“You ran off to Hong Kong just seven days after getting married, then vanished into thin air for a month, and now you bring up a divorce the second you get back?”
Zhu Qing gave the door panel a symbolic, casual tap before leaning against the frame of the top-floor office, her voice lazy and teasing.
Out in the open-plan office, the crowd that had previously gathered, drawn by Zhu Qing’s tall and striking figure, fell dead silent at her words. They scattered instantly like startled birds, not a single soul daring to witness the scene of their boss’s marriage falling apart.
As for the master of the office, Fang Qinghui, she was currently buried deep in the stacks of documents piled across her desk.
Wearing a spotless white shirt, her features were haggard yet refined, with silver-rimmed glasses slightly masking the dark circles beneath her eyes.
She ignored the crowd that had abruptly gathered and dispersed outside, and she ignored Zhu Qing.
After a long while, she finally raised her head, looking in Zhu Qing’s direction. She froze for an imperceptible fraction of a second before beginning to rummage through her desk for a file folder.
“Take a look through this. If you don’t have any issues with it, just sign,” her voice was unnaturally hoarse, seeming to startle even herself.
Zhu Qing’s very first thought at that moment was a pang of heartache—the other woman looked like she had lost weight. That was immediately followed by a creeping wave of headache and annoyance.
Because she herself looked exceptionally exhausted lately practically on the verge of dropping her disguise she had spent the entire morning concealing the dark shadows under her eyes, using makeup to soften her sharp brows and fierce gaze.
Yet this woman, her own partner, sat here so calm and undisturbed, generously displaying every trace of her fatigue as if none of it mattered at all, and as if Zhu Qing herself meant nothing to her.
Carefully locking away her self-mockery and lingering anger, Zhu Qing stepped into the office. “What did you go to Hong Kong for?” she asked as she walked, “And who did you go with?”
As she spoke, she lifted her chin slightly, presenting what she considered her most flattering angle.
Fang Qinghui merely answered with detachment, “I hardly think that topic has anything to do with our divorce.”
“Fine. Let’s talk about something else then.” Zhu Qing closed the distance step by step. “Why on earth do you want to break up with me?”
Fang Qinghui didn’t answer. She turned her head slightly to the side, lost in some distant thought, until she suddenly felt a shadow cast over her and realized Zhu Qing had already walked right up to her.
Placing both hands on the back of the chair, Zhu Qing trapped Fang Qinghui in the narrow space between her body and the seat, her tone laced with bitter self-mockery:
“Is it because you think I meddled in your sister’s and your family’s affairs?”
“Is it because you think I used technicalities to force you into marrying me?”
With every sentence she uttered, her tone grew heavier and her posture closed in by another inch, until the two of them were almost pressing forehead to forehead, their very breaths audible to one another.
Finally, she bit out each word with deliberate precision: “Or have you fallen in love with someone else?”
The confined space instantly plunged into a pin-drop silence, but Fang Qinghui remained stubbornly silent. Silence could never match the surging emotions inside Zhu Qing’s chest; instead, it only made her muscles grow tighter and the fire burning in the depths of her eyes flare hotter.
After a long pause, she finally lost her restraint, her voice sharpening into a harsh demand: “Who the hell do you like? The head of the Zhu family? Or Min Li, that megastar who’s been trailing after you for years?!”
The outburst of anger tore through the cocoon, igniting the heavy atmosphere. Yet at that moment, Fang Qinghui let out a sudden, bitter laugh, raising her head to look into Zhu Qing’s churn-reddened eyes. “That’s more like you.”
Only then did Zhu Qing snap back to awareness, realizing how uncomposed and out of control she had just been. She abruptly pulled back, retreating two steps away before turning her back to her.
All she heard was Fang Qinghui’s clear voice: “You need to understand—I will never be able to love you the way you love me.”
“That’s why I’m giving you so much money.”
“I can’t make you happy, but money definitely can.”
Zhu Qing asked in a painful, disbelieving counter-query, “Do you really think I stayed with you for money? Besides, trading marriage for money is far too risky and has terrible cost-effectiveness! Betting on someone else’s conscience and character like that is nothing short of ridiculous.”
“It’s simply something I personally insisted on giving you,” Fang Qinghui replied instantly.
“Don’t give me that foolish talk about not needing a lot of money and wanting a lot of love instead. Maintaining dignity and a polished appearance, staying relaxed, having your own private space—all of those things require money.”
The bitter ache and anger in her heart swelled continuously with the other woman’s words, scorching Zhu Qing’s stomach and her heart.
She turned around in anguish to look into Fang Qinghui’s cold, deep eyes, feeling as though she were staring into a pool of water with an unknown current.
Fang Qinghui let out a long sigh. “We aren’t a good match. You should go find someone whose eyes are filled with only you.”
“You’re willing to give me this much money, yet you claim your eyes aren’t filled with me?” Zhu Qing had looked over the agreement drafted by the lawyer; she knew the divorce papers represented an astronomical sum—essentially all of Fang Qinghui’s savings since she started her company.
An annoyed Zhu Qing strode forward, pulled a set of photos out of her pocket, and slammed them down onto the desk.
Scattered all across the desk were pictures capturing Fang Qinghui pushing a suitcase, with a tall, slender woman standing shoulder-to-shoulder beside her. That woman was none of other than Min Li, and the date printed on the corner of the photo was precisely the day they had left for Hong Kong.
