Chapter 14: Like

I Want to Die

In the past, when Xing Yue’s temper flared, she would often argue with Bu Yao. It wasn’t that Xing Yue had a bad temper; it was just that many things were unbearable for her.

Back then, Bu Yao never cried. She would only use an even fiercer tone to make Xing Yue submit. The situation Xing Yue would then face was the entire household urging her to be patient, to be tolerant, to be magnanimous.

Especially Bu Yao’s parents. They spoke nicely with their mouths: “Marriage is about two people supporting each other, not about winning arguments or vying for superiority,” “Yao Bao is only eighteen, she’s yours for most of her life; what’s a little thing like this?”

The implication was that twenty-five-year-old Xing Yue had hit the jackpot by marrying the eighteen-year-old Bu Yao, as if she had gained some massive advantage, taken some huge benefit.

If she could have truly enjoyed the perks of being Eldest Miss Bu’s wife, that would be one thing. The key was, she hadn’t.

A few years ago, the company had an event where a prominent editor wanted to interview Xing Yue. Xing Yue had always adhered to the principle of not revealing her face in her career. Her agent told her this editor had some influence and feared she might offend them.

She had also wanted to “show off” a bit, that she was the lawfully wedded wife of Eldest Miss Bu. But before she could even “show off,” the matter reached Madam Bu. What did her dear mother-in-law say about it?

“Aren’t you presentable?”

That matter, that sentence—she could hold a grudge against Madam Bu for a minimum of fifty years.

–

Xing Yue was still immersed in the painful memories of her past marriage when a shallow warmth transmitted to her lips pulled her back to reality.

Bu Yao wrapped her arms around Xing Yue’s neck, telling her the answer through action.

Xing Yue froze for two seconds before pushing Bu Yao away, prying the soft arms off her body. She pinched this face she loathed so much and fiercely planted several kisses on it.

Lifting the blanket, she rolled into the covers. “Sleep.”

Last night’s wind and rain were heavy. The asphalt roads outside were all wet, littered with puddles of varying depths.

The morning breeze was a bit cool. Xing Yue took out the clothes she planned to wear today from the wardrobe, grabbed an extra jacket, and threw it on the bed. She then sat at the vanity to put on makeup.

She peeled off her hydrating face mask and started applying sunscreen and foundation. Perhaps because she didn’t often sunbathe, her skin was much better compared to her peers—few spots, wrinkles, or sagging. Still, one could tell at a glance she wasn’t a young girl anymore.

How come this woman Bu Yao’s skin was still so firm and delicate? Supple and dewy, soft and tender to the touch. Put her in a ponytail, and you could say she was a high schooler without anyone doubting it.

Xing Yue’s makeup was nearly done. Just as she was applying setting powder, her calf was suddenly touched by something, a bit ticklish.

She looked down. A pair of dainty feet swayed before her eyes. The toes and heels were stained as if with rouge—delicately red, tender and immature, more delicate than flower buds.

Xing Yue pretended not to see. After finishing her makeup, she started putting on earrings, choosing a pair of silver thread tassels.

The pair of feet that had been swaying in the air began climbing up her calf, tap, tap, tap, lightly kicking.

“What?” Xing Yue turned her face.

Bu Yao, sitting on the bed, didn’t speak, just swayed her little feet, pressing them against Xing Yue, making a motion akin to a cat kneading.

This face had a naturally cold, alluring beauty. When she played pitiful, she possessed the shattered glamour of a superstar fallen from an altar.

Xing Yue was about to explode from anger. Let her just die of rage. She slapped her lipstick down on the table with considerable force, the bottles and jars of cosmetics on the table all trembling.

She left her chair, went to the first-floor entryway cabinet to retrieve Bu Yao’s high heels, and came back holding in her fury, half-crouching by the bed.

Bu Yao simply lifted her foot, placing it directly into Xing Yue’s hand. “Thank you, wife.”

Mom said that when you make a request and get a response, you should say thank you, so Xing Yue won’t be angry.

“Don’t call me that,” Xing Yue said.

Every pair of Bu Yao’s shoes was custom-made abroad, unique in all the world. The materials were also extremely precious. Just casually holding them, Xing Yue could feel the incredibly soft material—no rubbing, the heel stable and secure, the upper luxurious and elegant.

