The Wicked Woman's Chronic Illness (The End)

"Miss, do you love me?"

——

"Have you heard? It's an absolutely outrageous thing..."

Recently, rumors have been circulating in the manor, mostly about Jiang Wanrou's outrageous behavior on her wedding night. And it's not just in the manor; it's probably the talk of the town lately—no bride has ever acted like her. Instead of staying in her room on her wedding night and waiting for her husband to lift her veil, she took off her carefully chosen hairpins, loosely tied up her hair with a red veil, and then ran around the banquet hall with a wine glass in hand.

That's really inappropriate.

I still remember the shocked and strange looks people gave me at the banquet that night—everyone thought she was crazy. Quite a few people also looked at me with disdain and contempt, probably thinking that I couldn't even control my own wife and could only let her make such a fool of herself, which was a disgrace to me as a man.

It's ridiculous. They all looked down on me so much, thinking I was just a lucky toad who got to eat swan meat, but before the wedding was even over, they all unanimously regarded Jiang Wanrou as my possession.

It's as if this is something that's taken for granted.

It's disgusting.

The things they said behind her back were nasty; I doubt they even bothered to hide them. I overheard quite a bit myself, and Jiang Wanrou's comments were probably even worse. But she didn't seem to care at all, continuing to eat and drink as usual. On an otherwise ordinary day, in front of everyone, she punished the two most gossipy servants, deducting their monthly salary, subjecting them to torture, and then expelling them from the Jiang residence.

"I'm in a bad mood today and want to get rid of some people." She admired the magnificent peonies, casually glanced around, and pointed to the two on the far side. "It's just the two of you. Ruzhuo, just make up some excuse to send them away."

Before I could even reply "yes," the two men rushed forward and knelt at Jiang Wanrou's feet, begging for mercy.

Jiang Wanrou pretended not to hear and continued to admire the flowers, counting the petals one by one, and then asked me which one I thought was the most beautiful.

I examined it carefully for a while and then chose the one with the most vibrant color and the most magnificent bloom.

Jiang Wanrou didn't comment, but turned to look at another potted plant. As soon as she turned her head, she saw the two people crying pitifully with snot and tears streaming down their faces. She burst out laughing. Wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, she waved her hand and said, "They cry so ugly and noisily, it's so annoying."

I gave the manager a look, and he immediately signaled for people to come forward, gag the two men, and drag them away. From a distance, you could still hear the rustling of their clothes as they struggled and their incessant sobs.

Amidst the noise, Jiang Wanrou casually plucked the flower I had just pointed to, sniffed it with a cheerful expression, but after a couple of seconds she was tired of it and tossed it to me, saying, "Here, this is for you." With that, she hummed a cheerful tune and turned to leave.

I caught the flower quickly and followed along, unfazed.

Jiang Wanrou has been in a good mood lately. One of the minority shareholders has fallen seriously ill, and according to the rules, one-third of his shares will be handed over to the head of the household, with the remainder to be inherited by his closest relatives. With this, her shareholding will finally be more than half again, and she no longer needs to worry about being coerced by those old fogies.

Victory is assured.

I breathed a sigh of relief for her.

This rare and subtle good mood lasted until the day of the share transfer. As it neared its end, the atmosphere in the meeting room was tense, everyone staring intently at Jiang Wanrou's hand as she prepared to sign. Just then, the Fourth Master, who had remained silent, suddenly produced a will that the Master had never revealed, instantly causing a huge uproar.

The process was immediately halted. After a complex and meticulous examination, the authenticity of the will was confirmed—it was indeed the old man's handwriting. The meeting fell silent; no one had expected that the man who had died so suddenly would actually have left behind some words.

The will wasn't very long. The gist of it was that if Jiang Wanrou were to become the head of the family instead of the young master, then all shares, except for those initially inherited and those acquired later, would first belong to Jiang Wanrou's male blood relatives.

A blatantly unfair contract clause targeting Jiang Wanrou was so absurd that it could not be recognized. Yet, the timing of its appearance was too coincidental—so coincidental that they once again found a suitable target to point at Jiang Wanrou. Thus, they began their high-handed trial and made accusations with absolute certainty.

They easily convicted her, covering her in filth with a few words. In their mouths, Jiang Wanrou became a sinner with blood on her hands. In the end, they were very merciful and forgiving, saying, "With so many things going on, even if we don't pursue the matter, you should at least give us an explanation, don't you think?"

"Wanrou, why don't you have a child?"

They also very generously told her that it didn't have to be a boy.

How similar the scene is...

This familiar, nauseating powerlessness.

Later, she named the child "Qingchen".

I took it upon myself to change the child's name.

Jiang Wanrou found out, but said nothing.

Jiang Wanrou seemed to love the child, yet also seemed to hate her: she risked her life to give birth to the child, and only when she heard that the child was safe and sound did she relax completely and lose consciousness; but Jiang Wanrou never held her, never smiled at her, and never gently patted her little back or sang those lullabies to lull her to sleep.

She is a mother, yet she doesn't seem like a "mother".

