Chapter 6: Like a Fish Slowly Roasting on a Fire

 

Lei Shaogong paused at the front of the living room before turning down the stone path toward the attendants’ quarters. In the duty room, newspapers and letters had just arrived, and the staff were busy sorting them for clipping and review. Though his position was largely honorary, he often lent a hand, and today was no exception.

As he worked, the doorway darkened. Wang Linda, deputy director of the First Attendants’ Office, entered. Though familiar with Lei Shaogong, he offered only a curt nod.

“What happened exactly?” Lei asked.

“Something at Mang Lake—a landslide,” Wang Linda replied.

A chill ran through Lei Shaogong. “When did it happen?”

“We received the call after five o’clock. Song Mingli and Zhang You were summoned immediately. Anger was inevitable.”

Lei’s unease deepened, though he dared not speak openly.

Wang Linda hesitated, then added, “There’s something else.”

They stepped outside together. The rain had dwindled to a mist, barely dampening their clothes. The bluestone slabs gleamed, freshly washed. A sparrow hopped across the courtyard, then startled into flight as they passed. Wang Linda watched it vanish into the branches, his brow furrowed.

“Last night, sir somehow learned of the Third Young Master’s overdraft. His expression darkened at once. With the Mang Lake incident this morning, I fear his temper will break.”

Cold sweat prickled Lei Shaogong’s back. He steadied himself. “Where is the madam?”

“She went to Suigang with the eldest daughter yesterday morning.”

Too far for help. Lei pressed, “Who else is here?”

“Tang Haoming and his people are in the meeting now.”

Lei stamped his foot. “Useless. I’ll call Mr. He.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” Wang Linda murmured.

Before he could finish, an attendant hurried over. “Director Wang, phone call.”

Wang Linda departed, leaving Lei to act. He rushed to the telephone, but the line was busy. At last, the switchboard connected him.

“This is Lei Shaogong. Please ask Mr. He to come to the phone.”

The operator complied at once. Lei’s hand sweated against the receiver until He Xu’an’s calm voice came through. After a brief explanation, He Xu’an said simply, “I’ll come right away.”

Relief washed over Lei as he hung up.

The attendants’ quarters were empty, silence pressing in. His unease grew until another attendant burst in. “Director Lei—you’re here. Sir has lost his temper badly and is holding the family discipline rod.”

The words struck like a blow. “Why doesn’t anyone try to persuade him?” Lei demanded.

“No one dares. And the Third Young Master refuses to beg for mercy.”

Lei stamped his foot. “How could he beg? That temperament of his has brought trouble again and again.”

From within came the sounds of chaos. The more others pleaded, the harsher the punishment became. The discipline rod snapped, and the master seized a white-copper fire poker from the hearth. Jin Yongren, head of the attendants’ office, rushed to intervene but was shoved aside.

“All of you get out!” the master thundered.

Even Jin Yongren, usually trusted, knew the matter had gone too far. He barked to an attendant, “Why are you standing there? Call the madam at once!”

Lei Shaogong’s heart sank. Beyond salvaging.

He hurried to the corridor just as He Xu’an’s car arrived. Opening the door, Lei’s expression told the story. Without a word, He Xu’an strode toward the east wing. Jin Yongren, seeing him, exhaled in relief and opened the door himself.

Lei paced the corridor until at last two men emerged, supporting Murong Qingye. His face was ashen, his steps unsteady. Lei rushed forward, lending his arm.

“Go call Dr. Cheng,” he ordered.

By afternoon, Madam Murong and Jin Rui returned. They went straight upstairs. Lei Shaogong, leaving the room, bowed quickly.

“Madam.”

She waved him aside and entered. Seeing her son’s injuries, her composure broke. She wept as she comforted him, speaking softly for a long while before emerging again.

Her eyes, red with tears, fixed on Lei Shaogong. “Why did he strike the child so severely?”

Lei answered carefully, “Because of the Mang Lake incident, the unauthorized overdraft, and several minor matters that all came together.”

Madam Murong dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Is this worth such punishment—over official business?”

Her voice trembled with anger and grief. “How much did the third child overdraw? Where could he possibly spend so much that he needed an overdraft?”

Lei Shaogong hesitated, unable to find the right words. Before he could speak, Jin Rui interjected, her tone cool yet practical. “Mother, the third brother is too playful. It’s good for a father to discipline him a bit, otherwise he’ll only grow more reckless.”

Madam Mu Rong’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at her son’s battered form. “Look at those injuries—he must have struck him with a metal object. How heartless… he nearly killed the child.”

Jin Rui replied evenly, “Father was angry, so naturally he struck with whatever was at hand. Mother, you should rest. After half a day in the car, you must be exhausted.”

Madam Mu Rong nodded faintly, then turned to Lei Shaogong. “Little Lei, please look after the third child for me.”

With that, she left, her sorrow trailing behind her like a shadow.

By dusk, the rain had returned. Outside the bedroom window, an old locust tree swayed, its leaves spread wide like a weary umbrella in the mist. Murong Qingyi stirred, drenched in sweat. His voice was hoarse. “What time is it?”

Lei Shaogong stepped forward quickly. “Almost seven o’clock. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t want to eat anything. Where is Mother?”

“Madam is downstairs,” Lei answered. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “This afternoon, when she spoke with sir, the attendants said it was the first time in many years they had seen her angry with him.”

