No one could be more unlucky than her—right?
At six in the morning, Jiaqi stood barefoot before Ruan Zhengdong’s massive bed, her clothes rumpled, clutching a large white pillow like a shield. The bedding was a battlefield: sheets twisted, a pillow teetering on the edge, the quilt trailing across the floor like a defeated flag. The scene was a tableau of chaos, ripe for misinterpretation.
Outside the door, the scoundrel Wu Boyu had already covered his eyes with exaggerated flair, shouting, “I didn’t see anything, I didn’t see anything!”—though his eyes clearly peeked through his fingers. Ruan Zhengdong, caught between amusement and exasperation, dragged him away. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
“Brother, aren’t you going to change?”
“Go downstairs and wait for me.”
“Okay… Is forty minutes enough? How about an hour? No problem, I can just do a few laps downstairs for my morning run. Don’t worry, take your time, take your time…”
Ruan Zhengdong’s patience snapped. “Wu Boyu!”
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving first…” Wu Boyu bolted toward the door, but not without turning back to shout, “Sister, I’m sorry!”
Before Ruan Zhengdong could explode, the boy had vanished.
Now, Jiaqi and Ruan Zhengdong were left alone, staring at each other.
He offered an explanation: “This kid had a fight with his family, called asking for my sister’s address, and ran to my place to hide. He’s still a child—he doesn’t hold back.”
“Uh…” Jiaqi sighed, already over it. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”
She still had work. She couldn’t afford to be late.
But fate had other plans. No taxis waited at the community gate, forcing her to walk a long stretch to catch the subway. By the time she reached the office, Zhou Jingan’s sharp gaze pierced through her.
“Tell me the truth—where did you go last night? Look at you! Same clothes, sleep-deprived face. Confess and I’ll go easy on you!”
Jiaqi bristled. “I haven’t asked you yet—where were you last night? Your phone was unreachable, and no one answered the landline.”
Zhou Jingan groaned. “Don’t even ask. I went on a blind date and met a stunner. After dinner, he didn’t even offer to split the bill. He just sat there waiting for me to pay. I had no money for a taxi, my phone died, and I couldn’t reach anyone. I had to wait for the last bus home. It was tragic.”
Jiaqi laughed. “Why do you always meet the best?”
Zhou Jingan glared. “Do you think everyone’s as lucky as you, meeting Ruan Zhengdong?”
Jiaqi shrugged. “Besides being rich, what’s so great about Ruan Zhengdong?”
Zhou Jingan sighed, disappointed. “You’re not grateful for what you have.”
Before Jiaqi could respond, Zhou Jingan was distracted by something else. Jiaqi sat quietly, cradling her teacup, lost in thought.
Ever since she left Meng Heping, she believed happiness had slipped away.
Youth makes you naive—believing everything is within reach, that happiness is eternal.
Meng Heping had only stayed in Dongpu for three days. The weather was miserable: cold, damp, and drizzling. Every evening, the three of them would watch TV together while Jiaqi roasted taro and water chestnuts on the stove. The tiny chestnuts came out scalding hot, and she’d juggle them between her hands, gasping from the heat. Her father warmed fine rice wine in a simmering kettle, always pouring them each a glass. Meng Heping would sip and praise the ancient charm of it all.
He adored her father’s fried crabs—tiny, no bigger than ink bottle caps, but crisp and addictive.
When Jiaqi sent him off at the train station, she packed a batch for him to eat on the journey.
It was snowing lightly that day. The Spring Festival rush had turned the station into a sea of people. The waiting room was so loud they couldn’t hear each other, so they simply stared in silence. After a long pause, he smiled and said, “Call me.” No other words were needed. She understood everything he meant, and he understood her just the same.
He wasn’t heading home, but to Shenyang for the New Year, where his parents worked.
He never hid things from her, but he always downplayed them.
During her senior year internship, she skipped the May Day holiday for a business trip to Shenyang. Coincidentally, Meng Heping had a long break and arrived two days before her. She was thrilled and called him. With her work done and a free afternoon before her train, they met up.
Her colleagues had gone shopping, so the two of them wandered off together.
Shenyang in May still held a whisper of spring. Lilacs bloomed like embroidery along the roadside, and the air was sweet as honey.
They each held a large cup of pearl milk tea, strolling until their feet ached. Later, they entered a mall and found a stall selling hair accessories. Girls gathered around, getting their hair braided. Jiaqi’s long hair drew attention.
