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Jiangnan City. Violet Bamboo Court.

A high-rise building closest to the central landscape park of the neighborhood stood calm and silent in the darkness; its thirty-four floors loomed imposingly, and on this late summer night, only a few rooms were softly lit. The only exception was the topmost apartment, where nearly every room blazed with light—as though its owner either cared nothing for the cost of electricity or was especially… afraid of the dark.

Zhang Nianqing sat on the living room sofa, her gaze lost and unfocused on the huge television, which wasn’t even plugged in. The room was utterly silent.

The scene from earlier that day replayed endlessly in her mind, more wrenching than any show in the world—her beloved husband and the sister she trusted most, entwined in an intimate embrace…

She pressed her hands together and gently stroked her bare, still lovely face. Eyes closed, she tried to draw a long breath, but could not find true relief.

Her sister—she ought to trust her! Without Momo, she would never have met Xiang Zuo.

One year ago, when she’d just learned that Xiang Zuo had asked a matchmaker to arrange a meeting with her, before she could even savor her secret delight, disaster struck. The day she brought Momo back from studying abroad, a car accident claimed her parents’ lives and left her comatose for eight months.

If Momo hadn’t pretended to be her and gone to the matchmaking meeting, how could Zhang Nianqing now be Mrs. Xiang?

Three months ago, she finally woke from her coma. While Xiang Zuo was away in America on business, Momo, nearly tormenting herself, transformed her appearance to mimic Nianqing’s frailty, faked a car accident, and claimed amnesia to orchestrate their switch. For three months, Momo had lived uncomfortably, just to maintain the illusion of illness.

Often, Zhang Nianqing couldn’t help but think: it was Momo who was truly qualified to be Mrs. Xiang. Momo had met him, married him, and lived with him for eight months. Yet, even so, she could not give up Xiang Zuo. She simply could not.

Some voice in her ear always whispered: Xiang Zuo’s first choice was you—he asked for Zhang Nianqing by name.

Yet no matter how many times she tried to comfort herself, her heart still ached. What was this? What was she?

Standing at his side, bearing the title of Mrs. Xiang, it was pitiful—she couldn’t see into her own husband’s heart. Day after day, she trembled in fear.

The soft sound of a key turning in the lock was especially clear in the quiet room. Almost by reflex, Zhang Nianqing stood up from the sofa. Absentmindedly, she smoothed the wisps of hair at her temples and walked toward the door.

“You’re back…”

Before she could finish her gentle greeting, the tall man staggered through the door, the smell of alcohol wafting over. For reasons she couldn’t name, the scent ached deep inside her.

Xiang Zuo leaned unsteadily against the wall. The handsome contours of his face, usually so stern, were softened by drunkenness, revealing an unexpected charm.

No matter how many times she’d rehearsed the words to question him about what she’d seen that day, in this moment, faced with those normally sharp, cold eyes now dark and deep as a midnight pool, she found herself speechless, unable to utter a word of reproach.

“Did you… drink? I’ll run you a bath…”

Her heart trembling, Zhang Nianqing reached to support him, her hands slipping under his arm. His scent, mingled with the sweet, sharp tang of alcohol and the magnetic aura of a man, enveloped her.

But the next second, he pinned her forcefully against the wall. She had no time to see his face clearly, nor could she lift her head—she was already pressed tight against the cold plaster.

Her back was chilled, but her chest burned so fiercely she thought her heart would leap from her body.

His hand, long and gentle, caressed her cheek. Her heart pounded wildly, like strings snapped on a zither.

“What a beautiful face…”

His low, seductive voice melted her heart to water. Her eyes grew misty, her whole body stiff as she lowered her lashes, quietly awaiting his nearness, feeling his breath draw closer…

“Such a pity—it’s all fake…”

The barely audible sigh struck her heart like a hammer, shattering it to pieces. Numbness swept her body. In shock, Zhang Nianqing jerked her head up, only to see Xiang Zuo turn away, heading upstairs.

“Sleep. I’ll stay in the guest room.”

At the doorway, only a slender, dazed figure remained, motionless for a long time.

—

At lunchtime, the streets bustled with white-collar workers hurrying to and fro, the city alive with noise and traffic. Yet behind the glass walls of the café, it was unusually quiet, with only soft music flowing through the air.

Two women sat at a table.

Whether the leather sofa was irritating or crawling with invisible insects, one of the women simply couldn’t sit still, shifting and fidgeting.

Zhang Momo waited anxiously, nearly scratching her head in frustration, but her sister remained silent. The bewildering scene at the foundation’s gala—she and Xiang Zuo appearing together in the ladies’ restroom—she was just waiting for Nianqing to question her. But the woman across from her was so gentle it was nearly terrifying, refusing to mention the awkward incident at all.

In the end, Zhang Momo couldn’t restrain herself.

“Sis! That day… it really was a misunderstanding!”

