Winter had descended on Beicheng with a particular harshness that year. Though it was only early November, a light snow was already drifting down from a slate-grey sky. Which was fine. You didn’t need good weather to see an ex-boyfriend. Zhong Xiran got out of the car, a small cardboard box tucked under one arm. She slammed the door shut and made her way to the private room at the far end of the Ting Clubhouse. When she pushed open the door, Huo Xin was already there. He looked just as she remembered, dressed in a loose white sweater. The warm light of the room seemed to envelop him, lending him an air of exceptional gentleness. It was hard to imagine someone so gentle could do something so cruel. Huo Xin stood up, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. “It’s been a while.” Zhong Xiran walked toward him. His voice was hoarse. “What would you like to drink? I can—” She cut him off. “I’m here to return these.” The box landed on the table with a soft thud. He had left so abruptly all those years ago, without a proper exchange of belongings. Huo Xin’s eyes fell to the brown cardboard box, likely filled with all the gifts he’d ever given her. “I can explain what happened back then…” “There’s no need.” Zhong Xiran lifted her gaze to meet his directly. “I’m married now.” Their eyes locked, and a flicker of cold steel passed through Huo Xin’s gentle expression. “So what?” His tone was dismissive, as if the fact was utterly irrelevant. Zhong Xiran’s voice was placid. “I came here today to make things perfectly clear. I need you to stop contacting me. My husband wouldn't like it.” After a few seconds of silence, Huo Xin’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is he good to you?” “My husband is very good to me.” “Is he?” Huo Xin’s eyes seemed to see right through her. Not wanting to get drawn into it, Zhong Xiran turned to leave. Suddenly, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “But you don’t love him.” Huo Xin stepped in front of her, blocking her path. His voice was ragged. “Xixi, we were together for so long. You can’t lie to me.” Zhong Xiran froze. Huo Xin was her first love. They had dated for four years in college. But after graduation, her family had disapproved. Back then, Huo Xin was just a penniless student with nothing to his name, while her family had already arranged her marriage—to Qi Sinian, the heir to the Qi Corporation. Zhong Xiran had truly loved Huo Xin then, loved him enough to defy her family, to run away with him. On the day they were supposed to elope, she waited at the airport from morning until nightfall. He never came. Not only did he not show, he didn’t even call. His phone was unreachable. Snow began to fall after dark. She stood helplessly at the entrance of the Beicheng terminal, hugging herself, frozen stiff. That was when Qi Sinian had appeared. “He went to America.” “Ten million, or you. He took the ten million.” Not long after, the Zhong family's real estate business collapsed, its capital chain broken. They were only saved by an infusion of cash from the Qi Corporation. And so, as a matter of course, she had married Qi Sinian. Four years passed. Huo Xin, having founded a successful startup in America, returned to the country with a company valued in the tens of billions and asked to see her three days ago. She knew she shouldn’t have come. When they married, Qi Sinian had told her he wouldn’t ask about her past, but from that day forward, she belonged to him. That was his condition for saving her family. But for some reason, she could never get over his silent departure. It was like a movie that had been cut off before the end. The lack of a conclusion had always haunted her. Maybe that was just how women were, inexplicably obsessed with a proper goodbye. Coming here today, returning all his old gifts, was supposed to be her final closure. She never expected him to have the audacity to say something like that. Zhong Xiran coldly shook his hand off. “Love him or not, he’s my husband. And my conscience is clear coming to see you today.” Huo Xin studied her, searching her face for any flicker of emotion. “If your conscience is so clear, do you dare tell Qi Sinian you met with me?” Zhong Xiran didn’t answer. She yanked the door open and walked out without a backward glance. In a corner high up on the corridor wall, the red light of a security camera blinked. · Outside, the snow was coming down harder. Back in her car, Zhong Xiran received a call from her father. “Xixi, when is Sinian back from his business trip? You should bring him home for dinner. It’s been too long since you two came over.” “The day after tomorrow,” Zhong Xiran said, starting the car, her voice flat. “I’ll ask him when he’s free.” Her father rambled on. “Xixi, you need to take better care of Sinian. Try not to let him travel for work so much. The most important thing is to have a child soon.” Zhong Xiran was long past tired of hearing it; she’d been listening to the same refrain for four years. She