Ming Li remained silent for a long time.
In truth, she could have just smiled and tossed out a casual reply: “No, you’re overthinking it.” “I’ve just been busy.” “I didn’t see the message.” Any of those would have been sufficient to keep up appearances without being overly dismissive.
But Gu Qingshuang was too composed right now. Even when she was expressing the idea of—you’re tired of me—it felt more like she was saying—if you’re annoyed with me, then get lost.
She was eternally calm, eternally arrogant. She never doubted herself or considered that she might have done something wrong. Even for a question that would fundamentally alter their relationship, she didn’t feel the need to ask Ming Li; she simply drew her own conclusion.
While there were many small moments where Ming Li felt something akin to annoyance, she knew it wasn’t directed solely at Gu Qingshuang.
Toward Gu Qingshuang, her primary emotion was helplessness.
She couldn’t demand that Gu Qingshuang love her. Theirs wasn’t a normal marriage; there had been no courtship, no foundation of affection. She had no standing to dictate what Gu Qingshuang did or didn’t do.
From the very beginning, Ming Li had been the passive one.
What she truly loathed was herself—doing things she knew were futile, trapped in internal conflict and agonizing over a situation she had made so pathetic. She loathed her current circumstances.
Ming Li’s heart twisted into a knot, yet her face remained expressionless.
“Never mind.” Gu Qingshuang raised her wrist to check her watch. “It’s late. Go back to your room and rest.”
She sat back down at her desk and opened her laptop. The crisp clack of the keys signaled her intention to brush this entire conversation aside as if it were nothing.
Ming Li turned to leave, but after a few steps, she felt a wave of self-loathing. Gu Qingshuang dictated the rhythm of everything, and she didn’t even have the courage to speak up.
She stopped, turned, and walked back to the desk, bracing her hands against the surface. Gu Qingshuang calmly tilted her head back, her eyes cold as she looked up. “Is there something else?”
“If I said I was annoyed with you, would you choose to divorce?” Ming Li asked.
Gu Qingshuang stared directly into her eyes, as if trying to see through her thoughts. But Ming Li’s gaze was a tangled mess that Gu Qingshuang couldn’t penetrate.
After a few seconds, Gu Qingshuang began tapping her fingers on the desk. The rhythmic sound felt like a warning bell for their relationship.
“No,” Gu Qingshuang said. “Our contract is for five years, Ming Li.”
For some reason, Ming Li felt a sudden surge of relief. To be honest, when she had gathered the courage to question her, she had been prepared for a cold, ruthless confirmation of divorce. She hadn’t even thought about how to clean up the aftermath, but she had been ready to burn her bridges.
Yet Gu Qingshuang had denied it.
Did this mean that, in Gu Qingshuang’s heart, her presence was indispensable? That she couldn’t simply be replaced the moment Shen Lideng returned?
Ming Li used to watch dramas where the protagonist, faced with undeniable evidence of a lie, would still grab the other person by the collar and scream: “Tell me you didn’t lie to me! As long as you say it, I’ll believe you!”
Ming Li had always thought those characters were fools. Why believe a person’s word over the evidence? It was obvious they were being played; it was obvious the other person didn’t love them.
But as time passed and she found herself in the same position, she realized she was also desperate for that lie. As long as the truth wasn’t laid bare in words, there was still room to maneuver.
She didn’t even need Gu Qingshuang to lie to her. She would lie to herself.
Gu Qingshuang continued, “Of course, if you fall in love with someone else during the contract period, we can divorce. Correspondingly, you would have to pay a high penalty for breach of contract.”
Ming Li frowned. She thought she detected a hint of displeasure in Gu Qingshuang’s tone.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ming Li said.
“Are you sure you haven’t fallen for someone else?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
The question was casual, yet her eyes were locked onto Ming Li. Ming Li had no idea why the conversation had veered in this direction. Had she done something to make Gu Qingshuang misunderstand?
“I haven’t,” Ming Li answered firmly.
The tapping on the desk stopped for a few seconds. When it resumed, Gu Qingshuang’s voice was low. “Then what about Zhu Hanxing?”
“Huh?” Ming Li was stunned. What did this have to do with Hanxing? After a moment, it finally clicked. “You don’t think that just because Hanxing dropped me off last night, we’re in love, do you?”
If that were the case, the relationships between men and women—and women and women—would be impossibly complicated.
Gu Qingshuang shook her head. “I’m just looking at the cumulative evidence.”
Ming Li: “…”
She asked very politely, “And may I ask how you’re ‘cumulating’ that?”
Gu Qingshuang remained silent. Whether she found it difficult to say or had some other reason, she simply pointed to the left. “There’s a chair over there. Bring it over and sit.”
“Is this a negotiation?” Ming Li asked.
“No,” Gu Qingshuang said. “You’re blocking my light.”
Ming Li: “…”
Ming Li didn’t want to talk to her in the study. She always felt uneasy in this environment. Discussing feelings felt wrong here; it wasn’t a business meeting. Perhaps their marriage was a business deal, but it still felt uncomfortable to Ming Li.
“I’m not sitting,” Ming Li said, stepping to the side. “Once I’m done talking, I’m going to bed.”
Gu Qingshuang’s tone lost some of its edge, and Ming Li relaxed slightly.
“I still want to know why you think I’ve fallen for Hanxing,” Ming Li asked again.
Without her blocking it, the light hit Gu Qingshuang’s face directly, bathing her in a soft glow. But her personality wasn’t soft. She didn’t answer Ming Li’s question, only saying, “As long as you haven’t. I was just asking.”
Gu Qingshuang asked once more, “So, do you want a divorce?”
If the question the previous night had been a test born of a temper tantrum, this was a cold negotiation on a battlefield. If Ming Li said yes, Gu Qingshuang would satisfy her without any hesitation.
Ming Li didn’t give her what she wanted. Instead, she asked, “Do you actually care?”
“Of course.” Gu Qingshuang leaned back against her chair. “If you decide to divorce, there are many things I need to arrange.”
“Such as?” Ming Li thought of Shen Lideng and felt a bitter smile pull at her lips. “Finding a new Young Madam Gu to handle the social engagements for this family?”
“That is one of them,” Gu Qingshuang said. “We would also need to discuss our public narrative—whether to claim irreconcilable differences or something else—and the contents of the divorce settlement. However, we have a contract for that. Everything would follow the contract.”
