Bei Huai had started out utterly unresponsive, but gradually she began to offer a few words in reply now and then. Eventually, whenever she caught sight of Jiang Wan, a faint spark would light up in her eyes.
Once, when an unruly prisoner made a crude remark about Jiang Wan, Bei Huai didn’t hesitate—she beat the offender senseless. Even when the guards scolded and punished her for it, she refused to back down or apologize.
Later on, Jiang Wan began bringing stacks of books for Bei Huai to read, hoping to distract her and give her mind something to occupy itself with.
To everyone’s surprise, Bei Huai proved to have a remarkable gift for physics. She even spotted a flaw in a professor’s paper published in the latest issue of a prestigious journal. Most people brushed it off with a laugh, dismissing her entirely, but Jiang Wan believed in her. She went to great lengths, advocating on her behalf to prove her right.
The professor wasn’t the arrogant type. After thorough verification, he publicly acknowledged his error.
He even visited the prison in person to discuss the finer points of academia with Bei Huai. Soon after, he petitioned the authorities to allow her to contribute to research projects.
When that groundbreaking study was finally published, Bei Huai earned a reduction in her sentence.
Only Cen Jin and Jiang Wan showed up on the day of her release.
Yun Manzhu seemed to have vanished without a trace, and Bei Huai never went looking for her.
Thanks to the professor’s endorsement, Bei Huai landed a job as an assistant at a research institute. But her prison record hung over her like a shadow—colleagues subtly shunned her, claiming credit for her breakthroughs as their own.
Bei Huai didn’t mind. She threw herself into the work because experiments were the only time she truly felt alive.
Worried about her well-being, Jiang Wan visited often, always under the guise of psychological counseling. Jiang Wan was like a little sun—vibrant, outgoing, radiant as a bloom in full flower. Every glowing adjective fit her to perfection. She and Bei Huai were polar opposites: Bei Huai shrank from the brilliance, terrified it might scorch her, yet she yearned for its warmth with every fiber of her being.
Over time, they grew closer.
During those months, Jiang Wan confessed her feelings at least five times.
Each one was met with Bei Huai’s gentle, regretful refusal.
Jiang Wan never lost heart. She never gave up.
Fearing Bei Huai might waste away in solitude, she strong-armed her into joining a tour group. Disaster struck almost immediately—an earthquake buried them in the ruins. Guilt and terror gripped Jiang Wan, but Bei Huai clasped her hand tight, her voice steady and soothing as she urged her to stay awake.
By the time rescuers pulled them free, Jiang Wan saw the truth: two jagged rebar spikes protruded from Bei Huai’s back, soaked in blood. Somehow, on the brink of collapse herself, Bei Huai had kept talking, kept her calm and unafraid.
Bei Huai spent months in the hospital. Jiang Wan was there every single day, dashing in and out without fail. In that moment of clarity amid the rubble, Jiang Wan had made up her mind: no matter her parents’ objections, no matter Bei Huai’s refusals, they would be together. Nothing would stand in their way.
Day after day of Jiang Wan’s unwavering devotion wore down Bei Huai’s resistance at last. Marriage changed little between them. Jiang Wan rose to prominence in psychology, but for all her expertise, she couldn’t heal her wife.
Without her career and Jiang Wan, Bei Huai would have surrendered long ago. Her work no longer sparked any joy in her; only Jiang Wan tethered her to the world with the thinnest thread of attachment. Yet her illnesses pressed on relentlessly.
Severe depression. Bipolar disorder. Insomnia. Headaches. Tinnitus. Frenzied outbursts.
During her episodes, she hid from Jiang Wan, barricading herself in the bathroom and gnawing her own hand to stifle the screams. Jiang Wan waited outside the door, her own cries choked back to whispers.
She had arrived too late. She couldn’t save the woman she loved.
Bei Huai withered away before her eyes. Food held no appeal; sleep eluded her. Each dawn brought fresh agony. Self-harm alone had come to light five times already.
Helplessness and dread clawed at Jiang Wan. She was a psychologist—yet powerless to save her own love. The irony tore at her soul.
“If you had never met me, Wanwan, you would have lived a truly happy life,” Bei Huai would murmur.
But only Jiang Wan knew the truth: happiness existed for her only with Bei Huai at her side.
Bei Huai loved her. She knew it deep down.
Her Little Bei braided her hair with tender care, organized her belongings with meticulous attention, tracked her cycle to brew comforting brown sugar tea. On birthdays, she orchestrated sweet surprises. She shielded her fiercely, dissected her work troubles with sharp insight.
Bei Huai’s love was a quiet thing—expressed in silent sacrifices, stoic endurance, a slow fade into shadow. Perhaps the scars of her past had taught her she didn’t deserve to love at all. But Jiang Wan would show her how. She was more than willing.
