Chapter 13

Yet hearing his conditions now brought me no relief at all.

“As for Yingqiao,” he added, “some of what she said today was wrong.”

I was taken aback. He so rarely admitted she was at fault.

Then he continued:

“But you shouldn’t have embarrassed her in front of everyone. Have a proper talk with her, and we’ll put it behind us.”

I stared at him.

“What if I don’t agree?”

His face stiffened.

“Shen Wangshu, don’t push your luck.”

I smiled bitterly.

Nothing had changed.

He thought he had made a great concession, so I was obliged to take the way out he offered. Whether I wanted it still didn’t matter.

“Calm down and think about it.” He stood. “It’s still early. We can talk to both sets of parents this afternoon and choose another date. But understand this: I will not marry you in this hall.”

I nodded.

“I understand.”

Seeing that I wasn’t arguing, he looked a little less displeased.

At the door, he turned.

“Wangshu.”

I looked up.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to marry you.” He hesitated. “I just want you to truly want to marry me.”

Then he left.

As the door closed, I suddenly wanted to sob.

I had longed to hear those words.

If he had asked six months ago… If he had sat down and spoken honestly after our first argument about Yingqiao… If he hadn’t threatened to cancel again and again…

Perhaps we could have gone all the way together.

But that was the cruelest thing about love.

Some words came only after I no longer dared believe them.

By then, it was too late.

—

### 12

When I returned to the waiting room, Mom sat beside Zhixia.

She sprang up when she saw me.

“Wangshu, did Shiye say anything?”

“Yes.”

“Then the wedding…”

“It isn’t happening, Mom.”

Her eyes reddened again.

“Is there really no way to work it out?”

I went over and helped her sit.

“Mom, why do you want me to get married today so badly?”

She stared.

“Oh, silly girl. What else could I want? Someone to care for you. Someone to love you.”

I looked at her hands. She had aged so much these past years. Wrinkles crossed their backs.

When Cheng’an died five years ago, she stayed awake with me through countless nights. Sometimes I woke to find her alone in the living room, not even daring to switch on the light.

She was afraid I might hurt myself. Afraid one moment’s inattention would cost her her daughter too.

“Mom,” I asked softly, “have you always thought that because I couldn’t marry Cheng’an, the rest of my life was ruined?”

Her tears poured out.

“I never thought that.” She wiped them away. “I was just afraid you’d be alone. You shut yourself in your room and wouldn’t eat properly. Seeing you like that broke my heart. Then Shiye came, and you finally smiled again. You went out. You let yourself fall in love