It seems that she still only cares about the same things as before. She continues to work day and night, still ignoring others' criticisms of her being petty, vindictive, and unwilling to let go of any benefit.

It seemed as if she didn't see the child at all.

I held the soft baby in my arms, shaking a rattle to amuse her, and patiently teaching her to say "Mama." Jiang Wanrou just sat at a distance, never turning around. After a while, she got up and left, seemingly indifferent. But as I carried the sleeping Qingchen past the table where she had just sat, I noticed a conspicuous ink stain on the pen and paper that hadn't been put back in the holder during my haste.

I think she probably still cares about the child.

I couldn't help but recall the way she named the child that day.

I thought she would hate the child so much that she wouldn't even want to mention it, but she stood by the cradle, looking at the newborn's wrinkled face, standing silently for a long time, and then suddenly asked, "Have you named him yet?"

"Not yet," I answered cautiously, trying to gauge her attitude. "Do you want to get it?"

After another long silence, she finally replied with "Okay," and left in a hurry, as if fleeing in panic.

In the following days, I often saw her flipping through books, all kinds of poems and ancient books, which she read carefully. She repeatedly picked up her pen and put it down, and the table was piled with scrap paper.

Finally, she hugged the child with extreme awkwardness. This was the only time I remember her hugging her. In recent years, her back had become increasingly thin, and I saw her uncontrollable, slight trembling, as if she were crying—which made me walk up to her and try to see her expression clearly.

But in the end, she simply raised her head calmly, her face showing no sign of anything amiss, and then said to me, "Let's call her 'Qingchen,' as light as dust..." Before she could finish speaking, she abruptly asked me, "Does Mother still see those people often?"

"……Um."

"I understand." After hearing my answer, she smiled, carefully handed the child to me, and left without looking back.

A few days later, the lady was moved to a villa near the suburbs to recuperate, next to the temple where she used to go to distribute porridge.

Finally, no one mentioned the lady from time to time during the meeting.

Even if she truly dislikes the child, it doesn't matter. There's no law that says a mother must love her own child. Besides, I love this child very much, and I can love her too.

The reason I like this child is very simple: it is the child born to Jiang Wanrou... and even the child of Jiang Wanrou and me.

At the ordinary age of twenty-seven, it was only then, with the arrival of this child, that I belatedly realized...

—I love her,

—I love Jiang Wanrou.

It doesn't matter whether she loves me or not.

It's really strange. I don't even understand her, but it seems like I've loved her for a long time. We even did the most intimate things in the world together.

Sex is truly a form of cheating, a shortcut to intimacy, where even strangers can become the most special couple. Why does the other person laugh, or cry? Do they have ideals or past sorrows? They know nothing, and they don't care. They can't see each other's character, nor understand each other's ways, yet they know the hint of blush hidden beneath their clothes, and a small mole on their private parts. No words are needed, no heartfelt conversations required; the body alone can easily make the other tremble. When their eyes meet, nothing of substance comes to mind but the tangled image of flesh and the lingering, white, smooth skin—the most primal, sordid desire… Such hazy ambiguity, such unclear entanglement, two soulless bodies locked in a desperate embrace in the damp, moist air.

"like?"

Love is the least important element in all of this.

"Miss, do you love me?"

I was drunk. I wanted to hold her, but then I pulled my hand back. I was slurring my words. I was desperate...

I only heard a few silent gasps.

Tense fingertips climbed up the spine.

The sharp point left a red mark.

I am addicted to lust.

She went into the delivery room again later.

Later I saw basins of blood being carried in and out.

Later, only her pale face remained.

Later I heard her say to me—

"Ru Zhuo, it is my own fault."

I could no longer speak. Tears streamed down my face, almost as much as the blood beneath her. I knelt by her bedside, holding her hand tightly, and could only shake my head repeatedly.

Don't you dislike it?

Why did you go to such lengths to give birth to her?

Why! Why...?

I am still unable to speak.

Jiang Wanrou was too exhausted to wipe away Ruzhuo's tears anymore. Looking at his hand tightly gripping hers, she wanted to squeeze it back. She tried her best, but her fingers curled slightly. In the end, she smiled helplessly and said, "How about calling her Xiaoyun'er? You can choose her formal name."

Her voice was so soft, so soft that Ru Zhuo didn't want to hear it, but Jiang Wanrou still smiled and forcefully etched each word into Ru Zhuo's heart, "Ru Zhuo, you will love her, won't you?"

Tears, like precious stones, fell drop by drop, landing on her hands, burning hot. Jiang Wanrou had been panting for a long time; her face was already deathly pale, her breathing growing shallower and shallower. Her eyes were filled with tears, as if she had so much to say…

She said, "Ruzhuo, I have no regrets."

She opened her mouth,

She still had a lot to say.

But it was too late.

In the end, only one tear could be shed.

He closed his eyes from then on.

She really had so much to say—

I hope you will stop being so persistent because of me.

This long-standing suffering is a deep-seated illness that is difficult to cure in humankind.

People in the world are filled with sorrow and suffering, and are mostly powerless.

—The End—