Tears Falling (Dust and Smoke Diamond Edition)

Linglan fled, her steps hurried and fast. She ran all the way from the hotel to the River Thames, sitting alone on the cruise ship deck with her knees pulled to her chest, enduring the chilly night wind entirely by herself, gazing into the distance at the London Bridge.

The thick night was rendered exceptionally heavy, and the pale moonlight cast a desolate, cold reflection, resembling a windless pool of lake water. Along the riverbank, she saw pairs of men and women huddled close together, embracing and kissing. Their shadows were drawn very long, resembling the bold characters for "happiness."

On the night marking the expiration of their one-month pact, she had used the most resolute way to sever the affection between him and her.

The half-month of separation felt as long as several years. He had used indifference to fight back against her ruthlessness, letting go completely.

In the shimmering exhibition hall, they brushed past each other like strangers.

In the bustling, flower-adorned dance floor, he held another beauty in his arms, dancing gracefully; she was no longer the only one in his eyes.

Along the quiet carriage ride, she listened helplessly to a tender confession. Those repeated declarations of "you love me" were the heartfelt and moving words of another woman.

Beneath the dim, obscure lights, she opened her eyes in vain. A passionate, intense kiss, lingering and intimate—the mutual attraction of two people, with hurried breaths still lingering in the air.

Scene after scene, so much loss, heartbreak, and hidden pain surged into her chest, tearing her heart apart until it was finally ground into powder and turned to ashes.

Raindrops began to drift from the sky without warning. She lowered her head; the damp chill of London felt like heavy clouds pressing down until she could barely breathe. Yet she had no tears left. Those pattering droplets fell coldly upon the corners of her eyes, sliding quietly down like the silent tears she shed in the dark night. She was crying.

She had lost the shoes he bought her—his very first gift to her—and in doing so, she had lost him as well, as if he could never be found or pieced back together again.

At the far end of the River Thames, everything was pitch black.

Hailing a taxi from the riverbank, she said, "Savile Row..."

He had once said he would accompany her on a trip to the UK, and they had arrived as scheduled, only everything had changed. Yet, she wanted to personally commission a tailored suit for him, with her name embroidered on the breast pocket. The shopkeeper politely declined, saying, "Apologies, madam, but if you wish to place a bespoke order, we kindly request the gentleman to accompany you." Linglan knew Savile Row's renowned tailoring was matched only by their uncompromising attitude, but she too had her persistence. "It's fine, sir, he doesn't need to come. I remember his measurements very clearly."

"Are you certain?!"

"Yes, I am certain!" Linglan smiled faintly. Of course she remembered his body; she remembered waking up every day to match his shirts, ties, and suits. Over time, she had come to know his exact measurements, remembering them flawlessly and without omission.

She asked the shopkeeper for a card and wrote a line of graceful, vigorous calligraphy upon it. Handing it to the proprietor, she instructed repeatedly, "Make sure this card is tucked inside the finished garment when it's done. Also, this is the gentleman's phone number. Don't worry, I will pay the deposit in advance, and when the time comes for the initial fitting and minor adjustments, you can call him back." She pleaded sincerely with the owner. Initially reluctant, the owner eventually asked, "Is this for your beloved?!"

Thinking of how this woman had traveled all the way to the UK, drawn by reputation, solely to commission a single garment, the owner hesitated slightly.

"No, for a man who is lost and will never return," she whispered absentmindedly.

——————

Over the next few days, she did not see Leng Tingyu again. Linglan was both curious and unsurprised, given Leng Tingyu's relationship with Mo Zhicheng; that night's outcome was bound to happen naturally. As it turned out, sometimes rumors were not entirely groundless. As long as they were together, thirty-five percent of the Leng family shares serving as Leng Tingyu's dowry was a powerhouse alliance long commonplace in the business world.

Later, she received a call from Lin Jia, unexpectedly learning that Leng Tingyu had already returned to China. On the surface, the excuse was that the UK case was nearly wrapped up, and Leng Tingyu had gone back to handle the technology convention exhibition project.

Linglan had no idea what had transpired behind the scenes. Since Lin Jia had instructed her thus, she simply listened without pressing further. Out of a selfish desire, she did not want to hear any more news about that woman, terrified that her heart would ache with every little tear: "Alright, I understand. Is there anything else Manager Lin would like to instruct me on?!"

