Chapter Nineteen: The Substitute

In the days that followed, Cheng Qing indeed became much more restrained, at least outwardly refraining from interfering with the furnishings in the house.

The crystal chandelier still hangs in the center of the living room, its dusty crystals refracting tiny, dim points of light in the afternoon sun.

The white, soft gauze curtains were never hung up. The old curtains still hung, exuding a warm glow from the years, and reflecting the growing gloom in Cheng Qing's eyes.

In Cheng Qing's room in the small building on the west side of the Qiao residence, the door to the walk-in closet was wide open, and the floor, sofa, and dressing table were piled high with newly arrived clothes, shoes, hats, and jewelry boxes.

The air was thick with the cloying scent of cosmetics and the distinctive aroma of new fabrics, almost suffocatingly sweet. Several department store clerks were sweating profusely as they moved in and out, carrying more boxes wrapped in ornate paper.

For several days in a row, the Qiao residence was bustling with activity, with clerks from various foreign firms, silk shops, and jewelry stores coming and going in the west wing.

Cheng Qing's room was almost completely filled with newly purchased luxury goods. She dressed up in different styles every day, from morning to night, with exquisite makeup and dazzling jewelry. She deliberately walked around the house, especially in front of the servants, holding her chin high and enjoying their envious or fearful gazes, as if only in this way could she fill the huge emptiness in her heart and the humiliation of being looked down upon.

That evening, Qiao Yuan had just finished dealing with a thorny dock dispute with the gang. He returned to the Qiao residence exhausted and still feeling resentful. As he stepped into the main hall, he was dazzled by a pungent perfume smell and a dazzling array of jewels.

Cheng Qing stood in the center of the hall, directing two maids to hang a huge, gaudy, and garish Western oil painting on the wall. She herself wore an extremely eye-catching fuchsia velvet cheongsam, with a ruby ​​necklace around her neck, the large gemstone pendant weighing heavily on her chest, and matching earrings swaying exaggeratedly with her movements. Her newly styled hair was piled high, with an equally gaudy silk flower tucked into her temple. She resembled a peacock with an overly elaborate display of feathers.

She was critically pointing out things: "It's crooked! A little to the left! Yes, higher! You're so clumsy..." Her voice was sharp, carrying a deliberate display of authority.

Qiao Yuan paused at the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the gaudy oil painting, then over Cheng Qing's almost blindingly bright outfit, and finally landing on her face, slightly flushed with excitement but appearing stiff and harsh due to her heavy makeup. The accumulated frustration of the past few days intertwined with the vulgar and extravagant scene before him, and a strong sense of disgust, like an icy tide, instantly overwhelmed his already dwindling patience.

"What are you doing?" Qiao Yuan's voice was not loud, but it was like a blade dipped in an icy pool, coldly cutting through the false liveliness in the hall.

Cheng Qing turned around at the sound and saw Qiao Yuan's gloomy face. Her heart tightened instinctively, but the pent-up grievances and the urge to prove herself instantly overwhelmed her fear. She puffed out her chest and forced what she thought was a charming smile: "Mr. Qiao, you're back! I noticed the walls in this hall are so bare. A painting would be so grand! Look at these colors, so festive..."

"Festive?" Qiao Yuan scoffed, his laughter filled with undisguised contempt. He strode to the painting, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant paint like a sharp blade, then abruptly turned to Cheng Qing, his eyes fixed on her overly dazzling fuchsia and ruby ​​attire. "Change this outfit! And this painting, take it down and throw it out!"

Cheng Qing's smile froze completely, the color drained away in an instant, leaving only a pale face accentuated by thick makeup. She felt as if she had been slapped hard in public, the immense humiliation making her tremble all over, and her carefully drawn eyeliner smudged due to the tears that welled up instantly.

"Qiao Yuan!" she shrieked, her voice trembling with anger and resentment, her carefully maintained pride completely crumbling. "Why are you treating me like this? What's wrong with me spending money on things I like? Is Lin Jintang the only one who can touch the money in this house? Can't I spend it too?"

Qiao Yuan's eyes grew even colder. "Cheng Qing, you'd better figure out what it is that allows you to stand here, adorned in gold and silver."