Fang Qinghui’s breath hitched for a beat. “You had me followed? You’ve always—”
“Yeah. Because that’s more like me.” Zhu Qing laughed at herself with a grim, released sort of resignation. “But it doesn’t matter. Whether you went to Hong Kong with her, or if you actually harbor some feelings for her, I can clear away any obstacles.”
As she spoke, she leaned forward and grabbed the other woman’s wrist, clamping down on her rising and falling shoulder blades with a punishing, slight squeeze. “And a divorce is fine, too. Marriage is just a formality.”
“Let go.” There was a dampness brewing in the other woman’s gaze, and even the ends of her voice were trembling.
“But you were the one who softened your heart and accepted me in the first place. Now you’re telling me to let go?”
As Zhu Qing spoke, she lost control and increased her grip, the corners of her eyes stained red as her breathing grew heavier and heavier. “And whether we’re a good match or not isn’t up for you to decide alone. I think we are an absolute match—”
Slap.
A crisp sound rang out. A faint reddish hue quickly bloomed across the side of Zhu Qing’s face. The blow wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to scatter the lingering gloom in her mind.
Zhu Qing couldn’t quite remember how she had walked out of the other woman’s office. She only remembered the sight of Fang Qinghui’s slender spine trembling continuously, like a lark whose feathery wings had been battered and drenched. She had wanted to pull her into an embrace and gently soothe her shaking body, but all she heard was the woman repeatedly murmuring apologies and telling her to leave.
Afterward, she saw Min Li brushing past her side, offering her a faint, knowing smile. She had wanted to step forward and demand answers, but she was whisked away by a driver “thoughtfully” arranged by Fang Qinghui, sent back to the downtown flat they used to share. The most ironic part was that this apartment, overflowing with their shared memories, had also been signed over to her as part of the divorce settlement.
Fang Qinghui really hadn’t taken a single thing with her. At that thought, Zhu Qing let out a sudden, self-deprecating laugh.
The autumn night was heavy, shrouded in thick, dark clouds. She sat sprawled out on the cashmere rug, endlessly replaying the memory of Fang Qinghui’s aloof, dark pupils in her mind—she had wanted to walk right to the center of those deep pools, to probe every ripple and undercurrent.
Yet now she discovered her efforts had been entirely in vain; not even her own reflection seemed to have been cast upon that lightless riverbed.
She was certain this wasn’t how their story was supposed to end, but she couldn’t help drifting back to the very beginning, to the first time she had ever laid eyes on those eyes that would drive her to such desperate, uncontrolled ruin.
Two years ago, Rong University dorm.
Autumn was just beginning; the stifling heat had faded, but the bitter cold had yet to arrive. This brief window was one of the rare times in the city where spring and autumn passed in the blink of an eye when the weather was crisp, clear, and refreshing.
“I consulted the heavens through divination! Recently, the omens are exceptionally favorable for outfits, traveling, and falling in love!” Wen Xiaozhi declared with sudden excitement after spending over ten minutes tinkering with the crystals, tarot cards, and copper coins piled all over her desk.
“I consulted the dorm room through observation. The omens are favorable for sleeping.” Zhu Qing strode into the room, her long legs encased in wide-leg jeans. Back then, her features had been even more youthful, her expression bold and sharp, her gaze carrying a hint of a rebellious youth’s edge. It was a kind of beauty with an extremely strong, aggressive, and razor-sharp aura.
She casually ran a hand through her hair that had just brushed past her shoulders, tossed a few brand-new love letters into the drawer beneath her desk, and then carefully retrieved the camera body and lenses from her gear bag, setting about preparing her batteries and memory cards.
Wen Xiaozhi pointed an index finger and shook it from side to side. “Seriously, I’m not lying. I laid out a spread for you—you seriously have some peach blossom luck coming your way.”
“I certainly don’t recall giving you the exact time and date of my birth. Did you manage to hack my personal registry?” Zhu Qing shrugged, her hands never stopping their task.
“Ever heard of tarot? I don’t need your birth details for that at all, okay!”
Zhu Qing shrugged noncommittally, a tired smile creeping into her tone. “Alright, little fortune teller, I was up for an eight a.m. class this morning. It’s noon now, and food coma is kicking in, so I’m going to sleep. Keep playing with your cards while I lie down for a bit.”
“Didn’t you skip class this morning? Besides, have you even attended more than a handful of classes since junior year started?” Wen Xiaozhi grabbed her by the arm. “Trust me just this once! This Saturday—I calculated that you’re going to meet your true love this very Saturday!”
The moment the words left Wen Xiaozhi’s mouth, a girl decked out in a complete anime cosplay outfit suddenly pushed the door open. Her wig featured smooth lines and crisp textures, her costume was exquisitely detailed, and paired with her small, delicate face and painstaking makeup, she looked like a spot-on, one-to-one recreation of the anime character.
Before Wen Xiaozhi could even compliment the girl’s look for the day, the pretty newcomer suddenly shouted, “Zhu Qing, I need your help with something this Saturday!”
Saturday? Saturday again!
Zhu Qing’s head throbbed. She felt like if she didn’t run into a ghost this Saturday, she was bound to collide with a demon instead.