Tang Ning hung up the phone and sat there in a daze for a while.
Sheng Xinglai asked: “Who was it?”
“A neurologist.” Tang Ning paused, lying smoothly. “Scheduling a follow-up to check my head.”
“Oh, my poor baby.” Her best friend squeezed her hand, concerned. “Did the doctor say when your head will be better?”
“The physical wounds shouldn’t take long, but…”
But the amnesia was another story.
Tang Ning thought for a moment, then asked sincerely: “Xingxing, why on earth did I marry Jiang Linye?”
“Well…”
Sheng Xinglai didn’t know how to answer.
Twenty years old. Tang Ning’s family company ran into trouble. She begged everyone she could think of—no one helped. In the end, Jiang Linye came back to the country and fixed it. But along with the equity transfer came the news that the two of them were getting married.
Sheng Xinglai had been stunned too, but Tang Ning never said a word about it.
They spent their last single night together at a bar. Sheng Xinglai genuinely wished her well. When they parted, she hugged her little best friend.
Tang Ning hadn’t drunk much at all, but in that moment she suddenly collapsed onto her shoulder and started crying.
She cried and asked, “Xingxing, am I really that useless? I don’t know how to do anything… I can only… I…”
I can only what? She never finished. She sobbed and wailed like she was trying to wring herself dry.
Sheng Xinglai’s heart broke. In the end, Jiang Linye came to pick her up and took her home.
After that, their contact gradually faded.
Sheng Xinglai opened her mouth, but the words turned into: “I don’t know either.”
“But Ningning.” She continued anyway, “You liked him so much in high school. I feel like—no matter whether you have those five years of memories or not—being with him would still make you happy.”
Tang Ning wasn’t sure herself: “…Maybe.”
“Anyway.” Sheng Xinglai paused, then suddenly turned and pinched her cheeks (which had barely any meat on them). “I’m really happy you asked me out to hang today.”
Tang Ning blinked: “…Huh?”
“Last time I saw you was during Chinese New Year.” Sheng Xinglai thought back. “You look happier now than you did then. I think that’s a good thing.”
“Ningning.” She said softly, “Be happier, okay?”
The sun set. The whole city was bathed in orange-red light. Inside the mall people still bustled, birds occasionally flew past the windows, but the air around them felt peaceful and quiet.
After Sheng Xinglai left, Tang Ning sat in place, waiting for Jiang Linye to pick her up.
She never expected even Sheng Xinglai to know nothing…
“Hey.”
She sat in the mall lobby, staring at her reflection in the bright floor-to-ceiling windows. She straightened her back and spoke in an accusing tone: “Aren’t you the one who loves to blabber nonstop? When did your mouth get so tight? Even Xingxing knows nothing—who else can you go complain to?”
Sunlight fell quietly. Her reflection stared back at her, silent, looking oddly pitiful.
Tang Ning propped her head in her hands, frustrated.
So half an hour later, when Jiang Linye drove up, this was the scene he saw.
Tang Ning sat alone in front of the mall’s huge window, back to him, surrounded by shopping bags from every major brand.
She hadn’t worn much when she left—her shoulders looked thin. Knees together, the irregular hem of her dress fell just below them, exposing a long stretch of fair, beautiful legs. Her looks were as eye-catching as ever; passersby kept turning to stare.
A little lonely.
But so obedient.
Seeing her this well-behaved, Jiang Linye’s anger over that potato-beef-ginger stew inexplicably halved.
He strode over, about to call: “Ning—”
Only when he got closer did he realize there was a small standing fan in front of her. She was staring at it solemnly, muttering earnestly: “Am I ugly?”
The fan oscillated left and right. She followed the rhythm, shaking her head seriously: “Not ugly, not ugly, not ugly, not ugly…”
Jiang Linye, suddenly speechless: “…”
欲言又止.jpg (wanting to speak but holding back.jpg)
The weather was nice today—clear autumn skies. Sunlight spread across the floor. Someone was playing the decorative piano on the first floor—a simple “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” the gentle melody drifting through the air with the dust motes.
