Shen Weilin and I had been living separately for almost half a year now.
Ever since he forgot me, I chose to move into what everyone called the housekeeper’s room. That little corner of the house, with its small single bed and plain walls, had become my entire world.
Every morning, I still woke early, quietly managing the errands of the home. I cooked his meals, polished the floor, and watered his bonsai collection. After each task, I silently withdrew to my own room like a ghost drifting through the household, useful but unnoticed.
Yet, whenever I lay down at night, tears always found me.
Yan Ming was gone.
His heart had betrayed him a sudden failure, at fifty-two years old, the same cruel prophecy an old fortune-teller in our neighborhood had whispered decades ago.
I thought of the years of our childhood: climbing trees for bird eggs, bringing down wild fruit from the mountains, leaping into rivers, stealing sweet corn, laughing until the sky burnt gold. He had always been with me, my loud, rugged shadow.
Now he was gone.
As I drifted into dreams one sweaty summer night, the ache of grief followed me so deeply that I half-expected never to wake again.
But when my eyes fluttered open, Yan Ming was there.
He squatted beside me, a fishing rod in hand, tossing the line with expert precision. His forehead shone with sweat, his eyes sparkled with mischief, just as he had when we were thirteen and reckless.
"Still asleep, Ying?" he teased, voice booming like thunder.
But before I could answer, another voice drifted into the dream bright and feminine. Zhao Yulan.
"Su Lanying really does nap like a child," she laughed. "Someone could set the world on fire and she would still snooze away."
Yan Ming barked a laugh. "You’ve got no idea. When we were kids, we sneaked into the orchards once. I made her stand guard while I picked grapes. She fell asleep right there under the fence. I got caught and whipped until my backside was black and blue, and she never woke up."
Even Yulan giggled until tears streaked down her cheeks.
Then, behind me, steadier, softer the voice of Shen Weilin.
"Yan Ming, pass me that cushion beside you," he said.
Yan Ming frowned but obeyed.
Shen Weilin leaned close to tuck the pillow gently behind my head. For an instant, his clean, faintly floral scent like the gardenias that used to line his window folded around me, nearly breaking my heart.
From behind, Yan Ming muttered, jealous and sour, "Are you this considerate to all your servants, Master Shen?"
Yulan, half-pouting, chimed in, "That’s right. Look at him, so protective of Su Lanying. Even I, his childhood sweetheart, feel like I’ve been cast aside. Five years away studying abroad, and now I’ve lost my place to her."
Shen Weilin only laughed quietly, shaking his head. With a fond smile, he tapped Yulan’s nose. "She’s like a younger sister to me. This is different. You mustn’t be jealous."
But Yan Ming wasn’t satisfied. He scratched his head uneasily and shot Shen Weilin a look. "Are you serious about this? You actually intend to marry?"
A hush fell. Even in the dream, silence bled across the courtyard.
Wind moved through the branches, scattering blossoms across my face. I felt the faint warmth of petals brush my cheek as Shen Weilin finally answered, his voice low but unwavering:
"Of course. One day, I’ll marry her."
And then the dream shattered.
The next time I faced Yan Ming, it was at his funeral.
He had never married. His years were spent not on himself but on the world. He worked, toiled, invested, and funneled his entire fortune into schools for poor children.
Just a month before he died, the last elementary school he funded had opened. The plaque over the gate read, in bold red characters: Yulan-Ming Elementary School.
Only then did I learn the truth: he had arranged everything in advance.
He died alone in his apartment. His assistant found him the next day, slumped in his chair with a peaceful smile on his face. In his hand, gently folded, was a small photograph of a woman, his last companion.
At the funeral, that same photograph was propped against the grave, surrounded by chrysanthemums.
When I approached, my vision blurred as I saw her face.
Zhao Yulan.
Smiling brightly in the frame, mischief dancing in her eyes. Beautiful, playful Yulan.
Of course. In everyone’s eyes, she was the charming jewel of Nanxi Compound: the girl who could catch even the heart of the quietly elegant Shen Weilin.
And yet she died at twenty-eight.
After that, Weilin married me.
While Yan Ming never married anyone. Not for the rest of his life.
The funeral was crowded with mourners students, teachers, even government officials. But among all the faces, I recognized only one old friend.
Quietly, we exchanged a few words. Then he asked me softly, "Did Yan Ming really never reach out to you all these years?"
I shook my head.
The man sighed. "He regretted it deeply. He told me many times he owed you an apology, that he couldn’t face you after everything."
From his coat pocket, he withdrew an envelope. "He wanted me to give you this."
The paper trembled in my hand, heavy with the weight of unsaid words. But I couldn’t bring myself to open it, not there. Not yet.
Yan Ming had bought this grave years ahead of time. I learned later he had chosen the most beautiful hillside section of Yunhai Memorial Park.
And he had chosen a plot across the water channel from Zhao Yulan.
The two of them, resting forever, side by side but still divided, separated by the smallest strip of earth.
When I returned home from the funeral, Shen Weilin was on the balcony watering the roses.
Before he could speak, I answered in a flat voice, "Mr. Shen, I’m your housekeeper. My name is Su Lanying. I went to buy groceries it took longer than expected."
The words I really wanted to say died in my throat.
He squinted as if trying to remember, then gave the faintest nod. "Su Lanying, the housekeeper."
I retreated to the kitchen, chopping vegetables while tears dripped mercilessly into the pan. Smoke from frying oil stung my eyes further, forcing me to wipe at my face so clumsily that I could no longer tell which sting came from the onions and which from grief.
Then, before I even realized he had moved, a handkerchief appeared in front of me.
Shen Weilin stood there, his expression softened. "If you’re tired, rest first. I’m not hungry."
I gripped the handkerchief tightly, nodding, but tears streamed harder in spite of myself.
Finally, a sob cracked through me. "Mr. Shen, Yan Ming is gone."
For a long moment, he looked at me blankly. Then something flickered across his eyes, recognition, faint as a candle flame.
"Yan Ming? You mean the fellow who loved fishing?"
I froze, then nodded.
After so many years, it was the only memory of him my husband could still hold.
Chapter 03
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