Ming Li gave a general summary. “I looked at some cases and have a few ideas. The company doesn’t seem like it’ll be profitable after acquisition, but I’m still thinking it through.”
Gu Xueqiang frowned. “That’s it?”
Ming Li: “…”
“Come to my study,” Gu Xueqiang said, seemingly unable to take it anymore and deciding to give her a private lesson.
But it was already 11:30 PM. Ming Li took a deep breath. “Yes, Mot—”
Before she could finish, Gu Qingshuang, holding her steaming cup of coffee, coldly interrupted, “Do it tomorrow.”
Gu Xueqiang turned to look at her.
Gu Qingshuang said in a low tone, “I have things to discuss with Ming Li. If you want to talk business, wait until tomorrow.”
Ming Li’s internal alarms went off instantly. Usually, Gu Qingshuang hardly said a word to her. Their interaction was painfully dull: go to the room, shower separately, get into bed, play on their phones, or have sex—completing the ritual of body and soul that all humans need.
But today, Gu Qingshuang wanted to talk?
Talk about what? Divorce?
Ming Li suddenly felt that having Gu Xueqiang teach her about acquisitions would be better. At least she would learn something. She wanted to say she had some things she didn’t understand that she wanted to ask Mother, but Gu Xueqiang had already given Gu Qingshuang a deep look and relented. “Fine. I want to go to sleep early anyway.”
Gu Xueqiang took the elevator to the third floor.
Gu Qingshuang stepped up the stairs one by one, carrying her coffee to the second floor. Ming Li was slow to follow, reluctant to go up. Gu Qingshuang stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at her. “Come up.”
Ming Li thought to herself: What must come, will come.
–
Ming Li followed Gu Qingshuang into the study.
The second-floor study didn’t just have a desk for Gu Qingshuang; Ming Li had a desk there as well. This had been Gu Xueqiang’s requirement, as she wanted Ming Li to learn more than just social etiquette—she wanted her to take finance classes from the business school. Although she’d only learned the basics, Gu Xueqiang had prepared a relatively independent workspace for her.
When she entered, she saw a blanket on her desk. It was likely what Gu Qingshuang had used the night before. She had heard from the servants this morning that Gu Qingshuang had spent the entire night in the study.
Ming Li stood there, feeling like a prisoner waiting for her sentence.
Gu Qingshuang set the coffee on the table with a deliberate, audible click.
Ming Li didn’t speak first. She remained passive, waiting for the other woman to break the silence.
But Gu Qingshuang didn’t speak either. She simply watched her in silence.
After a long moment, Gu Qingshuang finally asked, “Aren’t you tired?”
Ming Li blinked, startled. “Huh?”
“Go back to the room and rest,” Gu Qingshuang said.
Ming Li froze. “What?”
“If you had gone to Mother’s study at this hour, you wouldn’t have made it out for at least an hour. I saw how exhausted you looked, so I made an excuse to call you back.” It was rare to hear Gu Qingshuang speak such a long string of words at once. Her emotions seemed remarkably stable today. “Go back to the room, take a shower, and go to sleep.”
Ming Li instinctively asked, “What about you?”
Gu Qingshuang paused. She looked into Ming Li’s eyes; they were shimmering and beautiful, like brilliant diamonds.
For some reason, Gu Qingshuang found she couldn’t look her straight in the eye. She averted her gaze, looking instead at the thin blanket draped over the table.
“Do you want me to come back?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
The question was phrased with agonizing precision.
The room belonged to Gu Qingshuang, and the house belonged to the Gu family. Ming Li had no standing to kick her out. Besides, she wasn’t the one who had driven Gu Qingshuang out in the first place!
Why did it sound like Ming Li was the one being the bully?
Swallowing her bitterness, Ming Li said helplessly, “It’s your room. You can come back whenever you want.”
Ming Li breathed a small sigh of relief when the topic of divorce wasn’t mentioned again.
But a second later, Gu Qingshuang asked, “Ming Li, do you want a divorce?”
Ming Li’s brow furrowed. She felt the hollow, practiced smile on her face begin to crumble. She hadn’t expected Gu Qingshuang to bring it up again—especially now, when she couldn’t pretend to be asleep.
“I know you were faking sleep last night,” Gu Qingshuang said. “But I’d rather hear your answer, so I’m asking again.”
Ming Li’s composure shattered. There was no mirror in front of her, but she knew her expression must be hideous.
Gu Qingshuang was speaking calmly, yet she projected an overwhelming sense of pressure. It was as if she wanted to tear away all of Ming Li’s disguises and trample them underfoot, just to see the filth hidden within her soul.
Ming Li felt her heart being squeezed in a tightening grip. She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked a question of her own: “Am I… making way for someone else?”
Is it for Shen Lideng?
Back then, Shen Lideng had been unwilling to stay. She hadn’t wanted to marry during the prime of her life, choosing instead to fly off to the Paris Opera House.
But now Shen Lideng was back. Gu Qingshuang had a better option.
The substitute had fulfilled her purpose; now she could be discarded.
Ming Li’s throat felt parched and raw. Her eyes burned with a stinging ache, though no tears fell.
“What are you talking about?” Gu Qingshuang’s voice was low and heavy.
Ming Li let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t there someone else better suited for the position of ‘Madam Gu’?”
She could barely get through the sentence with a steady voice, but she fought back the sob threatening to break through. She didn’t want this to be pathetic from start to finish.
Ming Li decided that if they were truly going to divorce, she would do it with grace. She would act as if she had never loved Gu Qingshuang, leaving not a single trace of her heart behind for the woman to find.
Gu Qingshuang was stunned for several seconds before she replied, “No.”
Ming Li smiled weakly. “Then why did the idea of divorce suddenly cross your mind?”
Gu Qingshuang took out her phone and opened her WeChat conversation with Ming Li. It was filled with messages she had sent, none of which Ming Li had replied to.
Ming Li glanced at the screen. She noticed that after that single period “。” from the other day, Gu Qingshuang had followed up with a question mark. Ming Li hadn’t replied to that either.
She hadn’t known what Gu Qingshuang meant by it; it felt like being teased like a pet, and she had hated the feeling.
Gu Qingshuang tapped the screen and accidentally double-tapped Ming Li’s profile icon. A notification popped up: “I nudged ‘Ming Li’s’ head and said, ‘You’ve worked hard.’”
Looking further up, the same notification had appeared before, though the text had been so small that Ming Li hadn’t noticed it and therefore hadn’t replied.
It was a rare sight: half the screen was filled with messages from Gu Qingshuang.
“You seem,” Gu Qingshuang said slowly, “to be quite bored of me.”
Ming Li: “…?”
Oh. So that’s how Gu Qingshuang interpreted my reaction?