He stopped behind her. The name died on his lips halfway. Even though the scene was ridiculous, something stopped him—he inexplicably didn’t want to interrupt.
He stood silently, lips pressed thin, watching her mutter to the fan.
But the next second.
The very next second.
Tang Ning steadied herself against the fan, tone suddenly cautious and nervous: “I know I’m not ugly, so…”
She carefully licked her lips, then asked in a small voice: “Does Jiang Linye have the kind of ability that can’t pass censorship?”
The fan: “…”
It mechanically shook left and right. She acted like it was real, looking utterly heartbroken, voice pitiful: “No, no, no… I’m so pitiful, my husband doesn’t have the ability that can’t pass censorship…”
Jiang Linye: “…”
A mouthful of blood stuck in his throat—couldn’t swallow, couldn’t spit.
Expressionless, he turned away and coldly called Chen Liangjun:
“Get me a new neurologist. My wife needs her brain re-examined.”
Caught red-handed trash-talking behind his back, Tang Ning spent the entire ride home in awkward silence.
Jiang Linye sat with a dark face, unable to figure out why he’d been going soft on her lately. He was clearly a man with a heart of stone—he should have just pinned this naive girl who’d never seen the full cruelty of society right there and done her : )
Tang Ning’s father had been in poor health in recent years and moved south, no longer in North City.
The two took a private jet back. The business jet cabin was like a miniature luxury sky villa. Tang Ning had no memory of this plane and felt a little curious: “When did you buy this?”
Jiang Linye’s face was tight. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak.
Luckily Tang Ning didn’t mind: “How do domestic flight routes get approved now? I’m going to the Asia Pet Expo next week—can I take your plane?”
Jiang Linye still didn’t speak.
He sat down, pulled out a book, and started reading. Head slightly lowered, sunlight poured in through the window, casting small shadows under his lashes and outlining the tense line of his lower lip.
His whole body radiated a thick “don’t fucking come near me” aura.
Tang Ning looked aggrieved: “…Fine.”
She’d never been one to beg for attention. She fastened her seatbelt, scooted as far from him as possible, and her voice gradually shrank: “Since you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t bother you anymore…”
She sounded like she was about to cry.
Jiang Linye’s hand on the book paused. The tiny flame in his chest flared up again effortlessly.
He was not indulgent—highly self-disciplined, even. Before puberty he’d been best at self-control, whether in studies or emotions.
But with Tang Ning, his self-discipline in one particular area kept getting dismantled again and again. His body slipped out of his control. He called it biological instinct.
The things a teenage boy of seventeen or eighteen wanted to do—he still wanted to do now.
“Tang Ning.” He closed the book and called her in a low voice.
The plane had already taken off; huge engine roar filled the cabin. He wasn’t sure if she heard—her reply was tiny, just a symbolic “Mhm.”
President Jiang spoke seriously: “I know you just had a car accident. You’ve forgotten a lot, and your physical condition isn’t stable.”
“…”
“But I’m telling you now: I don’t eat ginger. More precisely—I fucking hate ginger. Don’t test my patience with it.”
“…”
“And if you really doubt my ability, the plane isn’t a bad place to test it. I don’t want you to have any unnecessary misunderstandings in this regard.”
“…”
Tang Ning seemed too scared to make a sound. But after saying the last part, Jiang Linye thought for a second—actually, that third point sounded pretty exciting. Worth a try.
He waited… and waited.
No whimpering.
President Jiang sensed something and turned to look. His brainless little spoiled wife had already wrapped herself in a blanket, put on an eye mask, inserted earplugs, and fallen asleep without a care in the world.
Jiang · Heart of Stone · Linye: “…”
Fuck.
When the last ray of sunset disappeared over the horizon, the plane landed in Mingli City.
The southern climate and scenery were both beautiful. Tang Ning’s mother had passed away very early. After that serious illness, her father built a small house facing the sea and moved all the old furniture from their previous home here.