Lin Jia paused. "You've worked hard!"

In truth, the exhaustion from business affairs during this UK trip could hardly compare to the emotional and mental anguish she had suffered. The psychological torment had left her utterly exhausted, and she smiled faintly, "Once the contract is signed, I will leave." Her words carried a double meaning, laying everything bare and leaving behind only a deep sigh.

After the night of the banquet, not only had Leng Tingyu vanished, but she had not seen Mo Zhicheng either. She did not even know if that man was still in London. Encountering a bottleneck in her negotiations with KM Company and making no headway for a full day, she returned straight to her hotel. The moment she entered her room, she buried herself in the bedding. The solitude in the air was heavy; resting glumly, she routinely sent a safety text message to Young Master Ye. There was no response from the other end for a long time. Linglan closed her eyes to rest, but before a moment had passed, her phone suddenly rang shrilly. Startled, Linglan looked in surprise to see an incoming call from Jack, wondering if something had gone wrong with the case. She quickly answered, "Jack?!"

Jack asked in a low voice, "Are you free tonight?"

She raised her guard and asked cautiously, "What's wrong? Is there any new progress?" She knew Jack should understand what she was referring to, but a hearty laugh came from the other end of the line: "No, it's just a personal invitation for you to come see an opera with me."

"An opera?!"

"Yes," Jack replied. "Camille, would you do me the honor?"

Linglan had no deep appreciation for opera and initially intended to refuse. However, KM Company still required public relations efforts. A blunt refusal would be impolite on the one hand, and she worried it might jeopardize the cooperation between Tiancheng and KM Company on the other. Hesitating, she finally agreed to the appointment: "Okay, where shall we meet?"

————————————

The opera had long been widely celebrated on Western stages. Inside the spacious and vast opera house, Linglan's figure was swallowed by the surrounding darkness. The seat next to hers, previously vacant, was occupied by someone else before she noticed. Jack sat on her left, chatting and laughing with her from time to time amidst a wave of joyful sounds.

The clamor in the theater grew pin-drop quiet as the curtain slowly rose. As the theater settled into stillness, her heart gradually calmed as well.

In her youth, she had also read the story of Marguerite, the heroine. She had assumed that something draped in the veneer of high art like opera would be all show and no substance. But when personally immersed in such an environment, watching the written words transform into a far more turbulent and surging spectacle on stage, she was deeply moved—

A tragic world had forged a tragic figure, and her destiny brought people to tears.

Aesthetic and classical music, elegant beauty, and breathtakingly suffocating romance.

Yet all the joy and pleasure were merely preludes to the solemn and sorrowful ending awaiting them at the conclusion. The music, the lighting, the gorgeous costumes, the expressions of the characters—from beginning to end, it was a heart-wrenching tragedy, where every single spin exuded a sense of profound grief.

She could only feel a warm, damp sensation churning in her eye sockets, a lump rising in her throat. Just at that moment, a thunderous roar suddenly erupted from the center of the theater. The massive plaster ceiling crashed down abruptly, and in the pitch blackness, screams pierced the air: *Ah...*

Following that, fragmented shards rained down with a shattering crunch, unstoppable and terribly swift.

Before Linglan even realized what was happening, she heard a furious roar beside her: "Run! The ceiling is collapsing!"

The familiar voice vibrated right beside her ear—a man, speaking in Chinese. Before she even had time to think, her wrist was grabbed fiercely, and she was yanked directly toward the emergency exit.

Screams and panicked cries rang out haphazardly. The crowded mob instantly surged like a ferocious tide, wave after wave crashing over her. Jostled and trampled by the pressing throngs, she stumbled, and that familiar figure turned back, reaching out to pull her into his arms. Shielding her body with his broad embrace, the man urged anxiously, "Don't be afraid... I'm here..."

Before his voice could fade, the two of them were heavily knocked to the ground. Wincing in pain, the man had already enveloped her entirely. Unable to make out his face amidst the chaotic noise, she faintly heard the sound of him gritting his teeth to endure the pain. At that very moment, Linglan realized that the fleeing crowd was trampling directly over him: "Mo Zhicheng......" The tears welling in her eyes fell in a pattering cascade.