Overdo

Murong Qingyi stood up and walked out. Madam Murong gave Susu a meaningful glance, and Susu had no choice but to follow him out. The kitchen was quite considerate; upon learning it was breakfast for the two of them, they remembered their respective tastes and preferences, preparing a Western-style meal for Murong Qingyi and a delicate porridge with side dishes for Susu.

In the vast dining room, only the occasional clink of his cutlery against the plate broke the silence before it returned to stillness. Their last meeting had been during the Lunar New Year, and after several months apart, he appeared thinner, likely due to his busy official duties. A faint weariness and irritation lingered between his brows. Perhaps he was irritated with her, irritated by such occasions where they had to maintain a facade of harmony.

The two finished their breakfast in silence. She quietly followed him to the grand hall outside the west corridor. As they walked along the hallway, he suddenly turned around and reached out to take her hand. Her body trembled slightly involuntarily. Immediately, she noticed the reporters in the grand hall turning their faces toward them. He smiled, wrapped his arm around her waist, and a series of soft clicks from camera shutters accompanied the dazzling flash of magnesium light, leaving her vision momentarily blank. She gathered her spirits and, like Madam Murong, flashed a seemingly blissful smile at the cameras.

It was a Western-style wedding. Weiyi wore a wedding dress, her veil held by three pairs of little flower girls, her smile as sweet as honey. As the newlyweds completed their vows, a flurry of colored ribbons, confetti, and rose petals drifted down like a dreamy shower of blossoms. A match made in heaven, a union blessed for a hundred years. She and Qi Xi were the perfect golden couple, an otherworldly pair beyond the reach of ordinary people.

In the evening, fireworks lit up the sky above the Shuangqiao Official Residence, blooming like flowers against the dark curtain of night, each a fleeting burst of splendor. The terrace was filled with guests, and amidst the crowd, he held her lightly, yet it was nothing more than an act. He merely looked up, his eyes momentarily reflecting the brilliance of the fireworks, as if a faint flame had ignited within them. But just as quickly, it dimmed and extinguished, returning to a lifeless stillness, veiled in a cold, thin layer of ice.

The night breeze blew in, chilling her enough to shiver slightly. Amidst such a lively and extravagant scene, surrounded by so many people, he was so close to her, yet she was utterly alone, facing the cold wind.

Eighteen

At the far end of the ballroom, the band tuned their strings and began the first waltz. The music rose and fell like the gentle ripples of a blue lake or the crisp chime of bronze bells swaying in the wind beneath the eaves. Susu couldn't help but drift into a daze. When she turned her head, he had already extended his hand from afar, and she had no choice but to place her hand in his. His hand was slightly cool, but his dancing skills remained impeccable—spinning, turning... Around them was a sea of fragrant gowns and gleaming coiffures. Only at this moment, only now could she justifiably tilt her face up slightly and gaze quietly at him.

His gaze, however, drifted away almost instinctively. After just a second or two, it returned to meet hers. His eyes were gentle, almost enough to deceive her. A faint blush gradually spread across her cheeks, and her breathing grew shallow and rapid. She felt as light as a butterfly, his embrace her only anchor, allowing him to lead her gracefully through the flower-filled ballroom. Gradually, only the music remained in her ears—spinning, spinning... until she felt slightly dizzy. The music was a vast, majestic ocean, but his eyes were an abyss of boundless despair. She no longer had the strength to try and peer into its depths, afraid she might recklessly throw herself into it. With a series of swift spins, he led her away from the bustling heart of the dance floor. As the music swelled to its final crescendo, she felt a momentary darkness before her eyes and found herself standing in the shadow of the Flower Barrier.He abruptly kissed her, his tightening arms binding her tightly, allowing no evasion, no struggle. He had always been this domineering. The familiar yet distant warmth made her whole body go weak, but the force on her lips once again stole her breath in an instant. He greedily drank in her essence, like a man crossing a vast desert on the verge of death encountering his first glimpse of sweet springwater—urgently taking without restraint, even his breathing grew chaotic and rapid.

She didn’t want this—didn’t want him to be like this. Knowing full well he was once again captivated by her beauty, she no longer had the strength to endure the pain of loss. So she refused, refused to let him treat her this way. Just like how he treated the myriad blossoms by his side, occasionally remembering them and bestowing a glance of pity. Even if she were as humble as a wild grass, she had already been cast aside by him. From now on, she would never again want his second glance.