Murong Qingyi gave a bitter smile. “She feels sorry for me. My whole body aches. But tell her not to say more—Father is still angry. It would only make things worse.”

Lei hesitated, then said, “Sir intends to send you abroad. Madam is furious about it.”

Murong Qingyi let out a hollow laugh. “I knew it. Father means to deal with me severely this time.”

“Perhaps it’s only anger in the moment,” Lei offered.

Just then, Madam Mu Rong entered. Lei excused himself quietly. Murong Qingyi saw the traces of tears on her face and whispered, “Mom.”

Her heart broke anew. She clasped his hand. “I don’t know what’s come over your father. He insists on sending you abroad. How can I bear to part with you?”

Murong Qingyi’s heart sank, but he forced calm. “Going abroad isn’t such a bad thing.”

She nodded, though her voice trembled. “Your father wants you to study for two more years. I’ll apply to a good school. Learning something before you return will always be useful.”

After a pause, she added, “Your father means well, though I don’t agree with his methods. You are too willful at times. Abroad, life won’t be like home. It will temper your stubbornness.”

Murong Qingyi gave a wry smile. “Father beat me half to death, and after a moment’s pity, you’re already lecturing me on his behalf.”

“Do you think your father doesn’t care for you?” she said softly. “When you’ve done wrong, admit it. Why provoke him into such rage?”

He knew her heart was still with him, despite her words. So he changed the subject with a faint smile. “Which university will Mother apply to for me? Perhaps I should attend your alma mater.”

At last, she laughed through her tears. “Mischievous child. You know very well my alma mater was a Christian girls’ school.”

Days of confinement passed. Youth and resilience sped his recovery, and soon he could walk again. When he descended to the small sitting room, he paused at the doorway. Madam Mu Rong looked up and smiled. “Why don’t you come in?”

Murong Feng also raised his head, his gaze stern. Murong Qingyi stepped forward and bowed. “Father.”

Murong Feng’s voice was cold. “Your frivolous nature hasn’t changed. I wasted my time placing you in the military, hoping discipline would correct you. It was useless.”

Fearing another outburst, Madam Mu Rong interjected quickly. “I’ve already discussed going abroad with the third child. He’s willing to study.”

Murong Feng snorted. “Stay home and review your English. As for your friends, I’ve ordered Jin Yongren to make other arrangements. If you dare cause trouble again, I’ll break your legs.”

Murong Qingyi lowered his head, dejected. Madam Mu Rong turned to her husband. “Enough. He’s already injured. How could he go out?”

Then to her son, she said gently, “Your father only wants the best for you. Calm yourself and study. It will serve you well abroad.”

Murong Qingyi could only nod. He was under house arrest, his attendants reassigned. The days dragged, heavy with silence. When his wounds healed, Madam Mu Rong herself escorted him overseas.

Seasons turned. Autumn yielded to winter, winter to spring. Time flowed like an arrow, swift and irretrievable. Days bloomed and withered like hibiscus flowers—buds, blossoms, decay, and bloom again. Four years passed in a breath.

It was autumn once more. Rain whispered against the windows, cooling the night like water. In the dressing room, laughter rang out—girls chattering like a flock of sparrows.

Ren Susu sat apart, quietly tying the ribbons of her ballet shoes. Mu Lan came over, her face troubled. “Susu, my heart is in such a mess.”

Susu smiled faintly. “You’re a big star now. Are you still nervous before performances?”

“It’s not stage fright,” Mu Lan confessed. “I just heard the madam is coming, and my heart started racing.”

Susu froze, though she could not say why.

Mu Lan continued, “They say Madam Murong is a ballet expert. I’m afraid of performing before her.”

Susu finally comforted her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. You dance beautifully, and you’re famous. That’s why she’s coming to see you.”

The stage manager appeared at the doorway. “Miss Fang, the makeup artist is waiting for you.”

Mu Lan smiled at Susu before slipping away to her private dressing room.

Susu lowered her head, fingers fumbling with the satin ribbons of her ballet shoes. Her hands trembled, pulling the ribbons taut as if they were strings about to snap. It took her far too long to tie them properly. One by one, the other dancers drifted toward the stage until she was left alone, knees drawn up, the silence pressing in.

Outside, the sky darkened. Rain thickened against the windows, its rhythm merging with the distant strains of music from the stage—the mournful notes of Butterfly Lovers. Yingtai’s heart, startled and joyful, echoed through the theater. In the play, even tragedy allowed a fleeting moment of happiness. But in Susu’s reality, even a moment of happiness felt like an impossible luxury.

On the dressing table lay rouge, powder, eyebrow pencils, lipstick—scattered in disarray. She stared at the mirror, her reflection frozen, a statue carved in pallor. Her feet had gone numb, but she did not notice. At her temples, sharp pricks throbbed like needles piercing her veins. Clad only in a thin costume, she shivered, waves of cold seeping into her bones until it seemed her very blood had turned to ice. She bit her lip until it bled, yet never thought to reach for a coat.

Suddenly, commotion erupted in the corridor. A voice called her name. “Susu!”

Again, louder, more urgent. She did not answer until the stage manager burst in, breathless. “Susu, quick—Mu Lan has sprained her ankle! You’ll dance Zhu Yingtai for the final scene.”

