Shoutout to Alinaza for the commission!
Inside the shower, water fell in a steady patter, and the frosted glass was covered in a thick mist.
Lu Huaiyan had changed into pajamas. When he entered the bathroom, he glanced toward the shower, then lowered his gaze and took a hair dryer from the cabinet.
A few minutes later, Jiang Se came out of the shower.
She was dripping wet, water sliding from her silk-like hair and pale skin.
Lu Huaiyan looked at her. “The bathrobe is hung there for you. Put it on first. I’ll dry your hair.”
The original bathrobes had all been his size, so later he had the housekeeper send a batch of bathrobes meant just for her.
The dark green bathrobe wrapped around her body like an oily green leaf encasing a white petal.
Jiang Se tied the waist belt as she slowly walked toward him, then sat on the sink counter, legs hanging as she let him dry her hair.
He had also just showered; droplets still clung to his hair.
Jiang Se lifted her lashes and asked him: “Why didn’t you dry your hair?”
Lu Huaiyan casually pulled a towel and tossed it to her. “No need. You can just wipe it a bit.”
Jiang Se picked up the towel.
One person leaning forward to dry hair, the other leaning back to wipe hair, their poses looked a bit funny, yet very harmonious.
Jiang Se’s gaze landed on the short hair beside his temple. She wiped away the water there and softly asked: “Did the person you saved later survive?”
Lu Huaiyan’s gaze didn’t shift. He answered casually: “Survived.”
“How are they doing now?”
“Pretty well. Never thought of dying again. Maybe even regrets why they wanted to die in the first place.”
Jiang Se made a small “oh,” then pulled the towel off his head. “Done wiping.”
Lu Huaiyan lowered his eyes to glance at her, brushed aside a strand of hair behind her ear, and chuckled lightly: “No patience.”
Jiang Se knew she was in the wrong, she really did stop wiping after just a few strokes, so she didn’t reply.
Lu Huaiyan had more patience in this matter than she did. He dried every strand of her hair before unplugging the dryer.
Setting the dryer aside, he lifted her face and looked into her eyes, saying: “After I saved her, I already decided, if she tried to kill herself again, I wouldn’t save her a second time. Surviving death is extremely painful. Nine out of ten people who have attempted suicide will never choose to go through that pain again. The remaining one, if they still have the courage to try again, it means living is even more painful for them. Someone like that, I wouldn’t save again. If Zhang Yue wakes and still wants to die, you don’t need to save her again.”
Jiang Se was silent.
Zhang Yue left all her last words to her.
She said she knew Ah Cheng was dead, she wanted to go accompany him.
She said thank you, Miss Jiang, the house and No. 38 Jinxiu Alley, I’ll give them back to you.
She said sorry, this “sorry” was for Ah Cheng, and also for herself.
Sorry, Miss Jiang.
After a moment of silence, Jiang Se asked Lu Huaiyan: “Do you still remember Zhao Zhicheng? One of the kidnappers who kidnapped me seven years ago.”
Lu Huaiyan said: “I remember.”
“Zhao Zhicheng kidnapped me, he harmed me.” Jiang Se said, “I only want to hate him.”
But why was it that such a person, at her most desperate moment, gave her a sliver of hope?
Those two men, after being stopped by Zhao Zhicheng the first night, didn’t give up.
With such a prey, completely powerless and enticing, how could they give up?
The second night, one of them blocked Zhao Zhicheng outside, one of them went in to force-feed her drugs.
At that time, Jiang Se had already given up all hope. She had been kidnapped for 48 hours; she knew very clearly those 48 hours were her golden window for rescue. Once missed, there was a high chance she wouldn’t survive.
When Zhao Zhicheng rushed in and killed them, when the hot blood splattered onto her face, she even thought Zhao Zhicheng was going to kill her next.
But he didn’t, he picked up that handkerchief, wiped the blood off her face, and told her “sorry.”
How ironic… he told her “sorry.”
