Su Qiuyu was frantic, wanting to smash a pillow but she now she lacked even the strength to pick it up. Helpless, she could only clench her fists and repeatedly pound on the cotton quilt beneath her, venting her bitterness and anger over and over again.
Yaner knelt on the ground, daring not to make a sound, nor to rise, bending her body to lower her presence as much as possible.
After venting for who knows how long, Su Qiuyu finally ran out of energy and stopped, her eyes so sore that not a single tear remained.
But she just couldn't accept it, couldn't accept that the man she had dreamt about for four or five years had become someone else's husband.
Yes, Lin Yuan was only twelve years old; she wouldn't be able to marry Xia Zheng until she was at least fifteen—at the earliest, not until she turned fourteen. There was still a chance, plenty of chances.
