Chapter Fifteen, the eighth day of next month

The hall was brightly lit, yet eerily empty.

The two entered the inner room one after the other.

The air was stagnant, like lead.

Qiao Yuan turned around abruptly, staring intently at Lin Tang's back as she took off her coat.

In the dim light, her slender neck was taut and straight, like a plum blossom that refused to bend.

Years of pent-up guilt, suspicion, and a frantically growing possessiveness burst forth at this moment.

His Adam's apple bobbed, his voice hoarse and unlike his own: "Jintang..." He took a step forward, his fingertips almost touching her shoulder, but then he pulled back abruptly, "Have you ever regretted it, regretted marrying me back then?" Every word was a bloody self-examination, as if he were waiting for a trial by a thousand cuts.

Lin Tang slowly turned around. The candlelight flickered in her eyes, reflecting a bottomless, icy pool.

"Regret? What I regret is being blind back then! Qiao Yuan, for the past five years, I've seen your hands stained with blood every day and smelled the stench of opium on your body every night! Every single one of the things you've done has driven people to their deaths! I want to leave you every moment, to leave this disgusting place!"

Her voice trembled slightly with extreme disgust and agitation, like a poisoned needle piercing Qiao Yuan's heart.

Just as tensions were running high and the air seemed to freeze, the door to the inner room was gently pushed open a crack, and then a soft, sweet voice, deliberately light and cheerful, broke the stillness:

"Mr. Qiao, Madam, what are you doing standing here? It's rather stuffy."

Cheng Qing carried a small, gilded lacquer tray with two freshly brewed Biluochun tea cups on it, the aroma of the tea instantly filling the air.

She wore a light pink satin cheongsam, with a newly picked magnolia flower in her hair, and walked in with a bright smile, seemingly unaware of the tense atmosphere in the room that was almost about to break.

Her carefully drawn almond-shaped eyes darted around, her gaze sweeping between Qiao Yuan's ashen face and Lin Tang's icy profile before settling on Qiao Yuan with a perfectly balanced mix of innocence and dependence.

"I specially went to the small kitchen to brew some tea, thinking it would be good for you to warm up when you come back..." She placed the tea tray on the low table beside her, her voice sweet and gentle, with the soft and sweet tone unique to the Jiangnan water towns, "Master Qiao, you don't look too well? Is something not going well outside?" As she spoke, she stretched out her slender, nail-painted fingers, wanting to smooth out Qiao Yuan's furrowed brows.

This feigned coquettish thoughtfulness, this untimely intrusion, was like a spark that suddenly splashed into the boiling oil in Qiao Yuan's chest, which had been simmering to its limit due to Sato's humiliation, Lin Tang's interrogation, and the torment of guilt.

"Get out of my way!" Qiao Yuan suddenly swung his hand to shove Cheng Qing's outstretched hand away. The force was so great that she stumbled and almost knocked over the tea tray.

The ferocity in his eyes could no longer be suppressed. Like a ferocious beast released from its cage, it was filled with unvented rage. His gaze swept over Cheng Qing's face, which had turned deathly pale, and finally settled on Lin Tang's straight back, which showed silent resistance. "Cheng Qing! Since you are so devoted to me, I, Qiao Yuan, am not a heartless person! The eighth day of next month is an auspicious day! I will welcome you into the International Hotel in a grand and glorious manner! Let the whole of Jiangcheng see how respectable my concubine is!"

Cheng Qing was stunned at first, then a look of ecstasy spread across her face.

Lin Tang simply stood there quietly, the mocking smile on her lips deepening, the last glimmer of light in her eyes completely extinguished.

This room, once filled with splendor, instantly turned into the ashes of a battlefield.

Just then, a rapid telephone ring tore through the frozen air, sharp as an alarm, piercing into the inner room from the direction of the hall.

Qiao Yuan felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He turned around abruptly, strode out of the room, leaving Cheng Qing's outstretched hand and Lin Tang's frozen back behind.

He practically lunged at the old-fashioned telephone, his knuckles still trembling slightly as he grabbed the receiver.

"Uncle Chen?" His voice was hoarse, deliberately raised, like a drowning person grabbing onto a piece of driftwood, "...Okay, I'm coming right now!"

He could vaguely hear Uncle Chen's anxious report from the other end of the phone, but Qiao Yuan had no interest in listening. He only gave a few vague replies before hanging up abruptly. He didn't dare to look back at the inner room, as if the candlelight leaking through the crack in the door was a red-hot branding iron. He hurriedly grabbed his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair and rushed out of the Qiao residence with disordered steps.

Lin Tang stood there, her eyes filled with mixed emotions, watching Qiao Yuan's departing figure disappear outside the carved iron gate.

