After that long-winded speech, Qian Zhaoye seemed to have vented his frustration.
He unbuttoned his shirt, grabbed the wine glass, and took a big gulp. “Qu He, you’re so domineering and suspicious. You’re suffocating me.”
The silence in the air was deafening.
Qian Zhaoye pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.
Smoke curled up, blurring his face.
That face she had loved for seven years—at this moment, it vanished.
These seven years of feelings had also been completely shattered by his words just now…
Qu He sat silently at the edge of the bed, listening to his “accusations,” watching this ridiculous farce, feeling as if her soul had been ripped away.
So this was what Qian Zhaoye thought of her.
And at this moment, she had to admit—this man, Qian Zhaoye…
was rotten!
She just didn’t know if he had been rotten from the start, or had slowly turned rotten.
When the cigarette burned out, Qian Zhaoye approached and looked down at Qu He sitting by the bed from above.
As if the person who had spoken those words moments ago wasn’t him, he put on his hypocritical gentleness again, his thumb stroking her face like he was taming a cat.
“A He, don’t disappoint me again. Calm down and think about what I said. I’m leaving now.”
With that, he grabbed his suit jacket from the bed and walked out of the bedroom.
Hearing the door close from outside, Qu He finally couldn’t hold herself up anymore and collapsed to the floor.
Qian Zhaoye, you really did forget. It was you who proposed three years ago!
It was you! Kneeling on the ground with a ring, begging me!
Begging me to marry you.
It was you who said, ‘A He, marry me. I want to be managed by you for the rest of my life!’
But you forgot all of it…
Is this what all men are like—forgetting every vow they’ve ever made?
They never admit their own mistakes, always making excuses, always shifting the blame onto women.
They never feel guilt, only thinking that you’re too capable, too strong, too greedy, wanting too much…
And women, foolishly, because of promises made when their adrenaline was spiking, throw caution to the wind, only to end up slowly torturing their own bodies and souls.
Outside the window, the night wind suddenly picked up, whipping raindrops against the glass panes.
Qu He slowly removed the wedding ring from her ring finger, her fingertips trembling slightly.
Just like three years ago, when Qian Zhaoye had slipped it on her finger, and she had trembled with excitement.
The ring fell to the floor with a crisp clatter.
“Qian Zhaoye, from now on, we’re done with each other!”
After a long while, Qu He wiped away her tears, picked up her phone, and dialed a number. “Hello, is this 110? I’d like to report a drunk driver. The license plate number is…”
…
Nightfall.
Beishan Villa.
Zhuangzhai.
Inside the study, the only sound was the soft rustle of a goat-hair brush sweeping across rice paper.
The Jin Junmei tea on the tea table had come to a boil again, its fragrance wafting gently.
Dim yellow lamplight fell across Zhuang Bieyan’s handsome profile as he held the goat-hair brush, leaving neat rows of regular script on the gold-flecked rice paper.
“Rule three hundred and five: The more one speaks, the more one errs… Rule three hundred and eleven: Do not befriend those who are not good… Rule three hundred and eighteen: Once a decision is made, it must not be changed due to others’ words…”
Zhuang Bieyan’s brush suddenly paused. The scene from the bridal shop that afternoon surfaced in his mind again.
Her fluster when she accidentally fell into his arms… the faint red mole at her waist… and the reddened corners of her eyes…
His brush moved faster and faster, the strokes gradually revealing a suppressed restlessness.
He closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The pressure on his brush grew heavier and heavier, as if it might pierce through the paper at any moment.
But it seemed that only this way could he suppress all those thoughts.
“Uncle.”
A childish voice suddenly broke the silence.
Four-year-old little Zhuang Xi walked in with her hair loose, wearing strawberry bear pajamas and hugging a pink Labubu doll. A bit of cookie crumbs clung to the hem of her pajamas.
She walked to the other side of the desk, stood on her tiptoes to peek at what was on it, and shook her head knowingly. “Uncle, did you make a mistake again?”
Zhuang Bieyan didn’t stop writing, only furrowing his brow slightly. “Why do you say that?”
“Mommy told me.” Little Zhuang Xi tilted her head, her big round eyes spinning around and around. “Mommy said that every time Uncle copies the family precepts, it’s because he made a mistake.”
She tilted her head again as if recalling. “Last time it was because Uncle didn’t listen to Grandpa and didn’t go find Xi’er an auntie. The time before that was because Mommy said…”
“Your mother talks too much.” Zhuang Bieyan cut off little Zhuang Xi’s words, but his hand didn’t stop moving.