“Then hate.” Lu Huaiyan said indifferently, “You have no reason not to hate him, and even less reason to feel the slightest pity for the woman he loved.”
Jiang Se lowered her eyes, not speaking again.
Lu Huaiyan smoothed down the loose strands on her cheek with the back of his hand, saying: “Don’t think about it anymore, I’ll carry you to sleep.”
He helped her change into sleepwear, put her on the bed, and when turning off the lights, Lu Huaiyan hugged her from behind.
Jiang Se’s back was against his chest, the warmth of his breath and body slowly seeped through the thin layer of her clothes onto her.
She was like a curled-up spoon encircled by him.
This was the first time they slept in such an intimate position.
“Sleeping like this, does it feel uncomfortable?” his voice sounded above her head.
Jiang Se closed her eyes, said it didn’t.
“Do you need sleeping pills?”
“No.”
Lu Huaiyan pressed his chin against the top of her head, saying: “Then sleep, Miss.”
–
When she opened her eyes again, time had already passed three o’clock.
A slightly heavy weight at her waist, Jiang Se lifted her lids to look at the forearm laid across the small of her waist and then down to her hand.
Cold white skin, veins winding underneath.
Like white porcelain brushed with a few strokes of celadon.
As she stared in a daze, there was a slightly rough sensation at the base of her fingers; the man’s long, bony fingers slowly threaded through the roots of her fingers, locking her right hand. Immediately after, a low, hoarse voice fell: “Awake?”
Jiang Se stared at those few invading fingers, replying softly: “Mm, I should go to the hospital.”
Hearing this, Lu Huaiyan released her hand. “Eat something first, after you eat I’ll take you over.”
Jiang Se hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday. When he mentioned it, hunger came. Though hungry, she had little appetite; she just ate some congee, then went to the hospital.
Zhang Yue still hadn’t woken up, He Miao was dozing off constantly in the chair.
Jiang Se went in and woke He Miao, telling her to go rest, then said to the caregivers standing aside: “You all can go too, you’re not needed here.”
Those caregivers were people arranged by Lu Huaiyan; hearing this, they looked at each other, then turned to glance at the man leaning outside the door. Seeing him nod, they finally dared to leave.
“You go too.” Jiang Se looked at Lu Huaiyan, saying, “I’ll wait here until she wakes up.”
Lu Huaiyan hummed: “When you’re leaving, send me a message, I’ll come pick you up.”
Jiang Se agreed: “Arrange someone to send Little Miao home.”
He Miao was packing her things, and hearing this she glanced at the man with cold brows and eyes outside the door, quickly waving her hands: “No no, Miss Jiang, I can just take a cab home myself.”
Jiang Se looked at her haggard face: “Right now if you call a cab you’ll wait at least half an hour. The sooner you go rest, the sooner you can come relieve me.”
He Miao couldn’t refuse anymore, obediently said “thank you,” then left with Lu Huaiyan.
Once everyone was gone, the ward instantly quieted.
Jiang Se placed the cardboard box she brought from Zhang Yue’s house at her feet, took out the printed oil painting inside and placed it at the bedside.
The sky gradually darkened, the room lights came on.
The first thing Zhang Yue saw when she woke was that painting of irises.
In her groggy state, for a moment she thought she had reached heaven.
“This is Van Gogh’s Irises.”
Zhang Yue stayed dazed for over ten seconds before gradually regaining clarity, slowly moving her gaze to the Jiang Se sitting beside the bed.
“Does your stomach feel awful? And your head hurts a lot, right?” Jiang Se looked at her and said calmly, “These aftereffects will last a few days, after a few days you’ll return to normal.”
Zhang Yue didn’t respond: whether because she felt bad, or didn’t want to speak, or both.
Jiang Se glanced toward the painting beside the pillow, saying: “This painting was something Zhao Zhicheng especially sent you, right? The painter who made this lived a life full of suffering, yet look at his work, his inner world was magnificently incomparable. The more painful life was, the stronger his brilliant expectation for living became.”