“Miss, come and try it on! Buy one of our hairpins and get free braiding forever!”
Jiaqi hesitated, but a tortoiseshell hairpin caught her eye.
“Try it on first,” Meng Heping encouraged.
Two young stylists began combing her hair, smoothing it from crown to tip. In that moment, she understood the solemnity of the ancient “Jigui” ceremony—how bundling long hair marked adulthood.
With her hair braided and pinned, she felt transformed—dignified, serene.
She looked beautiful. Her small face framed by the elegant braid made her resemble a woman from a bygone era, leaning against a window with plum blossoms in her hair. In the mirror, she saw him standing nearby, holding her bag, smiling with quiet admiration.
She felt safe, knowing he was there, waiting, without needing to turn around.
The hairpin was expensive. She hesitated. “I’d rather not have it.”
The stylist beside her said, “You can wear it for the rest of your life if you buy it.”
Meng Heping leaned in and whispered, “Buy it. I like you this way—and I’ll wear it for the rest of my life anyway.”
Here’s your enhanced chapter with a more evocative tone, preserving all original dialogue, and adding emotional depth and atmosphere. I’ve also included an SEO-optimized title and meta description to match the story’s themes.
A love that lasted until old age.
Blushing, she finally let him pay.
After buying the hairpin, Jiaqi felt a pang of regret. It wasn’t practical—how often would she return to Shenyang to have her hair braided like this? The charm of the moment faded into the reality of distance.
Meng Heping smiled and said, “Who said you won’t come to Shenyang often?”
His meaning was clear, but Jiaqi, flustered, walked ahead quickly. She was naive then—so close to him, yet never questioning why he hadn’t taken her to meet his family. It didn’t even strike her as odd.
That night, they went out for ma la tang. The spicy broth turned her cheeks and nose crimson, and she devoured tofu puffs with gusto. The beer was cold, and though it was early summer, Shenyang’s night air carried a chill. The hot pot was salty, and thirst gnawed at them before they even reached the hotel. Spotting a supermarket still open, they ducked in for soda.
Outside, the parking lot was packed with cars from nearby bars. It was there they met someone—he was retrieving his car, flanked by a group of friends. Spotting Heping, he greeted him warmly and introduced him with pride: “Meng Heping, the son of Deputy Commander Meng of the Military Region.”
Jiaqi blinked, unsure what that meant. Major military region? Provincial? Sub-military? She didn’t know. All she felt was a quiet sadness—he had hidden something from her.
Heping was more rattled than she was. On the walk back, he said nothing until she broke the silence.
They reached the hotel. The driveway was edged with flowerbeds of roses and salvias, their deep red hues barely visible in the night, like silk threads slicing through the darkness.
She paused. Heping still held her bag. His palms were damp. He whispered, “Jiaqi?”
She didn’t answer.
He tried again, “You’re not angry, are you?”
She smiled faintly. “Why should I be angry?”
He had mentioned once that his father worked in the military region, but never his rank. Curious, Jiaqi had asked her roommate Meiyun about military ranks. Meiyun, distracted by her nail polish, replied, “I think division commander is the highest…”
“How big is that?”
“Municipal level, maybe like a city mayor.”
It didn’t matter. Jiaqi reassured Heping, “We’re just two people together. This isn’t the old world—there’s no need to worry about being well-matched. Besides, I think my family’s fine. You’ve met my father; he’s a very good man.”
She stressed “very good” with such sincerity that Heping’s furrowed brow finally softened into a smile.
Jiaqi never knew that Heping had fought with his family over her. That night, after Meiyun fell asleep, Jiaqi slipped out to call him.
The Shenyang breeze was sharp. She walked far from the hotel to find a public phone. Nothing urgent—just two hours since they’d parted—but he had said, “Call me,” and she had promised.
He always kept his phone on late, waiting for her call. That night, his voice was low and tired. “Jiaqi?”
She asked gently, “Are you asleep yet?”
“Not yet.” Then, after a pause, he said again, “Jiaqi.”
She answered, “Hmm?”
“I love you.”
It was the first time he’d said it. The words came through the receiver, clear and unguarded. Jiaqi’s face flushed. The public phone felt like a giant orange mushroom, its petals folded with fragile thoughts. The air around her shimmered with invisible spores—happiness, delicate and dizzying. The cool breeze kissed her burning cheeks. She panicked and hung up.
Seconds later, she called back.