How could she not see that Qiao Yuan's "the eighth day of next month" was just a fit of pique?

Over the years, the poisonous ivy of doubt has long since taken root and spread across the walls of her heart.

The death of Bai Mu, the Jiangcheng Chamber of Commerce, the police station, and the unions that traded in the shadows. The few words Ah Chen inadvertently uttered outside the study that night were like a gust of wind blowing down a withered leaf, yet they were enough to cause the deep-seated suspicions to sprout and grow into a menacing thorn.

She dared not verify it, fearing that the thorns would ultimately entangle her remaining thoughts.

The icy chill spread from my fingertips to every part of my body.

Lin Tang's gaze slowly shifted to Cheng Qing. The young woman was covering half her face with a silk handkerchief, her shoulders trembling slightly. Her light pink cheongsam shimmered softly under the lamplight, and the magnolia blossoms at her temples trembled gently.

The thought chilled her to the bone, yet it also carried a sense of self-destructive pity.

Over the years, love and hate had become an inextricable knot. Memories of Qiao Yuan's constant presence at her bedside, the trembling of his fingertips as he clumsily fed her medicine, the deep fear hidden in his eyes as he tucked her in… these fragments, like hidden reefs, rose and fell in the waves of hatred, repeatedly causing her resolve to falter. Ultimately… she couldn't bring herself to be ruthless.

She stopped looking at Cheng Qing, turned around and walked straight to the stairs, her high heels cutting through the luxurious house that she had once regarded as her home, but which was now a prison.

Back in the bedroom, I locked the door behind me.

She sat down at the dressing table and pulled open the bottom drawer.

She fumbled in the dark until her fingertips touched a stiff paper bag. She took it out; inside was the land title document, still smelling of ink and dust from the land registry.

Her gaze finally settled on the clear date at the end of the contract. Her fingertips paused for a moment over the still-wet ink, trembling almost imperceptibly, before regaining their rock-solid composure. She carefully folded the deed again and gently placed it back into the paper bag.

She looked up and saw a face as pale as frost reflected in the dressing mirror, but two dark flames burned in her eyes.

The neon lights outside the window danced in her pupils, shifting between red, green, blue, and purple, yet unable to illuminate the unfathomable, icy pool. She looked at herself in the mirror, and an extremely slow, cold smile curved her lips upwards:

"Qiao Yuan, on the eighth day of next month, I'll give you a big gift."

The news that Qiao Yuan wanted to take Cheng Qing into his family spread like wildfire throughout Jiangcheng.

The venue for the International Hotel was booked well in advance, and the owner of the most expensive wedding dress shop in Jiangcheng personally came to take measurements and tailor dresses. Gossip tabloids were making headlines every day about this upcoming "grand event".

In the teahouses and taverns, everyone was whispering, their eyes intentionally or unintentionally sweeping towards the tightly closed gates of the Qiao residence, waiting to see how the once powerful Madam Qiao, Lin Tang, would react.

Lin Tang ignored this.

Her mind was completely focused on the new piece of land she had bought in Hongkou.

This thought had lingered in her mind for a long time, like the only glimmer of light she could hold onto in a chaotic world, enough to shut out the clamor of drums and rumors outside the window.

That morning, before the mist had dissipated, Ah Chen drove his Chevrolet sedan, carrying Lin Tang, towards the Hongkou construction site.

The wheels rolled over the wet cobblestone streets of the French Concession, and newsboys on the street waved their tabloids, shrilling the headline "Master Qiao Abandons His Wife to Take a Concubine."

Lin Tang leaned back in the back seat, her gaze calmly sweeping over the fleeting street scenes outside the window, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold, old pocket watch case in her coat pocket.

As the car approached the Huang family garden, Lin Tang suddenly spoke up: "Achen, stop the car."

Achen was startled and stepped on the brakes.

The car silently glided to a stop outside the ornate iron gate covered in ivy.

This was once a famous garden in Shanghai, but now it is somewhat dilapidated due to the war and overgrown with weeds. Lin Tang pushed open the door and got out of the car. The morning chill, carrying the cold scent of grass and trees, rushed towards her. She walked alone into the garden, along the overgrown path, toward the familiar waterside pavilion.

This place was where she and Bai Mu used to visit.

The stone steps remain, the railings are mottled, and the pool reflects the hazy sky.

She leaned against the cold stone pillar, and the misty rain of five years ago seemed to appear before her eyes: Bai Mu stood with an umbrella, his eyebrows and eyes clear and bright, reciting the poem "Holding your hand" to her. At that time, the crabapple blossoms were just beginning to bloom, and the petals fell like rain.

"Miss Lin, what refined taste you have, visiting your old home alone?"