Little Zhuang Xi squeezed the doll’s ear and stomped her foot lightly. “She does not! Mommy said there’s a little monster hiding inside Uncle’s body.”
As she spoke, she made a gesture that was meant to look fierce but came out utterly adorable.
After a moment, she scrunched up her little face in confusion. “But Xi’er has never seen it even once?”
Zhuang Bieyan’s hand holding the brush froze mid-air. Ink spread into a black blot on the gold-flecked rice paper. He stared at the ink stain for several seconds, then continued writing.
Little Zhuang Xi was at that curious age. Not getting the answer she wanted, she simply walked around the desk and came up beside Zhuang Bieyan, her chubby little hands gripping the edge of the desk as she propped up her chin, staring straight at the characters on the paper.
“Wow, Uncle, you copied so much this time.”
The paper on the desk was thicker than the Strawberry Bear stickers in her room, densely covered in black characters that made her dizzy just looking at them.
Little Zhuang Xi had just started her second year of kindergarten and had recently learned some Chinese characters, so she could recognize a few simple ones and numbers.
She shook her little head, and as Zhuang Bieyan wrote, she read aloud, “The Zhuang Family Precepts, Article Three Hundred and Twenty-One: Do not… take… advantage of another’s… ”
“Huh?” Little Zhuang Xi’s round eyes were filled with great confusion. Her chubby little hand pointed at the air several times, her eyes full of innocent curiosity.
“Uncle, what does ‘advantage of another’s…’ mean?”
Even though she’d watched her uncle copy the family precepts so many times, little Zhuang Xi still hadn’t memorized a single one. After all, her mother had said that aside from Uncle, no one paid any attention to the Zhuang Family Precepts.
Zhuang Bieyan: “That character isn’t read as ‘zou,’ it’s read as ‘chen.’ And the last character is read as ‘wei,’ as in ‘danger.'”
Little Zhuang Xi didn’t seem to fully understand, just letting out an “Oh.”
After finishing copying the last precept, Zhuang Bieyan set down his brush and looked at the four characters on the paper, his voice low: “The Zhuang Family Precepts, Article Three Hundred and Twenty-One: Do not take advantage of another’s peril.”
He repeated it over and over, each word bitten off with extreme weight, as if using this method to admonish himself: “Do not take advantage of another’s peril.”
Yet even so, the turmoil in his heart remained difficult to quell.
Outside the window, the night wind swept in.
It lifted a corner of the rice paper. Zhuang Bieyan picked up the celadon paperweight to hold it down, his fingertip absently stroking the paper.
He lowered his eyes, staring at the characters on the page, lost in thought for a long time.
“Uncle?” Little Zhuang Xi yawned, barely able to hold onto the Labubu toy in her hand. She rubbed her drowsy eyes.
“Uncle, you’ve recited it so many times.”
Only then did Zhuang Bieyan snap back to reality, realizing little Zhuang Xi was already swaying with sleep.
He immediately bent down and scooped her up. Little Zhuang Xi clung to his shoulder like a koala, mumbling something unintelligible.
Zhuang Bieyan pulled a strand of hair from her mouth and asked, “Where’s your mother?”
Little Zhuang Xi yawned, her head bobbing, “Mom… Mom went out…”
She imitated the tone of the adults she’d heard in daily life, mumbling drowsily, “Mom and Auntie Yu went out… to find some fun.”
Zhuang Bieyan’s brows furrowed.
He took out his phone and called the contact labeled [Zhuang Liuyue].
When the blaring, hot DJ dance track ringtone looped for the second time, he hung up.
Looking at little Zhuang Xi, who had already fallen asleep in his arms, Zhuang Bieyan let out a soft sigh and walked out of the study, heading toward her bedroom.
“Do not… take advantage of another’s peril, do not take… advantage of another’s peril… do not…”
Little Zhuang Xi was already fast asleep, yet her lips still mumbled.
Zhuang Bieyan carefully laid her on the bed, gently smoothed her stray hairs, tucked in the blanket corners, and quietly left.
In the study.
The night wind once again lifted the rice paper on the desk.
Beneath the celadon paperweight, a corner of the paper covered in family precepts was blown up, revealing the sheet hidden underneath.
The handwriting was sharp and hasty, unlike the neat script used for copying the precepts.
[As for those who tarnish the pearl, that is another matter.]
The ink had soaked deeply into the paper, and especially the final stroke had nearly torn through it.
The night wind brushed gently.
The German irises in the courtyard swayed softly under the moonlight.
Carrying unspoken thoughts.
Falling silently.