Bei Huai was exhausted, though. Utterly, bone-deep weary. She had fought so hard to keep living for Wanwan’s sake. But survival itself was torture. A knot festered in her heart, buried too profoundly for any hand to unravel.
One day, Jiang Wan received news of a newly developed drug that could effectively alleviate depression. She happily kissed Bei Huai several times, told her to wait obediently for her return, and instructed the nanny to keep a close eye on her.
Bei Huai smiled as she watched her from the window, seeing Wanwan gradually disappear from view, step by step.
Her smile slowly faded. The nanny watched her anxiously—all the controlled knives in the house had been locked away. Seeing the auntie’s tense expression, Bei Huai couldn’t help but laugh. She wouldn’t take her own life; Wanwan had asked her to wait, and she could never bear to leave her Wanwan waiting in vain.
She said she wanted to go downstairs for a walk. The nanny felt both relieved and worried; patients with depression shouldn’t stay cooped up inside all day anyway.
Bei Huai made her way to the park in the neighborhood and sat down, watching intently as a group of children played and laughed nearby. Perhaps because her own childhood had lacked such simple joys, she envied them all the more.
Suddenly, she noticed a flower pot tumbling down from the balcony of a high-rise apartment. Directly below it stood a little girl, smiling innocently, completely unaware.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Bei Huai shouted, “Get out of the way!” and rushed forward to shove the girl aside. But there was some distance between them, and by the time she reached her, it was too late. All she could do was shield the girl with her own body.
The flower pot smashed brutally against the back of her head, the pain sending spasms through her entire body.
The nanny ran up in horror, her hands shaking as she fumbled for her phone and dialed 120.
Bei Huai collapsed to the ground. Everything around her seemed to drift farther and farther away, her vision blurring into a hazy fog.
It hurts so much.
Wanwan, when are you coming back? I miss you.
She murmured softly, her consciousness slipping into darkness.
~~~
Bei Huai’s death was a tragic accident. Though she had attempted suicide many times during her episodes, Jiang Wan had told her to wait, and she would never break her word.
Jiang Wan had left the house full of joy, but she returned pale as a ghost, her eyes brimming with helplessness and despair.
Only then did she realize that when grief reached its deepest point, the tears simply wouldn’t come.
Her eyes felt dry and gritty, red as if they were bleeding, yet not a single drop fell.
She had no memory of getting to the hospital, handling the aftermath, or making her way home.
She sat woodenly on the sofa, as if her soul had been torn away. After an indeterminable stretch of time, she dragged herself to the refrigerator, pulled it open, and grabbed a can of beer. But her gaze suddenly froze on the label.
A note was stuck to it.
—Be good, put it back. Drink less alcohol.
Bei Huai had written it. She loved leaving these little reminders everywhere.
Numbly, Jiang Wan set the beer back and headed for the bathroom to shower. She went looking for her pajamas but couldn’t find the blue-striped pair she wanted. She rummaged through drawers over and over, then called out on instinct: “Little Bei, where’s that blue-striped pajama set you bought me?”
The words hung in the air, and she froze for a second before resuming her search. She circled the bedroom several times without luck, then it hit her. She walked out to the balcony, where a laundry basket sat nearby. There were her pajamas, right inside.
Auntie must have just brought them in; Little Bei hadn’t had a chance to put them away in the closet yet. Little Bei always took care of her clothes personally. If something was missing, asking Little Bei was always the surefire solution.
She hadn’t cried upon hearing the news of Bei Huai’s death. She hadn’t cried when she saw Bei Huai’s body covered by a white sheet. She hadn’t cried when the rescued girl’s family knelt before her in tearful gratitude. And she hadn’t cried after returning home.
She was an adult, after all—perfectly capable of managing her emotions.
But in that moment, clutching the pajamas to her chest, Jiang Wan sank to the floor and sobbed with raw, gut-wrenching despair.
She cried as if her heart were shattering.
Because she knew.
The woman who would hold her close, kiss away the tears clinging to her lashes, and whisper for her not to cry—that woman would never come back.
After Bei Huai passed away, Jiang’s father and mother fretted endlessly over Jiang Wan, terrified she might do something rash.
Even Guanguan cut her time abroad short and flew back home.
Jiang Wan smiled and reassured them that she wasn’t so fragile.
But deep down, only she knew the truth: a black void inside her was growing, bit by bit, until it consumed her entirely.
She didn’t fight it. She didn’t even have the will to try.
Merely coping with her parents and friends drained the last of her strength.
So when the car crash happened, her very first thought wasn’t fear—it was relief.
She wished she could go back to Little Bei’s teenage years.
She longed to see those eyes still sparkling with light. She wanted to save her.
She wanted it so badly.
