Chapter 18: Reconciliation

The soft morning sunlight felt unbearably harsh, so bright it made Wen Shuyu dizzy.

Jiang Huaiyu’s words landed on her like heavy stones, one after another, stirring a storm within her heart.

So this was what had been bothering him since last night.

He walked toward her slowly, casting his shadow over her. Meeting his scrutinizing gaze, Wen Shuyu took a deep breath and raised her head, her delicate brow furrowing. “We’re just a couple in name, aren’t we? Before we got married, we hadn’t spoken properly in years, isn’t that right? If we’re talking about who’s close and who’s not, of course you don’t compare to them.”

Her words peeled away the surface, exposing the raw truth beneath the facade. Every one of his questions, what right did he have to ask them?

Leaning back against the steel-framed door, she crossed her arms and added quietly, “I don’t understand why a marriage certificate changed you so much. At the end of the day, it’s just a piece of paper. If I wanted to, I could make it meaningless.”

A single sheet of paper, something she spoke of so lightly—but one he had waited ten years to obtain.

Countless times, he had told himself not to dream of things beyond his reach.

Now, that dream had come true.

But with just a few careless words, she had taken it all away.

At the mention of “meaningless,” a flicker crossed Jiang Huaiyu’s brow, transforming into a sharp, bitter smile. “Meaningless? Impossible. Not unless I’m dead.”

So that’s what he cared about—the word “meaningless.” She felt like she was talking to a brick wall.

“Jiang Huaiyu, I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” Wen Shuyu muttered, turning to open the door.

Bang. The door slammed shut with a loud crash.

Jiang Huaiyu’s broad hand pressed against it, his other hand locking around her slender wrist, pulling her into his arms.

His familiar scent, a woody fragrance she once found comforting and fresh, now only repulsed her.

“What are you doing now?” Wen Shuyu’s brow knitted tightly as she clenched her fists, her cold eyes glinting with unhidden anger.

The clock above the hallway cabinet ticked steadily, its cat-shaped pendulum swinging back and forth, marking the silence with every second.

In the stillness, Wen Shuyu heard a soft sigh escape him.

“I am going crazy.”

Crazy for you.

All these years.

Jiang Huaiyu’s voice dropped, the coldness in it melting away.

“Yuyu… just lean on me, even for a moment, please?”

The man before her suddenly deflated, his once-steely voice now rough and trembling, stripped of its icy shell.

Lean on him?

Wen Shuyu had prepared for a fierce argument, but the one who started it had surrendered first. It felt like riding a roller coaster to the peak, bracing for the plunge, only for it to stop dead in midair.

Another long silence followed, and Jiang Huaiyu’s arms fell to his sides. The grip he had on her wrist loosened, vanishing altogether.

Wen Shuyu slipped out of his embrace. “No, thanks. I’m leaving.”

She wasn’t the type to be easily softened.

After their argument, she had chosen to deal with it on her own. Why ask about things she had already heard firsthand? Wouldn’t that just invite more humiliation?

Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard these things.

She couldn’t bring herself to rely on Jiang Huaiyu so soon. In a moment of crisis, her instincts led her to the people she felt closer to, at least emotionally.

With her left arm injured, Wen Shuyu had to take a taxi to the hospital.

“I’m sorry, Lawyer Cheng.”

Cheng Xianzhi had been under observation for 24 hours, but was now sitting in a chair, reviewing documents, seemingly unbothered. “It’s nothing. In our line of work, things like this happen all the time.”

Compared to the dirty tricks used by powerful people, this incident barely qualified as a scuffle—especially since it wasn’t intentional.

It was just bad luck that a nail had been sticking out of the wall.

Meng Man came in after finishing a call and saw Wen Shuyu. “You came by yourself?”

Wen Shuyu peeled an orange. “What, do I need a chaperone? Am I a child?”

Just as she said “chaperone,” there was a knock on the door. Wen Shuyu opened it, only to find the very person she had just fought with. “What are you doing here?”

Her hand was still on the doorknob, with no intention of inviting Jiang Huaiyu in.