The world spun. A buzzing filled her ears. She heard her own voice, small and broken. “No.”

The stage manager stared in disbelief. “Are you crazy? You’ve been the understudy for years. Why won’t you take this chance?”

She shrank back, fragile as a snail retreating into its shell. “I can’t. I stopped dancing for two years. I’ve never performed the lead.”

Impatience sharpened his tone. “You’ve always been Miss Fang’s understudy. This is an emergency. It’s only the final scene. Who else can do it if not you? What airs are you putting on at such a moment?”

But she wasn’t pretending. Her head throbbed, splitting with pain. She shook her head desperately. “I can’t.”

The director and teacher rushed in, voices coaxing, urging, pleading. Still she resisted. Time slipped away. At last, the stage manager and director, without further argument, pushed her forward. The grand red-and-gold curtain rose.

It was too late.

Music surged through the theater. A sea of faces blurred before her, suffocating. Her body moved by instinct alone—years of training guiding her through arabesques, fouettés, jetés. Sweat dampened her brow, arms spread like wings. Light and music swallowed her, leaving only mechanical motion.

Forty minutes stretched into forty years. She was a fish out of water, roasting slowly on fire—skin tightening, breath quickening, unable to escape. Each step was agony, each landing like a knife edge slicing her heart. The nightmare returned, tearing her apart anew.

At last, the music ended. Silence fell. She heard only her ragged breathing. The stage lights burned like a fallen sun, sweat dripping down her skin.

Then applause thundered. She had forgotten to curtsy, leaving Zhuang Chengzhi stranded. Hastily, she returned to bow beside him.

Backstage, she was surrounded, voices praising her brilliance. “Susu, you danced wonderfully!”

She was collapsing inside, but allowed herself to be swept back to the dressing room. Someone handed her a towel; she pressed it weakly to her face. She had to leave. Somewhere in the audience, she had seen him. Fear, sharp and desperate, consumed her.

The director rushed in, elated. “The madam is here.”

The towel slipped from her hands. She bent to retrieve it, but another hand reached first. Slowly, she raised her head. Madam Mu Rong approached, smiling. “Look at this child—so beautiful. She dances beautifully, but she herself is even more beautiful.”

Susu gripped the dressing table to steady herself. Madam Mu Rong took her hand warmly. “She’s truly lovable.”

The director introduced her. “Madam, her name is Ren Susu.”

Susu managed a faint, trembling greeting. “Hello, madam.”

Madam Mu Rong smiled and moved on. Susu stood drained, gathering the courage to lift her eyes. And there he was.

Murong Qingyi.

Still elegant as jade, tall as ever, his presence unchanged by the years. Her face drained of color. She had thought their worlds had parted forever. Yet here he stood, unchanged, unreachable, inevitable.

Fear surged. She stepped back, heart pounding.

The room buzzed with voices, reporters snapping photos, flowers arriving, companions laughing. Yet for her, there was only silence. She moved like a puppet, smiling when prompted, shaking hands, posing for photographs—an empty shell.

At last, Madam Mu Rong departed with her entourage. The noise ebbed. The director invited everyone to supper, but Susu excused herself, claiming illness, and slipped out the back door.

Rain poured down, the wind biting cold. An umbrella appeared above her. She looked up, dazed.

“Miss Ren, it’s been a long time.”

It was Lei Shaogong. She glanced at the car waiting in the shadows.

“Please get in the car to talk, Miss Ren,” he said politely.

He half-expected her to refuse. Yet after a moment’s hesitation, she walked toward the car. He hurried to open the door.

The journey was silent. Lei Shaogong studied her reflection in the window. Murong Qingyi had known many women, but never had he seen him so transfixed. Even after four years, his gaze had not wavered.

Ren Susu had grown more beautiful. But it was a beauty edged with fragility, one that stirred not only admiration—but unease.

The house at Duanshan had only just been renovated, its air still carrying the freshness of new polish and paint, every detail touched with quiet elegance. Ren Susu lingered at the car door, hesitant to step inside. The living room, though subtly renewed, was arranged as it had always been—familiar yet unsettling.

Lei Shaogong, sensing his presence was inappropriate, closed the door behind them and withdrew. The corridor was dim, lit only by a small lamp whose yellow glow fell across the newly laid cement floor. Outside, the rain whispered ceaselessly, filling the silence with its mournful rhythm.

Because they had accompanied Madam Mu Rong to the evening’s event, both men were still in formal military attire. The heavy fabric clung uncomfortably, and after pacing the corridor several times, Mu Rong Qingyi grew hot and restless. Irritated, he turned again—then faintly heard his name.

“Little Lei!”

Lei Shaogong hurried to the living room door. There, Ren Susu leaned against the sofa armrest, her shoulders trembling as if she had been crying. Under the lamplight, Mu Rong Qingyi’s face was pale as snow, his expression strangely vacant, as though struck by some great shock.

Alarmed, Lei grasped his hand. “Third Young Master, what’s wrong? Your hand is so cold.”

Mu Rong Qingyi glanced once at Susu, then drew Lei into the corridor. The chandelier’s light spilled sideways, illuminating his dazed features. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “I need you to do something for me.”

Lei answered at once, “Yes.” But no further words came. Uneasy, he prompted again.

“Third Young Master?”

