Overdo - Lacking the Courage to Enter Her World

Lacking the Courage to Enter Her World

He endured such torment that he felt compelled to make things difficult for her, finding fault at every turn, while she, in turn, merely lowered her head with docility. In his presence, she was simply afraid—she obeyed him only because she feared him. He did not want her fear, yet she felt nothing but terror toward him. Occasionally, if he caught her smiling, that smile would vanish the moment he approached. When he lost his temper, she would only grow more frightened. He truly understood what it meant to be heartbroken; the aftermath of such sorrow was a void that threatened one’s very life. He tried to fill this emptiness with other people and other things, but a piece was missing from his heart—one that belonged solely to her.

Summer in Fenggang, due to its unique topography with mountains at its back and the sea in front, was a renowned summer retreat, cooled by the refreshing sea breeze. The Fenggang official residence sat at a great height; looking out from the railings, one could see the endless expanse of turquoise sea, where scattered white sails looked like blossoms splashed upon the water. A white-winged, black-backed gull wandered into the flower garden, then startled at the sight of people and flew up to circle overhead. An adjutant hurried toward the back garden. Madam Murong had been there holding shears, snipping fresh roses for a vase; seeing his appearance, she knew something was wrong. Still assuming it was official business, she glanced back and smiled at Murong Feng, "See? I told you so—before eight o'clock, you were bound to get a phone call."

Unexpectedly, the adjutant approached and said, "Madam, the Fourth Miss called to say that the Third Young Mistress has had a fall. Judging by her tone, she seems quite anxious." Madam Murong’s heart tightened. If it were a minor fall, they would never have called; the consequences were naturally implied. Her only hope was that Weiyi was young and flustered, overreacting to the situation, and that it would turn out to be a false alarm. She quickly set down her shears and said, "Prepare the car. I am returning to Shuangqiao."

It was already afternoon by the time she rushed back to Shuangqiao. As dusk approached, the ancient, towering trees surrounding the residence made the light appear even dimmer. As soon as she reached the second floor, the several doctors gathered in the small parlor stood up and greeted her, "Madam." She read their expressions and understood the situation seven or eight parts out of ten, so she asked, "What is the condition?"

Among the physicians, Dr. Qin was the acknowledged authority, and he replied, "We still advise against moving the patient to avoid exacerbating the blood loss." Madam Murong nodded, sighed, and said, "I will go in to take a look."

Although her footsteps were light, Susu still heard her. Upon seeing her, she called out, "Mother," and tried to struggle upward. Madam Murong immediately said, "Don't move." Tears streamed down Susu's face like broken pearls as she sobbed, "I was so careless—I have truly failed you for caring for me."

Madam Murong took her hand, "My dear child, it was not intentional." She turned to Weiyi and said, "Tell them to remove all the carpets from the stairs for me." Weiyi acknowledged the order. Madam Murong patted the back of Susu’s hand to comfort her, "Don't cry, it was my negligence. Weiyi tripped there a few days ago, and it never crossed my mind to have them removed. If anything, it is my own lack of foresight." Susu’s tears would not stop. Madam Murong suddenly remembered and asked, "Where is the Third Young Master?"

Those around her exchanged uneasy glances. When the staff from the adjutant’s office were summoned to answer, they replied, "We have not yet found the Third Young Master."

Madam Murong said, "That foolish boy! I have traveled all the way back from Fenggang; has he ascended to heaven or vanished into the earth?" Although she was always gentle and graceful, the adjutant's office held more awe for her than even for Murong Feng. Confronted by her stern questioning, the adjutant answered repeatedly in the affirmative and retreated to make calls. Knowing the situation was dire since Madam Murong had returned, he immediately changed his tone when making calls, speaking bluntly: "No matter what, find Director Lei for me. Something has happened to the Young Mistress, and Madam has already returned."

It was only then that Lei Shaogong was located. By the time Murong Qingyi rushed back to Shuangqiao, the sky was pitch black. He ran up to the second floor in one breath, crossed the corridor, and suddenly stopped. He hesitated for a moment before finally walking into the main parlor first. Madam Murong sat on a chaise longue with Weiyi nestled by her side. Weiyi’s eyes were red-rimmed, while Madam Murong’s expression was unreadable; at the sight of him, she only sighed. He turned pale and, without realizing it, took half a step back. Madam Murong said, "Go and check on Susu—she is suffering enough as it is."

He stood there as motionless as a stone statue, his fists clenched tight. After a long while, he forced the words out through gritted teeth, "I will not go."

Weiyi cried out, "Third Brother, Third Sister-in-law did not do it on purpose." Madam Murong looked at him, and her eyes held an expression of pity—it was the same look she had when he was a tiny child, watching him try with all his might to reach a candy placed on the table, knowing full well he could never reach it. That maternal love and sympathy caused a faint mist to well up in her eyes. Even though he was a tall, handsome man of noble bearing standing before her, in his mother's heart, he was still just that tiny child. She said, "Silly boy, at a time like this, you must go see her, no matter what. Even if you say nothing, you must let her know you are there."

He turned his face away, stubborn and fierce, "I will not go."

Weiyi was baffled by his behavior and looked toward Madam Murong. Madam Murong sighed despondently, "Your temperament—I cannot temper it. Your father beat you nearly to death several times, yet he could not break your stubbornness. You will surely suffer for this your whole life. Third son, I do this for the sake of you and Susu. Are you truly unwilling to see her? She is in the most pain right now; if you do not go, she will inevitably think you blame her. Do you really wish to see Susu heartbroken?"

He remained silent for a long time before finally turning to walk out. When he arrived in front of the room, he involuntarily stopped. A light was glowing in the corridor; the weather was sweltering, and the light felt as though it were scorching. He stood there as if possessed, a profound silence surrounding him. He strained his ears, but he could not hear a sound from her—even the sound of her breathing would have been enough. But he heard nothing. Separated by a single door, how could he hear? That single door felt as though it separated two worlds—a world he could not bring himself to step into, a world he lacked the courage to enter.

Dr. Qin pushed the door open and emerged. Seeing him, he said, "Third Young Master."

Susu was already exhausted, but in her semi-conscious state, she heard that voice and opened her eyes urgently. The nurse leaned over quickly to wipe the sweat from her forehead, asking, "Would you like a drink of water?" She opened her mouth silently—no, that was not it; she did not want water. She wanted to... no... she did not want... She shrank back and gripped the nurse's hand, her voice barely a whisper, "Don't... don't let him come in."

