Chapter 35: I Married an Apple Part 1

The moment the words left her mouth, Ming Li felt like a bitter, resentful wife.

She didn’t want to compare herself to Shen Lideng. Everyone was a unique individual, and Ming Li knew she was nothing like her. But Gu Qingshuang’s constant entanglement with Shen Lideng wasn’t a sustainable way to live. Sooner or later, Ming Li was going to explode over this issue again.

After she finished speaking, Ming Li waited quietly for an answer. Gu Qingshuang exhaled slowly, as if recalling something painful, and emphasized in a low voice, “Ming Li, if you tell me what you need, I will help you. Within the scope of my ability. But… Shen Lideng is different.”

For some reason, Ming Li felt an immense weight behind that last sentence. It was like a mountain pressing down on her shoulders, threatening to crush her at any moment.

Her anger vanished, replaced by a hollow sensation. When a person reaches a certain level of speechlessness, the only thing left to do is laugh.

She looked at Gu Qingshuang with a heavy gaze. When their eyes met, she noticed Gu Qingshuang flinch and look away.

Why? Does she also realize how problematic that sentence was?

Shen Lideng is different? Different how?

Ming Li didn’t ask. She simply said, “If that’s how it’s going to be, then I have nothing left to say.”

“Are you jealous?” Gu Qingshuang asked suddenly.

Ming Li was baffled. “What?”

“Your emotions are completely off whenever you mention Shen Lideng,” Gu Qingshuang noted. “Or is it that you feel my treatment of her exceeds what you can accept? You can tell me. I will abide by whatever limits are appropriate.”

Ming Li: “…”

She was stunned. Was Gu Qingshuang really planning to analyze this in such agonizing detail?

“What defines an ‘appropriate’ limit?” Ming Li shot back. “In your opinion, what is the appropriate way for a legally married woman to interact with her ex-girlfriend?”

Gu Qingshuang fell silent. She didn’t know.

She had absolutely no experience in this area. Her family dynamics were twisted, and her closest friends had lost contact with her after high school. Most of her social experience was limited to her time with Shen Lideng; with everyone else, she remained lukewarm and distant.

In the hospital, many doctors found “work buddies” to eat and chat with—most people naturally gravitated toward company. But Gu Qingshuang couldn’t fit in, nor did she want to. She was fine on her own. No arguments, no distorted shouting, no hysterical crying—peace and quiet were what she found most comfortable.

Ming Li’s question was like asking a surgeon to handle a complex psychological trauma.

Does she know how? No, she didn’t.

After several seconds of silence, Gu Qingshuang said solemnly, “I’m not sure. But you can list the boundaries you are comfortable with.”

Ming Li didn’t want the two of them to remain deadlocked. She knew Gu Qingshuang was making a concession, so she tried to solve the problem using Gu Qingshuang’s method.

She would write it on paper.

Ming Li held the pen for a long time, the tip hovering just above the page. She didn’t know what to write. The issues between her and Gu Qingshuang lately were entirely driven by emotion, and emotions couldn’t be quantified on paper. Even the most brilliant essay couldn’t capture a fraction of the complexity of real-world love.

Furthermore, the gap between her and Gu Qingshuang wasn’t just a rift; it was an abyss.

Finally, Ming Li tossed the pen onto the desk. Gu Qingshuang, who had been writing furiously, was startled. She looked up and saw Ming Li staring at her intensely.

Gu Qingshuang asked, “Aren’t you writing?”

Ming Li glanced at what the other woman had written. It looked like a thesis outline—subheadings followed by detailed points, even including parenthetical notes specifying exact steps.

Ming Li let out a soft sigh. She finally understood the idiom: When the conversation is disagreeable, even half a sentence is too much.

“I don’t know what to write,” Ming Li said. “You write it. I’ll do my best to follow your requirements.”

Gu Qingshuang frowned. “You should have many demands of me lately, shouldn’t you?”

Ming Li shook her head. “They aren’t high.”

Gu Qingshuang opened her mouth to argue, but Ming Li added airily, “After all, you’re the employer.”

Gu Qingshuang was taken aback. “What?”

“To put it nicely, we’re in a partnership. To put it bluntly, you’ve paid me to work in your home,” Ming Li said with a sense of self-abandonment. “I’m really no different from the nannies and housekeepers downstairs. It’s only natural for you to have demands. I’m the one being ungrateful.”

Gu Qingshuang felt there was something wrong with those words, but she couldn’t pinpoint what.

Ming Li continued, “From now on, I’ll do my best to adapt to your rules. Just write them down. I won’t be adding anything.”

Gu Qingshuang’s brow furrowed deeper. “Ming Li, you’re still angry.”

Ming Li smiled and shook her head. “I’m not angry.”

Gu Qingshuang could be dense, but she was sharp when it came to sensing emotions. She just wasn’t good at categorizing them; she simplified everything into “angry” or “happy.”

Love, hate, obsession, greed, anger, resentment—human emotions were far too complex for such a binary view.

Even Ming Li couldn’t name what she was feeling. It felt like her heart was being squeezed and kneaded by an invisible hand. It was painful, so painful she could hardly breathe, yet there was a strange sense of relief—a feeling of liberation.

It’s good to turn back before I go too far, she comforted herself.

“I’m the ‘Contractor.’ I won’t tell the ‘Client’ that their proposal is wrong or that their aesthetics are bad. At most, I’d say the budget is insufficient,” Ming Li said. “But your budget is more than generous. It’s enough for me to do many things. Just list your rules.”

Upon hearing this, Gu Qingshuang—seemingly venting some internal frustration—crumpled her paper and threw it into the trash.

Ming Li was confused. “What are you doing?”

Gu Qingshuang didn’t understand. Ming Li was smiling right in front of her, yet she couldn’t see into the other woman’s heart. She felt as though Ming Li was drifting further and further away.

“I’m not writing anymore,” Gu Qingshuang said seriously. “Our relationship has always been a partnership, but the way you’re speaking is making me uncomfortable. I will handle the Shen family’s matters. You don’t need to worry about my relationship with Shen Lideng anymore. Whatever might have existed between us in the past, in the present and the future, there will be no…”

She trailed off, her expression becoming strained.

Why was she explaining this to Ming Li? This was the kind of thing she only said when she was dating Shen Lideng—vows made when the other girl was crying uncontrollably.

To Gu Qingshuang, these vows were meaningless. Human nature was complex. Those who intended to betray would do so regardless of whether they had sworn blood oaths or eternal devotion. What was the point of hearing verbal assurances over and over?

But Shen Lideng would throw a fit. If she didn’t hear them, she wouldn’t even eat. Gu Qingshuang would comply. Usually, she could never win against Shen Lideng.

During the years they were together, Gu Qingshuang often felt suffocated, as if an invisible yoke were around her neck. It was nothing like her marriage to Ming Li, which felt relaxed and effortless.