At last, Qingyi said, haltingly, “Go—go find someone for me. You must handle this personally. No one else can know.”

Lei bowed his head. “Yes.” Then cautiously asked, “And when I find them… what should I do?”

The question seemed to freeze Qingyi. After a long pause, he echoed softly, “When you find them—what to do?”

The strangeness of his tone unsettled Lei, but he dared not press. Qingyi only added, “Report to me immediately. Go now.”

Lei could only agree, again and again, before departing into the rain.

Qingyi returned to the living room. Susu still sat motionless, dazed. He reached out, stroking her hair. She recoiled instinctively, but he would not allow it. He pulled her up; she resisted, pushing against him. He drew her into his arms by force. She sobbed, biting down on his arm with all her strength until blood welled. He did not release her, only frowned at the pain, enduring it in silence.

At last, her strength gave way. She collapsed against him, her tears soaking his collar until it clung cold to his skin. He patted her back gently, while she pressed stubbornly against his chest, still weeping.

Only when exhaustion overcame her did her sobs subside into silence. Outside, the rain fell on, drop by drop, its mournful cadence lasting until dawn.

By morning, the rain had not ceased. An attendant tiptoed into the living room with a message. Qingyi, half-reclined on the sofa, still held Susu in his arms. His eyes were bloodshot, his body numb from remaining so long in one position.

“Director Lei is calling,” the attendant whispered.

Qingyi carefully shifted Susu, placing a pillow beneath her neck before rising. His legs tingled with returning blood as he went to the phone.

Lei’s voice, usually steady, carried unease. “Third Young Master, I found the child—but he’s very ill.”

Qingyi’s mind reeled. “Very ill—how exactly?”

“The doctor says encephalitis. He cannot be moved. The situation looks grave. What should we do?”

Through the screen, Qingyi glimpsed Susu’s sleeping face, her brows faintly furrowed even in slumber. His thoughts scattered. He could only murmur, “Take good care of the child. Call me at once if anything changes.”

He hung up, pacing the corridor in turmoil. His duties pressed heavily—meetings, responsibilities, obligations—but he could not think. When reminded of his appointment at Wu Chi, he dismissed it with a weary wave. “Tell them I have a headache.”

Breakfast was brought, untouched. Books lay open in the study, unread. At ten, Lei called again. Qingyi’s forehead broke into cold sweat; his heart felt hollow. Returning to the living room, he stumbled on the carpet seam, nearly falling. His face was ashen, lips pressed tight.

Behind the screen, Susu stood by the window, a teacup in hand, staring blankly. She bit the rim before setting it down. “Did you find the child?” she asked softly.

Qingyi forced the words. “No. They said someone adopted him. No address. It will be very difficult to find.”

Her head lowered. The water in the cup rippled faintly.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered.

Her voice broke. “I… I shouldn’t have sent him away… but I had no choice…”

Her sobs returned, fragile and weak. His heart twisted like a knife. For over twenty years, he had lived in triumph, always victorious. Only now did he taste helplessness. Against her tears, he was powerless. They seared him like salt on an open wound.

That evening, Lei returned to Duanshan. The attendants rushed to him. “Director Lei, you’re finally back. The Third Young Master hasn’t eaten all day. When we offered to call Dr. Cheng, he grew angry.”

Lei asked, “Where is Miss Ren?”

“Upstairs. The Third Young Master is in the study.”

Lei entered the darkened study. Qingyi sat alone, unmoving.

“Third Young Master,” Lei urged, “you must return to Shuangqiao. You’ll be late for the meeting.”

Still silence. Then, hoarsely, Qingyi asked, “The child… what was he like?”

Lei’s throat tightened. “He was very good. When I arrived, he could no longer speak. Until the end, he didn’t cry—just seemed to fall asleep. The nun said he was always obedient. Even when ill, he never fussed. He only called for his mother.”

Qingyi’s voice broke. “He… called for his mother… not for me?”

Lei’s heart ached. “Third Young Master, though it is sorrowful, it is past. If word spreads and reaches your father, it could bring disaster.”

After a long silence, Qingyi whispered, “You handled this well. Don’t let Miss Ren know. If she asks, say only that the child was adopted.”

Later, he went upstairs. Susu was asleep, curled in the corner of the bed like a child, untouched dishes still on the table. Her long lashes fluttered faintly with each breath, like butterfly wings. The sight pierced him with pain.

By morning, the storm had passed. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, golden motes dancing in the air like dust caught in a spotlight. Outside, autumn leaves rustled crisply in the clear sky. The bedding carried the faint fragrance of lilies, mingled with the elusive trace of mint tobacco.

Susu stirred, dazed, her cheek against the cool satin. She blinked at the tall windows, their ivory curtains swaying gently in the breeze. Only then did she remember where she was.

The room was hushed. Ren Susu washed her face, loosely gathered her hair, and opened the bedroom door. The corridor beyond was equally silent. She descended the stairs, her steps echoing faintly, until she encountered an attendant who bowed politely.

“Good morning, Miss Ren.”

She returned the greeting softly, then glanced at the clock. Nearly nine o’clock.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed involuntarily.

The attendant, adept at reading expressions, asked gently, “Is Miss Ren in a hurry?”

“I have a training class this morning, and this place is far from the city center…” Her voice trailed off. She hadn’t expected to sleep so deeply, drained as she was in both body and spirit.

