Chapter Six: Don't Forget You Are Mrs. Qiao
Consciousness sank into a chaotic abyss, as if falling into an endless black sea.
She fell asleep.
In her dream, she returned to that bustling street.
Workers' activities in Jiangcheng in 1925.
The slogans were deafening, and the flags billowed like blood. She was pushed and shoved by the crowd, her feet on the scorching asphalt.
Bai Mu stood ahead, dressed in a faded blue school uniform, his back straight as a pine tree, protecting a frightened little girl behind him. His profile gleamed warmly in the blazing sun, and a reassuring smile played on his lips.
Suddenly, a sharp gunshot ripped through the air.
She watched as a spot of crimson burst open on his shoulder blade, the blood instantly soaking through the fabric.
His body stiffened abruptly, the smile on his face freezing into astonishment, and his star-filled eyes suddenly dimmed, reflecting an unspeakable pain. He staggered, slowly falling backward, the sunlight drawing a blinding golden line along his path.
She lunged forward to grab him, but her fingertips only touched a sticky, warm substance.
"Bai Mu...don't go..." she sobbed, tears soaking her temples.
Before she could even cry, the scene abruptly changed, and in the blink of an eye, she was arrested and imprisoned.
The cold prison cell held Qiao Yuan's sinister face outside the iron bars.
He roughly pulled her from the blood and grime, his voice carrying a mocking condescension: "Lin Jintang, I saved your life from the jaws of a gun." His fingers gripped her chin like iron clamps, forcing her to look up. "Remember, you owe me for the rest of your life."
"No...no..." She struggled in her dream, a feeling of suffocation overwhelming her mouth and nose like a tidal wave.
"Bai Mu is long dead!" Qiao Yuan's face twisted and magnified in the darkness, his voice like a venomous snake slithering into your ears, "You'll never think about him again in this lifetime!"
A piercing cry, like the mournful cry of a dying bird, suddenly burst from Lin Tang's parched throat.
She shuddered, jolted awake from a deep nightmare, her eyelids snapping open as if torn apart.
Tears blurred her vision, she gasped for breath, her chest heaving violently, as if she had just struggled ashore from a drowning abyss.
The blurry vision gradually focused.
He had somehow gotten to the edge of the bed, and one of his hands, with its distinct knuckles, was still resting on her damp cheek, his fingertips still carrying a trace of lingering warmth.
The moment their eyes met, the sudden, almost panicked emotion in Qiao Yuan's eyes froze instantly.
He abruptly pulled his hand back, the movement so fast it was as if he had been branded with a hot iron, and his face quickly became covered with a cold, sinister expression.
"Wouldn't you call this daydreaming?" His voice was deep and husky, filled with undisguised sarcasm. "Lin Jintang, you even call his name in your dreams."
He leaned forward, casting a shadow over her, the oppressive feeling almost suffocating her. "We've been married for five years, and you haven't forgotten Bai Mu for a single moment, have you?"
His gaze was sharp as a knife, fixed on her pale face, as if trying to cut through every inch of her disguise.
"You stare at that photo every day, do you think you're mourning that damn Bauer Foundation?" He sneered, spitting out venomous words between his teeth. "Stop pretending! You're just missing him! Missing that dead man who's long since turned to ashes!"
Lin Tang trembled at his venomous words. The suffocating sorrow in her chest was instantly ignited and transformed into a scorching rage. She sat up abruptly on the bed, her back taut like a bowstring. Tears still clung to her face, but two cold flames ignited in her eyes. "Master Qiao, you're so powerful. Instead of enjoying the warmth and comfort of your Cheng Qing, you have the leisure to dredge up old grievances in front of my cold bed?"
She deliberately emphasized the name "Cheng Qing" and sneered, "Bai Mu has been dead for five years, his bones have turned to ashes, yet you remember it better than anyone else. What, you've been unfaithful and heartless, turning around to embrace a new lover, and now you want to use a dead man to shut me up? Qiao Yuan, don't you find this behavior disgusting?"
Upon hearing "heartless and unfaithful," Qiao Yuan didn't erupt in anger as expected. Instead, he asked with delight, "Are you jealous?"
Lin Tang's heart clenched at his abrupt "jealousy," followed by a surge of absurdity and sorrow.
"Jealous?" She curled her lips. "Mr. Qiao thinks too highly of himself and belittles me, Lin Tang."
The morbid joy that had risen on Qiao Yuan's face due to her intense reaction vanished instantly, replaced by a deeper gloom. His jawline tightened, and his hands, resting on his knees, slowly clenched into fists.
She slightly raised her chin, and on her tear-streaked face, there was only an almost cruel calm and resolute indifference. "Master Qiao, please go back. Miss Cheng in the west wing must be getting impatient."
Lin Tang didn't look at him again, as if he were nothing more than a wisp of polluted air.
She threw back the brocade quilt, went straight to the dressing table, turned her back to him, picked up a rhinoceros horn comb, and began to comb her disheveled long hair. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the comb's teeth through her hair.