The nurse turned back with curiosity. He had been about to step inside, standing right at the doorway; upon hearing her words, the blood drained from his face, leaving it as gray as death. She dared not even look at him, clutching the lace on the edge of the blanket as if he were a vicious beast. He finally turned and left, his footsteps heavy at first, as if dragging lead, then growing faster and more frantic. He rounded the corridor corner like a gust of wind and entered the study, slamming the door with all his might. The door let out a thunderous "bang" that echoed through the hallway—and it caused a large, heavy teardrop to fall silently from the corner of her eye.

She slept fitfully until midnight, only to be awakened by pain. The nurse asked her again, "Is the pain very bad? Or is there something you need?" The physical pain was almost insignificant compared to the ache in her heart. What did she want... what did she want... She tossed and turned, drenched in a cold sweat... What did she want? What she wanted was an impossible dream... and so, she could only, with a sense of humble self-awareness, choose not to want it... Only by not wanting would she avoid losing it again. Because, since she had never truly possessed it, she would never have to face losing it again. The prospect of loss was so despairing, so desperate, that it felt like having one's heart gouged out—a pain too great to bear. She had already lost her heart; she had no strength left to endure his reproach. He was angry—so very angry. He might not even like this child, but it was her fault; she had been so careless, falling on the stairs... She did not want to... It would be best never, ever to face him.

Madam Murong always rose quite early. She visited Susu first before walking to the study. The study was a large suite, and when she entered the rest room, she saw Murong Qingyi lying on the bed fully dressed, wrapped in a quilt, facing the inside and sleeping without a move. She sighed, sat down by the bed, and said softly, "Third son, you should go check on Susu. I can see that you cannot let her go."

Murong Qingyi turned his head abruptly and stared straight at her, "I have let her go—I do not want her anymore."

Madam Murong said gently, "My dear child, this is not the time for words spoken in anger. She did not fall on purpose, and she is suffering more than anyone."

He threw off the quilt and sat up, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, but his voice was as firm as iron, "Regardless, I do not want her anymore."

Madam Murong watched him quietly and could not help but sigh once more, "Your lips say you do not want her anymore, but what about your heart?”

He stared at the morning sun casting light through the window; the sunlight was a pale, golden glow that seemed to gild everything it touched. Yet, within that gold, dust rose—a myriad of tiny floating particles that felt like countless sharp needle points, drilling densely and relentlessly into his heart. There was no avoiding them, no room to breathe; this was nothing less than a death struggle. He clenched his fists tightly; her voice seemed to echo in his ears again, saying, "Don't let him come in."

She did not love him. Even at the moment he believed she was at her most helpless and in the most pain, she would rather face it alone than be with him. She did not love him; she did not want him... He forced out a sentence with cruel intensity, "There is no place for her in my heart—I don't want her anymore."

Madam Murong remained silent for a long moment before finally saying, "In my opinion, wait until Susu has recovered before discussing this. Such foolish words must not be spoken again, lest you break her heart."

He turned his head to look out the window. The ginkgo trees, with their countless little emerald-green fans, swayed in the morning breeze like thousands upon thousands of tiny hands pattering away. The shade of the trees was cool as water, yet the cicadas were buzzing all around, their shrill cries making one's heart feel as though it were being scorched by a raging fire.

The wind blew, and the forest whispered with a rustle that carried the chill of autumn. Looking out from the terrace, the ginkgo leaves were cascading down in a swirling dance, as if it were raining leaves. A layer of golden yellow spread across the ground, drifting and scattering; the fallen leaves carpeted the steps, and there was no one to sweep them away. A single leaf drifted slowly onto the terrace railing; its veins were still distinct, yet it had already withered, ground into mud and dust. Weiyi walked over, playfully twisting a sprig of newly bloomed white chrysanthemums in her hand, and tapped her gently on the shoulder, "Third Sister-in-law, it is a rare fine day, and since it is the Mid-Autumn Festival, let's go out and have some crab."

Susu said, "There is some in the kitchen."

Weiyi pouted and said, "I am truly tired of the food at home; let's go out to a restaurant."

Susu shook her head gently and said, "I don't want to go."

Since her illness, she had been melancholic. Although she had never been one for crowds, she spoke even less now. Weiyi only felt that her personality had become increasingly quiet, and when she occasionally raised her eyes, her gaze would invariably settle in the distance. Weiyi was usually a very lively person, but seeing her current state, she could not even bring herself to act spoiled. Seeing the book casually placed on the coffee table, she said, "Aside from Father, the most diligent reader in the house is you, Third Sister-in-law. You must have already read quite a lot of the hundred thousand books in the study."

Susu said, "I am merely passing the time; how can I compare to Father?"

Seeing her expression remain indifferent, Weiyi felt unhappy. After chatting with her for a while, she went downstairs to the back garden, where Madam Murong was standing by the pond feeding the koi. Weiyi watched the multicolored fish in the clear water, their mouths forming bubbles as they competed for food. After thinking for a moment, she could not help but say to Madam Murong, "I think it is Third Brother's fault. Since he married Third Sister-in-law, he should be devoted to her alone. Look at how heartless he is acting now, leaving Third Sister-in-law heartbroken."

Madam Murong pinched a bit of fish food and said, "What are you here to complain about today?" Weiyi said, "I saw that Miss Ye yesterday; she is garish and seductive like a spider demon—how could she ever compare to Third Sister-in-law? I just don't understand how Third Brother took a liking to her and is even brazenly letting her flaunt herself in public."

Madam Murong sighed and said, "Your Third Brother is a fool."

Weiyi said, "Indeed, I think he is bewitched."

Following her hometown customs, Susu went to her aunt’s house to deliver Mid-Autumn gifts. On her way back, she passed near the alley where she used to live. Seeing the familiar street, she thought for a moment and said to the driver, "Circle around to Sanguan Alley; I want to take a look at my old house." The driver drove the car to the mouth of the alley, stopped, and said, "Young Mistress, let me accompany you inside." Susu had always disliked having her staff follow her, so she said, "No need, I will only look from the outside." The driver acknowledged this and stood by the car waiting for her.

In the afternoon, the alley was quiet; the children who usually played boisterously were nowhere to be seen. The sky was gloomy, and the wind blowing against her face was cold, as if it were about to rain. The weather, which had been so pleasant in the morning, had changed in the blink of an eye.