“Mm.” Nianqing replied softly, head bowed, bitterness flooding her heart. What sort of “misunderstanding” was this? Mistaken identity? Too much to drink? She wanted to believe, but she simply couldn’t.

“There’s nothing between your brother-in-law and me! I swear, Sis, originally we’d only met three times before getting a marriage certificate. Uncle Hu said his family was pushing him to marry, so we only met three times! After the wedding, I never touched him! I mean, he never touched me…”

At this, she truly didn’t know how to arrange subject and object properly. Zhang Momo smacked the table lightly. “There’s nothing between us, nothing at all!”

Her bright eyes blinked anxiously. Moved, Zhang Nianqing suddenly felt a wave of guilt. After a long silence, she finally reached across the table to grasp her sister’s hand.

“I know. You’ve told me—I know.”

She hesitated, then said no more.

Originally, Momo had refused to live with Xiang Zuo, using their parents’ recent passing as an excuse. Now, it was Xiang Zuo, citing work, who insisted on sleeping alone in the guest room.

At that moment, Zhang Nianqing wanted to ask, “Did he ever try anything with you?”—to confirm whether her husband might have some… physical issue. Yet no matter how she tried, she couldn’t voice the question.

Whatever the answer, what she loved was Xiang Zuo himself.

She had loved him far longer and deeper than anyone knew. Five years ago, as a high schooler, she’d glimpsed his face on the cover of a financial magazine—a handsome, confident young man with compellingly deep, cold eyes. A rare Harvard scholar, dazzling even before graduation—what girl’s heart could resist such a man?

She admired him from afar, knowing they were worlds apart. All she could do was quietly watch and yearn, choosing her university based on his. Because he’d attended H University High School, she applied to H University itself. Zhang Nianqing knew she could never reach Harvard, but attending one of his former schools, even if just the affiliated high school, felt like a dream come true.

A year ago, at a banquet hosted by Wanjia, she met him at last. She was home after graduation, bored, and her parents took her along. Never did she expect to see, in the flesh, the man she’d only ever seen gracing magazine covers. He was even more dazzling in person, a cold allure like a diamond laced with poison—dangerous, yet fatally attractive.

His magnetic aloofness drew nearly every woman’s eye, but he only exchanged a few words with the host before preparing to leave. At the door, he caught sight of her. He looked at her alone, as if recognizing her, smiling gently as he approached. “Zhang Nianqing? May I have this dance?”

In that moment, she could scarcely believe her ears. She reached out her hand in a daze and gave away her heart; from that dance onward, she was hopelessly lost.

Joy followed joy—soon after the ball, Uncle Hu brought word that Xiang Zuo wished to formally meet her for matchmaking. At that moment, she felt she was the happiest woman in the world. But before she could savor this happiness, a car accident three days later took everything away.

“That’s good,” Zhang Momo placed a hand over her heart, letting out a long sigh. Her other hand still clung to Nianqing’s. “Sis… does your husband treat you well?”

Zhang Momo asked nervously. She dared not mention all the strange things that had happened lately. Only she and her twin truly understood each other. Since their high school days, whispering secrets under the covers, she’d known how deeply Nianqing loved Xiang Zuo.

Always gentle and introverted, Nianqing had become even more silent after her eight-month coma. She needed love—the love she’d longed for five years—which only a closest family member could truly understand.

But after a long time, Nianqing said nothing. She released Momo’s hand and leaned back in her chair, her expression clouded, heartbroken.

“Sis, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Seeing the deep furrow in her sister’s brow, Zhang Momo was suddenly seized by dread. She could ignore what Xiang Zuo had done to her company, but in the chaos of recent days, she’d forgotten that her sister might also be affected.

The thought made Zhang Momo spring from the sofa, heedless of the startled looks from waiters. She stumbled over to Nianqing’s side, gripping her sleeve tightly.

“Did your husband say something to you? Did he do something to you?”

Zhang Nianqing didn’t answer. She merely turned her face slightly, looking at her sister’s anxious eyes, and shook her head weakly. In the silence, all words faded away; for a long time, neither sister spoke again.

Zhang Momo’s advertising company was in dire straits; Nianqing faced extreme coldness at home. All signs pointed to one fact: Xiang Zuo had discovered their elaborate deception.

To snatch a tooth from the tiger’s mouth—neither sister dared imagine the consequences. The only certainty was that, whether he knew everything or only suspected, they must never admit the truth.

Never—no matter what.

She couldn’t admit it, for deep in her heart, she still harbored a sliver of hope: no matter how he punished her deceit, at least her sister might find happiness.

She, too, could not admit it. That man, bestowed upon her after her brush with death, was the only gift heaven had granted her—one she could never relinquish.

“Sis, remember this: everything was my idea. All the lies and concealment have nothing to do with you! Whatever happens, you only need to remember that!”

The sudden ring of a phone shattered the unspoken sorrow between them. Zhang Momo released Nianqing and answered. After a few words, her face paled.

“What? Resigned?”