“Visiting the injured,” Jiang Huaiyu said, carrying a gift box as he stepped inside. Without missing a beat, he took her hand.

His movements were natural, fluid, and his hand wrapped around hers without hesitation.

Wen Shuyu’s heart skipped a beat. After just fighting with him, she couldn’t handle this sudden intimacy.

As she tried to pull her hand away, Jiang Huaiyu’s fingers intertwined with hers, holding tight.

Hand in hand, they approached the hospital bed.

Jiang Huaiyu placed the gift box on the table and greeted politely, “Lawyer Cheng, I heard from Yuyu that you were injured. Sorry for the delay—just finished with some work. Here’s a small token, wishing you a speedy recovery.”

His words were formal, clearly delineating the boundaries between them.

Cheng Xianzhi glanced at the gift box, reading the label in his mind: “Premium Wild Black Goji Berries from Qinghai, Nomuhong.”

“Troubling Mr. Jiang to deliver it personally.”

High-end goji berries—was that a hint that Cheng Xianzhi was getting old and needed some herbal supplements?

Their gazes met, neither man willing to back down.

Jiang Huaiyu nodded slightly. “You’re being too serious, Lawyer Cheng. In business, we’re partners. In private, you’re a colleague of Yuyu’s. This is only proper.”

Even Meng Man could sense the tension between them. She didn’t remember him being like this.

Trying to ease the mood, she chimed in, “All the paperwork’s done. Let’s go grab some lunch—my treat.”

Wen Shuyu tugged on Jiang Huaiyu’s arm, lowering her voice. “You should go do your own thing.”

But Jiang Huaiyu had held her hand ever since entering the room. Even in front of people who knew the truth behind their sham of a marriage, he continued to play the doting husband.

It was exhausting enough to keep up this act in front of their parents. Meng Man and Cheng Xianzhi already knew how fragile their marriage was, so why couldn’t he just relax?

It was as if Jiang Huaiyu had become addicted to playing his role. He should’ve gone into acting.

He turned to her and whispered, “What? Afraid of embarrassing yourself with me, or am I interrupting something? Yuyu, are you that eager to get rid of me?”

Though his lips curved into a smile, his low voice carried a sharp accusation.

Twisting her words again. With others present, Wen Shuyu swallowed her temper, resigned. “Fine. Stay, if that’s what you want.”

When they left the hospital, they naturally split into two cars.

Wen Shuyu ended up riding with Jiang Huaiyu.

Their earlier argument felt like it had only been put on pause.

The car ride was silent.

On the dashboard, two little bobbleheads—miniatures of them from their wedding—bounced side to side with every turn. The couple in the picture looked so happy.

They had fooled all the elders with their smiles.

The car radio played a Cantonese song, “Who would walk by my side, promising a lifetime without regrets? Who would search with me, leaving footprints together for all eternity?”

The melody seemed familiar, as though Wen Shuyu had heard it somewhere before. When the song ended, she realized it was the Cantonese version of “No One by My Side.”

Back in college, Shen Ruoying had played the Mandarin version on repeat after a breakup. When had this Cantonese version been released?

Wen Shuyu and Shen Ruoying shared the same music account. After Lu Yunheng went abroad, this song had popped up one day. Wen Shuyu had listened to it once before shutting it off.

Since then, she hadn’t listened to it again. She and Lu Yunheng had never been more than friends—this song was hardly fitting for their relationship.

More importantly, he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve her sadness.

Wen Shuyu reached out to change the station, landing on another unfamiliar song.

A soft, melancholy female voice filled the car, “My love was right beside me all along, funny how I couldn’t see it, the closer it got.”

A song about being a backup? How ironic.

Jiang Huaiyu seemed drawn to the lyrics too. It really was funny—people often couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

Apparently, it wasn’t just him.

Lunch went smoothly, except for a minor incident.

Wen Shuyu was allergic to mangoes, something only their two families knew. More specifically, her lips were allergic to mangoes.

Yet, she loved mango-flavored treats. Worried she might have a bad reaction, her family always stopped her from eating them, so she had to sneak them on her own.

After moving out, she indulged freely, knowing any rash would soon fade.