“Don’t worry,” the attendant reassured her. “I’ll have a car prepared at once.”

Without waiting for her reply, he departed to make arrangements. The car was swift, carrying her to the city in just half an hour.

She changed into her dance clothes and shoes, slipping quietly into the practice hall. The others were already absorbed in their exercises. Zhuang Chengzhi noticed her arrival, his glance brief, but said nothing.

At noon, the troupe gathered at a small restaurant, laughing and chatting as they dipped food into the bubbling hot pot. Susu had no appetite, but she went through the motions, smiling faintly, eating little.

When they stepped outside, a sleek black Chevrolet gleamed across the street. A hand waved from the window.

“Susu!”

It was Mu Lan.

Susu hurried over, smiling. “Is your foot better?”

“Much better,” Mu Lan replied with a smile. “I had nothing to do, so I came to find you for coffee.”

They went to their usual café. Mu Lan ordered her beloved ice cream, while Susu, who disliked sweets, chose a chestnut cake so as not to sit idle. She lifted the silver spoon, hesitated, then slowly savored a small bite.

“Where did you go yesterday?” Mu Lan asked. “I looked everywhere for you.”

Susu sighed softly, unable to answer.

Mu Lan smiled knowingly. “Someone asked me to invite you to dinner—that Mr. Zhang we met at the gold shop. I said no, but the director begged me to ask. He wants to sponsor our production of Giselle. The director only sees dollar signs. You can ignore it.”

Susu lowered her gaze, nibbling at her cake.

Then Mu Lan said quietly, “I don’t want to dance anymore—I can’t dance anymore. After so many years, I feel reluctant to give it up.”

Susu looked up in shock. “You’re not dancing anymore? How can that be? The director is counting on you.”

Mu Lan smiled faintly. “You danced so well the other night. The director is counting on you now.”

Susu set down her spoon. “Mu Lan, are you angry with me?”

Mu Lan shook her head. “You’re my best friend. I’m happy for your success. How could I be angry? But I’m tired. I want to go home and get married.”

Susu’s surprise gave way to delight. “Really? Has Young Master Xu’s family agreed? Congratulations!”

Mu Lan’s smile wavered. “They still don’t agree, but I have some confidence in Changning.”

She drained her coffee and set the cup down. “Let’s not talk about unpleasant things. Let’s go to the department store.”

They shopped half the day until their legs ached. Mu Lan bought armfuls of clothes and shoes, the car filling with boxes and bags. Suddenly, she brightened.

“There’s a new restaurant—very fine, very expensive. I’ll treat you.”

Susu sensed her friend’s unhappiness but could find no words of comfort. She simply followed.

At the restaurant entrance, Susu noticed several cars parked along the road, vaguely familiar. Before she could recall where she had seen them, they stepped inside—and encountered Lei Shaogong descending the stairs.

He stopped, surprised. “Miss Ren.”

Mu Lan, startled, glanced at Susu. Then Lei said, “The Third Young Master is inside—he’s been having people look everywhere for Miss Ren.”

Susu’s heart sank. She wished he hadn’t spoken.

Lei led them to a private suite. Inside, Mu Rong Qingyi rose at once, leaving his companions. “Oh, they found you?” His tone was almost reproachful. “I had a meeting that ran late last night, so I didn’t return. Don’t wander off again. They’ve been searching for you all afternoon.”

The men at the table exchanged startled looks. Never before had they heard him explain himself to a woman. After a pause, one laughed. “Third Young Master, we can all testify you were at the meeting in Shuangqiao last night and nowhere else.”

Laughter followed, easing the tension. Another added, “Fortunately, we spoke up for you. This awkward dinner has turned into a joyful one.”

Susu flushed crimson, lowering her head.

Qingyi smiled faintly. “Enough nonsense. You’re not children.”

He took her hand and led her to the table, introducing her with unusual formality. “This is Uncle Yu, this is Uncle Li, this is Uncle Wang, this is Uncle Guan.”

The four men, startled, rose at once. “We wouldn’t dare.”

They were unsettled. Though Qingyi had many companions, he had never introduced one so openly.

Susu, shy by nature, grew even quieter before these strangers. Mu Lan too fell silent. The meal passed with the older men’s laughter filling the air, while the two young women sat in uneasy stillness.

Afterward, as they left, Qingyi—ever the gentleman of Western education—took Susu’s handbag, then handed it casually to an attendant.

“You said you went to the department store. What did you buy?”

“I went with Mu Lan. I didn’t buy anything.”

He smiled. “Next time, tell Little Lei to arrange a car. If you want something, I have accounts at several foreign stores. Just put it on my account.”

Susu lowered her head, silent. Mu Lan, perceptive as ever, excused herself and left them.

Susu followed Qingyi downstairs, hesitating at the car. The attendant opened the door. She gathered her courage. “I need to go back.”

“We’ll go back now,” he said easily, slipping his arm around her waist.

Her heart raced. The words she longed to speak caught in her throat. Powerless, she stepped into the car.

Once in the car, he did not remove his hand. Outside the window, the scenery fled backward in a blur, but within her mind everything was chaos—countless thoughts colliding, dissolving, leaving only a vague, suffocating dread. He had always frightened her, from the very beginning until now. It was a fear without reason, yet deeply rooted, impossible to shake.

