Chapter 20

The first had been when I accepted his proposal. His eyes red, his smile brilliant, he had said he was finally going to have a wife.

Now he clutched the ring, half-kneeling on the floor, unable to stand.

Someone knocked.

Ms. Chen.

“Miss Shen, the hall is ready. You can go in now.”

I turned.

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

Xue Shiye abruptly lifted his head.

“You’re still going in?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

I looked at him.

“To say goodbye to the past.”

He went still.

I reached the door.

Behind me, he called:

“Wangshu.”

I stopped.

“Will… will you come back?”

I knew he wasn’t asking whether I would return to this room.

I didn’t turn.

“Xue Shiye, let’s both move forward.”

—

### 17

12:02.

I entered Elm Hall alone.

No music. No host.

The rows of guest seats were empty. The staff had removed the microphone and everything from the ceremony table. A few flower arrangements still stood along the aisle, waiting to be moved.

The elm outside was green and flourishing. Its leaves stirred in the breeze. Noon sunlight fell through the glass onto that familiar aisle.

Standing at the entrance, I remembered Cheng’an bringing me here five years ago.

I had stood in this very spot.

“What if I’m so nervous on our wedding day that I forget how to walk?”

He laughed.

“Then I’ll wait up there. Take your time. If you go the wrong way, I’ll come down and get you.”

I told him not to be ridiculous. Who went the wrong way at her own wedding?

Now I had truly entered this hall alone.

Nobody waited ahead. Nobody would come down and take my hand.

I walked slowly. My skirt brushed the floor with a faint whisper.

At the third row, I stopped.

There was a simple white chair. Feeling tired, I sat.

Sunlight warmed the backs of my hands. I looked down at my ring finger. A faint mark remained where the ring had been.

In time, it would probably disappear.

Some marks people left might never fade.

I thought of Cheng’an.

Sawdust on his hands when he proposed. His habit of making food a little too salty. Our argument over the wedding budget. His earnest reminder: a wedding lasted one day; married life held so many more.

Then, I had thought we had all the time in the world. A lifetime for arguments, and time enough to make up afterward.

Only later did I learn how short some lives were.

Too short even for a wedding.

I had resented fate and tormented myself.

After finding someone as good as Cheng’an, why couldn’t I have had a few more years?

Why hadn’t I noticed his health failing sooner? Why had I sulked over little things during the preparations? Why hadn’t I told him I loved him a few more times while he could still hear?

I had carried that guilt deep inside for five years.