Looking into the distance, the begonias under the fence were in full bloom, and the blue morning glory vines were entwining along the fence, clinging to one or two half-withered blue flowers. The courtyard was kept very tidy; she thought the house must have been rented out again. She had lived in this house for many years, and because the landlady was extremely kind, the house—though old and small—felt like a home in her heart.

Standing in the wind, she did not feel cold. She stood there in a daze for a long time until she heard the door creak open, and a little girl, about a year old, stumbled out. Her mother followed behind to scoop her up, complaining, "I turned my head for a second and you were gone." When she looked up and saw Susu, she gazed at her with curiosity. Susu saw that she was an ordinary young married woman with a round, very kind face. Although her clothes were not fancy, as she smiled at others, her brows and eyes held a sense of tranquility and contentment.

A bleak smile tugged at the corners of Susu’s lips. When she was a young girl full of longing, she had also thought that such contentment would last a lifetime—marrying, having children, growing old and sick, experiencing the joys and sorrows of the common people. Now, all of it had become a void.

The driver, worried, had followed her. She returned to the car and stared at the streets outside the window. The mundane, lively world was separated from her by a layer of glass. The car was almost out of the city when, in the distance at a fork in the road, she saw the black asphalt surface of the private road leading to the official residence. She said to the driver, "Sorry, please turn around; I want to go see a friend."

She went to Mu Lan's home, but she missed her. Mrs. Fang was incredibly polite, saying, "You are an honored guest who rarely visits; it is truly a pity today." She was just about to take her leave when she happened to encounter a car parking at the entrance. She had never seen the license plate before. When Mu Lan got out of the car and saw her, she was delighted, "Why are you here?" She took her hand and blurted out, "You've lost weight."

Susu forced a smile and said, "When I used to dance, I was always worried about my weight. Now that I don't dance, I've thinned out." Turning her head, she saw someone getting out of the car—it was Zhang Mingzhu. She did not feel anything yet, but Zhang Mingzhu was already frozen in place, as if struck by lightning, staring straight at her. Mu Lan did not notice and said, "Standing here is quite silly. The house is a mess, so I'm embarrassed to invite you in to sit. Let's go out for tea instead."

Susu had not seen her in many days, so naturally, Mu Lan had much to say; she ordered some pre-rain tea to drink while they chatted. Mu Lan said, "The tea here is nothing special, but the tea snacks are good. Look at this thousand-layer pastry; it’s made so authentically." Susu said, "This tea doesn't taste like pre-rain tea; it tastes more like pre-Ming tea." Mu Lan laughed, "Your palate has improved." Hearing her speak so casually and without restraint, Susu felt it was a rare tone of voice to hear and finally gave a shallow smile. Seeing Zhang Mingzhu opposite them just drinking his tea in silence, she asked, "Does Mr. Zhang still go to watch the ballet often?”

Mu Lan replied, "He does come to show his support quite often." She then shared a few amusing anecdotes from the troupe, which left Susu yearning with longing. "I really would love to go and see everyone." Mu Lan, in high spirits, smiled playfully and said, "That is easily arranged, though I fear it would turn into a grand spectacle, and the director would be nervous to death again." Susu answered, "The next time I have a free moment, I shall go alone and keep it a secret."

After chatting for two hours, Susu remembered it was the Mid-Autumn Festival and that there would be a small family dinner that evening; despite her reluctance, she had to leave. By the time she returned home, it was already dusk. Because of the fine, drizzling rain, the dark silhouettes of the trees had gradually begun to blur. The house was brightly lit, with servants moving about. There were no outsiders at the family dinner; Jinrui and his wife had brought their children, and the atmosphere instantly became lively. Murong Feng, finding a rare moment of leisure, amused himself by playing with his grandchildren. Murong Qingyi was the last to return. Because it was a holiday, Madam Murong was afraid that Murong Feng might get angry, so she hurriedly said, "Let’s eat now."

The children made for a lively meal. Madam Murong commented, "When they were small, I taught them not to speak while eating, and they were all willing to listen. Now that they are older, they have cast away all decorum." Murong Feng said, "They are lively by nature; why must you make them as dull as adults?" Madam Murong replied, "You have always indulged them. As soon as you see them, you become soft-hearted. It is truly strange; Jinrui and Weiyi are one thing, but especially with the Third one, you were so strict with him growing up. I never imagined you would be so doting toward them now." The youngest, a little boy named Jeru, chirped, "Grandfather is the best! Grandfather is soft-hearted, and I like him the most." This drew laughter from the whole family. Susu had been smiling as well, but as she turned her head, she suddenly saw Murong Qingyi staring at her. That gaze caused the smile on her lips to freeze silently; the corners of her mouth slowly drooped into an arc of helplessness.

After the meal, he left as usual. Fearing that Susu was heartbroken, Madam Murong specifically asked her to come and talk: "Susu, do not take it to heart. He has his own difficulties outside, and it is a rare virtue that you are so understanding of him." Susu softly replied, "Yes." Madam Murong held her hand and said warmly, "The Third one only has a hard mouth; in truth, he values you the most—do not pay heed to his foolishness; I shall scold him later. I can see that you have something on your mind, but you refuse to say it. Could it be that you blame him?" Susu shook her head gently and said, "I do not blame him."

Madam Murong said, "He has been unhappy lately, but you need not yield to him blindly. Between a husband and wife, what can they not speak of? I think you and the Third one ought to have a talk. As a mother, I can only say so much; seeing the two of you remain at such an impasse hurts me the most."

Susu lowered her head and whispered, "It is all my fault for causing you to worry, Mother."

Madam Murong sighed and patted her hand, "My good child, listen to your mother: talk to him. How can there be an overnight grudge between a husband and wife? Once things are spoken aloud, everything will be fine."

With so much on her mind, Susu’s expression remained distracted. Mu Lan tapped her hand with a spoon, giving her a start. Mu Lan smiled and asked, "What are you thinking about? You are so lost in thought." Susu gathered her strength and said, "Nothing at all. You asked me to come out today—did you have something to tell me?" Mu Lan’s face flushed slightly as she said, "Susu, there is something, but please don't blame me." Surprised, Susu asked, "What exactly is it?" Mu Lan said, "I know that he—he originally liked you."

