Scattered on the floor lay a pile of miscellaneous items.
Shirts. Long skirts. Hats. Laptops. Hair ties. Earphones. Face cream. Toner. Phones. Cloth dolls. Wallets. Slippers. Canvas bags. ID cards. Cups. E-cigarettes. Tissues. Passports.
An abundant variety, everything one could imagine, as if an entire life had been spilled onto the ground.
Wei Shuyu threaded her way through the pile, picking up only the passport and ID card.
“Throw away all the clothes and sundries. Keep the electronics and bags,” she said with a cold face, her voice devoid of warmth. “I mean Chanel and Hermès. The canvas bag doesn’t count as a bag.”
“Miss Wei…”
The housekeeper looked up cautiously at her.
“The Eldest Miss will be angry if you do this.”
“I can’t help laughing every time I hear you call Jin Yizhu that,” Wei Shuyu shook her head. “I’m not living here anymore. You can go back to Hong Kong too. Aren’t you happy?”
Her tone was mild, but her words dripped with mockery.
The housekeeper fell silent like a cicada in winter, saying nothing more, merely lowering her head to continue tidying the pile of items.
Just like her canary status, this housekeeper had also been brought from Hong Kong by Jin Yizhu.
A typical Hong Kong Filipina maid, bound by a contract in Jin Yizhu’s hands—she went east without daring to veer west.
Wei Shuyu often wondered if, in her eyes, she was just another type of servant, existing solely to serve Jin Yizhu.
Watching her sluggish movements, Wei Shuyu finally lost patience. She grabbed two bags at random, skirted around the feigned busyness of the housekeeper, and walked into the dressing room.
The dressing room resembled a luxury boutique, with transparent glass cabinets on both sides neatly displaying the latest seasonal models.
From Miu Miu to Hermès, everything was there. Jin Yizhu loved these things and particularly enjoyed using them to adorn her.
Wei Shuyu shoved the Chanel bag into a cabinet, ignoring any sorting or arrangement.
In the past, precise organization of items had been one of the things Jin Yizhu liked about her.
The housekeeper poked her head in from the doorway, hesitating before asking, “Miss Wei, if there’s nothing else…”
“You go ahead,” Wei Shuyu said, not wanting to make things hard for her. “I’ll handle the rest myself.”
The housekeeper’s lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, mindful of her position, she left quietly.
Wei Shuyu knew what she wanted to say—nothing but those same old lines. She had heard them so often lately that her ears had grown calluses.
Jin Yizhu was rich and generous to her; she shouldn’t think too much.
So what if Jin Yizhu was getting married? It wouldn’t affect their relationship. Rich people kept lovers outside all the time, especially since they were both women—maybe no one would even notice.
If anyone asked, just say they were friends, besties.
Who would care?
But she cared.
Wei Shuyu had known early on about Jin Yizhu’s engagement.
A family alliance, something no one could resist.
Over a decade ago, when Jin Yizhu was still a child, the marriage had already been arranged.
Her fiancé was her childhood sweetheart, an impeccable man—gentle, handsome, from an equal family background. Once married, they would become the envy of everyone in the Mid-Levels, the model couple.
As the canary, she had even less right to object.
Wei Shuyu had no intention of objecting either. She was a canary, not a girlfriend. Falling for one’s benefactor was already a grave taboo; demanding monogamy from her was laughable even to her.
She left without a trace, not for Jin Yizhu’s sake, but to preserve her own dignity.
Wei Shuyu surveyed the surroundings. Nothing was left behind.
Oh, one more thing—on her body.
Agent Provocateur, Jin Yizhu’s favorite brand.
Intricate lace, exquisite design, beautiful beyond belief.
“I’ve never seen you take it off,” Wei Shuyu muttered. “No idea why you wanted me to wear it.”
It was ridiculous, really. She was a canary, yet she had never done what a canary was supposed to do.
She merely existed in this house like an indestructible, gleaming jewel, waiting for Jin Yizhu to admire and appraise her, devoid of any real substance.
A mocking smile tugged at Wei Shuyu’s lips. She hesitated no longer.
Her fingers slipped under her T-shirt, grasped the shoulder straps, and with a gentle tug downward, they came loose effortlessly.
The black lace accentuated her increasingly pale skin.
She slid the shoulder straps down both sides, unclasped the back hook with a click, yanked out the exquisite, sensual lingerie, and tossed it onto the floor like trash—worse than trash.
Wei Shuyu didn’t spare it a glance and strode straight through the empty living room.
Unfortunately, before she could reach the door, the password lock clicked, announcing someone’s arrival.
Jin Yizhu stood at the entrance, shrouded in a chill mist of rain, and asked her:
“Wei Shuyu, where do you think you’re going?”
“Why are you back?” Wei Shuyu raised her eyes, as if she hadn’t heard. “Isn’t today your engagement banquet?”
She scrutinized the woman before her inch by inch.
For the evening banquet, Jin Yizhu’s makeup was more refined than usual, even her eyelashes shimmering faintly.
Unlike her poetic name, Jin Yizhu had a strikingly radiant face, more alluring than a siren.
