Su Qingwan returned to the Su household, her mind churning with unease. Try as she might, she could not place those men—apart from the thug Pan Jiaxiang, she could think of no one she knew who might be acquainted with such characters.
Her heart raced with growing anxiety. She rushed to the hall and placed a call from the public telephone to Pan Jiaxiang’s apartment.
The line was answered quickly. “Hello? Who is it you want?”
A sudden, sickening lurch twisted her chest. “Pan Jiaxiang, please.”
“Pan Jiaxiang? He left for study abroad some time ago. Left in quite a hurry, too.”
Su Qingwan stood frozen, slowly setting the receiver down.
She whispered to herself, “Gone abroad…? Why did he not even tell me? Did he not care for me? How could he simply cast everything aside?”
She strained to recall what had happened around this time in her past life. Her memory of it was strangely blurred. She had a vague recollection of waking unexpectedly in a hospital. When she had called Pan Jiaxiang, he had told her she had suddenly fainted, that he had rushed her there—but that he had been called away on urgent business and had left early. Afterward she had been so occupied preparing for the wedding that she had never pressed him on his movements.
Now it felt all wrong—yet she could not say exactly where the fault lay. She could not tell whether these half-remembered fragments were true, or merely figments of her own mind.
Su Fuying had just returned home when Su Hanhai came back from his offices. He greeted Song Bo warmly, and once the General had departed, called the family to dinner.
Su Fuying and Su Qingwan sat in silence. Only Su Hanhai appeared in high spirits, carrying the conversation alone.
“Fuying,” he asked, “what did the General take you to see today?”
Su Fuying looked up, her tone even. “The Song Manor.”
“The Song Manor?”
“He is having it renovated,” she replied. “He wished me to see what might be added or altered to my liking.”
“And the Manor is to be your marital home?”
“So he said.”
Su Hanhai narrowed his eyes. He distinctly remembered that when the marriage was first discussed, the Madam of the Song family had stated the couple would reside in the old family residence. He turned his gaze thoughtfully to his elder daughter. Su Fuying met his gaze calmly. Su Hanhai smiled, then gestured for her to eat—paying no mind whatsoever to Su Qingwan, who sat glowering in stony silence.
The meal proceeded, each person lost to their own private thoughts.
Song Bo departed for Northern Capital, and Su Fuying settled quietly at home to focus on her studies.
A few days later, the Qin family arrived at the Su household. At last, Su Qingwan’s betrothal had been formally arranged. Yet to look at Su Qingwan’s face, one would scarcely have guessed—she appeared far from happy.
When Madam Qin returned to the Qin estate, Qin Yiheng at last emerged from his private residence and came to the main house. Wherever Qin Yiheng went, the servants kept a full five meters away. All of the household knew of his vices; but the Qin family paid three times the going wage, and so his darkest secrets remained safely kept.
Madam Qin set down her handbag and sat upon the sofa, sipping tea as it was brought to her. Qin Yiheng appeared listless and drained; he slumped onto the sofa opposite her.
Madam Qin glanced at him sharply. “I have visited the Su family. The formal betrothal shall be held within these two days. I have already set about selecting an auspicious date for the wedding. For now—you will behave yourself. Do nothing to disgrace this family.”
A look of scorn curled her lip as she thought of Su Qingwan. “Never in all my days have I seen a woman so desperate to be wed.”
The matter had begun two days prior.
Ever since Su Fuying’s engagement, and Song Bo’s decision to prepare the Song Manor as a marital home, Su Qingwan had grown frantic. She had sought out Qin Yiheng, only to find him nowhere. She had tried to reach Madam Qin, but the women in her retinue had refused her audience. The marriage had been agreed in principle, yet the Qin family delayed making any public announcement—and Su Qingwan felt certain that the gossips of Haishi were already whispering behind her back.
Since her rebirth, Su Qingwan had found nothing but difficulty at every turn. The marriage exchange was the only thing that had gone as she wished. She was nearly beside herself with worry.
Desperate, she had stopped Madam Qin’s carriage in the street the day before. She had never once spoken the words outright—yet every question, every hesitation, every hint had cried aloud: Why is there still no date? Why no announcement?
It was behavior that filled Madam Qin with contempt. Had Su Qingwan possessed even a scrap of pride, she might have sought another match and still been thought well-born. Instead she had come begging to her very face—where else in all Haishi could one find such a woman? Had her own son been worth even a fraction of what he ought to be, she would not have looked twice at Su Qingwan, not if she came bearing a dowry of gold.
Madam Qin glanced at her dissolute, unworthy son—and her anger cooled, just a little. Su Qingwan would suit him well enough. They were well-matched, in truth—two souls who together could scarcely make one whole mind between them. Still, she had spent a lifetime building this family’s fortune. To think that in her old age it would all pass into the hands of such a pair… she could only hope her son would somehow learn to stand on his own.
If the manner of the betrothal was unseemly, the result was nonetheless secured—and Su Qingwan saw hope return.
The Qin family was prodigal with its wealth. Gifts of every description began flowing to the Su household, endless as running water. And with each crate, each bolt of silk, each chest of silver—Su Qingwan’s bitterness and anxiety vanished completely. Soon she would be the wife of the Qin heir, the envy of every woman in Haishi. Who could shine half so brightly as she?
Su Fuying paid it all no mind. She remained in her room, books spread open, steadily preparing for her examinations.
Still—when the day of the betrothal banquet arrived, she attended.
The Qin family spared no expense. The banquet was held at the Peace and Prosperity Hotel.
Qin Yiheng, however, did not come in person to escort the bride-to-be from the Su household. It was exactly as Su Fuying had expected—even in her past life, it had been so. On that day too, Qin Yiheng had arrived late to his own betrothal feast.
Su Fuying sat quietly among the guests, watching Madam Qin comport herself with such poised, unassailable dignity—and felt a quiet, knowing amusement. In this life, she told herself, she would simply sit and watch. She would see how far this alliance of gold and emptiness could hope to go.
The appointed hour drew near—and still there was no sign of Qin Yiheng. No one spoke of it. It was as though his presence were entirely unnecessary. Everyone in Haishi knew of his dissipation; that he should shrink from marriage was to be expected. That he should fail to attend his own betrothal was scarcely even remarked upon.
Su Qingwan, however, had braced herself. She remembered this from her past life too—and so she waited with forced composure. He would come.
Minute by minute the time slipped by. The auspicious hour had already passed before Qin Yiheng finally appeared at the hall doors.
No one spoke a word of reproach. Madam Qin simply gave a quiet signal—and the banquet formally began.
Su Qingwan descended the stairs slowly, trembling with hope and nerves. She took her place beside Qin Yiheng—who did not so much as glance in her direction. It was a union blessed by none who saw it. The ceremony concluded in haste, bare and unadorned. The applause and admiration Su Qingwan had dreamed of came only twice, faint and fleeting. It could not have stood in greater contrast to her own sister’s engagement—where every detail had been reverently observed, and every honor shown.
The ceremony had scarcely ended before Qin Yiheng vanished without a trace, leaving the greetings and toasts and guests to others entirely.
Su Fuying had watched enough of the performance, and drunk enough tea. She stood up and made her way toward the restrooms. The ladies of society greeted her with eager, deference-filled smiles as she passed. She returned their salutations with a polite nod and a faint smile.
When she emerged from the restroom, however—she found her path blocked.