Like usual, she ordered a mango drink. But as soon as it arrived, Jiang Huaiyu confiscated it. “You’re allergic to mangoes.”

Meng Man was surprised. “Yuyu, you’re allergic to mangoes?”

Everyone who knew Wen Shuyu loved mango-flavored treats had no idea about her allergy.

Wen Shuyu tried to snatch the drink back, but she wasn’t strong enough. “I used to be. My body’s changed—I’m not allergic anymore.”

Jiang Huaiyu was determined to go against her. “No way, you can’t,” he insisted.

Neither of them budged, and in the end, Wen Shuyu left with Meng Man, throwing out a parting shot: “Jiang Huaiyu, I hate you.” She deliberately swung the mango drink she had sneaked off to buy right in front of him.

After dropping off Cheng Xianzhi at home, Meng Man and Wen Shuyu returned to the office to tackle a mountain of work that had piled up during the day’s chaos.

Even after a fight, she could throw herself into work with full focus.

The sky grew darker, hinting at a coming storm. Summers in the southern city were notorious for sudden downpours. Wen Shuyu hitched a ride with Meng Man to go home—Jiang Huaiyu hadn’t even mentioned picking her up today.

Then again, they were in the middle of a fight, engaged in their usual cold war.

Back at her apartment, Wen Shuyu decided to engage in a bit of “revenge eating.” She hit up the local dessert shop and loaded up on everything mango: mango mochi, mango shaved ice, mango sago, mango smoothies, mango pudding… enough to fill the entire table.

With no one around to stop her, she indulged gleefully.

Meanwhile, over at July Bar, the neon lights flickered, and the pounding heavy metal music rattled through the place. Jiang Huaiyu sat alone, one drink after another, the amber liquid sliding down his throat.

His mind replayed the events of the day. She’d told him she hated him. And she really did mean it.

She had said it many times before.

She wasn’t the type to rely on others; he knew that. He was willing to be patient, but he had messed it up. Now they were back to square one—perhaps even worse.

The door to the bar swung open, and Zhou Hangyue walked in, shaking off rainwater. “Damn, another storm. Summer rain is the worst.”

Jiang Huaiyu abruptly stood up. “It’s raining. I need to go pick up my wife.”

A little drunk, he swayed slightly as he walked.

Zhou Hangyue raised an eyebrow. “Look at yourself. You can barely stand. Besides, the rain’s already stopped. What are you doing here drinking? Did you two fight again?”

Jiang Huaiyu didn’t answer.

Zhou Hangyue sat down. “Come on, you two fight all the time.”

Still no response. He sighed—he was talking to himself at this point.

It was the first time he’d seen Jiang Huaiyu drink this much. Unable to stop him, Zhou Hangyue watched him collapse onto the sofa.

Jiang Huaiyu, lost in his thoughts, stared at the empty glasses in front of him. “Drunk on the drink, or drunk on something else,” he murmured.

Unable to just leave his friend like this, Zhou Hangyue had an idea. He called Wen Shuyu. “Hey, Wen Shuyu, your husband’s drunk. You better come get him.”

Wen Shuyu, lounging on her couch watching videos, frowned. “I’m not going. If he wants to drink, let him. Honestly, it’d be better if he didn’t come home tonight.”

Jiang Huaiyu overheard Zhou Hangyue’s phone call. He’d hoped she might come for him. But the answer was clear—his wife wasn’t coming.

After twenty minutes, Jiang Huaiyu sobered up enough to try leaving. As he made his way out, he spotted a drunk stranger bothering someone. Squinting through the haze, he realized it was Wen Shuyu.

Without hesitation, Jiang Huaiyu strode over, his face dark. “Let her go.”

The drunk man sneered, “Mind your business. First come, first served.”

Jiang Huaiyu’s fist flew before Wen Shuyu could even react, sending the man stumbling away, holding his bruised face. He didn’t dare fight back.

“Wasn’t he drunk?” Wen Shuyu eyed Jiang Huaiyu, arms crossed. “How are you still punching people?”

Jiang Huaiyu leaned against her, his voice slurring slightly. “Someone was trying to mess with my wife.”