She looked at Zhang Yue, “Doesn’t it feel a bit like your qipao, Boss Zhang? Living so exhausted, yet your qipao are all so beautiful, the one you gave me is especially beautiful. Only, regarding that footless bird, Boss Zhang, you got one thing wrong.”
She took from the box that bird encyclopedia, flipping to the page describing the footless bird.
“This kind of bird isn’t truly without feet, it’s just that the structure of its legs is different from other birds, they can’t push off the ground to take flight. So once they land on flat ground, they can never take off again. But there is one place they can take wing once more.” She pointed to a line in the book. “Cliffs. As long as they perch on these places, when they fall downward, they can ride the fierce wind to fly. The steeper the cliff, the more violent the wind, the easier they take flight.”
“When Zhao Zhicheng said you were a footless bird, perhaps he only wanted to tell you, Boss Zhang, that even if you are on a cliff’s edge, even if below is an abyss without end, you can still take flight, you can still have a boundless future.”
Back then, Zhang Yue did indeed seem to be living on a cliff, beneath her the endless drifting mist and darkness—once she let go and fell, she would be shattered to pieces.
So Ah Cheng hoped that even if she fell, she could still take flight?
Zhang Yue moved her lips, wanting to speak but unable to make a sound.
Jiang Se supported her to sit up, feeding her half a cup of water slowly.
But after half a cup of water slid down her stomach, once her throat was moistened she no longer wanted to speak, only stared fixedly at Jiang Se.
Jiang Se asked her: “How did you guess Zhao Zhicheng was dead?”
Her suspicion being confirmed by Jiang Se’s words, Zhang Yue very slowly lowered her eyes, silent for a long time, before softly saying: “If Ah Cheng had really escaped, he would definitely come back. Even if he couldn’t show himself, he would hide somewhere he could see me. Miss Jiang, you were someone he had kidnapped, if he saw you appearing by my side, afraid you’d retaliate against me, he would surely try every possible way to take me away.”
“But he didn’t appear, which means he never escaped. But he’s also not in prison, otherwise Miss Jiang wouldn’t need to come to me, you could just go to the prison to find him. It can only mean he’s dead.”
“You’re right, that really does sound like something he’d do. Then these two contracts,” Jiang Se took two documents out of the box, “did you know they’re invalid?”
Zhang Yue looked up in a daze.
Seeing this, Jiang Se smiled lightly: “Looks like you didn’t know. After the old district redevelopment plan, Lianan’s old district will no longer have No. 38 Jinxiu Alley. I never thought about returning the qipao shop to you. Even without the redevelopment plan, I would have taken this qipao shop from you. The reason you know: the money used to buy this shop was the payment Zhao Zhicheng got for kidnapping me. You indeed should ‘return’ this shop and the apartment you live in to me.”
“But Boss Zhang, I didn’t approach you to take revenge on you.” Jiang Se unhurriedly tore the documents in her hand, stood, and threw them into the trash can. “Once I got the clues I wanted from you, I was going to put money into you, I mean, a clean sum of money.”
“Invest?”
“Yes, invest.” Jiang Se slowly turned around to look at Zhang Yue. “Your qipao are full of spirit. What I want to invest in is you as a person, and the talent you inherited from your mother. In the future there won’t be No. 38 Jinxiu Alley, but there will still be ‘Zhang Xiu.’”
Once she had an entirely new life, no longer guarding a shop bought with dirty money, perhaps she could slowly forget Zhao Zhicheng, forget that desperate past.
This was her revenge against the dead Zhao Zhicheng, and at the same time, a return of the so-called “favor” of him saving her from those two men.
She would not allow herself even the slightest gratitude toward Zhao Zhicheng.