Back at Duanshan, he withdrew to the study to handle official business, while she went upstairs. In the bedroom, the ivory cicada-wing gauze shade of the lamp cast a milky glow, hazy and sweet as honey. Beyond the window, the moon rose gracefully through the branches in the east, round as a bronze mirror, its light softened as though filtered through gauze. Lamplight and moonlight mingled, flooding the room like mercury seeping into every corner. Wrapped in this hazy atmosphere, she drifted into uneasy sleep.

The moonlight lingered, pale and beautiful, faintly illuminating the bedside. She turned drowsily, then startled awake. In the darkness, a hand caressed her cheek. Heat rushed to her face, burning as though it might ignite. She recoiled instinctively, but his grip on her shoulders held her fast. His lips pressed down, scorching, suffocating, stealing her breath. She pushed against him, but his hand slipped through the loose ties of her garment, seeking to strip away the last barriers. Her body weakened, and his arms tightened.

“Susu,” he whispered.

The breeze stirred the drawn-work curtains, rippling like sudden waves across a spring pond.

10

By dusk, the wind had risen. Wu Chi’s winters were not severe, yet the north wind carried a piercing chill. Those stepping from heated rooms shivered as the gusts struck their faces. Footsteps echoed briskly along the corridor—tap, tap, tap.

Mu Rong Qingyi smiled faintly. As expected, the approaching figure was flushed from haste, her fair cheeks tinged red.

“Weiyi,” he teased, “you’re not behaving like a young lady. What if Mother saw you?”

She lifted her face, smiling. “Third Brother, don’t be hypocritical. Is your meeting over?”

“It wasn’t a meeting. Father remembered a few matters and called us in.”

“I heard you’ve been promoted again. Treat me to dinner today.”

Those nearby, all familiar faces, laughed. “Fourth Young Lady, don’t let the Third Young Master off lightly. Make him pay handsomely.”

Weiyi, the youngest and long spoiled by her family, had studied abroad and returned with a lively, unrestrained manner. Qingyi doted on her especially. He smiled. “Everyone knows your little schemes. If you want something, just say it.”

She made a face. “Third Brother, you’re becoming more and more formidable—inside or outside, it’s all under your control.”

As they bantered, the others drifted away. Alone with him, Weiyi said, “Today is Min Xian’s birthday.”

Qingyi smiled faintly. “I have something to do, just assigned by Father. You all go ahead. Put it on my account.”

She tugged his sleeve. “What kind of answer is that? Could the rumors be true?”

“What rumors?”

“That you’re infatuated with a dancer—an extraordinary beauty.”

His expression hardened. “Nonsense. Don’t believe such absurd gossip. If Father hears, I’ll hold you responsible.”

She pointed at him, laughing. “You protest too much. If you won’t go, I’ll tell Mother about your affair.”

“Stop causing trouble. Why are you speaking for Min Xian?”

“Because last time at dinner, I saw something strange between you two. You must have quarreled. I’m helping you.”

“Thank you, but my affairs with Min Xian are none of your concern.”

“From your tone, it’s clearly your fault. Mother was right—you’ll have to learn the hard way about a woman’s power.”

“And you—look at your words. Is this how an unmarried young lady should speak?”

She smiled impishly. “You’re just like Father. Officials may set fires, but common folk may not light lamps.”

“You’re becoming more improper by the day.” He turned to leave.

“You’re not going?” she called.

“I have official business.”

And indeed he did. That evening, he attended a semi-official, semi-private dinner with seven or eight companions, all seasoned drinkers. The Huadiao wine was mellow but potent, leaving his face flushed, his ears hot. On the way home, he opened the car window for air, but the breeze did little to clear his head.

At Duanshan, he noticed a familiar vehicle parked outside. He glanced at Lei Shaogong, who signaled the attendants to withdraw. Qingyi entered alone through the back corridor, tiptoeing past the small sitting room—only to hear his mother’s voice.

“Third child.”

He had no choice but to enter, smiling. “Mother, it’s lively tonight.”

Indeed, the room was full of female guests. At his entrance, silence fell. One pair of eyes fixed on him, filled with reproach and quiet resentment.

After greeting Madam Mu Rong, he turned deliberately to Jin Rui. “Elder Sister, your new qipao is very beautiful.”

She pursed her lips. “Don’t think you can escape today’s matter with flattery. How will you make amends to our birthday girl?”

The alcohol weighed heavily on him, but he forced patience. “I was wrong. I’ll treat Miss Kang to dinner another day to apologize.”

At the mention of her name, Kang Min Xian’s face changed. Jin Rui, sensing the tension, quickly interjected. “The third child is muddled from drink. Go upstairs and rest. I’ll have the kitchen send sobering soup.”

Qingyi seized the chance. “Mother, Elder Sister, I’ll take my leave.”

Kang Min Xian watched him go, her composure strained, tears threatening. Yet she mastered herself, continuing to converse with Jin Rui as though nothing had happened.

After the guests departed, she lingered with Madam Mu Rong before leaving. Jin Rui sighed. Weiyi, ever candid, burst out, “Third Brother is so heartless—it’s disheartening.”

Madam Mu Rong laughed softly. “Why are you indignant? Min Xian is a sensible child. It’s a pity the third child has always been indifferent to her.”