Just this one pair of shoes, the craftsmanship alone cost more than an ordinary family could bear. The price of the materials was even more unimaginable.

Xing Yue put the shoes on Bu Yao, pulling up the heel.

Bu Yao was a bit displeased, furrowing her brows. “What should I call you then?”

After ten long years, she was actually putting shoes on someone again. Xing Yue now wanted to die.

This was maddening. Where exactly had things gone wrong? She quickly stood up, taking a deep breath. She had been swept away by Bu Yao’s tender offensive, compromising again and again.

No, this absolutely could not continue.

She spoke: “Call me Mommy. You giant baby, needing to be nursed every day. Call me Mommy, not wife.”

Xing Yue was very displeased right now, holding back a bellyful of anger with nowhere to vent. As she packed her bag, she issued the eviction notice: “I’m moving into a rented place tomorrow. This villa has been sold. The new rented place is very rundown, old, and small. Don’t come over; there’s no place for you to sleep.”

No one had ever called Bu Yao a giant baby. She knew what the word meant. Being described with such a term for the first time, Bu Yao was also angry.

She muttered quietly: “Mommy wouldn’t be mean to me.”

“Of course your mom couldn’t bear to be mean to you. Only one daughter, treasuring you like a jewel. Why didn’t she lock you up in a castle? Why let you out?” Xing Yue mocked. She didn’t want to say anything too harsh, so she still restrained herself. “What if the wind damages you? Walking hurts your feet anyway. Should just lock you in a castle to lie down, a few hundred servants surrounding you, serving your clothes and meals. You’d just be responsible for eating, sleeping, eating, lying there until a hundred years later, a happy life.”

Xing Yue thought she had already held back verbally. But for Bu Yao, the harshest words she had ever heard in her life all came from Xing Yue’s mouth.

No one else dared treat her like this; they’d probably have their mouths ripped apart by her parents, and in the end, still have to kowtow a few times, begging for forgiveness.

Seeing the misty tears starting to swirl in Bu Yao’s eyes again, if Xing Yue couldn’t handle it, couldn’t she at least run away?

She picked up her bag, cold to the end. “I’m leaving. Are you leaving or not? If not, I’ll lock you inside.”

Bu Yao got up from the bed and ran over with pattering steps. She still remembered Xing Yue saying she hated seeing women cry, so she didn’t dare let the tears fall. They just swirled and swirled in her eyes.

Looking even more pitiful…

Xing Yue pointed at Bu Yao, her tone stern: “No crying.”

Bu Yao slapped Xing Yue’s hand away. “I’m not crying! I’m heartbroken!”

Hearing the accusation delivered at an even higher volume, Xing Yue was amused. “Somebody just served you, helped you put on your shoes so you didn’t have to walk barefoot. What are you heartbroken about? Come on, tell me, what exactly are you heartbroken about?”

The Eldest Miss’s temper wasn’t small. Although she wasn’t throwing tantrums at Xing Yue like before, this subtle, stubborn defiance was also infuriating enough.

Bu Yao countered: “Being called a giant baby by the person you like, and you’re not heartbroken? And it’s the woman you kissed and hugged just yesterday.”

Xing Yue was momentarily speechless. The woman before her was even more aggrieved than she was, practically dying of grievance. Yet the one compromising, retreating step by step, was clearly her.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then hesitated.

Bu Yao suddenly grasped her hand, her body temperature scorching. She nodded as if consoling herself, gasping for air, speaking haltingly: “Mm… like you… like Xing Yue… like her so much… most, most of all… like Xing Yue…”

Her feelings were so intense, even greater than at eighteen, like clouds burning atop a mountain peak on tiptoe. As flamboyant and fervent as her hair color.

Bu Yao burrowed into Xing Yue’s embrace, the reddened tip of her nose pressing against that soft chest, clearly perceiving the stirring breath. “Do you hate me very much?”

She asked this question again, showing just how important the answer was to her. Her nose was heavy with the sound of crying. Though no tears fell, it was even more heart-wrenching than outright weeping.

The look in Xing Yue’s eyes flickered somewhat. Even her speech became a little clumsy: “Not… particularly hateful.”

What could she do? She couldn’t stay cold and callous.