For a split second, Susu was dazed. The memory of those three windmills flashed through her mind—but it lasted only a second before the stinging pain of bitterness returned. He had been so good to her once, but her heart could no longer hold him—that man was so overbearing, inflicting years of endless, dream-like torment and misery, yet it was he who occupied her heart, he who had so tyrannically stripped her of everything. Their vow of life and death had ruined her hopes, but she had been wrong all along; she had lost her heart and lost everything, only to be cast aside by him like a worn-out shoe.

Seeing her vacant expression, Mu Lan forced a smile and said, "Let's go to the silk shop to look at fabrics."

As they emerged from the silk shop, Susu inadvertently noticed a car parked on the side of the street, which made her freeze. The adjutant in the car saw her looking and, knowing she had seen them, had no choice but to brace himself and get out: "Young Mistress." Though she felt strange about it, she did not think much further. The adjutant, feeling guilty, quickly added, "The Third Young Master is in Shuangqiao; we are out on other business."

Hearing him say this, Susu gradually began to understand. She nodded, said "I see," and parted ways with Mu Lan before getting into her car and leaving.

That night, Murong Qingyi returned home for dinner, which was a rarity. Madam Murong had accompanied Murong Feng to a public banquet, leaving only Weiyi at home. In the vast dining room, the three of them seemed cold and desolate. Weiyi tried her best to find things to talk about, asking, "Third Brother, what have you been busy with lately?" Murong Qingyi said, "Just official business." He glanced at Susu and saw that she kept her usual expression; inside, however, he felt an inexplicable, angry bitterness and irritability. The gold-inlaid ivory chopsticks in his hand felt as if they had grown thorns, impossible to hold, and he nearly threw them down. She was so indifferent to him; she would not even ask a single question, nor would she offer even the slightest pretense of warmth.

After dinner, Susu went to the study to read. She held a volume of Song dynasty poetry, her eyes drifting over scattered lines: "The eighth pass of the loom, who wrote the verse on the reversible pattern? Woven into a piece of desolate meaning; reading every line, listless and wordless, unable to bear further reflection. Double flowers, double leaves, and double branches... unable to bear further reflection; paying a thousand gold for a rhapsody, yet when can one look back?" She had long since lost the courage to go on. Today’s encounter was merely the final reality she had to face. She held back the tears in her eyes, feeling as humble and insignificant as the lightest dust. By what right could she question him? She had known since the very beginning, when he took her by force, that his interest in her was nothing more than a fascination with her beauty.

She did not return to the room until the middle of the night. Only a single bedside lamp was lit, casting dim light. As she sat down gently on the couch, he suddenly flipped over and sat up, and only then did she realize he had been awake. Seeing a cup of tea on the bedside table, she reached out to pick it up, only to find it already stone-cold. She hesitated, put it down, and finally stammered, "I... I will go get you a fresh, hot cup."

His voice was rigid, "No need."

A sudden weariness washed over her, and she retreated to sit down again, feeling like a snail hoping to curl back into its own shell. Yet, she did not even have a shell as fragile as a snail's.

He stared at her and suddenly asked, "Why didn't you ask?"

Her voice was barely audible, "Ask what?" What did he want her to ask? Why he didn't come home at night? Who he spent his nights with? The names she heard whispered in the idle chatter of relatives, whether intentional or not? Her tears had long since dried up—what more did he want her to ask?! Outside the window was the sound of rustling wind and rain; the whole city was draped in a storm near the Double Ninth Festival—even the heavens refused to be kind.

Under the lamplight, her silhouette was so thin and frail that it stirred a sense of pain in one's heart. As if in a nightmare, he reached out, but she instinctively shrank back slightly. The pain in his heart flared up instantly like oil thrown onto a fire, "BOOM," it erupted, shattering the last remnants of his lingering resentment.

He sneered, "This time last year, you wanted me to find the child." She stared at him with wide eyes. He had suddenly ripped the scab off the most untouchable scar in her heart, pulling at her vitals with a bloody, unbearable agony that left her unable to breathe. The dark, gloomy expression in his eyes bore down upon her, "I will tell you now: the child is dead."

Her whole body trembled, and she used her last ounce of strength to grip the cold, carved flowers on the edge of the couch. Her lips quivered, but she could not utter a word. Yet, he refused to let her go, "That child died last year. In this life, you will never see him again." She clutched her collar tightly with one hand, as if that were the only way to gain enough air to breathe. A strange smile curled the corners of his lips as he watched her tears spill over, as if he were watching the flowers of victory bloom.

She no longer had the courage to go on. Those tears seemed to be no longer flowing from her eyes, but rather the hot, gushing blood of her heart. She tilted her face upward and reached out powerlessly to grab his sleeve, as if it were a final plea. He looked at her with resolute cruelty, watching only as she retreated in despair. Her hand touched a cold piece of porcelain, and a frantic, maddening desperation drove her to grab it and hurl it at him. He was a devil! He was a devil!

He ducked to the side, and the colorful porcelain vase shattered into fragments. Immediately, he slapped her; a metallic, sweet pain rushed to dominate all her senses, and her ears were filled with a buzzing ring. She stumbled, dizzy, onto the soft couch, instinctively covering her cheek. He grabbed her up, and she staggered into his arms. His eyes were frantic and desperate, like a dying beast, and he only wanted her to be buried with him!

She was like a bird trapped in a cage, frantically tearing at its own feathers. She grabbed whatever was within reach and hurled it at him; a table lamp hit the floor with a dull thud. She stepped on the shards of the vase, her slipper flying off; the sharp glass cut into her foot, causing agonizing pain, and bright red blood soaked into the carpet. Yet she felt no pain—the ache in her heart had long since transcended all else. Seeing that blooming lotus of blood, he suddenly let go of her, retreating far away, his eyes filled with a deep, sorrowful pain she could not understand.

She gasped for breath, heaving heavily. He lowered his eyes to the faint marks on his arm—the ones she had bitten last year, bitten so deeply and so severely that the scars still remained.

He said, "Tomorrow, I will speak to Father—we are getting a divorce."

She gathered all her remaining strength to lift her face, forcing herself to suppress her breathing. He did not want her after all; how could a relationship based on beauty possibly last? He had been captivated by her looks and infatuated for a moment, but how could that last a lifetime? This face had easily ruined her whole life. She actually revealed a faint smile; she had known since the very first day they met that she could not remain in his world for long.

