CHAPTER 156: WHAT RIGHTS DO YOU HAVE TO JUDGE HER?

Mother Qi remained silent through the entire story. It was a lot to take in—after all, who could immediately accept something as unreal as their daughter having transmigrated into another world?

Qi Jianyi didn’t press her for a reaction. She understood. Her mother needed time to process it all.

A few long minutes passed in silence before Mother Qi finally looked up, her eyes meeting Qi Jianyi’s. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but layered with emotions she had kept hidden for years.

"Is that why you were so different back then?" she asked quietly. "So awkward with us... it was because it wasn’t really you, but the other Qi Jianyi?" She paused, searching her daughter’s face.

"That child—so unfamiliar, yet so full of longing... She wasn’t you, was she?"

Qi Jianyi slowly nodded. "No, Mom. That wasn’t me."

"I knew it..." Mother Qi whispered under her breath, eyes slightly wide. "I knew it wasn’t you. But your father said I was just being paranoid..." she added, almost to herself.

Qi Jianyi stared at her mother in surprise. "How did you know?" she asked, unable to hide her shock.

Mother Qi shot her daughter a faintly exasperated look. "I am your mother, Qi Jianyi. I carried you, gave birth to you, raised you. I fed you, taught you, watched you grow from the moment you opened your eyes. And you think I wouldn’t notice if something changed?" Her tone was sharp—not angry, but laced with a mother’s wounded pride.

"How could I not notice when my daughter suddenly became so strange? You barely looked us in the eye. You flinched when I touched your hand. You spoke so differently... like you were tiptoeing around us." Her voice softened as she continued. "I kept wondering what happened at university. What changed you so much? I even thought... maybe you had some kind of trauma you couldn’t tell us about." She sighed.

"I suspected something was wrong. But your father kept dismissing it, saying I was overthinking things. Then one day—after that nightmare—you were suddenly back to yourself. Just like that. Smiling again. Laughing. Talking to us like you never left. I thought I was losing my mind."

Qi Jianyi’s chest tightened at her mother’s words. She had never imagined that her sudden change all those years ago had caused so much confusion and heartache.

Mother Qi leaned back slightly, her voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur. "At one point, I even wondered... maybe it wasn’t trauma. Maybe you had some sort of...other personality." She looked at her daughter. "I didn’t know it was someone else entirely."

That last part made Qi Jianyi blink in confusion. "Wait—’other personality’? What made you think she was another version of me?" she asked, brows slightly furrowed.

Mother Qi met her gaze with a knowing look.

"Ever since you were a child, you always struggled with nightmares," Mother Qi began, her voice soft but steady. "Sometimes they were so bad, you couldn’t sleep through the night. You would cry, scream... completely inconsolable."

She paused, watching Qi Jianyi’s face as she continued. "But somehow, you never remembered any of it. You’d wake up the next morning like nothing happened. When we asked, you always said you didn’t dream. But I remembered, Jianyi—I always did." Mother Qi’s expression darkened with the weight of those memories.

"You used to mumble in your sleep. You’d beg us not to leave you. You’d cry out, asking why everyone kept ignoring you... why you were always left alone. Sometimes, you even asked why we didn’t come home, or why we forgot about you." Qi Jianyi’s breath hitched. A distant sting stirred in her chest, as if some long-buried memory had been stirred.

"And some nights," her mother said more quietly, "you’d wake up, look me and your father in the eye, and ask why we loved your ’brothers’ more than you." Her voice cracked a little at the last part, and she shook her head.

"Brothers? But I don’t—" Qi Jianyi’s eyes widened in confusion, the words barely leaving her lips before Mother Qi cut her off.

"You don’t have a brother," she said firmly. "I never gave birth to a son. Yet, you kept saying those things in your sleep. You said you hated your brothers because we ignored you. You asked why we loved them more than you." Her voice trembled slightly, not from anger, but from years of helplessness and worry.

"I always wondered why you had those dreams. Why the same pain haunted you night after night," she continued, her face etched with sorrow.

