We'll bring you over to live with us then."

Consequently, all these years, I had never dared to slack off for a single moment. I studied like my life depended on it, determined not to let my parents down.

The day my acceptance letter arrived, I bawled my eyes out, thinking we would finally never have to be apart again. Yet now, holding this heavy acceptance letter, I felt absolutely nothing.

On the way back to the bus station, my phone rang. It was Mo. I stared at it blankly for a few seconds before numbly pressing the answer button.

"Nicky, don't worry about the tuition. You got into such a prestigious university. Your father and I will support you even if we have to sell everything we own! So, don't put too much pressure on yourself."

After hearing Mom's warm, affectionate tone on the other end of the line, her words—which should have been comforting—just made me feel completely torn apart inside.

I gathered myself and cautiously asked, "Mom, once I start university, I'll be able to live with you… and Dad, right?"

Mom fell silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice sounded heavy. "To tell you the truth, the reason I called is to let you know… next year, your dad's company is sending him to work on a project in another state. It's a four-year stint."

She paused for a brief moment before adding, "But don't worry about that just yet. Let's wait until you graduate, and then we'll—"

"Mom," I cut her off. "Can I come visit you today?"

This time, she fell silent for even longer. It took a long while before she finally forced out, "I've been working back-to-back night shifts at the factory these past few days, Nicky. I need to catch up on sleep during the day, so I won't be able to look after you.

"Plus, it's such a long trip for you, and it'll be tiring and expensive. I think you shouldn't put yourself through that."

After hearing the familiar rhetoric, I couldn't tell if it was disappointment I felt or if I had simply gotten used to compromising long ago. I responded softly, "Alright. In that case, I'll get out of your hair now."