When Madam Murong heard that Murong Feng was losing his temper in the study, she feared the situation would reach an impasse and hurriedly went over. She heard Murong Feng saying, "Tell me, in what way has that child Susu ever wronged you?" Murong Qingyi stood before the desk, head bowed in silence. Murong Feng continued, "You want a divorce today, but how did I ask you back then? Marriage is a major life event, not child's play, and you were the one who said you had considered it carefully. How can you go back on your word in less than a year? You are casting aside the old for the new, bullying others with your status!" Seeing his volume rising and fearing her son would suffer, Madam Murong interjected, "The Third one is indeed in the wrong, but you need not be so angry with him; let me discipline him."

Murong Feng said, "It is because you have indulged him since he was small that he has grown into this frivolous man. Look at him—he actually dares to tell me he wants a divorce. If this gets out, it will be a joke of monumental proportions!"

Hearing his stern tone and noting that he included her in the blame, Madam Murong knew he was truly incensed. She said softly, "The Third one is indeed absurd. Flirting outside is one thing, but he ought to know his limits. Looking at Susu, she does not seem to lack magnanimity. Why must you insist on a divorce? Are you intentionally trying to make us lose face?"

Seeing his mother's displeasure and hearing the veiled barbs exchanged between them, Murong Qingyi remained sullenly silent. As expected, Murong Feng scoffed, "Do not use the child's situation to jab at me like that."

Madam Murong said, "What did I say? You are clearly feeling guilty."

Murong Feng replied, "What do I have to feel guilty about? Every time I discipline him, you protect him without rhyme or reason. I want to see just how far you intend to spoil him."

Madam Murong replied, "His behavior today is nothing more than 'like father, like son'." This was too blunt; Murong Qingyi hurriedly called out, "Mother!" But Madam Murong held her head high, offering her usual elegant and serene smile. Murong Feng was infuriated. He stared at the scroll hanging on the wall—the words "Peace and Stillness" written in his own hand—his thoughts churning as he struggled to restrain himself. Murong Qingyi heard his heavy, rapid breathing gradually settle. Murong Feng finally shifted his gaze, staring at Murong Qingyi, and said, "You are so useless that from this day forward, I will no longer concern myself with your affairs. Divorce is absolutely out of the question. If you truly do not wish to be with her, tell her to move out."

Murong Qingyi still lowered his head in silence. Murong Feng struck the table, causing the pen rack and inkstone to jump, "Get out of my sight before I make you!"

As he exited the study, Madam Murong followed. Murong Qingyi said, "Mother, please don't take it to heart. Father is just stressed from work, so he is only venting his frustration." Madam Murong gazed at him, asking, "Third son, do you truly want to separate from Susu?" Murong Qingyi turned his head, looking toward the empty end of the corridor. An adjutant walked by carrying a stack of files, and in the distance, the faint sound of a telephone ringing in the duty room could be heard, as remote as if it were from another world.

He said, "Yes—I do not want to see her again."

The house was situated in the suburbs near Wuchi, not far from the Shuangqiao official residence. It was a new residence added for Murong Qingyi at the time of his marriage, but because Madam Murong liked to have her children nearby, Murong Qingyi and Susu had never moved in. It was a rare clear night in autumn; the moonlight was as cool as water, reflecting the shivering, withered leaves and branches in the lotus pond. She suddenly remembered—she remembered that autumn night when he had pointed out the pond of lush lotuses to her, crowded together like emerald canopies, the blossoms standing tall, pale white and light pink, bathing in the water and the moonlight. The light flowed between the water and the sky, making the flowers and leaves look like silk brocade. It was a moving beauty preserved by the hot spring, otherworldly and unstained, a work so perfect it defied natural laws, which was why it had drawn the jealousy of fate.

The begonias under the stone steps had bloomed, a branch leaning shyly to the side as if too weak to withstand the wind. In a few days, autumn grasses would sprout beneath these steps, too. The golden palace is long filled with sorrow, not remembering the spring; autumn dust rises in the golden rooms. The bright moon hangs high in the blue sky at night, shining alone on the woman in the long, desolate palace. This moonlight shone down, cold and indifferent, unaware of human suffering. Only the foolish would pray for it to be full—but in the blink of an eye, it would wither into a cold, thin hook, like a poorly drawn eyebrow, bent stiffly and coldly pressed against flesh and bone.

The maid, Xinjie, found her and said, "Young Mistress, these bluestone slabs are freezing cold, and you mustn't stay out in the autumn night air. Let's go back inside."

Cold and warm, day and night, rain and shine, spring and autumn—to her, what difference would there be from now on?

She felt a slight chill on her pillow; she got up and pushed the curtain aside a sliver to see that it was raining. The sky was a deep, dark gray, and the sparse rain dripped from the eaves, each drop hitting her heart like a drumbeat. The climbing roses had bloomed, their thin petals as fragile as if a single breath would melt them away. When the climbing roses reach their end, the spring is already gone.

The face in the mirror was pale and dim; even her lips had no color. Xinjie walked over and opened the wardrobe door, saying, "Today is a happy occasion; you should wear this red one."

The silk pajamas hung down to her ankles, cool and soft, like the night wind brushing against her coldly. Inside the wardrobe hung a row of magnificent clothes—brilliant in five colors, silk, embroidery, brocade... scattered flowers, circular patterns, broken branches... dark weaves or bright embroidery, densely clustered pearls. A life of splendor and luxury was nothing more than a play, just like a dream... She followed orders and changed into that silver-red qipao. Xinjie said, "Young Mistress, you should wear these bright colors more often. You are so young; it looks so beautiful, just like a flower."

A beautiful face is like a flower, yet those fresh peach and plum blossoms had long since been carried away by the flowing water, buried at the ends of the world.

She took a car to the Shuangqiao official residence. Madam Murong was in the small parlor; seeing her, she reached out from afar, "My dear child." Susu whispered, "Mother." Madam Murong looked her over carefully, adjusted her brooch, and said, "This is the one I had people send to you last time—I thought then that it would suit your temperament perfectly."

The brooch came from a famous foreign jewelry company; three diamonds flashed under the light, resembling a line of tiny teardrops. Madam Murong said, "There will surely be reporters later. Go to my dressing room; there are people waiting there. Have them redo your makeup and hair."

She replied softly, "Yes."