He was quiet. “Jiaqi.”
Her voice was barely audible, like dust stirred by moonlight, but it bloomed like fireworks in her chest. “Me too.”
He didn’t reply, but she felt his smile through the silence.
She stood there for a long time after hanging up. Behind her, the street stretched into the night. Car lights streaked past like shooting stars, their arcs lingering in his eyes even when closed—etched into memory.
Meng Heping held the phone for a long time before placing it beside his pillow.
His mother knocked. He pretended to sleep, but she entered anyway and sat beside him.
Her face, even in the dark, retained its beauty. Time had barely touched her. She called softly, “Heping?”
He stayed silent—not out of anger, but sorrow.
She patted him gently through the quilt, like he was still her little boy. “We’re doing this for your own good. Haven’t you and Xizi always gotten along? Our families are close. And Li Xinyue—her father’s now a political commissar in Chengdu. You went to university together…”
She sighed. “Why suddenly say you have a girlfriend and want to bring her home? Your father and I don’t know her background.”
Heping replied bitterly, “Mom, can you not interfere? She’s just a girl. Why are you so paranoid?”
“She goes to a good university, but local schools are chaotic. If you’d gone to military school, you wouldn’t have met these messy people.”
“Jiaqi is not messy.”
“Anyone obsessed with you is messy.”
Heping sat up, furious. “Mom, how can you say that!”
“Look at you—blushing already. Just like your father.”
“Because you’re insulting Jiaqi—and me!”
She snapped, “I raised you with so much effort, and this is your attitude? That girl must be from an unclean background to cause this rift. Girls like her are scheming. She wants into our family—it’s easy to charm you, but she’ll never get in. Not in this life!”
Heping calmed, his voice low. “You haven’t even met her. If she were the daughter of Dad’s comrade or a Military Commission leader, would you still say that? She loves me—not our family.”
“Do you know that? Or does she love that your father is deputy commander? You don’t even know her parents’ names, and you want to bring her home? No means no. Break up with her. If you don’t, it’ll become a scandal. You’ll shame us in the entire military region.”
Heping asked quietly, “Mom, how did you recognize Dad back then?”
She paused.
“At the military art performance, right? You sang ‘February Comes’ solo. Dad still says you were unforgettable—your braid down your chest, your eyes like flowing water, singing that song.”
She fell silent, lost in memory.
She was back on that stage, bathed in light. Spotlights warmed her skin. The auditorium was packed—uniforms, caps, leaders in the front row. Her voice had trembled before stepping out. The troupe leader had whispered, “Don’t be nervous. The leaders are kind.”
Then the lights hit her. She couldn’t see the crowd, but she sang calmly, as if in an empty rehearsal hall. Unhurried. Unafraid.
February was a beautiful spring day. The fields shimmered with promise as every household bent to the soil, planting crops with hope—for a good harvest, for enough grain to pay the government taxes, for a future that felt just within reach.
It was in this season of renewal that her voice first soared.
With a melody as pure as the spring wind and a voice that rang clear and resonant, she sang “February” and became known throughout the ranks. Even the military leaders remembered her—the sweet-voiced girl whose song carried through barracks and auditoriums alike.
Later, the art troupe’s leader introduced her to Meng Dujiang. The other girls whispered with envy. He was the youngest son of the famed Marshal Meng, and even after their relationship was formally reported, she remained bewildered by it all.
Their courtship was quiet, restrained. When they walked in the woods, it was always one behind the other, maintaining the half-meter distance that etiquette demanded. In his letters, he addressed her as “Comrade Xiao Yun,” always proper, always composed. Their exchanges were mostly about ideology and study, with only the occasional mention of daily trivialities.
But before Meng Dujiang, there had been You Mingyuan—the piano accompanist of the troupe. She had always shared a quiet understanding with him. He knew her heart, and she knew his, though neither had spoken it aloud. They were just one step away. If she had found the courage to say “no” when the organization intervened, perhaps everything would have changed.
But one choice can shape an entire life.
“Mom,” her son said now, his voice firm but not unkind, “you were just an art soldier from an ordinary family back then. Dad was the son of a general, the youngest chief of staff in the entire army. Grandpa and Grandma never opposed your relationship. Why are you opposing mine today?”
His words, eloquent and piercing, made her feel inexplicably weary. She sighed, her voice soft but resolute. “Times have changed. Mom’s thoughts were so simple in that era. Girls nowadays… they’re not like that.”
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