“I call this ‘seeing objects, thinking of people.’” He looked to be in good spirits. He snatched Tang Ning’s handbag, pointed at the cat-paw mug on the tea table, and declared in a booming voice, “Every time I see it, I think of you.”
Tang Ning scratched her cheek: “Really…?”
But she had absolutely no memory of ever buying such a childish, girly mug.
Jiang Linye followed them in, carrying gifts in both hands and handing them to the housekeeper.
He greeted Tang Ning’s father politely—almost overly formal, with a hint of distance: “Dad.”
Tang Ning’s father gave him a cursory glance, grunted “Mm,” then immediately turned back to Tang Ning: “Did you eat anything on the way here? Are you hungry? How’s your head? How did you crash? Have they figured out the cause of the accident yet?”
The barrage of questions made her head spin: “Dad, let’s sit down and talk.”
Her father instantly sensed something was off: “Since when do you call me ‘Dad’?”
Tang Ning: “…?”
She looked bewildered: “Aren’t you my dad?”
“You never liked repeating words. Said it sounded too cutesy and girly.”
Tang Ning: “…”
Was he subtly insulting someone here?
“Fine, Dad.” Tang Ning finally relaxed. It seemed her old man hadn’t been defeated by that stroke five years ago—he’d recovered quite well and was still as unreasonable as ever.
“I didn’t eat anything. My head… it’s okay, I guess. The wound is healing nicely, stitches aren’t out yet, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.” She let him take her hand and lead her across the corridor into the backyard.
As the view opened up, a gentle evening breeze blew. Tang Ning spotted the already-heated grill and the waiting meat and vegetables—her eyes lit up instantly: “Wow, are we having barbecue tonight?”
“You kept saying you wanted barbecue.”
Oh my god, only a father truly knows what his daughter wants to eat!
Tang Ning was practically tearing up with emotion: “Yes, yes! Ever since I got discharged I’ve been—”
“You can’t eat it.” Her words were cut off by a cool, indifferent voice from behind.
“I had the kitchen make congee for you.” Jiang Linye had followed silently the whole way. He pressed his lips thin, voice flat. “Ningning, barbecue is also a ‘heating’ food. You need to avoid it.”
He said “Ningning” so fucking sweetly, yet the tone was still that non-negotiable command.
Tang Ning’s mouth had been tasteless for days; the smell of meat was driving her insane. She thought for a second and tried to negotiate: “I won’t eat seafood or spicy stuff, okay…?”
Jiang Linye didn’t even hesitate: “No.”
Tang Ning froze.
His face was expressionless, standing under the eaves, half his features swallowed by the night. From her angle, his expression was hard to read.
“Little Jiang is so thoughtful.” The next second, her father patted her hand gently, breaking the silence. “Sorry, Ningning—Dad forgot.”
Tang Ning quickly: “No, it’s—”
“Dad will stir-fry a few dishes for you. What do you want?” He said it warmly—but didn’t spare Jiang Linye a single glance.
Tang Ning’s attention was instantly diverted: “Ah, I want your pan-fried tofu, crispy apple pie, and…”
The two of them walked off chatting, voices gradually melting into the night.
In the slightly cool early-autumn air, the breeze rustled the courtyard trees. Shadows danced, dark light flowed, and the faint fragrance of fruit wine drifted.
Jiang Linye still trailed behind them, silent, face blank.
Halfway there, Tang Ning seemed a little worried about him. While talking to her dad, she turned back and blinked at him—signaling him to hurry up and stop acting cool—
Jiang Linye’s heart gave a small, involuntary leap. A faint smile curved his lips, but he didn’t immediately catch up.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
He slowed his steps, gradually putting distance between himself and the two ahead. The night wind blew straight into his face, making him feel even more awake.
Oh. So old Mr. Tang was still the same as before—not even willing to look at him once.
But so what.
He thought.
His company and his daughter—both belonged to him now.