mumbled a few perfunctory replies and hung up. As for having a child, the decision wasn’t hers to make. It was Qi Sinian’s. Night had fallen, and the snow was getting heavier. For some reason, Zhong Xiran was reminded of the day Qi Sinian had brought her home from the airport four years ago. It had been a snowy night just like this one. When she arrived home at Jade Bay and pushed open the door, the apartment was pitch black. But a faint scent of tobacco hung in the air. Zhong Xiran jumped, her head snapping up. In the gloom, a single crimson point glowed, fading in and out. Just then, the lights flickered on. Qi Sinian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in a navy blue suit and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and a long cylinder of ash clung to the end of the cigarette in his hand. He looked at her. “You seem surprised. Did you do something to betray me?” The man’s voice was cool, and Zhong Xiran couldn’t tell if he was joking. Her heart leaped into her throat. “No. I thought no one was home. Your assistant said you wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow.” “That was the plan.” Qi Sinian took a few steps, bent over to stub out his cigarette on the coffee table, and then sank into the sofa, leaning back to watch her. “Come here.” He didn’t explain why he was back early, and she didn’t ask. She didn’t have the right. In this marriage, her purpose was to please him, to play the part of the obedient wife, all so the Zhong family could maintain its semblance of dignity. She put down her car keys and was about to change her shoes when she heard his cold voice again. “Leave them on.” She pressed her lips together and walked over to the sofa in her high heels. He reached out, pulling her into his lap. The heavy scent of tobacco clung to him; he must have been smoking for a while. She glanced instinctively at the ashtray on the coffee table. It was overflowing with stubs, at least a dozen. “Are you… in a bad mood?” She had never seen Qi Sinian smoke this much. He didn’t answer, and she instantly regretted overstepping. Qi Sinian reached out and gently tilted her chin up. His wife was undeniably beautiful, with striking features and skin so fair and translucent it resembled the finest white jade. Her eyes were captivating, alluring like a fox’s, capable of stealing a man’s soul with a single glance. He asked, “Where were you?” Zhong Xiran’s heart pounded. “I met up with an old classmate.” “Male or female?” She steadied herself. “Female, of course.” Though she didn’t know Qi Sinian well after four years of marriage, she knew he was intensely possessive. She could never tell him she had met with Huo Xin. Qi Sinian’s voice was impossibly faint. “Is that so.” He let out a soft, unreadable laugh. His hand pressed against the small of her back, lifting her until she was kneeling on the sofa. He swept her long hair away from her neck, his cool fingertips brushing against her skin. Zhong Xiran had only one request: turn off the lights. Qi Sinian didn’t love her. She was acutely aware of that fact. Because every time they were like this, she was always left with a profound sense of humiliation. Fortunately, he seemed to at least enjoy her body. Perhaps because he was in a bad mood, he was particularly rough with her tonight. When it was over, Qi Sinian turned on the floor lamp beside the sofa, casually tossed a thin, wine-red blanket over her, and stood up to leave. He was fully dressed, missing only his suit jacket. Zhong Xiran, on the other hand, lay exposed and spent on the sofa. Her bony shoulders were bare to the cool air, her pale, slender legs dangling over the edge. Her entire body felt like it was about to fall apart. She was slick with sweat, weak, and deeply uncomfortable. At one point, she had felt a wave of discomfort, but she had endured it in silence. She turned her head, her peripheral vision catching the mess on the floor. They would never have children. Qi Sinian was always meticulous with his precautions. That, she thought, was probably his greatest virtue: he was responsible. At least she never had to take any pills. Qi Sinian emerged from the bathroom after his shower and switched on the crystal chandelier in the living room. Zhong Xiran was still lying on the sofa. He glanced at her, his voice flat. “Aren’t you going to wash up?” Zhong Xiran had no choice but to wrap the blanket around herself and get up. *The heartless bastard.* He couldn’t even stand to see her rest for a minute. She started for the bathroom, her posture a little stiff. As she passed him, Qi Sinian suddenly seemed to realize something. He reached out, his hand wrapping around her soft waist. His narrow eyes met hers, his gaze dropping lower. “Did I hurt you?” Zhong Xiran bit her lip. *Isn’t it obvious? Is he blind?* But she could only swallow her pride. “I’m fine.” Qi Sinian suddenly swept her up into his arms. Zhong Xiran went still. His voice was as indifferent as ever. “I’ll carry you to the shower.”