With a forceful struggle, he abruptly released her. She looked at him quietly, watching the faint flames flicker in his eyes, gradually turning cold and icy. Instead, she felt a surge of fearlessness, meeting his sharp gaze head-on. The corner of his lips curled into a cold smile as he flung her hand away and turned to leave, striding directly through the dance floor and disappearing deep into the crowd of cheerful laughter.

By the time the night grew late and the crowd dispersed, it was already three in the morning. Madam Murong said, "I’m getting old and really can’t stay up like this anymore. I’m going to bed. Susu, it’s so late, why don’t you just sleep here? That way, you won’t have to rush over early tomorrow." With her words put like that, Susu had no choice but to reply, "Yes." Just then, Madam Murong caught sight of Murong Qingyi’s figure passing by outside the door and quickly called out, "Third Son, where are you going so late?"

Murong Qingyi said, "I just received a phone call. There’s something I need to attend to."

Madam Murong asked, "Where are you going in the middle of the night?"

Murong Qingyi replied, "It’s really official business. If you don’t believe me, Mother, ask the attendant on duty." With that, he walked out. Madam Murong could only smile at Susu and say, "Don’t mind him. You should go to bed first."

Susu went upstairs. It had been almost half a year since she last entered this bedroom. The room was still arranged as it had been before, even her pair of slippers remained in their original place. The servants cleaned daily, so naturally, it was spotless. Yet she knew he hadn’t returned to this room for many days either, because the antique clock on the bedside table—the one he always wound himself—still had its date display stuck several months prior. Of course, he had other places to go.

The quilt carried a faint, familiar scent of incense. The bed was so spacious, yet she curled up out of habit. Just as she was beginning to feel drowsy, the telephone suddenly rang. She picked up the receiver, but before she could speak, a soft, coquettish voice on the other end whined, "You heartless man, are you going to make me wait until dawn?"

She laughed bitterly, her heart riddled with scars, so numb that even the pain felt distant. Softly, she said, "He’s already left. You don’t have to wait until dawn."Waiting is an endless aging, yet she had even refused to wait. The towering bookshelves in the study, with tens of thousands of volumes, required a special ladder to reach the books on the upper levels. The passage of time within the pages flowed more swiftly than a river, and the swirling words occasionally splashed like waves. Yet her heart had darkened into an ancient well, overgrown with duckweed and obscured by haze, slowly devoured piece by piece. Spring departed, the swallows left; summer faded, the cicadas' songs grew sparse. Autumn ended, yellow chrysanthemums piled on the ground; winter arrived, the rain sounded cold and fragmented. The seasons held no distinction for her—she was like a flower in a deep courtyard, unknown to anyone, slowly withering by broken wells and crumbling walls, fading in color, gradually turning gray and withered, until one day, she would simply turn to dust.

Her jade-like beauty had languished for three years; she had once lost four years, and now, she was losing again, another long year had passed—fearing that this lifetime might already be forever.

The house was so spacious, quiet and deep like a secluded valley, the rustling of clothes seeming the only echo. The cold rain outside the window was clear and chilly, tapping lightly against the window frame. The telephone in the living room abruptly rang, slicing through the water-like silence, startling her for no reason. She then sighed softly; it was probably the attendants' office calling to notify her of an event she must attend. The maid answered the phone and came to tell her, "It's Miss Fang calling."

The only one who remembered her was probably Mulan. She heard her say, "Susu, happy birthday." Only then did she remember, letting out a soft "ah." Mulan said, "I was afraid you might not be home. I've invited a few old friends from the Dance Troupe for a meal. If you're free, could you come? Consider it us celebrating your birthday."

A room full of old friends stood up one after another as she entered, smiling silently. Only Mulan came forward to greet her. "I thought you wouldn't be able to come today." She smiled and said, "After receiving your call, I was truly happy." Xiaofan said with a laugh, "Oh, I saw your photo in the newspaper recently and almost didn't recognize you. You've grown more beautiful—just thinner." With that, others chimed in with questions, and everyone finally warmed up.

The chrysanthemum hot pot sizzled softly, blue flames gently licking the golden copper bottom. Through the faint, hazy white steam, Susu was reminded of the days in the Dance Troupe when they would treat themselves to meals at small restaurants. They had hot pot then too, though naturally not as refined, but amid the steaming heat and boisterous laughter, it felt just like yesterday.