Chapter 62: Leave, Go Away—

At last, Linglan murmured hoarsely, “You don’t love me.” The man froze, listening to her soft, ethereal voice, to her delicate sobs: “Not even… not even like. What you want is… only that your pride cannot bear… rejection…”

He slowly lifted his eyes and watched as her tears fell, one after another—scalding, shattering on the floor, breaking to pieces, no trace left. Then, as if a dam had burst, her tears surged uncontrollably.

The man stood stunned, his senses blurred by alcohol, seeing nothing but her tear-stained face, her finely arched brows drawn tightly together. He gasped for breath, hearing only that phrase echoing by his ear: All you want is that your pride cannot accept rejection—

—cannot accept

—rejection

Each word echoed like a curse, haunting his mind.

He could vaguely recall how she always resisted, always refused him. To take a woman’s body was easy—he disliked forcing anyone. But then what was all this? Looking down at the woman beneath him, her eyes as clear and fragile as glass, a mist of tears veiling her gaze, her delicate features soft and luminous as if sculpted from water—what meaning was there in possessing a body stripped of its soul? In that instant, he felt himself plummet from the clouds, everything coming to an abrupt end.

With a pair of dark, restrained eyes, he slowly closed them. Mo Zhicheng pushed her away, turned and lay flat on the carpet, his breath ragged as he suppressed every stirring emotion. He said quietly, “Go.”

He heard her quiet sobs, and his brow furrowed deeper. “Before I change my mind, go. Go—” His low growl shook the woman beside him. With all her dwindling strength, Ye Linglan struggled to her feet and fled in haste.

Bang! The door slammed shut. She vanished like a wisp of smoke, leaving behind a roomful of unfinished passion and a heavy, suffocating silence. At that very moment, the phone rang. Mo Zhicheng slowly opened his eyes. It was Tang Pei. He ignored the call, pressed decline, and gazed at the emptiness beside him, lost in thought.

———

Ye Linglan clutched the torn collar of her blouse over her chest. She didn’t know how long it took to make her way home. In the darkness, she groped her way in, slipping into her bed like a loach, curling up and hugging herself tightly.

“Ye, are you busy?” a voice asked.

“Yes, I’m out discussing something.” On the other end of the line came a cacophony of noise. “What about you?”

Linglan covered her mouth, forcing the tears threatening to well up into a stubborn shard of bone lodged in her throat. “Nothing, nothing at all. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

Ye Shenghan chuckled, and his laughter traveled through the phone. Linglan gripped her mobile, as if she were a greedy child, drinking in every note of happiness, storing them deep within her ears.

“What’s wrong?” The man’s wary tone suggested he’d sensed something.

“N-nothing.” She choked back a sob. How she wanted to tell him, Let me hear your voice, let me see your happiness—then all my pain would vanish like passing clouds. But she could not speak, nor did she want him to notice. She hurriedly bid farewell, “That’s all for now. It’s late. I’ll go to sleep.”

She snapped her phone shut. She knew that if she lingered a second more, if she listened to his voice a while longer, she would break down and weep until her voice was gone.

She clutched her chest as if someone’s hand were squeezing her heart, twisting it into a tight knot, making it hard to breathe. Cold sweat beaded on her brow. “Medicine—” she whispered, powerless. She pulled open a drawer, found a medicine box—on its white lid, a faded sticker of a wind chime.