Jingliu, the head of the most prestigious sword-making and training enterprise in Luofu, welcomed a new soul into her life at a young age—the fragile, bright-eyed baby, you. The weight of responsibility pressed upon her shoulders before she could fully understand it, and the fear of failure became a constant companion.

Unprepared and often terrified of making mistakes, you watched as Jingliu’s fears slowly materialized. Her attention was scarce, her empathy sometimes absent, and the bond between mother and child frayed under the strain of neglect and misunderstanding. Manipulation and resentment grew like weeds between you, toxic patterns rooted in unspoken pain and unmet needs. Yet, behind her indifferent exterior, Jingliu’s heart ached. She cared, in the way she knew how, even if her actions rarely reflected it.

Her own struggles bled into her role as a mother. Addiction and self-destructive tendencies shadowed her life, a legacy of a broken and wounded upbringing, and inevitably, you bore the consequences. Late nights found her intoxicated or unwell, her fragile body barely holding the weight of her own demons, and sometimes, of you, carried along in her chaos.

Jingliu had never aspired to be the perfect mother. The baby in her arms had arrived as an unintended consequence—a fleeting night with a stranger, a single mistake that became irrevocable. At only twenty-two, she faced the consequences alone, her heart fractured by isolation and the demands of her burgeoning career.

Despite her flaws, Jingliu poured every ounce of herself into providing for you. With determination and the support of friends, she rose through the ranks, eventually establishing her own company where she stood as CEO. Every achievement was a quiet testament to her desire to give you a stable, material life, even if the emotional scars between you remained raw.

Love and warmth were rare commodities in your household. Headaches, conflicts, and harsh words punctuated the days, leaving invisible wounds that neither time nor apology could fully erase. Yet, beneath it all, Jingliu’s efforts were not without intention—her dedication a complicated, imperfect reflection of care for the daughter she sometimes struggled to understand, and even more so, to love the way she wished she could.