RITM - 55

Chapter 55: The Eighteen-sided Mirrors – Drifting (1)

“Wow, Sister-in-law is so bold!! You’re the first woman in the world to dare push Brother Six down! So impressive!” 

“Hey, good job, Sister-in-law!” 

At first, she had been the one to take the initiative. He had said he liked it when women made the first move. But driven by his primal instincts, his counterattack was astonishingly swift. His lips and body carried the scent of fine wine, his preferred cologne, and his own intoxicating pheromones. After just a few moments of his passionate kiss, her legs went limp, nearly causing her to collapse. He pinned her against the sofa, trapping her in his exclusive little world, slowly and sensually teasing her tongue… Though she knew basic kissing techniques, all rational thought seemed to have flown out the window. He was too overwhelming; all she could do was follow his rhythm and pace. 

The people around them gradually dispersed without her noticing. When she finally came to her senses, they were the only two left in the private room. She cleared her throat lightly, trying to pull herself out of the uncontrollable situation. He pulled her up from the sofa, and she thought, Let it end here. A wave of relief washed over her, but beneath it lay a deeper sense of loss. However, with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand threading through her hair, he kissed her again. 

Tears welled up from deep within her chest. In the brief pauses between their heated kisses, she choked out his name: “He Yingze…” 

“Hmm?” 

His gentle voice was incredibly soothing, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say what was on her mind. 

He Yingze, I know we won’t be together. I know I’ll marry someone else. I also know I’ll never love anyone else. 

This feeling is a terminal illness, incurable. But it doesn’t matter. Just being able to lean on you, even if I were to die right now, I’d have no regrets. 

In fact… maybe it’s better to just die like this… 

That was what she thought as she held onto his neck. 

But He Yingze was extremely drunk. Before they had a chance to talk or engage in anything more intimate, he had already fallen into a deep sleep, leaning heavily on her shoulder. She sat there on the tattered tiger-skin sofa, holding him, and memories of her fragmented childhood began to surface. She remembered their farewell in the rain of peach blossoms, when he had promised her, I’ll wait for you to come back. When the flowers bloom again, I’ll marry you. 

Yet thinking about such naive promises only made her heart ache more. Her vision blurred with tears, including the sight of He Yingze resting on her lap—his tousled hair, long lashes, and the delicate beauty mark on the tip of his nose. Fearing that others might see her in this vulnerable state, she pulled out a tissue to dab at her eyes and took out her powder compact to cover the tear stains. But when she opened it, she found that both the powder and the mirror inside had shattered, reflecting countless fractured versions of herself. Even though she had new compacts at home, she couldn’t bear to throw this one away. Carefully closing it, she placed it back in her bag. She tried to console herself, forcing the tears back. Finally, after taking several deep breaths, she opened the door and called the others in to take care of He Yingze. 

“Brother Six has been working so hard lately; his alcohol tolerance isn’t what it used to be,” Seventh Brother teased, helping He Yingze up. 

“He’s been ‘relaxing’ recently, hasn’t he?” she gently reminded him. 

“Not at all. A couple of days ago, when we visited his house, we saw the doctor giving him an injection and warning him to get enough sleep and not overwork himself. Overexertion now will catch up with him when he’s older.” 

She suddenly understood. No wonder he had become so thin. She glanced at He Yingze’s face. “Getting enough sleep? Does he have trouble sleeping?” 

Seventh Brother checked his watch and calculated aloud, “The maid said he’s been going to bed after four in the morning lately and waking up at dawn.” 

“How could this happen… When did it start?” 

“Around the end of September to early October.” 

Luo Wei thought carefully. That timeline roughly coincided with the last classmate’s wedding—the same time she had moved out of his house. Had something happened to him after that? Or was it because… No, it definitely wasn’t related to her. Don’t be conceited. Yet He Yingze’s strange behavior earlier kept her mind racing. It wasn’t until his phone vibrated and fell out of his pocket that she bent down to pick it up and saw the caller’s name on the screen: “Ni Lei.” At that moment, reality hit her like a bucket of cold water. 

Is falling in love with someone truly happiness? Is true love sweet? Does seeing the person you love fill you with joy and satisfaction? These are nothing but fairy tales meant to deceive children. 

She regretted meeting him, regretted the foolish act of kissing him. 

She hated herself even more for becoming the kind of person she despised most. 

After returning home that day, she lost a lot of weight. Every morning, her eyes were swollen and painful. Whenever sunlight streamed through the windows, signaling the start of a new day, she felt nothing but despair, unwilling to do anything. Still, she forced herself to retrieve an ice pack from the fridge and press it against her puffy eyelids. The icy shards stung her sensitive skin, offering no comfort, but at least she could watch the bloated face in the mirror slowly return to human form. By the time the swelling subsided, her eyes were still red, and applying makeup hurt. At moments like these, she would berate herself for being weak and mock the version of herself who had cried into her pillow the night before—You’re a modern, independent woman. How pathetic to cry over matters of the heart. 