“No one messes with my wife. Not even me.”

He was definitely drunk, or he’d never say something like that.

She walked ahead, and he followed closely behind.

The clouds had parted, revealing the moon. The breeze after the rain was cool, and Wen Shuyu hugged her arms, regretting coming out in just a T-shirt and shorts. What had possessed her to come pick him up?

Ignoring him, she got into the front seat of the taxi. There was no way she was sitting next to him.

The taxi driver, bored, started chatting. “You two lovebirds had a fight, huh? Young man, you’ve got to sweet-talk her. Get her flowers, buy her a gift—girls love that kind of thing.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jiang Huaiyu interrupted.

“Oh, I see,” the driver said, starting to back off, only for Jiang Huaiyu to add, “She’s my wife.”

The driver’s enthusiasm returned. “Oh, well, then you really should be cherishing her! You can’t take your wife for granted, you know.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Jiang Huaiyu replied, dragging out the words. “When we get home, I’ll make sure to ‘sweet-talk’ my wife.”

He placed special emphasis on “sweet-talk,” making sure Wen Shuyu heard it.

After they got out of the car, Wen Shuyu ignored him, quickening her pace as she headed home.

She glanced at their long shadows under the streetlights and stomped on his shadow as she walked, muttering to herself, “I hate Jiang Huaiyu. Jiang Huaiyu is a jerk.”

Even at 26, she was still the same as when they were kids—angry and muttering the same two complaints when she was mad at him.

As they reached their building, the dim light cast a shadow over them. Jiang Huaiyu suddenly wrapped her in a tight embrace, and she pounded her fist against his back.

“Let go of me! Don’t try to act like a thug!”

Jiang Huaiyu laughed softly, soothing her, “Jiang Huaiyu is a jerk. He shouldn’t have made Wen Shuyu mad.”

If she wouldn’t lower her head, he would. She would always be his proud little princess.

Gazing down at her, Jiang Huaiyu took hold of her arms. “But, Fishy, I’m your husband. When you get hurt and don’t even tell me, that makes me feel bad, too.”

Wen Shuyu pouted, turning her head away. “We’re not real husband and wife. It’s all just a show for our parents.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze—it was intense, sincere, and filled with apology.

She knew she wasn’t entirely blameless either. If the roles were reversed, she’d feel hurt and angry, too.

Jiang Huaiyu gently tousled the ends of her hair. “Yes, we’re pretending for our parents. But I also wanted to take care of you like when we were kids, to be your brother, your support.”

Your real husband.

But it had to happen step by step, like “fishing”—it required patience.

Maybe it was the beauty of the night.
Maybe it was the soft caress of the summer breeze.
Maybe it was the honesty in his eyes.

Wen Shuyu lifted her head, locking eyes with Jiang Huaiyu’s deep, unwavering gaze. After a moment, she nodded firmly. “I’m holding you to that.”

Then, with a playful twist, she added, “Huaiyu-gege.”

One more chance. The last one.

Jiang Huaiyu was taken aback for a second before he tapped her nose lightly. “I mean it, Fishy-meimei.”

It had been nearly ten years since they had called each other those names.

Their pinkies hooked together, and their thumbs pressed against one another in a silent pact.

They both chuckled, as if transported back in time. “Pinky swear, hang it high, never break it for a hundred years,” they chanted like when they were kids.

The intimacy of the moment caused them to turn their heads away, both smiling awkwardly as they walked upstairs side by side.

Once in the apartment, Jiang Huaiyu spotted the table covered in mango desserts, and any trace of lingering drunkenness vanished completely.

He couldn’t help but laugh—she had eaten it all, in spite of him telling her not to.

She never listened. Not one bit.

He told her to rely on him—she didn’t.
He told her not to eat mangoes—she ate a ton.
He told her to call him “husband”—she refused.

Wen Shuyu leaned casually against the table, spooning mango pudding into her mouth.

Jiang Huaiyu wrapped his arms loosely around her from behind, a smile tugging at his lips. “Fishy, you’ve been naughty. And naughty girls have to be punished.”