"You were just a little girl, Jianyi. Barely old enough to understand what love even meant, yet already burdened with wounds you couldn’t explain. I searched for answers, but you never remembered a thing." Mother Qi looked straight into her daughter’s eyes then, a rare moment of steel in her usually gentle gaze.

After saying those words, Mother Qi looked at her daughter, her gaze unwavering and resolute.

"Jianyi... the person in your dreams—no, those dreams... they were that child’s life, weren’t they?" She didn’t need to say the child’s name. She didn’t have to.

Because Qi Jianyi already knew.

The truth pressed against her chest like a weight she had carried for years. And as silence fell between them, she remembered—those words from long ago, spoken in a trembling voice, buried deep within her memory.

"Just like how I can dream of you, you can also dream of me..." Those words, uttered by the other Qi Jianyi. One which once stunned Qi Jianyi but was forgotten by time.

Now, hearing her mother’s words, Qi Jianyi realised that she really did dream of her Miss Qi ’s life. She just couldn’t remember it.

Qi Jianyi hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes... those dreams were the other Qi Jianyi’s life," she admitted quietly, finally giving her mother the truth she had been searching for.

"When I woke up in her body, I inherited her memories... and I read her diary too. She lived a very lonely life. She was born while her parents were at their peak career. She was often forgotten by her parents and lived with her nanny and butler. It wasn’t until she turned ten that her parents came back to take care of her," Qi Jianyi sighed, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. "And after seeing how I grew up, she became greedy for what I had."

There was no bitterness in her voice—only quiet understanding. She could acknowledge that what Miss Qi had endured in her childhood was deeply traumatic.

Finally hearing the truth, Mother Qi let out a slow, heavy sigh. Her expression turned somber, touched with sorrow. All those years ago, she had only heard fragments in nightmares.

But now, knowing the full story, knowing that someone who looked just like her daughter had suffered such pain—it hurt even more.

"But her parents tried to make things right," Qi Jianyi continued gently. "They realised their mistakes and wanted to reconcile. But she wouldn’t accept them. She refused to forgive. She kept blaming her brothers—even though they didn’t do anything wrong. Instead of trying to heal or fix what was broken... she only focused on taking over my life." Her voice softened into a murmur, equal parts weary and pained. A complaint, but one laced with sympathy.

Qi Jianyi knew the soul-swapping incident hadn’t been caused by Miss Qi. Still, that didn’t erase the resentment she held toward her. What she couldn’t forgive was how Miss Qi had become so obsessed with living someone else’s life that she completely disregarded her own.

In chasing the illusion of happiness in Qi Jianyi’s world, she had let her own reality slip through her fingers—along with the chance to reconcile with the very family she longed for.

Hearing her daughter’s complaint, Mother Qi’s expression darkened. She frowned and flicked her fingers against Qi Jianyi’s forehead.

"And what right do you have to judge her choices?" she scolded. Qi Jianyi rubbed her forehead with a wince and looked up at her mother, pouting like a child.

But Mother Qi wasn’t moved. Her gaze remained firm, and her voice sharper now—laced with quiet disappointment.

"Were you in her place? Did you endure what she went through?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "Just because you caught a glimpse of her life doesn’t mean you understand the weight of her emotions, let alone have the right to question them."

Her words silenced Qi Jianyi. She swallowed the rest of her arguments, unable to refute her mother’s reasoning.

"Jianyi," Mother Qi continued, her voice gentler but still firm, "human emotions aren’t things you can measure or define easily. What feels small to you might be unbearable for someone else. You were born into love. Your father and I prayed for your safe arrival every day of my pregnancy. You were welcomed into this world with hope, with joy, and with open arms." She paused, drawing in a breath before speaking again.

"But that child... You said it yourself—she was born while her parents were at the height of their careers. She didn’t have what you had. She was raised by a nanny, by a butler. She barely saw her own parents. You think she shouldn’t resent them? You think she should just forgive and forget?"

Mother Qi shook her head slowly, eyes filled with a quiet ache. "You can’t pass judgment on pain you’ve never felt. We don’t even know what it was like for her...waiting for her parents who never came home."

Then, her gaze softened further, and she spoke the final words with a heavy truth.

"Waiting...may sound simple. But it is one of the most painful things a child can ever endure."