What is mature love like?
The woman sitting in the middle of the bed clutched the blanket loosely against herself. The silk fabric was sleek; Xing Yue’s pat on the bedding caused the covers to slip considerably. A creamy semi-circle was exposed to the cool air drifting through the room.
Bu Yao had a very alluring figure, fuller and more mature than at eighteen. No one knew this better than Xing Yue.
Her foot slipped out from under the blanket. The pink, petite toes rested on the back of Xing Yue’s hand, gliding softly, an innocent look on her face. “If calling your ex-girlfriend’s name in bed will help Sister calm down, I’m willing to play along. This body—from the very tips of my hair down to my feet—belongs to you. Completely yours. You can do anything to it.”
Xing Yue pulled her hand back and swatted the restless foot. It was a light pat, with no real force, yet the skin she touched flushed red instantly, as if severely bullied.
“The Eldest Miss plays pretty wild,” Xing Yue said sarcastically, grabbing Bu Yao’s ankle and dragging her to the other side of the bed. She started rummaging in the bedside drawer, continuing, “Forget it. You’re willing, but I’m not giving.”
No one wanted to be used as a thrill ride by an ex-girlfriend. Xing Yue didn’t have that kind of kink, and even less desire to do something disgusting towards He Zhiwen where she couldn’t see it.
Bu Yao didn’t want the other side of the bed. She wanted to be in Xing Yue’s arms. She rolled twice under the covers, returning right back to the center of the bed.
Lying on Xing Yue’s pillow, wrapped in Xing Yue’s blanket, smelling Xing Yue’s scent—she hugged it all tightly, burying her face deep in the sheets. She inhaled deeply. An enticing rose fragrance, the kind that conjured visions of a gentle, mature wife.
Still not fully immersed, Bu Yao’s head was lifted up.
Xing Yue had thrown a quilt onto the floor. She brought out a pop-up book, a jar of paper stars, a handmade miniature house, an old cell phone—so many things. They all landed on the bed, filling it until there was no room left for Bu Yao.
“You sleep on the floor. I need to revisit seven years of memories with my ex-girlfriend, then write a five-thousand-word love letter begging her to take me back. Don’t get in my way. This requires a lot of emotional focus.”
She said it seriously, then conveniently tossed the pillow onto the floor too.
Bu Yao froze for two seconds, staring directly at the pop-up book placed in front of her. She secretly flipped open the cover. The first page had sliding paper cards—two Q-version women in wedding dresses. One had a cut-out photo of Xing Yue’s head pasted on; the other was Xing Yue’s ex-girlfriend.
She pulled the tab. The Q-version Xing Yue bride slid over to the other figure. The two cuddled intimately, warm and romantic.
There was writing on the blank space of the page:
[“Ta-da! Here’s A’Yue’s 33rd birthday gift. We should be married by now! You, with your amazing singing and incredible ability, and me, working hard and living earnestly. We should have bought our own house by now, a little car too. If not, please don’t be sad. Living isn’t about enduring hardship; it’s about being happy~ Silly wife, from the first year we dated, I’ve already prepared birthday gifts for you for the next ten years. Long, long ago, I planned to be with you for a lifetime. Super-loving-you, He Zhiwen—”]
A tone brimming with energy. Even the words tasted of joy.
He Zhiwen had even underestimated Xing Yue’s abilities. Alone, before thirty, Xing Yue had bought a house and a car. Of course, this house had He Zhiwen’s influence woven into it.
The handmade miniature house next to them was exactly the dream home Xing Yue and He Zhiwen had planned back then. The wall colors, the kitchen style—almost identical to the actual house Xing Yue had renovated.
He Zhiwen. A woman incredibly passionate about life. She’d even managed to pull someone of Xing Yue’s temperament into doing all sorts of delicate little crafts, into planning every step of their future.
Bu Yao closed the pop-up book. Her eye sockets burned. “What’s so amazing about this junk? What about the ruby necklace I gave you?”
Before their marriage, the Bu family went to propose. Bu Yao had taken her favorite ruby necklace from her jewelry box and given it to Xing Yue. Priceless, unique in the entire world—custom-made for Bu Yao by a renowned jewelry master.
Anyone could make these childish crafts. A gemstone necklace wasn’t something just anyone could give.
Xing Yue was in the middle of unfolding a paper star, reading the love note inside. Hearing Bu Yao’s question, she chuckled: “I sold that ages ago. Not sure if I took a loss. A middle-aged lady outside an elementary school bought it for three hundred bucks—not even enough for a hot pot meal.”
Bu Yao was still unclothed under the blanket. She pulled it tighter around herself, giving Xing Yue a kick. “Are you blind? Can’t recognize a treasure?! Stop looking at this stuff! No looking! He Zhiwen is married! You want to be the other woman?!”
Had she never eaten hot pot before? She was so furious she was about to explode. She pounced onto Xing Yue’s back, scratching and clawing.
Xing Yue winced, grabbing Bu Yao’s hands. “What if she’s not actually married? I still want to try.”