Yet this facade of strength could only last until the end of the workday. Once alone, the endless pain would seep back into her blood and bones. As soon as night fell, she would once again cry silently and calmly, soaking her blankets with tears until exhaustion dragged her into dreams before the tears could dry. 

All wounds in this world are the same—they heal during the day but torment you at night. The wound torn open by love and hate was no different. 

And those who are hurt always find themselves alone at night. 

No matter how many emotions churned within her, she couldn’t express them in words. Even when she picked up a pen to write, all she could manage were three characters.

He Yingze. 

She would never see him again. 

The saying “when it rains, it pours” must have been coined for moments like this—receiving devastating news over the phone while already on the brink of a health crisis. 

When the call came, Xie Mao happened to be home alone, his body wracked with extreme discomfort. 

“Mr. Xie, it’s been a while.” The voice on the other end was familiar. During meetings between Xie Mao and senior executives of publicly traded companies, this voice had often interrupted proceedings. It wasn’t fast-paced, but its sharpness and slick tone made it unforgettable. Clutching his chest, Xie Mao struggled to speak: “Chang... Feng?” 

“Mr. Xie has an excellent memory despite being a man of high status.” 

Xie Mao’s condition was severe, and he knew he shouldn’t engage in lengthy conversations. But he also understood that people from the He Cheng Group rarely discussed business matters casually. This call carried weight. Fighting through the pain, he asked, “What do you want?” 

Chang Feng chuckled lightly, his tone as smooth as ever: “Your wife is currently at the Zhen Ji Royal City entertainment venue. She’s lost all her cash and owes someone three million yuan. Security has detained her. But don’t worry, Mr. Xie—I won’t make things difficult over such a small amount. I’ll let her go soon. I’m just calling to inform you, so you’re aware.” 

“Jinru… Is Jinru there alone?” 

“No, she’s with someone from Huang Siye’s entourage.” 

“Huang Siye? Huang Xiaonan?” Xie Mao wanted to ask, Why is she with his people? but caught himself quickly. Could the rumors about his wife and Huang Xiaonan be true…? 

“Yes, how many Huang Siyes are there in Gongzhou? Especially when it concerns your wife.” Chang Feng’s polite mockery dripped with disdain. “Oh, and now Huang Siye’s daughter has come to bail out your wife.” 

“Huang Xiaonan’s daughter?” 

“Yes, none other than your adopted daughter, Miss Xie Xinqi.” 

Those words hit Xie Mao like a thunderbolt, leaving his mind blank. He coughed twice, gasping for breath: “You… What nonsense are you spouting!” 

Before Chang Feng could respond, another voice cut in: “Give me the phone.” It was a young man’s voice—pleasant and melodic, neither overly mature nor pretentious, yet exuding an authoritative presence. Xie Mao recognized it; during meetings with the He Cheng Group, after Chang Feng finished speaking, this voice occasionally interjected with a word or two. A few seconds later, the voice spoke again: “Xie Xinqi and Luo Wei are both Huang Siye’s daughters. Their mother is Zhou Jinru. The only mother of your children is Wu Qiaohan, whom you and your wife drove to her death.” 

“He, He Yingze…?” 

A derisive snort came from the other end, confirming Xie Mao’s suspicion. Emerging from his brief shock, Xie Mao carefully considered the implications of what had just been said and sneered: “You think you can fool me? You’re making this call for some business scheme, aren’t you?” 

“The scale of Xie Real Estate doesn’t warrant such tactics. Do you want to know how I found out?” Like the Grim Reaper delivering a death sentence, he slowly revealed the rest. Xie Mao’s face grew increasingly pale until it turned ashen. By the time he ended the call, his condition had deteriorated severely. With his last ounce of strength, he dialed Zhou Jinru’s number: “You get back here immediately...” 

On the other end, the woman listened to his dying struggle without a hint of panic or concern. Her voice was as calm as a winter lake: “Now that you know everything, why would I rush back and dig my own grave?” 

“Zhou Jinru, you wretched woman, you filthy whore...” 

“Go ahead and curse me all you want. You’ve neglected me for years—I’m used to it. By the way, there’s one more thing I want to tell you about Wu Qiaohan’s letter…” 

As the truth unraveled piece by piece, Xie Mao clutched his chest weakly, unable to stave off the suffocating despair. A rasping sound escaped his throat, and he collapsed to the floor.