“You could die for Zhao Zhicheng, so why can’t you live for yourself, and for your family’s legacy of qipao craftsmanship? Back then you were so determined to make money, wasn’t it so you could return to Tongcheng to inherit what your mother left you, to carry on the Zhang family’s craft and make it flourish? If you really must die,” Jiang Se took out the qipao book from the box and placed it in Zhang Yue’s hands, asking her word by word, “wait until He Miao has truly mastered the craft, then die, all right? You only think about going down to accompany Zhao Zhicheng, have you never thought about accompanying your mother?”
Zhang Yue lowered her eyes, looking at the book in her hands.
It was a very old book, one she had nearly worn out from reading, and one she could never bear to throw away.
“When one lighthouse breaks, can’t you build a new lighthouse for yourself?” Jiang Se moved her gaze away from the book in Zhang Yue’s hands, speaking calmly. “I also once forced myself to find a lighthouse.”
Zhang Yue licked her dry lips and asked, “You’ve looked for one too?”
“I have.” Jiang Se smiled slowly. “I was only sixteen then, no matter how strong, how brave, I was only sixteen. After that incident, I became afraid of cigarette smell, afraid of lightning, afraid of thunder and rain. I couldn’t even tolerate people touching me. If anyone touched me, I would feel nauseous, retch so badly my stomach cramped. Later, I met someone who could make me forget that nausea, that person was the one who carried me out of the abandoned factory.”
It was a kind of emotion similar to Stockholm syndrome. She was too desperate to heal, so she took Lu Huaiyan as her salvation, thinking that as long as she obtained him, as long as she stayed by his side, she would be cured.
So sixteen-year-old Cen Se began slowly planning.
For families like theirs, approaching from Old Master Lu’s side was the most direct and effective method, because back then Old Master Lu could decide whom Lu Huaiyan would marry.
“And then?” Zhang Yue asked.
“And then?” Jiang Se lowered her eyes and smiled lightly. “Then I realized that using someone else as a lighthouse is like building a tower in the air. A tower without foundations is naturally something that can collapse at any moment. After spending two years understanding this truth, I decided I didn’t want that lighthouse anymore. Why can’t a person live without a lighthouse? If one must find a lighthouse, why can’t it be oneself?”
A harbor can be flooded by the sea, a mountain you lean on can have beasts running rampant, let alone a fragile lighthouse, which can be snapped in half by a single storm.
Her feelings for Lu Huaiyan back then were actually twisted, like the moon in a mirror or a flower in water. Once she realized that person couldn’t save her, that passion which came fiercely naturally faded just as quickly.
“All the pain a person goes through can only be healed by oneself in the end. I’m not as strong as you think, I’m still hurting too.” Jiang Se lifted her gaze to meet Zhang Yue’s eyes. “There’s still a piece of rotten flesh in my wound. As long as that rotten flesh remains, I won’t get better. But I know that as long as I catch that person, I can completely heal. Didn’t you say you felt sorry toward me? Help me catch that person first. If after that you still want to die, I won’t save you again.”
–
Learning that Zhang Yue was awake, at eleven o’clock that night, He Miao rushed to the hospital.
Jiang Se stepped out of the ward, and the moment she lifted her eyes she saw the man standing at the end of the corridor. He really came fast, she had only messaged him ten minutes ago.
The man had both hands in the pockets of his coat, leaning against a half-open window watching her, his gaze deep and calm.
When Jiang Se walked closer, he asked her: “Hungry?”
“Hungry.” Jiang Se nodded, “I want to go eat noodle soup, the same Donglaishun from last time.”
Lu Huaiyan laughed: “Going again to listen to the story of Mr. Yan and Miss Se?”
That day the people in the shop, because of the words he left on the back of the red envelope, insisted he was an elderly cultured man.
They somehow turned a perfectly fine 28-year-old young man into a white-haired elder.
“That shop is already closed.” He took her hand, walking toward the elevator as he said with a smile, “Tonight make do a bit, let Mr. Yan personally cook you a bowl of hot noodle soup.”