"What do you rely on?" Cheng Qing seemed to have been completely ignited by these words. Her long-suppressed resentment and jealousy erupted like a volcano. She took a step forward, her ruby ​​earrings shaking violently, her fingers almost stabbing Qiao Yuan's chest. Her voice was so shrill it could pierce the roof. "You rely on my face! You rely on my face that looks exactly like Lin Jintang! Qiao Yuan, do you think I don't know? You brought me to your side just because when you look at me, you can see her reflection in me, right? You're just deceiving yourself! You have her in your heart! It will always be her! You're good to me, you tolerate me, only because my face gives you something to look forward to!"

She screamed hysterically, tears mingling with smudged mascara, leaving two messy black streaks on her face. Her carefully constructed glamorous facade crumbled at that moment, leaving only naked, twisted hatred and desperate accusations.

Terrified by the fierce glint in his eyes, Cheng Qing screamed and shoved aside the maid who tried to stop her. Like a cornered beast, she staggered towards the stairs. As she passed Qiao Yuan, she could feel the chill emanating from him that almost froze her.

"Bang!"

With a deafening crash, Cheng Qing slammed her bedroom door shut with all her might. The loud noise echoed through the empty house, making the crystal chandelier seem to sway.

Dead silence.

The servants were terrified and dared not utter a sound.

He closed his eyes wearily, and when he opened them again, the surging violence in his eyes was replaced by a deep, almost drowning pain. He didn't look at the closed door again, nor did he care about the mess in the hall. He turned around and walked heavily towards the study on the second floor.

The heavy mahogany door closed behind him, shutting out everything outside. The study was dimly lit, with only the green-shaded desk lamp casting a halo of dim yellow light that barely illuminated the desktop, but it also elongated Qiao Yuan's shadow, casting a distorted image onto the bookshelf behind him.

He didn't turn on the light, but went straight to the large desk and slumped into the high-backed chair. The cold touch of the chair back seeped through his thin shirt, but it did nothing to cool the burning pain in his heart.

In the darkness, he lit a cigarette, the crimson flame flickering between his fingers. The rising smoke blurred his somber features. The study was so quiet that only his heavy breathing and the monotonous ticking of the wall clock filled the room.

Cheng Qing's words, "Through me, I see her shadow," echoed repeatedly in his mind like a curse. Shadow… He gave a bitter smile. Yes, perhaps. But this shadow was no longer the bright and beautiful girl he once was, the one he would give everything to protect.

His gaze unconsciously fell on a corner of the desk, where a photo frame lay quietly.

The photo in the frame was taken several years ago at a horse farm in the suburbs. In the photo, Lin Tang wore a well-fitting riding outfit, her long hair tied back, and a bright, radiant smile on her face. Sunlight bathed her, even the swirling dust seemed to possess a vibrant life force. She was looking back at him, her eyes bright, filled with complete trust and affection. He stood beside her, one hand holding the reins, the other resting lightly on her waist, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes filled with a pure, spirited tenderness.

How long ago was that? Qiao Yuan reached out, his fingertips trembling almost imperceptibly, and gently brushed across the cold glass surface of the photo frame, as if trying to touch the vivid figure in the photograph.

It was before...that child was lost.

They also had a wonderful time.

But from that day on, everything changed.

Lin Tang suffered a miscarriage and fell seriously ill, almost losing half her life. Just when he thought she would wither away, she recovered with an almost resolute speed. However, the recovered Lin Tang was like a completely different person.

He still remembered her tightly pursed lips and her tense, desperate profile when she first rode a horse alone; he remembered her at the shooting range, her hands gripping the cold gun, her arms numb from the recoil but refusing to stop until her thumbs were chafed and bleeding, her eyes colder than the gun barrel; he remembered her focused attention and a hint of barely perceptible ruthlessness as she first drove the car out of the garage from behind the wheel…

The bright and cheerful Lin Tang he had hoped for, the one he could always protect behind him, was ultimately dragged into this bottomless quagmire of bloodshed and scheming by his own hands. He gave her a life of luxury, power and status, but he also shattered her innocence, crushed her child, and forced her into the cold, hard, and ruthless person she is today.

This is not what he wanted.

The smoke stung my lungs, causing a burning, stinging sensation.

Qiao Yuan took a deep drag, then stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. The embers went out abruptly in the darkness, leaving only a wisp of desperate smoke rising and dissipating into the cold air, like the unfulfilled longing in his heart.

The darkness of the study, like a heavy curtain, completely enveloped him. Only the bright smile frozen in time in the photo frame silently mocked his current powerlessness and regret.