Makeup and hair were incredibly time-consuming. When she came back downstairs, she heard a familiar yet estranged voice outside the door, and her footsteps involuntarily faltered. She walked very lightly, arriving inside almost soundlessly, yet Jinrui turned and saw her, calling out, "Susu." He added, "You should wear makeup more often; it makes you look better."

"For a long time I have not painted my willow-leaf eyebrows, my leftover makeup is stained with tears on the red silk. I have not combed my hair in the long palace all day long; why bother with pearls to soothe the loneliness..." Clad in this finery, brilliant and dazzling, she was merely a flower displayed for others to admire—beyond that, what place was left for her?

Murong Qingyi did not turn his face at all. Madam Murong said, "Susu must not have eaten breakfast either. Third one, take her to get something to eat. The banquet is at two in the afternoon; there are still several hours left.”

Murong Qingyi stood up and walked out. Madam Murong shot Susu a look, and Susu had no choice but to follow him. The kitchen staff had been very attentive; upon hearing that it was breakfast for the two of them, they had remembered their individual tastes and preferences—preparing a Western-style meal for Murong Qingyi, and setting aside a bowl of delicate congee and small side dishes for Susu.

In the vast dining room, one could only hear the clinking of his knife and fork against the plate, a soft sound that soon faded back into silence. The last time they had met was during the Lunar New Year; after several months apart, he appeared thinner, likely due to the demands of his official duties, and his expression carried a faint air of weariness and annoyance. Perhaps he was annoyed by her, or perhaps by this occasion—an occasion that forced them to keep up appearances and feign peace.

The two finished breakfast in silence. She followed him quietly to the grand parlor outside the western corridor. As they walked through the hall, he suddenly turned back and reached out to take her hand; her body trembled slightly. Immediately, she saw the reporters in the parlor turning their faces toward them. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. She heard a chorus of camera shutters clicking, accompanied by blinding magnesium flashes that left her vision a blank white. She braced herself and, just like Madam Murong, blossomed into a smile for the lens—one that looked just like happiness.

It was a Western-style wedding. Weiyi wore a bridal gown with a veil carried by three pairs of little flower girls, her smile as sweet as honey. Once the ceremony was completed, ribbons and confetti showered down along with rose petals, like a dreamlike rain of flowers. A marriage made in heaven, a union to last a hundred years. She and Qixi Chengcai were a golden boy and jade girl, an otherworldly couple of immortals that no ordinary mortal could ever hope to reach.

That night, fireworks were set off at the Shuangqiao residence. Against the black curtain of the sky, each flower of light bloomed and faded in an instant. The terrace was filled with guests; amidst the crowd, he held her lightly, but it was nothing more than a performance. He stared upward, his eyes flashing with the light of the fireworks as if a hidden flame had been ignited within him. But then, just as quickly, the light dimmed and extinguished into the same old deathly silence, replaced by a cold, thin layer of ice.

The night wind blew, cold enough to make her shiver. In such a lively, prosperous scene, surrounded by so many people, he was so close to her, and yet she was entirely alone, facing the biting wind.

At the edge of the dance floor, the band was tuning their instruments. As the first waltz began, the music rose and fell like gentle ripples on a turquoise lake, or the crisp sound of copper bells swaying in the wind under the eaves. Susu was slightly lost in thought until, as she turned her head, he had already extended his hand from afar, leaving her no choice but to take it. His hand was slightly cool, yet his dance steps remained skillful; circling, turning... Around them was a sea of fragrant clothes and shadows. Only at this moment, only at this moment, could she legitimately lift her face slightly and gaze at him quietly.

His gaze, however, subconsciously drifted away. After a second or two, he met her eyes again. His expression was so gentle it nearly led her to a misunderstanding, and a flush began to bloom on her cheeks as her breathing grew shallow and hurried. She felt as light as a butterfly, his embrace the only thing she could cling to; she let him lead her lightly, wandering through the flower-filled dance floor. Eventually, only the music remained in her ears. Rotating, rotating... She felt a touch of dizziness. The music was a vast, tumultuous ocean, yet his eyes were a hopeless, boundless abyss. She lacked the strength to try and look down, fearing she would lose all reason and leap—he executed several turns in succession, guiding her away from the deepest, most bustling part of the dance floor. As the music swelled into its final, triumphant movement, her vision blurred, and she found herself standing in the shadows of a trellis of flowers.

He kissed her abruptly, his tightening arms pinning her in place, allowing no avoidance, no struggle. He had always been this overbearing. The warmth, at once familiar and distant, turned her whole body to jelly, yet the force of his lips stole her breath away once more in an instant. He drank in her scent greedily, like a man crossing a vast desert on the verge of death who had finally found the first drop of water, snatching at it eagerly without a care, his very breathing erratic and rapid.

She didn't want this—she didn't want him like this. Knowing full well that he was once again entranced by her beauty, she no longer had the strength to bear the pain of losing him again. She could only choose not to want it, not to let him treat her this way. It was as if she were one of the many flowers around him, remembered and petted only in a moment of stray recollection. Even if she were as humble as wild grass, she had already been abandoned by him. From this day on, she never wanted him to look back at her again.

She pushed hard, and he suddenly let go. She watched him quietly, watching the cluster of fire in his eyes slowly turn as cold and bleak as ice. Instead of fear, she felt a sense of fearlessness, meeting his sharp gaze head-on. A cold sneer tugged at the corner of his lips; he cast her hand aside, turned, and disappeared straight through the dance floor into the depth of the joyous, laughing crowd.

The night faded and the guests dispersed; it was already three in the morning. Madam Murong said, "I am old, and I truly cannot stay up any longer. I am going to sleep. Susu, it is so late, just sleep here, so you don't have to rush back early tomorrow morning." With it phrased like that, Susu could only say "Yes." As Madam Murong turned, she caught a glimpse of Murong Qingyi’s silhouette flickering outside the door and hurriedly called out, "Third son, where are you going at this hour?"

Murong Qingyi said, "I just received a call; I have to go out for some business."

Madam Murong asked, "Where are you going in the middle of the night?"

Murong Qingyi replied, "It is genuinely official business. If Mother does not believe me, ask the adjutant on duty." With that, he walked away. Madam Murong could only smile at Susu, "Pay him no mind; you go to sleep first."

