That was how she comforted herself. She said it until she started to believe it, until she could justify her life in the Gu family. No matter what Gu Qingshuang did, Ming Li could rationalize it.
This is what love is, she thought.
Ming Li bit her lip as she cried, her mind a chaotic battlefield between two voices vying for control.
The room suddenly brightened. Ming Li looked at her phone; the screen was lighting up repeatedly. Gu Fei was calling, but Ming Li couldn’t hear the ringtone. Her phone wasn’t on silent.
Ming Li took a deep breath, wiped her tears with the pillowcase, and tried to listen for any sound from the world around her.
…It was terrifyingly quiet.
She took her phone to the bathroom. When she typed a message to Gu Fei, she turned on the keyboard sounds and tapped the screen repeatedly. Nothing. She couldn’t hear the sounds, couldn’t hear the voice messages Gu Fei sent, couldn’t even hear the toilet flush.
Her hearing had failed again.
The weight of the situation hit her, and for a few seconds, she sat on the toilet in a daze. Then, she laughed.
She laughed at the world, and at herself. What had self-deception brought her? Did painting over the cracks make the wall whole? In the end, there was nothing. Only a body full of scars.
She saw Gu Fei’s messages popping up.
[What I didn’t say in the car is: I can’t get better through self-deception.]
[I saw a psychiatrist a few days ago. She said I have Stockholm Syndrome.]
[Because my pride is too strong, I chose to be grateful to my captor.]
[A-Li, get out while you can. Don’t fall too deep.]
[I don’t want you to get sick.]
Ming Li thought, But I’m already sick. She had been sick since the day she married Gu Qingshuang.
For twenty years, she had been the “Ming Princess,” the center of everyone’s world. Then her family’s company went bankrupt, and she had to sell herself to pay the debt. She thought she had forgotten the mockery from back then, but she remembered every word.
The transition from a human being to a commodity is something no one can truly accept. But what choice did she have? Life was a monster; if you didn’t fight, you were swallowed. She wanted to live, to live beautifully, so she convinced herself that Gu Qingshuang was a good person and that she loved her.
In such an environment, did love even matter? She just wanted to maintain her dignity and follow her inner laws. The Ming Princess was proud; she wasn’t a commodity. She was a woman in love. She used that narrative to convince herself, donning a mask of deep affection. She lived a twisted life, and in the end, it was all for nothing.
Ming Li messaged Gu Fei: [How does your pain feel now?]
Gu Fei: [Great. Agony and joy combined.]
Gu Fei: [Before, it was just agony.]
Gu Fei sent a screenshot—chat logs of her purchasing property abroad.
Ming Li: [Have you decided to take the money and run?]
Gu Fei: [Still planning.]
Gu Fei: [Want to join me?]
Ming Li sent an emoji: [Okay.jpg]
Gu Fei was shocked: [For real?]
Ming Li gripped her phone and exhaled: [I’ve decided to get a divorce.]*
She wanted to let herself go. She wanted to be a healthy… human being. Not a commodity that could be traded for an equivalent value.
Perhaps she and Gu Qingshuang were wrong from the very beginning. No matter how she had meticulously managed the last three years, or how she had knelt for forty-nine days, it was all just self-satisfaction. What had Gu Qingshuang even done wrong?
Ming Li had thought she could hold out until the day Gu Qingshuang loved her back, which would justify everything. She had waited and waited until she had turned herself into a neurotic mess.
Better to cut her losses now. At worst, she would return to where she started.
…
Exiting the bathroom, Ming Li went straight to the study. She opened her laptop and typed five words: Divorce Agreement.
She looked up templates online but found them too complex. She used the simplest format, stating she would leave with nothing. She would return the company Gu Xueqiang had given her. The debt Gu Qingshuang had paid on her behalf would be calculated—which meant she would owe Gu Qingshuang roughly one hundred million yuan.
It was a staggering debt, but as she finished the document, Ming Li felt an unprecedented lightness. So this was the “agony and joy” Gu Fei had spoken of.
Ming Li sat in the study all night, watching the moon. She heard nothing.
When Gu Qingshuang woke up the next morning, Ming Li calmly handed her the two printed copies of the agreement.
Fresh from sleep, Gu Qingshuang’s brain stalled for a few seconds. She frowned. “What is this supposed to mean?”
Ming Li had acted on impulse, fearing that if she waited, she would crawl back into her shell like a turtle. A night had passed, and she still couldn’t hear, but she could read Gu Qingshuang’s lips. Thanks to her time with Mingyue, she knew a bit of sign language and lip-reading.
Ming Li spoke with difficulty. “Divorce.”
Gu Qingshuang was baffled. How could Ming Li suddenly demand a divorce after just one night? For Gu Qingshuang, it was a sudden bolt from the blue. For Ming Li, it was the culmination of countless nights of agony.
Anger flared in Gu Qingshuang’s heart, her face turning cold. Beneath the anger was a flicker of unidentifiable fear. “Why?” she asked.
Ming Li said nothing.
“Do you have someone else you like?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
Ming Li shook her head.
“Did you fall in love with me?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
Ming Li paused. Gu Qingshuang looked conflicted, as if she wanted to say that Ming Li should take those feelings back, but seeing Ming Li’s face, she couldn’t say it. For some reason, there was even a trace of inexplicable joy in her heart.
A few seconds later, Ming Li shook her head again.
“Then why?” Gu Qingshuang’s voice rose in anger. “Our contract isn’t over yet.”
Ming Li replied calmly, “I once loved you. Now, I can no longer face you.”
This was the answer Ming Li had prepared—the one closest to the truth, and the one most likely to make Gu Qingshuang accept it. At first, Ming Li had wanted to deny ever having feelings for her. But late into the night, she had remembered the days and nights she had spent on Gu Qingshuang. She remembered watching her back, the joy of a simple word of encouragement. Those feelings weren’t fake.
In her darkest hour, Gu Qingshuang had appeared like a savior. Ming Li could never forget that. For a long time, Ming Li had loved the evening, because it was during a brilliant sunset that Gu Qingshuang had first appeared before her. She had stood against the light like a radiant archangel.
Ming Li realized then that there was no such thing as pure love or pure hate. Most things were a tangled mess of both.
Gu Qingshuang froze. The only thought in her mind was: Why don’t you love me now?
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