Chapter Fifteen: A Strange Blessing

... That night.

Ye Mian tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. Even the rain outside, usually so soothing, had lost its power to comfort her. When she washed up earlier, the steam and warmth had lulled her into a drowsy state, but somehow, after everything was done, she found herself involuntarily replaying the events of the day.

That strange feeling in her heart resurfaced, and she buried herself deeper under the thin cotton quilt, her eyes full of worry.

She thought about it.

The fire at the small house probably wasn’t started by Dong Yulian—it was Jiang Chen.

Dong Yulian always spoke of getting hold of the property deed. If she were to burn down the house, what use would the deed be then? Judging from what happened today, she guessed Jiang Chen had returned to find Dong Yulian wearing his late mother’s dress, mingling with another man. And the only photo he had of his mother was nowhere to be found.

Dong Yulian had destroyed what mattered to him, so he destroyed what mattered to her.

It seemed only such drastic measures could drive the shameless Dong Yulian away. From now on, he wouldn’t even have the shell of a home left to him.

Ye Mian didn’t know how to describe her feelings. Setting fire to one’s own house—so long as it didn’t endanger others or public safety—wasn’t a crime. She remembered how he had watched, wide-eyed, as the place he’d grown up in was consumed by flames. His expression was gentle, almost indifferent.

But the truth wasn’t as light as he appeared to make it. If he truly didn’t care, why wait until now to take this step, leaving Dong Yulian no dignity at all?

Ye Mian’s thoughts sent a cold sweat down her back.

Jiang Chen was a complicated man. At moments like this, he was ruthless in both heart and deed. Perhaps he really hadn’t minded Dong Yulian brazenly living in his home before, but once his boundaries were crossed, he would crush your pride into the dirt.

Like a wolf, ambitious and fierce, yet cloaked in the gentlest of appearances.

Gentle and tolerant. Cultured, yet a rogue.

Ye Mian’s breath caught; she sniffed, thinking again of Jiang Chen’s patient, tender eyes, the way he applied medicine to her wounds so casually, even thoughtfully sparing her any guilt, and that uncertain afternoon when he rescued her from thugs.

She couldn’t see through him.

But she genuinely felt sorrow for Jiang Chen.

In this vast world, not a single person loved him.

Outside, the pouring rain turned to thunder and lightning, the crashes louder than ever.

Ye Mian curled herself with her head beneath the quilt, breathing in the reassuring scent of cotton, and finally drifted into a shallow sleep.

In her dreams, everything was vague and indistinct, until Jiang Chen’s face appeared, along with those chilling eyes in the interrogation room—then everything became clear.

The memory of that day surfaced with her dream: Jiang Chen was handcuffed by his colleagues, yet he still wore a gentle smile.

Only, the Jiang Chen in her dream seemed more intimidating than the youth she remembered.

“Ye Mian, you must live well.”

...

When Ye Mian awoke, it was just past six in the morning.

Summer dawned early; already, faint threads of sunlight were spilling into the room.

She rubbed her eyes and slowly crawled out from under the covers, her long hair falling over her shoulders.

She hadn’t yet escaped the dream.

It had felt so real—and what frightened her more was the realization that this memory truly existed, she’d simply never noticed that detail before.

She frowned, recalling her surprise at the time—surprised that this renowned figure still remembered her, and surprised by the strange blessing he’d given her.