Susu went upstairs. She had not stepped into this bedroom for nearly half a year, but the layout remained exactly as it had been, and even her slippers were still in their original places. The servants cleaned every day, so naturally, it was spotless. Yet, she knew he had not returned to this room for many days, because the antique clock on the bedside table—which he had always wound himself—was stopped on a date from months ago. Naturally, he had other places to go.

The bedding carried a faint, familiar scent of incense. The bed was so broad, and she curled up in her habitual way. Just as she began to drift off, the telephone suddenly rang. She picked up the receiver but before she could speak, a soft, sugary voice whined on the other end: "You heartless thing, were you really going to make me wait until dawn?"

She laughed, a bleak sound. Her heart was riddled with holes, and even the pain had become numb. She whispered softly, "He has already left; you don't have to wait until dawn."

Waiting was a kind of aging that knew no end, yet she had rejected even the act of waiting. In the study, the towering bookshelves held thousands upon thousands of volumes, requiring a special ladder to reach the books on the higher shelves. The time within those pages flowed more swiftly than water, and the eddies of the text occasionally kicked up little sprays. Yet her heart had turned into a dark, ancient well, overgrown with duckweed and shadows, slowly being devoured bit by bit. Spring had gone, the swallows had gone; summer had receded, the cicadas had grown sparse. Autumn had ended, and the fallen yellow flowers had piled up; winter had arrived, and the sound of rain was cold and shattering. There was no difference between the four seasons. She was a flower in a deep courtyard, withering slowly beside a broken well and ruined walls, unknown to anyone. Her colors faded, turning gray and decaying, until one day, she would be nothing more than dust and mud.

Her jade face had withered for three years; she had lost four, and now, she had lost once more—another long, drawn-out year. She feared that, in this life, it would be forever.

The house was broad and spacious, quiet and deep as a secluded valley, where the soft rustle of clothes seemed to be the only echo. The cold rain outside the window was chilly, tapping incessantly against the lattice. The telephone in the parlor rang abruptly, shattering the stillness like water, startling her for no reason. Immediately after, she let out a soft sigh; it was likely the adjutant’s office calling to notify her of some occasion she was required to attend. Xinjie answered the phone and came to tell her: "It is a call for you, from Miss Fang."

Mu Lan was likely the only one left who remembered her. She heard her say: "Susu, happy birthday." Only then did she remember, and she gave a faint "Oh." Mu Lan said, "I was afraid you might not be at home. I’ve invited a few old friends from the dance troupe to have a meal together; if you are free, could you come? Consider it us celebrating your birthday for you."

A room full of old friends stood up as she entered, smiling without speaking. Only Mu Lan came up to greet her: "I didn't think you would be able to come today." She smiled and said: "Receiving your call was the first true joy I’ve felt." Xiaofan laughed: "Oh my, I saw your picture in the newspaper a while ago and couldn't even recognize you. You are more beautiful than ever—just a bit thinner." As this was said, the others began to chime in with their own questions, and the atmosphere finally began to warm up.

The chrysanthemum hotpot bubbled softly, the ghostly blue flames licking the golden bottom of the copper pot. Through the thin, hazy white steam, Susu was reminded of the days when they used to scrape together their money to eat at little restaurants back in the troupe. They had eaten hotpot then, too—certainly not as refined as this—but the steaming air had been filled with laughter and chatter, just like yesterday.

Xiaofan remained her usual noisy self. "Susu, you are the most heartless one of all; you rarely contact old friends, and we only catch a glimpse of your beautiful face in the newspapers by chance." Mu Lan burst into laughter. "Susu, don't mind her; she already said today that she was going to bleed you dry." Xiaofan giggled as she fished a newspaper out of her handbag. "Look, I saved this specially; the photo is really well-shot."

Susu reached out and took it; it was the group photo taken at the time of Weiyi’s wedding. She stood dutifully behind Madam Murong, a faint smile on her face, with Murong Qingyi beside her. It was rare to see him in Western-style formal wear; above the bow tie was a familiar face with a strange, unfamiliar smile. Standing there as a pair, in the eyes of others, it must have looked like the definition of perfect happiness.

Mu Lan took the newspaper and asked with a smile, "Xiaofan, are you actually expecting Susu to sign it for you?" As she spoke, she gestured, "The hotpot is going to burn dry; hurry up and eat." She raised her glass, "Birthday girl, you have to finish this one."

Only then did Susu smile. "Don't you all know me by now? How could I possibly drink alcohol?" Xiaofan said, "This plum wine is just like soda; how could it ever make you drunk?" Mu Lan laughed, "None of us are heavy drinkers; it’s just a bit of festive cheer to celebrate your birthday." The others joined in the persuasion, and seeing that it was hard to refuse their kind intentions, Susu took a small sip. Xiaofan held up her glass. "Good, I wish you this happiness every year, and that every day is as bright as today." Susu said, "I really cannot drink any more." Xiaofan made a sound of surprise and asked, "Are you saying that in comparison to Mu Lan, I have no standing here?"

Hearing her put it that way, Susu had no choice but to drink half a cup. Once the precedent was set, the others naturally came up to toast her one by one. Susu had no recourse and ended up drinking several cups bit by bit. She had never been one for alcohol; she felt her ears and face growing hot, and her heart began to pound violently. The group chatted and ate, and she drank another half-bowl of sweet soup, which finally made her feel a bit better.

When she took the car back, the moment she stepped out and was hit by the cold wind, she felt dizzy and faint. Xinjie came out to meet her, taking her handbag with a beaming face. "The Third Young Master is here."

She froze for a moment and peered into the living room. His figure was clearly outlined against the dark contours of the furniture. A fire seemed to ignite in her heart, and her stomach twisted in a burning, agonizing knot, as if what she had drunk earlier was not wine, but a corrosive poison eating away at her bones. The look on his face caused her to lower her head; his voice was as cold and hard as stone. "Ren Susu, you’re actually willing to return?"

The intoxication hit like a hammer, landing heavy blow after heavy blow on her temples. The blood vessels there throbbed, as if sharp thorns were pricking her. He gripped her wrist, the pain causing her to gasp, and as soon as he let go, he flung her aside. "I think you’ve forgotten your own identity. Where have you been, drinking yourself into such a state before coming back?"

She raised her face in silence, watching him with calm indifference. This calmness utterly infuriated him; she was always like this toward him, and no matter what he did, he could not shake her. He turned and swept the teacup off the coffee table, the sound finally causing her to flinch slightly.

