It reminded her of a hot, humid summer—a terrifying forest maze, a desperate chase. In that hopeless environment, it was that same vitality and resilience that had led her out and saved her life.
Rarely, Gu Qingshuang wanted to help. Conveniently, she needed a wife.
After the wedding, Gu Qingshuang kept her distance. she believed they didn’t need a deep bond, so she rarely questioned what Gu Xueqiang demanded of Ming Li. Occasionally, she felt she was being cruel—Ming Li was five years younger than her, after all—but Ming Li always handled things well.
Even her emotionally unstable mother had calmed down significantly after Ming Li entered the household. Before the marriage, Gu Qingshuang and Gu Xueqiang could rarely finish a meal together without an argument.
Her mother’s grievances usually fell into two categories: Shen Lideng, and the struggle over the family business. Gu Qingshuang would never give up on Shen Lideng. No matter how exhausted she was, she wouldn’t let go of that history. Usually, they would start fighting over the first point before the second could even be raised.
Gu Qingshuang liked her life as it was. She didn’t want any unstable element ruining her peace. She hadn’t expected that element to be Ming Li.
After much thought, she decided she could only cut her losses. Of course, it would be best if Ming Li could simply discard those useless emotions.
But Ming Li’s reaction surpassed her expectations. Gu Qingshuang felt a rare pang of tension, unsure of the choice Ming Li would make, yet curious to hear the answer.
A few seconds later, Ming Li smiled. “I was just joking.”
Ming Li felt numb, but her mask was perfect. “I saw how tense you were, how much you cared about this, so I wanted to lighten the atmosphere.”
She pointed to the flowers in the room. “Consider it a repayment for the flowers you gave me.”
Gu Qingshuang was speechless. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if Ming Li was being truthful.
Ming Li accepted her scrutiny with poise. Her smile was the gentle, approachable one she had practiced countless times in front of the mirror. She laughed. “How could I possibly fall in love with you? Gu Qingshuang, you probably don’t even realize what kind of person you are.”
Ming Li stood by the door, her palms aching from her grip, but the physical pain helped dull the agony in her heart.
Gu Qingshuang asked naturally, “What kind of person am I?”
The second-floor hallway was silent; only the two of them lived here. However, the sounds of servants downstairs reminded Ming Li that this was a semi-public space. She didn’t want to discuss this here. Their every move was reported to Gu Xueqiang.
Ming Li took a step forward and closed the bedroom door. She stopped standing there like a statue in a standoff. As she walked into the room, the scent of tulips and baby’s breath rushed into her nose, so thick it made her sneeze.
She had worked a long day at the office and had to deal with this scene upon returning. Exhausted, she sat on the sofa, appearing relaxed. Only she knew how tightly wound her body truly was.
“You didn’t finish,” Gu Qingshuang said, following her.
Ming Li lowered her eyes. “I know. But you have to let me rest for a moment.”
In just a few steps, the dynamic had shifted. Ming Li no longer had to look into her eyes to guess what she was thinking—trying to find some spark of emotion that Gu Qingshuang herself hadn’t noticed yet, calculating if she could get the answer she wanted tonight.
The answer was already obvious. She wouldn’t get what she wanted.
So, she wasn’t going to let Gu Qingshuang get an easy answer either.
Ming Li admitted to herself she was being a bit petty, but she had been obedient for years. She had been perfectly compliant and never complained. Now, she just wanted to be a little willful. Surely… that wasn’t too much to ask?
Ming Li closed her eyes to steady herself. Without opening them, she slowly broke the silence. “You are just like these flowers.”
“Hmm?”
“You barged into my world without reason. Yes, in a sense, you saved me, but you also dragged me into another abyss.” Ming Li could only say these things with her eyes shut. She couldn’t say them while looking at Gu Qingshuang’s face. That face always reminded her of that evening when the light hit Gu Qingshuang just right, making her look like a deity pulling a piece of drifting duckweed to shore.
She couldn’t bring herself to blame Gu Qingshuang to her face.
But behind closed eyes, other memories surfaced.
She thought of the last three years—standing behind Gu Xueqiang, holding a wine glass, acting poised like a fish swimming through high-society galas. She thought of coming home drunk and waking up to find everything exactly as she had left it. She thought of Gu Qingshuang standing before Shen Lideng—when Shen Chang insulted the woman, Gu Qingshuang slapped him without hesitation. But when Ming Li wanted to hit him, Gu Qingshuang stopped her. And she thought of the way Gu Qingshuang would call out “A-Li” with such sincerity whenever she was drunk.
A-Li. Whether it was the “Pear” or the “Black Horse,” she was never the one Gu Qingshuang truly wanted.
It wasn’t that Ming Li didn’t care about being a substitute after meeting Shen Lideng. It was that she had lied to herself—a lie that allowed her to maintain this marriage.
I am not like her, so I cannot be a substitute. Or so she chose to believe.
Gu Qingshuang didn’t understand. “Why am I like the flowers?”
“Seeing these flowers makes me happy. I like them,” Ming Li said. “Once, my father filled my room with tulips and planted baby’s breath throughout our back garden. But last year, because I drank too much, I developed rhinitis. Now, when I smell baby’s breath, I sneeze. I even cough.”
The cough she had been suppressing finally erupted. Ming Li bent over, covering her mouth, coughing until tears pricked her eyes.
Gu Qingshuang was stunned. she hurried forward to pat Ming Li’s back and poured a glass of water.
Ming Li kept her eyes closed, unable to see the gesture or take the glass. She felt more comfortable in the darkness. Once her coughing subsided, she continued, “These three years have been quite difficult. I never complained because I knew the contract I signed. This was my duty. The life you dislike is the same kind of life I grew up hating. But I’ve adapted to it now.”
“As you know, every process of adaptation is painful. So, why would I fall in love with you? To love you would mean loving the pain of that adaptation… Do you think I’m insane?”