Jin Rui said coldly, “All his faults are due to your indulgence.”

Madam Mu Rong’s smile faded. “These are minor matters. As long as he doesn’t muddle the important things, it’s fine.” Her voice lowered. “I dare not force him in this matter, for fear he’ll end up like Qingyu.”

At the mention of her eldest son, her eyes reddened. Weiyi fell silent, stricken. Jin Rui murmured, “Mother, why bring this up?”

Madam Mu Rong’s voice trembled. “Although your father doesn’t say it, he regrets it. If Qingyu hadn’t… how could the accident have happened?”

Her words broke, choked with grief. Jin Rui’s eyes glistened, though she tried to comfort her. “Mother, it was an accident. Don’t blame yourself.”

Madam Mu Rong sighed. “I feel terrible whenever I think of it. Yesterday your father went to Liang Guan. After returning, he locked himself in the study for a long time. He probably feels worse than I do. I can avoid it, but he must watch the flight exercises every year.”

Jin Rui forced a smile. “Weiyi, it’s all your fault for making Mother sad.”

Weiyi clasped her mother’s hand, her voice light and coaxing. “Mom, don’t be sad. It’s Third Brother’s fault. Tomorrow we’ll punish him by making him water all your flowers.”

Jin Rui laughed softly. “That’s a good punishment. He probably couldn’t finish even by nightfall.”

Weiyi added mischievously, “All the better. Who told him to be away from home all day, so busy we barely see him? Spending a day with Mother is only proper.”

Jin Rui shook her head. “Counting on him to accompany Mother? Impossible. The moment a phone call comes, he vanishes without a trace.”

The sisters’ chatter was deliberately light, meant to ease their mother’s sorrow. Madam Mu Rong, however, rose quietly. “I’ll go upstairs to check on the third child. He did look drunk today.”

Upstairs, she found Mu Rong Qingyi just emerging from his bath, hair dripping.

“How can you sleep without drying your hair? You’ll catch a cold,” she chided gently.

He replied with a faint smile, “I’m not a child anymore.” Then, more seriously: “Mother, Min Xian and I aren’t meant to be. Please tell Elder Sister not to arrange such encounters again.”

Madam Mu Rong frowned. “I thought you two got along well. Since your return, you’ve often been together. Your father likes that child—he says she’s very proper.”

Qingyi yawned, his tone edged with irony. “Father likes her? Mother, you’d better be careful.”

She scolded softly, “How can you speak so improperly?”

He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t like her.”

Her brows knit. After a pause, she asked quietly, “Do you have someone else in mind?”

No answer came. Only the sound of even breathing—he had already fallen asleep. Madam Mu Rong smiled faintly, pulled a blanket over him, and left the room.

At year’s end, the troupe had no performances, though training continued four times a week. The practice hall was unheated, but once the dancers began, sweat soon banished the cold.

That afternoon, Mu Lan, her foot healed, practiced for three hours. At last she sat in a corner, toweling her face, watching Ren Susu.

Susu’s movements were stiff, her mind clearly elsewhere. She stopped, drank water, wiped her brow. Even her sweat glistened like crystal beads.

When the others were far enough, Mu Lan asked softly, “What’s wrong with you?”

Susu shook her head.

Mu Lan pressed, “Did you quarrel with the Third Young Master?”

Susu whispered, “How could I quarrel with him?”

Mu Lan sighed, already guessing. “Changning says the Third Young Master has a bad temper. With his status, it’s inevitable. He hasn’t been seen for days—he must be busy.”

Susu murmured, “I don’t know.”

Her tone confirmed it. Mu Lan hesitated, then said, “I don’t know if I should tell you… but don’t take this too seriously. I’ve heard he’s close to General Kang’s sixth daughter. They may be engaged by year’s end.”

Susu said nothing.

Mu Lan continued, “I think he’s sincere toward you. But the Mu Rongs—what kind of family are they? Even the Xu family, only recently risen, looks down on everyone. Changning treats me well, yet he still can’t speak of marriage. How much less the Third Young Master.”

Still, Susu was silent. Mu Lan sighed, patting her back. “Today is your birthday. I shouldn’t say such things. Let me take you to dinner?”

Susu shook her head. “My aunt asked me to come.”

“You agreed? Better not go—you’ll only upset yourself.”

“She raised me. She just wants money. I’ll give her two months’ salary, and that will be that.”

Mu Lan sighed. “I give up on you. You never listen.”

The tricycle ride was long. By the time Susu arrived, night had fallen. At the general store, her cousin Yin Xiang called out, “Mom, Susu is here.”

Her aunt bustled out, plump in her blue cotton jacket, beaming. “Susu, come in. Last year we missed your birthday. This year we’ll make it up to you.”

She bustled back to the kitchen, leaving Yin Xiang to pour tea.

“Is that a new outfit? From a foreign store? A chi of that fabric costs eighty dollars.”

“It was a gift from Mu Lan,” Susu said quietly.

Yin Xiang smirked. “Miss Fang is generous. Is she a concubine to some rich man?”

Anger rose in Susu, but she held her tongue.

Dinner was noisy with children in patched jackets, their cuffs frayed, cotton spilling out. Susu’s heart ached—she remembered wearing the same hand-me-downs, cold wind cutting through damp fabric after practice.

