Overdo

Susu was upset when her aunt came out and said, "Dinner's ready." Taking her hand, the aunt warmly ushered her inside. "Look at you, child, you're all skin and bones. Come visit more often, and I'll make you some nourishing food." Then she called, "Jinxiang, tell your younger siblings to come eat." Jinxiang answered from the inner room, and two half-grown children rushed out like a whirlwind, noisily gathering around the table. Jinxiang finally emerged, but still refused to even glance at Susu. The aunt scolded, "Why aren't you greeting anyone?" The two children chimed, "Cousin," and reached for their chopsticks. Their padded jackets were altered from their older sisters' worn-out clothes, the cuffs frayed and revealing the cotton stuffing inside. Susu's heart ached, remembering how at their age, she too wore hand-me-downs—first Jinxiang, then Yinxiang, and finally her. After years of use, the cotton inside had hardened into lumps. When she practiced dancing and worked up a sweat, the chilly wind would cut through her, leaving her frozen to the core.

The youngest child, Dongwen, mumbled through a mouthful of rice, "Mom, the school is collecting exam fees." The aunt retorted, "Money again? Where would I get any?" She cursed, "Even this damned school bullies us widows and orphans!" Susu set down her chopsticks, took her purse, and pulled out a stack of bills, handing it to her aunt. "The New Year is coming—use this to make new clothes for the children." The aunt's eyebrows shot up with delight. "How can I keep taking your money?" she said, yet accepted it readily. Then she asked, "I heard you've become quite famous lately—did you get a raise?"

Susu replied, "The troupe added a bit based on performances." Her aunt piled food onto her plate and added, "Being famous is good. Become a star, meet more people, and marry into a good family. You're twenty-one now—you can't dance forever. A girl should still marry." Jinxiang, who had remained silent, finally spoke with a sneer, "Mom, why worry? A beauty like Susu must have plenty of rich young masters waiting." After a pause, she added, "But be careful—don't let anyone dig up that secret about the illegitimate child!" Before she finished, the aunt snapped, "Jinxiang! One more word and I'll slap you!" Seeing Susu's pale face, she comforted her, "Good child, don't listen to her nonsense. She speaks without thinking."

The meal became unbearable. By the time Susu left her uncle's house, night had deepened. Her aunt called a pedicab for her, her enthusiasm noticeably different from before, repeatedly urging, "Come back for meals when you have time."

The pedicab moved through the cold night, where even the streetlights felt icy. Susu wasn't sad, just increasingly restless. Her fingers were freezing as she fiddled with the beads on her purse, the rhinestones scraping her fingertips with a faint sting.

Arriving home, she was startled to see Lei Shaogong. He remained polite, saying, "Miss Ren, Third Young Master sent me to fetch you."

She thought back to their last encounter—it had been a quarrel, though she stayed silent while he lost his temper. She had assumed he would never see her again. After a moment's hesitation, she still got into the car.The heating in Duan Mountain was warm, so warm that condensation formed on the glass windows, misting them over and obscuring the view outside. He paced the living room with his hands clasped behind his back, and when he saw her, he frowned and asked, "Where have you been? The Dance Troupe said you left at four o'clock." She hesitated and replied, "I went to a friend's house." He pressed, "Which friend? I called Chang Ning, and Mulan was with him."

She lowered her head and remained silent. He asked, "Why won't you speak?" Her heart felt hollow, and she instinctively turned her face away. He said, "Last time, I told you to quit the Dance Troupe. Why didn't you agree?" It was over this very matter that he had lost his temper and stormed off before. Now, he was asking her again. After a long pause, she finally said, "I need to work." He pressed further, "You have everything you could want. Why do you need to work?"

Everything she could want—she thought vaguely, what did that even mean? She had long been left with nothing, not even the last shred of her dignity, which he had trampled into dust.

Just then, Lei Shaogong happened to walk in and asked with a smile, "Third Young Master, shall I light the candles?" He opened a paper box on the coffee table, revealing a cake inside. She was startled, caught off guard and bewildered, and could only stare at him. But he said, "Leave us." Lei Shaogong had no choice but to set down the lighter, cast a glance at her, and exit, closing the door behind him.

She stood there motionless, but he picked up the cake box and hurled it to the floor. The cherries adorning the cake scattered across the carpet, bright red like broken strands of coral beads. She took a step back and whispered, "I didn't know you remembered my birthday." He sneered, "It seems that in your heart, I don't need to know your birthday at all." Her voice grew softer, then softer still, "You don't need to know." He demanded, "What do you mean by that?" She remained silent, and the quiet only fueled his anger. "What is this supposed to mean? Haven't I been good enough to you?"

Good? His standard of "good" was nothing more than treating her like a caged canary—giving her money, jewelry, and keeping accounts at the foreign firm. He was buying her, and she was selling herself without a shred of dignity. What did "good" even mean? A bitter smile touched her lips. How was this any different from selling herself at the door? If not for the chance birth of their child, she might not even have the right to "sell" herself to him. He did treat her differently, but was she supposed to be grateful for that?

Seeing the look in her eyes, he grew inexplicably agitated and said coldly, "What more do you want?"

What more did she want? Disheartened, she hung her head and said, "I don't want anything." He retorted, "You don't want anything—stop sulking with me." She replied, "I'm not sulking." He grabbed her wrist, "You say one thing and mean another. What do you really want? What haven't I given you to make you happy?"

She murmured, "I'm satisfied with everything," but her voice was faint and weak. His grip tightened, "Don't play games with me. If you have something to say, say it plainly." Her gaze drifted to the window behind him, where condensation trickled down the glass in streaks. Her life was already ruined; tomorrow would be no different from today, and no matter how "good" he was to her, it made no difference. Yet he refused to let it go, pressing her again, "What more do you want?"The faint, sorrowful smile still lingered at the corners of her lips. "What right do I have to ask for anything?" Her words finally angered him. "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 stared directly into her eyes, pressing her relentlessly. "Look at me. Anything you ask for, I'll give it to you right now." As long as she didn’t smile like that, as long as she didn’t look at him that way—that faint, nightmarish smile that stirred a dull ache in his heart again.

She felt suffocated by his pressure; his gaze was like a sharp blade piercing straight through her. Steeling herself, she closed her eyes and spoke in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, "Then, I want to get married." A lump formed in her throat, nearly choking her. Since he was forcing her like this, all she wanted was for him to leave her—but he wouldn’t. She had no choice but to say it, hoping this attempt would finally make him back away.

Sure enough, he released her and took a step back. His expression was grim as he asked, "You want me to marry you?"

She was almost terrified, but mustering courage from somewhere, she nodded faintly. What would he say? Would he scold her for her foolish hopes, immediately offer her money to send her away, or fly into another rage? Whatever it was, she had asked for it and gotten it.

His face turned ashen, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. But she knew he was angry because his entire body was tense. She finally grew a little afraid, for the look in his eyes seemed almost like hurt—she couldn’t be sure, but his expression frightened her, and her mind was in turmoil. Better a short, sharp pain than a long, drawn-out one. The worst had already been said; it wouldn’t hurt to add a little more. She said, "This is all I want. If you can’t give it to me, then there’s nothing left for us to say."

His breathing grew heavier until he finally erupted. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her away forcefully. "Get out!" She stumbled several steps, her knee hitting the sofa, the pain so sharp tears nearly welled in her eyes. Clutching her handbag, she turned and walked out, hearing him call for his aide from inside the room.