Overdo

After nightfall, it began to rain, and by midnight, the downpour intensified. Outside the window, the rustling of tree branches and leaves could be heard, while the wind seeped through the gaps, causing the heavy curtains to sway gently. Madam Murong felt a chill creeping over her and turned to softly call for the servants, "Have them light the fireplace, but be quiet and don't disturb Susu." Then she said to Jin Rui and Weiyi, "You two should go to bed now. You must be at ease." Weiyi chuckled softly, "How can anyone sleep at a time like this? We have to wait until they've bathed the baby and brought her out for us to see before we can rest."

The fire in the fireplace was lit, casting a warm, red glow that filled the room. Madam Murong noticed that Susu was utterly exhausted, sleeping deeply with a few strands of hair clinging to her face and fine beads of sweat on her forehead. Her pale face was framed by long, dark lashes resting like delicate fans. Looking up, Madam Murong saw Murong Qingyi gazing intently at Susu and couldn't help but sigh softly.

The nurse brought the baby out, and Weiyi was the first to take her. She let out a soft exclamation, "Third Brother, look—this child's features are so delicate. She's sure to grow into a great beauty." Madam Murong smiled gently, "Her grandfather has already called twice to ask about her." Jin Rui laughed lightly, "Father has finally become a grandfather—I bet he's so thrilled he might cut his trip short." Then she added, "Third Brother, are you so overjoyed you've lost your voice?" Weiyi chimed in, "I know Third Brother—he's sulking because it's a girl." Madam Murong said, "What's wrong with a girl? You can have a boy next year." She continued, "Let's not stay here and risk waking Susu. You've seen the baby now, so hurry back to your rooms and sleep."

After they left, Madam Murong gave the nurse a few more instructions before returning to her own room. The baby was taken away by the nurse, and the room fell silent. Susu, in her dazed state, felt someone gently holding her hand. The hand was wonderfully warm, something she instinctively clung to. Mistaking it for Madam Murong, she murmured drowsily, "Mom," before sinking back into sleep.

Murong Qingyi watched her for a long time. Her hand rested softly in his palm, cool and delicate. Only now, in this moment, could he gaze at her freely without her turning away. She had endured such hardship without uttering a single complaint to him, not even a word of distress—not even to Madam Murong, whom she seemed to trust more.

His hand grew numb and sore from holding hers for so long, yet he wished the night would never end, hoping this fleeting moment could stretch on just a little longer.

Murong Feng, burdened with official duties, did not return to Shuangqiao until the third day. Murong Qingyi went to see him in the study, where an attendant was grinding ink. Murong Feng had just set down his brush and said, "You've come at the right time." Murong Qingyi glanced at the rice paper and read the four characters written there aloud: "Murong Jingyan." He recognized the phrase from the Book of Songs, meaning "to reflect quietly upon it." Madam Murong, standing nearby, remarked, "It's elegant, but perhaps a bit too scholarly. Everyone has been calling her Nannan these past couple of days—it seems this nickname is here to stay."The Murong family had many relatives and friends. Although Murong Feng had always disliked lavish displays, he made an exception in his joy this time. Madam Murong hosted the full-month celebration with great festivity and splendor. Nannan was naturally carried out by Susu for the relatives and friends to admire properly. Everyone exclaimed in admiration, and Wang Qilin also smiled cheerfully nearby, saying, "What a true little beauty." She added, "But she doesn’t look like the Third Young Master at all—she’s entirely inherited her mother’s beauty." Weiyi said, "Who says she doesn’t resemble him? Look at her high nose bridge—it’s so much like Third Brother’s." Wang Qilin laughed and replied, "Oh, how clumsy my words are—that’s not what I meant." Susu lifted her eyes, her dark pupils starkly contrasted against the whites, her gaze clear and penetrating. For some reason, Wang Qilin felt an inexplicable startle but quickly smiled again. "Third Young Mistress, please don’t take it to heart. You know I’m the worst at speaking—my tongue always trips me up."

The banquet lasted until late at night. After seeing off the guests, Murong Qingyi went upstairs, first stopping by the nursery to check on the child before entering the bedroom. Susu was still awake. When he entered, her pitch-black eyes, like the coldest starlight, fixed directly on him—neither angry nor sorrowful, yet they evoked in him that bone-deep chill once more. This chill eventually stirred a primal anger. "Don’t look at me like that. I’ve said I won’t touch you, and in this lifetime, I never will again!"

Her eyes were like still water in a deep pool, calm and unrippled. After a long while, she slowly lowered her head as usual, as if relieved. He hated her bitterly; she had treated him this way, destroying everything he had. The latter half of his life would be filled with endless despair and cruelty. She had easily driven him to a dead end, ultimately forcing him to utter coldly, "Don’t think you can have your way, treating me like a fool."

She raised her eyes again, her gaze still detached and clear, like freshly fallen snow under the moonlight, chilling straight to the heart. Finally, she spoke: "You suspect me like this?"

He knew she had misunderstood his meaning, but the glistening tears in her eyes gave him a decisive sense of satisfaction. She was, after all, angered by him. He would rather she hate him than gaze at him so calmly, as if looking right through him into some void. To be so utterly disregarded—he preferred her hatred, even if it meant she remembered him. Her heartless cruelty had driven him to the point where his own heart felt dead; he was already enduring eternal torment in the depths of hell. So let her hate him completely—hate him enough to remember him, hate him enough to never forget him for all eternity. That would be better than having no place in her heart at all. He blurted out, "Yes, I do suspect you—I suspect that child, and even the one from six years ago. Who’s to say they are my sons?"

She trembled all over. The deepest pain in her heart was being treated as a deceitful scheme. So, in his eyes, she had fallen so low. From next door, the faint sound of the child’s crying reached them. So, she had been wrong—he was so stingy as to withhold even her last shred of dignity. He was so malicious, trampling her wantonly, and then he could utter such cold-blooded, cruel words. The child’s cries grew louder. In despair, she turned her head away. It would have been better not to bring her into this world, for what awaited her in the cradle was nothing but shame. To be doubted like this—he actually doubted her to this extent.The child's cries grew louder and louder, each wail seeming to tear through her very heart. Tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head gently, her gaze filled with utter despair. That look of hers made his heart ache violently, and a sense of foreboding surged within him. He lunged forward to grab her hands, but she struggled desperately. Refusing to let go, he held on tightly until she bit down hard on the back of his hand. The metallic taste of blood seeped between her lips and teeth, yet he still clung to her unyieldingly. She finally managed to wrench one hand free and, with a forceful swing, slapped him hard across the face with a sharp "crack." She froze in shock. He, too, was stunned, gradually loosening his grip. Seizing the moment, she turned abruptly and dashed toward the door. He chased after her, but she nearly tumbled down the stairs—each step felt like a plunge into emptiness, each step a fall. The pain had already numbed her; all that remained was a desperate, reckless resolve. She would rather die than go on living—living with such humiliation and doubt, living to face him again. After what he had done to her, death seemed preferable.

A car that had just returned from dropping off guests was parked in front of the corridor, its engine still running as the driver had just stepped out. She shoved the driver aside and scrambled into the vehicle. She heard his desperate, final cry: "Susu!"

She stomped on the accelerator, and the car shot forward like a fleeting black butterfly, crashing with a deafening "boom" into a ginkgo tree as thick as a barrel. The ginkgo had just sprouted new leaves, and under the hazy glow of the streetlamp, emerald-green fan-shaped leaves fluttered down like a torrential, verdant rain. Excruciating pain engulfed her from all directions, and boundless darkness swallowed everything. She barely had time to flash one last, faint smile of relief.