She didn’t know on which nameless late night she had convinced herself to serve Gu Qingshuang by playing the role of someone in love with her. She didn’t know at which exact moment she began to find life with Gu Qingshuang tedious.
The only thing she knew for certain was that night, as she lay there in silence and loss of hearing, she thought: I want to live. I want to live like a human being.
But how could she say that to Gu Qingshuang? Her self-esteem was already on the ground; she didn’t want someone to step on it again.
Ming Li’s smile was heartbreaking. Gu Qingshuang fell silent for a time.
After a while, Ming Li asked, “What use is knowing all that?”
Gu Qingshuang: “…”
She didn’t know either. She just wasn’t reconciled to it. She wanted to know when Ming Li had made the decision. She also wanted to find a solution within those answers.
“I just want to know,” Gu Qingshuang said.
Their eyes met. Gu Qingshuang saw the sadness in Ming Li’s eyes—they were eyes that held a story, sparking a nameless stir in her heart.
Ming Li took a sip of clear tea and said frankly, “I don’t remember.”
“Then why do you remember that you want a divorce?” Gu Qingshuang asked. “Can’t you take a step back?”
Ming Li had stepped back many times. She sighed softly, her attitude firm. “I don’t want to step back.”
One step back leads to another. In the end, what would be left? Wasn’t she standing here now, burning her bridges, precisely because she was afraid her ‘self’ would be completely swallowed up?
“You’re dead set on divorce?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
Ming Li nodded. “Yes.”
Gu Qingshuang stared at her for a long time. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the dense bamboo leaves, casting fragmented shadows across her.
Suddenly, it felt like returning to the day they met in the hospital. She had a resilient vitality about her. And in this matter, that resilience seemed to have returned.
Gu Qingshuang spoke slowly, “Answer one more question for me.”
Ming Li gripped her tea cup, the tips of her nails turning white, though her face remained calm. “Ask.”
“Why did you fall in love with me?” Gu Qingshuang said. “And why did you stop?”
“Those are two questions,” Ming Li said. “Pick one, and I’ll answer.”
She was smiling, but as she looked at Gu Qingshuang across the table, it felt as though time had quietly rewound, taking her back to the day she first saw her. When she was about to break, Gu Qingshuang had held her up.
Ming Li thought that perhaps she really did have some inexplicable feelings for Gu Qingshuang. It was just that now, she loved herself more.
After considering it, Gu Qingshuang chose the former.
Ming Li didn’t hesitate. Her voice was gentle. “The timing of your appearance was perfect. You showed up just as I had endured for a while and was about to give up, and you offered terms I couldn’t refuse. After the marriage, although you were cold, you considered my awkward position in your home. You reprimanded the servants, so the staff at the main house always respected me.”
Except for those with delusions of grandeur.
“So, you fell in love with me just because I helped you?” Gu Qingshuang asked.
Ming Li nodded. “In a way.”
Gu Qingshuang countered, “That’s gratitude, not love.”
Ming Li was slightly stunned, then she laughed. “Then tell me, what is love?”
Ming Li had never truly been in a relationship; this time with Gu Qingshuang was her only experience with romance. It was obvious that Gu Qingshuang had more experience, but Ming Li felt that Gu Qingshuang didn’t know what love was either. Her relationship with Shen Lideng wasn’t healthy. In fact, it was quite twisted.
Gu Qingshuang fell silent. She couldn’t provide an answer. What was love? God only knew.
Gu Qingshuang hated such things. Her mother had loved her father deeply, and after her father betrayed her, she had almost become a madwoman. Shen Lideng said she loved her, yet used her time and again.
And did she love Shen Lideng? Gu Qingshuang wasn’t sure. Facing Shen Lideng brought disgust and a sense of suffocation, but she had never felt that kind of heartache.
“See,” Ming Li said. “You can’t say it either.”
Gu Qingshuang argued, “You said you loved me? Why didn’t I feel it?”
Ming Li paused, and a mocking smile suddenly crossed her face. “Shuangshuang, do you know why physical intimacy is physical intimacy?”
Gu Qingshuang’s ears flushed red instantly. She snapped back, “Then don’t I have love for you too?”
Ming Li asked, “What do you think?”
Gu Qingshuang shook her head without hesitation. “I don’t love you.”
Ming Li had known this would be the answer, but seeing such a certain response still caused her heart to ache dully for a few seconds.
She looked at Gu Qingshuang with a smile. “I’m different. I can’t bring myself to be intimate with someone I don’t love.”
Ming Li closed her eyes and let out a soft breath. “Do you know? To me, your answer just now is what causes me pain.”
Gu Qingshuang was speechless for a moment, like a child who had done something wrong, her face a mix of confusion and guilt.
When Ming Li opened her eyes again, a single tear fell. The light caught her face, making her look incredibly fragile.
“I’ve given you my answer,” Ming Li said, pushing the Divorce Agreement toward her. “Sign it.”
Gu Qingshuang felt as if a heavy stone were pressing on her heart. She knew Ming Li had made up her mind and there was no turning back.
“Is this what you want most?” Gu Qingshuang made one last attempt. “You can ask for other conditions.”
“There’s no need,” Ming Li said. “I’ll be very grateful if you’re willing to sign.”
Just as I was when you proposed marriage.
Gu Qingshuang stared at the two pieces of paper and said slowly, “The terms on here aren’t friendly to you. I’ll have a new one drafted, and once I’ve signed it, I’ll give it to you.”