With her other hand, Bu Yao knocked over the glass jar. Hundreds of stars scattered across the bed. “No trying! You and I already… already did that kind of thing, and now you want to chase after your ex? If you’re still hung up on an old flame, why did you do that with me? If your body can accept another woman, then you have no right to still like her! Go ahead, try getting her back! You’re shameless!”
After being bombarded with a verbal lashing, half of Xing Yue’s face darkened. She caught Bu Yao’s other hand, trapping both wrists. “Eldest Miss Bu, seeing these things… don’t you feel even a shred of guilt? If not for your mother’s doing, He Zhiwen would have married me long ago.”
The moment Xing Yue said she was writing a five-thousand-word letter to beg for reconciliation, Bu Yao’s mental state had started crumbling. Now, every word Xing Yue spoke grated against her nerves.
She forcefully pulled her hands free, the neatly wrapped gauze on her palm loosening. Whether it pressed against the wound or not, blood began seeping through the bandages.
“No,” Bu Yao grit her teeth, spitting out each word. “Even without my mother, she wouldn’t have married you. She never loved you that much.”
Hearing this, Xing Yue didn’t get angry. She just sneered. “What would a pampered Eldest Miss like you know about it?”
The Eldest Miss Bu, who understood nothing of the real world’s hardships, also had no idea how to love someone properly. She didn’t even know how to express her own feelings.
What could you possibly expect a woman like this to understand?
Sensing Xing Yue’s contempt, Bu Yao’s fury erupted. Her lips trembled. She grabbed the miniature house and raised it, ready to smash it on the floor.
Xing Yue didn’t stop her. She just stated flatly: “Smash my things again, and you’ll never see me again.”
Bu Yao held the pose, frozen, unable to follow through.
And Xing Yue wasn’t about to let her previous offense slide. Her expression hardened. “Also, pick up the pop-up book you threw. Put it back exactly. And pick up every single star you knocked over. Five hundred and twenty of them. If even one is missing, you can get out. You run away from home, I generously take you in, and you throw a tantrum? Who could stand you? Who would want to marry you?”
That statement wasn’t entirely accurate. There were plenty of people—men and women alike—who longed to marry Bu Yao. To rise in status and wealth, what couldn’t they endure? Even if she were ten times more unreasonable, they’d worship her like an ancestor.
Unfortunately, Xing Yue had nothing to gain. So she couldn’t stand it.
Bu Yao had never been bossed around like this in her life. Just being told to pick things up was infuriating enough, and then Xing Yue had to say those hurtful words.
“Why did I want to smash your things?” Her vision swam with a haze of tears. She glared at Xing Yue furiously, stubbornly refusing to let the tears fall. “You know perfectly well I like you, and you still shove these things in my face. You tell me, right in front of me, that you’re going to chase your ex-girlfriend. What does that mean? Why did you even call me inside? Leaving me to sleep at the doorstep would have been kinder.”
She accused Xing Yue, utterly heartbroken.
She’d thought Xing Yue calling her in, telling her to dry her hair, to change clothes—she thought it was concern. It wasn’t. Xing Yue just wanted her to see the spoils of her last relationship, to flaunt how deeply in love she’d been with that woman.
Bu Yao wiped her tears. Still undressed, she knelt there on the bed and began picking up the stars, counting as she went, crying non-stop.
“One, two… sob, sob… seven, twelve…” She was gasping through sobs.
Xing Yue handed her the glass jar.
That made her cry even harder. She clutched the jar, collecting each star she picked up and placing it inside, weeping until she hiccuped, her breathing turning ragged.
The entire room was filled with the sound of Bu Yao counting stars and her choked, guttural crying.
If she cried any more, she’d flood Xing Yue’s bed. Xing Yue covered the mouth of the jar with one hand, stopping Bu Yao’s star-picking motions, her brow deeply furrowed. “From now on, don’t tell me what I can’t do. And don’t throw my things. Got it? Just nod… and today’s incident is over.”
Xing Yue had a soft heart. If Bu Yao said a few nice words, pretended to be obedient, she wouldn’t press the issue.
But today, Bu Yao was exceptionally stubborn. Any other time, she’d have already coaxed and acted cute by now. She knew exactly what worked on Xing Yue.
A simple, sincere apology would’ve ended it. Yet she was defiant.
“I can’t do that!” She sucked in a breath, her face flushed from crying. “I like you, so I get jealous! Jealousy makes me lose control! What is mature love, anyway? Treasuring the things your ex-girlfriend gave you? I’ll never learn that. The moment I think you still care about her gifts, I go insane with rage.”
Her compliance now, picking up these stars—it wasn’t an admission of guilt. It wasn’t agreeing with some other viewpoint. She was just afraid of never seeing Xing Yue again.
Everything she did was solely because she wanted to see Xing Yue every day. That’s why she obeyed.
Xing Yue looked at the sobbing woman in front of her. Crying this hard, yet when she flared up, she was still so fierce. Usually unbearably domineering, yet now, told to pick up a couple of things, she looked so wronged she might die.
“Put some clothes on.” The thunderstorm night was chilly. Xing Yue suddenly spoke.
Bu Yao abruptly threw herself into Xing Yue’s embrace, bawling loudly. “Did you really… really sell the ruby necklace I gave you?”