Lin Tang turned around, her eyes filled with mockery, "Your little lover is looking for you again, aren't you going?"
Qiao Yuan ignored the sounds outside the door. He grabbed the back of her neck, forcibly turning her face towards him, his breath hot against her earlobe, a mixture of alcohol-laden heat and chilling hatred. "Jin Tang?"
He chuckled, his fingertips tracing the curve of her chin. "You're worried for her?"
Lin Tang struggled to pull her hand away, but he pressed it even tighter, and a sharp pain shot through her wrist.
She looked up at him, her eyes still brimming with tears, like two flickering ice flames. "Get out of here!"
"Enough!" Qiao Yuan suddenly roared, throwing her violently back onto the bed. The quilt was thrown back, revealing the scar on her calf, a mark left three years ago when Liang Kuan ambushed them; it now gleamed pale white under the light. His gaze swept over the scar, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice suddenly lowered, carrying a suppressed madness, "Jin Tang, do you remember how long it's been since you fulfilled your duties as Mrs. Qiao?"
Lin Tang's face turned pale instantly. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, but he caught it with one hand.
He leaned down, his knees forcing her legs apart, his hands gripping her wrists, trapping her beneath him. "One year? Two years?" His nose brushed against her collarbone, his breath carrying the scent of alcohol. "Or have you simply forgotten that you are Mrs. Qiao?"
"Qiao Yuan, you're insane!" Lin Tang twisted her body, her nails digging into his shoulder, leaving deep bloody marks.
He laughed, a laugh tinged with a desperate ferocity. "Crazy? I've been crazy for a long time!" His hand gripped the collar of her cheongsam. "You stare at the Powell Foundation photos all day, or work long hours in shopping malls and factories, but you won't even glance at me!"
With a tearing sound, the brocade fabric was ripped open, revealing the pale skin on her shoulders and neck.
Lin Tang's body stiffened abruptly. She stared into his eyes with utter disgust. "Qiao Yuan, you're filthy!" Tears streamed down her face, soaking the pillow. "You can touch Cheng Qing, but don't touch me!"
Qiao Yuan paused, looking down at her face. Her eyes were red, tears clinging to her eyelashes, just like on their wedding night when he had been a little rough, and she had cried, "Qiao Yuan, I'm scared." What had he done then? He kissed away the tears from the corners of her eyes.
But now, her tears held no weakness, only fear and hatred. His hand slowly loosened, his fingertips gently touching the tears at the corner of her eye, as if touching something fragile. "Dirty..." he whispered, his voice tinged with self-mockery, "Yes, I'm dirty."
He stood up, took two steps back, and looked at Lin Tang on the bed. She was huddled in the corner, clutching the blanket, her back ramrod straight, her hair disheveled and draped over her shoulders, a patch of pale skin exposed where the collar of her cheongsam had been torn. His throat tightened with a painful lump.
“Lin Tang,” he turned and walked towards the door, his hand on the doorknob. He paused, his voice hoarse, “Remember this, I have never wronged you.”
"Get out!" Lin Tang grabbed a teacup from the table and threw it. The teacup hit the door frame and shattered into pieces. Tea splashed onto his suit, leaving dark stains.
Qiao Yuan didn't turn around. He opened the door, and the outside light flooded in, stretching his shadow long.
"Get back to the west wing." Qiao Yuan's voice was as cold as ice. "You are never allowed to step into the east wing again."
Cheng Qing's face turned pale instantly. She opened her mouth but didn't dare to speak, and could only watch Qiao Yuan's figure disappear at the end of the corridor.
In the room, Lin Tang hugged the blanket and curled up in the corner of the bed.
A breeze blew in through the window, lifting the hem of her clothes and carrying a damp chill. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and buried her face in it.
She buried her face in the pillow, letting her tears soak it.
...
As dawn broke, a pale band of light shone through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains onto the cold floor.
Last night's nightmare is completely over.
Lin Tang had changed into a simple yet exquisitely tailored brocade cheongsam. The deep black gold color made her skin appear even paler. She looked in the mirror, carefully adjusting the buttons on the collar, and then used her fingertips to apply a touch of rouge, blending it very lightly on her lips to conceal the weariness of a sleepless night.
The person in the mirror had a calm face, sharp eyes, and a taut jawline. The tear stains and heart-wrenching accusations from last night's nightmare seemed to have never existed. Only the excessively stiff back revealed a silent, almost self-destructive support.
She took a deep breath, pushed open the heavy door, and with the soft thud of her cane on the floor, walked steadily, step by step, toward the stairwell.
From the direction of the restaurant downstairs, one could faintly hear the clattering of dishes and Cheng Qing's deliberately raised, coquettish laughter.
Lin Tang paused briefly at the top of the stairs, then stepped down the stairs one by one, his ebony cane striking the hard oak stairs, producing a clear and solitary echo.
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