He was this angry only because his possession might have been coveted by another. She lowered her head again in despondent listlessness. He would only allow himself not to want her, but even if he didn't want her, he would not permit anyone else to harbor any designs. She was too weary even to argue, leaving only a cold, icy despair.

He said, "I will never believe you again."

A bleak smile floated onto her face. When had he ever believed her? Or rather, did he have any need to believe her? In his life, she was as insignificant as the tiniest speck of dust. What he could not tolerate was simply that this speck had inadvertently flown into his eye, so he had to rub it out to be satisfied. If not for that, how could she have ever commanded his busy attention?

The weather grew colder, and it began to rain again in the afternoon. She listened to the rain alone—pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, like weeping and pleading. When she was young, she hadn't liked rainy days; they were damp and cold, and one could only stay stifled indoors. Now, in this life of seclusion, she had grown accustomed to the sound of the rain: rustling against the banana leaves, each drop shattering her heart, as desolate as a low moan in her ear. Now, only this rain truly understood her. If the heavens possessed human feeling, they would weep for her until dawn. Perhaps the heavens truly were merciful in their eternal way, keeping her company with mist and rain outside these lonely, silent towers.

She pulled out a sheet of plain stationery to write a letter to Mu Lan. After writing only three lines, she froze and stared. Thinking for a moment, she opened a book and tucked the letter inside. The book still contained the lines she had written last year: "Even if I pay a thousand gold for a rhapsody, when can I look back?"

By now, she didn't even want to look back anymore.

The weather was cold, but the official residence was heated, filled everywhere with flowers—flowers in vases, floral arrangements, and narcissus kept in crystal stone platters... In the dining room, a pair of cloisonné handled vases held broken branches of plum blossoms. Warmed by the heat, the fragrance grew even more intense, as if radiating the warmth of spring. Jinrui and his wife, along with Weiyi and her husband, had all brought their children; with over a dozen adults and children, it was naturally extremely lively. Weiyi’s son was still in his swaddling clothes, very cute; Susu held him, and his dark, liquid eyes stared straight at her. Weiyi laughed from the side, "They say a nephew resembles his uncle—Mother said this child looks quite a bit like the Third Brother did when he was young." Madam Murong laughed, "Isn't that true? Look at these eyes and this nose; the contours are remarkably similar." Susu looked down at the child’s soft, pink little face, and in an instant, the most untouchable part of her heart was violently wrenched with a sharp pain, leaving her with an indescribable, overwhelming sadness.

Murong Feng was in a good mood, drinking a whole jar of Huadiao wine with Murong Qingyi and Qi Xicheng. Weiyi laughed, "Father is really happy today. Third Brother, stop urging Xicheng to drink more; you know his limit." Murong Qingyi, also slightly drunk, just smiled. "Girls always side with their husbands; you’re protecting him so much, but I refuse to listen." The two drank several more cups until Qi Xicheng was hopelessly drunk, and only then did they stop.

Last year, Susu had left after finishing the New Year's Eve dinner, but this day, Madam Murong said, "The Third one seems to have had too much to drink. Go upstairs and check on him; don't leave today." The meaning was quite clear. Because Madam Murong had always been kind to her, Susu could not bear to defy her on New Year's Eve, so she had to go upstairs. Murong Qingyi was indeed somewhat drunk; he came out of the bathroom and fell straight onto the bed, sleeping immediately. Susu let out a light sigh, and seeing him curled up haphazardly in the quilt, she had no choice but to lie down beside him fully clothed.

She had always been a light sleeper, but because they had stayed up to see in the New Year, she was exhausted and drifted off into a hazy, dream-filled sleep. In her muddled state, she seemed to be back at her aunt’s house, lying on the low, shabby bed, staring at the mottled water stains left by the leaking ceiling. The weather was unbearably hot, the sun outside the window baking the room like a mountain of fire, yet her body fluctuated between chills and fever. She heard her aunt say, "It is not that I am heartless, but today, you must be sent away." The child kept crying, struggling with all his might in the swaddling clothes, as if he could understand what the adults were saying. The child cried until his voice was hoarse, a desperate, heart-wrenching sound that shattered her own heart. Tears streamed down her face as she reached out a pleading hand, her body trembling as she sobbed... the child... her child... the child she was powerless to protect... She waited for him, finally waiting for him; he watched her from under the stage, every step she took on the stage stepping right on the tip of her heart. The child... could he help her find the child?... She sobbed, pleading... Third... Third...

During their most intimate moments, she had once called him by his childhood name. He turned over; he was merely drunk, or perhaps he, too, was dreaming. That heart-breaking sound of crying still echoed in his ears. Her crying, she was crying... He woke up with a start, instinctively reaching out. "Susu!" It was truly her; it was she, curled up over there, her body softly trembling. She called him again: "Third..." Just that one sound, and inside him, everything collapsed, as if something had shattered. For two years, he had spent nearly two years building a dam drop by drop, thinking it was impregnable and solid as gold, yet it turned out to be utterly fragile, unable to withstand this single sound from her. With just that one word, he felt as if he were under a spell; she was here, she was truly here. He held her tightly. "I am here, Susu, I am here..." She opened her eyes, sobbing, looking at his face under the dim light. He had been gone for two years, abandoned her for two years, yet at this moment, his eyes were filled with an intoxicating softness. He was merely drunk, or perhaps she was merely dreaming, and that was why he was looking at her like this—as if she were the most precious treasure in the world, a treasure he would lose the moment he let go. She shivered uncontrollably; his body carried the familiar scent, so warm it made her want to throw herself into the flames like a moth. She was walking to her own doom, but he was looking at her like this, as if they were back in the days... in the past... in the past, he had once looked at her with this same greedy yearning...

He smelled faintly of wine. Sadness and calm gradually returned to her eyes, and she turned her face away. He reached out eagerly for her lips, but she didn't want it—she didn't want this inexplicable comfort; perhaps he was treating her as if she were someone else. She raised her hand to block him. "No..." Knowing full well that he would not stop just because she refused, she was merely struggling in her death throes, yet he paused for a moment and slowly let go. A look of something she could not understand gradually surfaced in his eyes—it was almost like sadness... He looked like a child who had had his favorite toy snatched away, or like a beast trapped in a pit, watching helplessly as the hunter approached with a gun, an expression of despair—despair so deep it made her heart tremble. She only heard him whisper, as if in a dream, "Susu, I love you.”