She wore her favorite Bulgari. The pure black little dress outlined her alluring figure, and at her neckline hung a prize from last week’s Tokyo jewelry exhibition—a lustrous pearl that complemented her snowy skin, more captivating than the jewel itself.
Wei Shuyu averted her gaze. “Why did you come back?”
Jin Yizhu smiled. “Answer my question first. Where do you think you’re going?”
She reached out to grab Wei Shuyu’s wrist, but Wei Shuyu dodged imperceptibly.
Wei Shuyu lowered her eyelids. “Miss Jin, that’s no longer your concern.”
“If I don’t care, who will?” Jin Yizhu sneered. “Who do you want to care?”
“I told you, I’d leave when you got engaged.”
Wei Shuyu sidestepped the question and said coolly:
“You don’t actually want me to attend your wedding banquet, do you?”
Jin Yizhu stared at the woman before her as if seeing her for the first time, appraising her from head to toe, silent for a long while.
She merely gazed at her canary.
Wei Shuyu had a very pale face, her features like a painting, even her lip color a pale cherry pink.
Slender and frail, with cold pale skin and pitch-black long hair like a veil of mist, concealing all emotions.
She couldn’t read this woman, from beginning to end—whether she was docilely holding her arm or standing before her, coldly pronouncing a death sentence.
“Wei Shuyu.”
Jin Yizhu’s voice turned icy, the usual tenderness vanished, leaving only raw possessiveness.
“You can’t leave.”
Wei Shuyu stared fixedly at her and asked, “Why?”
What she really wanted to ask was, on what grounds?
…
Her ill-fated connection with Jin Yizhu began three years ago.
That year, Wei Shuyu had just concluded her final solo exhibition, announcing her retirement from the art world amid a storm of controversy.
Her parents flew into a rage, deeming her impulsive and self-destructive, treating her coldly day after day. Their rare exchanges were laced with harsh words.
Even friends couldn’t understand. She was making money, had a good reputation—why quit? Just for a bit of pride? Was it worth it?
Overwhelmed, Wei Shuyu wanted nothing more than to escape far away.
Her uncle’s youngest sister was studying in Hong Kong, just over twenty, innocent and untainted by fame or profit, naturally free of biases against her.
Wei Shuyu rented a tiny apartment near the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK), holing up inside doing nothing—eat, sleep, repeat—as if severing ties with her past life entirely.
Her cousin visited sometimes when she had no classes, bringing a bento box, her face full of worry. “Sister, this isn’t good for you.”
“It’s fine, I won’t die,” Wei Shuyu replied. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m afraid if you die, I won’t know how to explain it to Aunt,” her cousin fretted, helping tidy the wine bottles in the room. “Why don’t you go out and explore? Hong Kong is fun.”
Fun?
Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing, Seoul, Taipei, Tokyo—any fun spots in the East Asian cultural sphere?
Wei Shuyu neither confirmed nor denied it, just waved her off. “Don’t worry about me. How’re your finals? Finished your paper? Where’s your internship?”
Under her barrage of questions, her cousin fled, no longer meddling.
After who knew how many hours of sleep, Wei Shuyu woke from a dream and finally sensed something was wrong.
If this continued, she might truly never wake again.
Wei Shuyu stood before the mirror, forcing herself to sober up. She layered on cosmetics, trying to make the reflection look less like a corpse.
She applied a vivid No. 999 red to her lips, finally giving her face some color.
Her cousin had left a ticket on the table: Phantom of the Opera, a complimentary ticket from the Hong Kong Cultural Centre Grand Theatre, fortunately not expired.
She had seen it countless times, but one more wouldn’t hurt.
Hong Kong’s weather that season was atrociously bad.
Gusty winds, oppressive clouds, even pedestrians on the streets staggered about, grumbling endlessly.
By the time Wei Shuyu reached the Grand Theatre entrance, she already felt stifled.
The school complimentary ticket her cousin gave her was in a poor spot—last row, nosebleed seats, barely visible.
In her artist days, Wei Shuyu would never have settled for such a position.
She always took front-row S-seats, accustomed to unobstructed views, prime locations, and quiet companions.
Surrounded by students, Wei Shuyu felt utterly out of place.
To make matters worse, it was the B cast, and her favorite aria featured a stage crack.
So unprofessional. She wondered how they even got on stage. If she were a regular at the Hong Kong Cultural Centre Grand Theatre, she would have complained.
Wei Shuyu was speechless, but with a free ticket, she had no right to complain.
During intermission, she couldn’t take it anymore and left her seat to get some air at the theatre entrance.
Rain still fell outside, heavier than when she arrived, pattering on the marble steps and sending ripples everywhere.
Amid the dazzling neon lights, Wei Shuyu lit a cigarette.
She didn’t smoke much, just watched the ember flicker, smoke curl, occasionally tasting the mint.
She lost track of time—perhaps intermission had ended—but she remained oblivious, with no intention of returning.
Call her picky, but the B cast’s opera was nothing to see. Better to watch the rain here.
At least the rain had a poetic drizzle to it.
That was when Jin Yizhu appeared.
She stood beside Wei Shuyu, her fingers resting on her shoulder, and asked, “Not going back in?”
