Chapter 43 Love Is Simple

If love turns to sorrow, let time wash it away.

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"Who would have thought that the great celebrity Xue, so entangled in scandal, would still have time to answer calls from us commoners? That’s truly rare," the man’s full mockery at last allowed Xue Zuining to confirm his identity—it was her senior, whom she had last seen at the airport, nervous and intoxicated, Chen Sang. She hurriedly urged, "Please take good care of him, I..."

"Of course. I may be rough around the edges, but I’m still better than certain heartless women who climb the social ladder! Since the great star Xue has her hands full, you needn’t trouble yourself. Farewell, and may we never meet again!"

Before Xue Zuining could respond, the call was abruptly cut off. When she tried to call back, his number was already switched off.

She set down her phone and slid numbly into the covers, her mind thrashing with pain, as if whipped by salt-soaked lashes. She closed her eyes, but the agony only grew. Worry and anxiety tormented her, leaving her restless and unable to sleep. When her inner turmoil became unbearable, she sat up, turned on the lamp, and lifted the quilt, preparing to get up and find a book to distract herself.

There were few things in the room that belonged to her. Her faint footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet as she opened the lower drawer of the dressing table, where a few books purely hers were kept. After some deliberation, she chose "Time, Handle with Care" by Lu Su—a serene work, she hoped its peaceful words might bring her some calm in this night before the storm.

Returning to the bedroom, she lay down and opened the book. No sooner had she done so than a photograph slipped out. She bent down to pick it up—it was an old group photo of herself! Her trembling fingertips, like her trembling heart, gently traced the smiling face of her former lover. The field of yellow rapeseed in the background seemed untouched by the passage of time, yet everything else was changed beyond recognition.

Unaware, tears slid down her cheeks, blurring that smiling visage...

It was already deep into the night when Lu Huaining, standing outside the door, gently pushed it open, his steps quiet as if afraid to disturb her sleep. Upon reaching the bedroom, he found the bedside lamp still glowing. She lay curled under its amber light, seemingly asleep, though her brows were faintly furrowed and she still held a book.

Lu Huaining moved as quietly as he could, leaning in to gently take the poetry collection from her hands. He wondered, when had she acquired the habit of reading at night? Sitting at the edge of the bed, his slender fingers idly flipped through the book, his eagle-sharp gaze skimming over the elegant lines. Suddenly, a card not belonging to the poetry collection fluttered down.

His glance swept over the pillow, and Lu Huaining’s dark eyes settled on the card filled with handwriting. He picked it up and turned it over. As he recognized the man in the photo, a dangerous smile flickered across his face.

Deep in his eyes, anger simmered, barely contained. He looked again at the photo; the graceful script was a reworking of a famous line by the Taiwanese poet Xi Murong: "At that time, all stories began by a fragrant river, crossing the waters, thousands of lotus blooms, poetry was simple, love was simple."

Perhaps for lack of space, the writer had not continued. Yet each word now seemed like tiny ants crawling under the orange lamp, and Lu Huaining, gripping the photo, felt his blood rush, his gaze burning with fury.

But in the next moment, all expression vanished from his eagle eyes, leaving only calm.

Lu Huaining rose quietly, his gaze lingering on her sleeping face. The hand holding the book slowly lifted, stopping midway.

"Thud—" A muffled sound! The book, once clasped in his palm, dropped suddenly, landing atop her sleeping body through the soft quilt.

Xue Zuining awoke abruptly, greeted by Lu Huaining’s forbidding expression. She bit her lip. "You’re back," she said, shifting slightly. But just before her fingers could reach the edge of the book, a large hand pressed down on the pale brown cover.

Lu Huaining picked up the book, sat down, and slipped the photo back between its pages. His gaze carried a faint mockery. "Insomnia? Shall I find someone to prescribe you sleeping pills? You can’t rely on old lover’s photos every night to soothe your illness. If word gets out, people will think I’m neglecting my own pet."

"I was just bored, so I thought I’d read a book. I didn’t know there’d be a photo inside..."

"Shh." His slender finger pressed lightly against her lips, his body leaning closer. "Feeling hot? You’re sweating so much. Could it be guilt?" Lu Huaining stopped her from rising, and Xue Zuining, confronted by his unyielding gaze, sat back as if spellbound. "I went to high school and college in America, so my knowledge of Chinese poetry is not as deep as yours. But this poem by Xi Murong was a favorite of my late mother. You’ve excerpted and polished it here—can you recite the original for me, hmm?"

Xue Zuining dodged the question, afraid any word might ignite the fuse before her. "I just wanted to look at the book, I didn’t know there was a photo inside. I didn’t mean anything by it."

He remained unhurried, holding the photo, looking up with cold amusement. "Forgotten, or never knew? You remember your old lover so well, yet all these elegant things are lost to you? Or have you forgotten even the basics of propriety?"

"I truly didn’t mean it, really!" She stared fixedly at the photo in his hand. "It’s late, there’s work tomorrow. Young Master Lu, you should rest."

Lu Huaining looked at her face, swept the book onto the floor, and his eyes showed no intention of letting the matter drop. "That’s your handwriting, isn’t it? If you can write something on a photo, it must be well memorized. I’m not tired. Think carefully and recite it for me—let me expand my knowledge of Chinese, too."

"Are you doubting me again? I just wanted to read, not for the photo inside. Even if it was wrong, just go to sleep." Xue Zuining felt his calm gaze was terrifying.

Lu Huaining glanced at the photo of the two embracing. "On closer look, that scholar really does look the part of a white knight. No wonder you liked him so much; it’s impossible to forget." He sneered, meeting her forced composure. "Should I find a doctor to patch him up again? You’re quite taken with Xu Ze, this new lover of yours. Shall we have him made in that image?"