When Feng Mian woke, she reached across the bed, her hand searching for warmth, a trace of him. But all she found was the cool, empty sheet beside her. Just like always, he had come home sometime after she had drifted into sleep and left before she had woken up.
It has became a routine—him slipping in and out of her life with no thought to the space he left in her heart.
She pulled herself up and looked around the room, the ache of disappointment settling in like a familiar weight. Festivals, especially those centered on family gatherings, only seemed to deepen his disdain. He always seemed eager to avoid her, and the distance between them felt sharpest on nights meant to bring loved ones together.
She went to the kitchen and found Aunt Xu, who had been a helping hand around the house since they had married. Without a word, Feng Mian gestured to the untouched dishes from the night before—the carefully prepared New Year's feast that had gone cold, unnoticed and unwanted.
"Please take these with you, Aunt Xu," she said softly. "Share them with your family."
Aunt Xu looked at her with a mix of sympathy and hesitation, understanding the significance of the gesture. She nodded and gently gathered up the food, and with one last glance of silent support, left Feng Mian alone in the empty kitchen.
After a few minutes, she picked up her phone and dialed Han Chen's number. It rang several times before he answered, his tone as cold as winter steel.
"Where are you?" she asked, unable to keep the faint note of hope from her voice.
There was a pause, and then he responded, his voice clipped and distant. "That's none of your concern, And don't make the mistake of thinking it is."
The words were like ice, but she swallowed the hurt, pressing it down as she had so many times before. She had grown used to his indifference, but still, every time he spoke to her like this, it felt like a fresh cut, reopening old wounds.
She set the phone down, letting the emptiness of their exchange settle over her. Her mind drifted to the beginning of this shackled life, a life bound by honor and duty rather than love.
Their grandfathers had been more than friends, they had been comrades, bound by years of loyalty and struggle. Han Chen's grandfather came from an old-money family, powerful and influential, while her grandfather, though from the countryside, had been a respected leader, someone whose strength others quietly admired. In his last days, Han Chen's grandfather had clung to one final wish,to see the family line bound to that of his old friend, sealing the tie between the two families.
For most men, such a request might have been an easy one to refuse. But Han Chen's loyalty to his grandfather had always been unwavering. Even with his fierce independence, he had honored the old man's wish. He chose to marry her, but not without making one thing clear.
On their wedding day, he had spoken with that same chilling finality, warning her that if she harbored dreams of climbing the social ladder through him, she should abandon them. He had no interest in playing the role of a doting husband, no intention of bending to anyone's desires, least of all hers. He would give her his name and nothing more.
But still, she had agreed, because, like so many others, she had already fallen for him long before this arrangement had been made. She'd hoped, perhaps naively, in some quiet corner of her heart, that if he got to know her, if he saw her dedication, he might one day soften,that he might one day look at her differently, that this marriage might eventually grow into something real.
Now, as night fell she found herself sitting alone in the softly lit dining room, the table set, just as they had been the night before. Her heart ached with a familiar sense of longing, one that has been constant since their wedding.She wondered, though not for the first time, how much longer she could keep living like this.
Then she heard the sound of the front door opening. Han Chen strode in, his presence as commanding as ever, with that same cold, aloof expression on his face. He barely glanced her way as he walked in, his eyes taking in the scene before him with a distant interest.
In that brief moment, her gaze lingered on him, her eyes tracing the features she knew so well—the chiseled jaw, the eyes that had once made her heart skip. He was every bit as striking as he had been when she'd first seen him, and yet just as unattainable. It was almost bitterly funny, how this man had captured her heart so completely, and yet left her feeling more alone than she ever had before.
She watched as he settled into his seat, perfectly composed, his expression unreadable. The contrast between them felt like a cruel joke—she, holding onto scraps of affection, while he sat across from her as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience.
As they ate in silence, Feng Mian wondered how long she could keep pretending, how much longer she could hold on to the hope that maybe, one day, his return would feel like more than just another reminder of the emptiness between them.