When the youngest, Dong Wen, mentioned exam fees, her aunt cursed the school. Susu quietly placed money on the table. “The New Year is coming. Buy new clothes for the children.”

Her aunt protested faintly, then pocketed the money with a broad smile.

But the meal soured when Jin Xiang sneered, “Be careful not to let anyone discover the illegitimate child scandal.”

Her aunt snapped, “Jin Xiang! Another word and I’ll slap you!”

Susu’s face turned pale. Her aunt hurried to comfort her. “Good child, don’t listen. She speaks without thinking.”

The food turned to ash in her mouth.

By the time she left, the night was deep. Her aunt, unusually attentive, called a rickshaw and urged her to visit more often.

The cold wind cut through her thin coat. Even the streetlights seemed cold. Irritation churned in her chest. She pinched the rhinestones on her handbag, one by one, until her fingertips hurt.

At her gate, she was startled to see Lei Shaogong waiting.

“Miss Ren,” he said politely, “the Third Young Master asked me to fetch you.”

She thought of their last quarrel—his temper, her silence. She had assumed he would not seek her again. After a moment’s hesitation, she entered the car.

Duanshan’s heating was stiflingly warm. The windows were fogged with condensation, the world outside invisible.

In the living room, Mu Rong Qingyi paced with his hands clasped behind his back. At the sight of her, his brows drew together.

“Where did you go? The troupe said you left at four.”

She faltered. “I went to a friend’s house.”

His gaze sharpened. “What friend? I called Changning—Mu Lan was with him.”

She lowered her head in silence.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” he pressed.

Her heart felt hollow, as though emptied of all strength. She turned her face away, unable to meet his gaze.

“About what I asked last time—quitting the dance troupe. Why won’t you agree?”

It was the very question that had driven him to storm out in anger before, yet here he was again, demanding the same answer.

After a long pause, she whispered, “I need to work.”

His voice sharpened. “You have everything you need now. Why do you still need to work?”

Everything she needed. The words echoed bitterly in her mind. What did it mean to have everything? She had already lost everything—her freedom, her dignity, even the last shred of self-respect had been crushed beneath his hand.

At that moment, Lei Shaogong entered, smiling as though to ease the tension. “Third Young Master, shall I light the candles?”

He opened a paper box on the tea table, revealing a cake. Susu froze, startled, confused.

“You go out first,” Qingyi ordered curtly.

Lei set down the lighter, cast her a fleeting glance, and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

The silence thickened. She stood motionless. Suddenly, Qingyi seized the cake box and hurled it to the ground. The cherries scattered across the carpet, bright red against the pale fibers, like broken strands of coral beads.

She stepped back, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know you knew today was my birthday.”

He laughed coldly. “It seems in your heart, I don’t need to know your birthday at all.”

Her voice grew softer, fading. “You don’t need to know.”

His eyes darkened. “What do you mean by that?”

She said nothing. Her silence enraged him. “What do you mean? Haven’t I been good enough to you?”

Good? His version of “good” was gilded captivity—money, jewels, accounts at foreign stores. He bought, she sold, without dignity. What was good about that? A sad smile touched her lips. How was this different from selling her smiles at a doorway? If not for the accident of bearing his child, she might not even have qualified for that.

Seeing the expression in her eyes, his irritation deepened. “What more do you want?”

Her head lowered, weary. “I don’t want anything.”

“You don’t want anything—then stop being angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

He seized her wrist. “You’re being insincere. What do you want? What haven’t I done to satisfy you?”

Her voice was faint, distant. “I’m satisfied with everything.”

His grip tightened. “Don’t give me this attitude. If you have something to say, say it directly.”

Her gaze drifted past him to the window, where condensation slid down the glass like tears. Her life was already ruined. Tomorrow would be no different from today, no matter how he treated her. Still he pressed, relentless.

“What more do you want?”

Her lips curved into that faint, mournful smile. “What right do I have to demand anything?”

His temper flared. “I’ll give you whatever you want—a house, a car, money. I’ll give you all of it.”

She shook her head gently.

He leaned closer, eyes burning. “Look at me. Anything you want—just say it, and I’ll give it to you immediately.”

But her smile—hazy, sorrowful—stabbed at him like a nightmare, stirring a hidden pain he could not name.

She felt suffocated beneath his gaze, sharp as a blade. She closed her eyes, summoning courage. Her voice was barely audible. “Then, I want to get married.”

The words caught in her throat, nearly choking her. She had only wanted him to retreat, to leave her be. This demand would surely drive him back.

Indeed, he released her hand, stepping away. His face darkened. “You want me to marry you?”

Fear surged, but she forced herself to nod. Whatever his reaction—mockery, dismissal, rage—she had spoken.

His face turned ashen, his body taut with anger. His eyes, shadowed with something like heartbreak, terrified her. Her mind spun in chaos. Quick pain was better than slow torment. She had already spoken the most dangerous words; what more could she lose?

“This is all I want,” she said steadily. “If you can’t give it to me, then there’s nothing more to say between us.”

His breathing grew heavy, ragged. At last, he erupted, seizing her shoulders and shoving her back. “Get out!”

She stumbled, her knee striking the sofa, pain bringing tears to her eyes. Snatching up her handbag, she turned and fled, hearing his voice behind her, summoning the attendant.

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