Chapter 4 Half-Drunk, Half-Sober

Love, like ink-wash porcelain, fears not the fleeting brilliance of a moment.

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The crimson wine flowed gracefully from the winemaker’s hands into the fine crystal glass, a familiar motion that caught the woman’s deep blue gaze, stirring a complex tide of emotions on her cheeks.

Anning’s slender fingers elegantly swirled the crystal goblet, the purple-red liquid as alluring and profound as a precious gemstone. She sipped, savoring the powerful tannins, which gripped her tongue with a slight astringency.

She took a larger mouthful—hmm, though the acidity ran high, the wine was still rather smooth.

Rinsing her mouth with water, Anning lifted the second glass. Her eyes traced the ruby wine, and even before tasting, she knew this one surpassed the last.

Indeed, the tannins were robust and rounded, leaving a rich, lingering finish.

Unable to resist, she took another two sips; a faint caramel note emerged, perfectly matching her tastes.

Her spirits thoroughly awakened, Anning reached for the third glass. The deep garnet hue exuded elegance and gravity.

She curled her lips, savoring it slowly. The wine was mellow and layered, leaving a long aftertaste—a gentle, sweet sensation melting through her mouth…

Glass after glass, Anning tasted with care, discussing her impressions earnestly with the winemaker, giving honest feedback.

At that moment, all of Lu Huaining’s interest was drawn to the woman’s attentive expression and gestures. This enigmatic woman, known to the world by name alone—what secrets was she hiding? That elusive familiarity in her every move—was it truly coincidence, or something more?

As he mused in silence, a crystal-clear glass of red wine was quietly offered before his contemplative gaze.

“You don’t seem the least bit anxious,” Lu Huaining remarked, taking the glass that bore the trace of her red lips.

“If you’re not in a hurry, Mr. Lu, why should I be?” Anning replied, raising her own glass. The rims clinked softly. “Cheers!”

“Miss Herr, you seem a little drunk.” Lu Huaining looked down at the flush on her cheeks, his voice teasing and fragrant as he leaned close to her petite ear, “So drunk, you’ve forgotten that tomorrow is your wedding with Mr. Si…”

Wedding? Anning’s intoxicated eyes narrowed slightly as she remembered—vaguely—a wedding awaited her tomorrow.

But why was everything before her eyes growing more and more blurred…

Lu Huaining gently caught the tipsy little cat who had collapsed into his arms. The wager had yet to begin, but this unfathomable woman had already surrendered herself, becoming inebriated in a stranger’s domain!

Her soft, fragrant form was cradled and carried to the guestroom, laid tenderly upon the vast bed.

Dusk fell; the sun slanted low, bathing the terrace in a warm, orange glow…

Lu Huaining simply sat at her bedside, from sunset into deep night, so still that when he finally returned to himself, his body tingled with pins and needles. Yet he would never know—in the very next instant after he turned away and closed the door, those seemingly slumbering blue eyes snapped open.

The night was black, pinpricks of candlelight slowly brightened, driving away the devouring dark.

The plush carpet muffled the woman’s footsteps; her delicate ankles and the soft fur brushing together. The butterfly tattoo on her ankle bone glimmered faintly in the candlelight, as though it might take flight at any moment.

Wandering by candlelight, Anning stood on the spiral staircase, quietly surveying the vast and lonely space. After all these years, this man had not changed his strange habits. She was certain—at this very moment, in this enormous private estate, she was the only soul present, neither quite living nor dead.

By the classical piano, her cool fingers drifted from the keys to linger on a photo frame. The flickering candlelight illuminated the face within, and for a breath, she felt a poignant sense of distance, as if from another lifetime.

That man had destroyed her innocence, stolen everything—yet in the moment she least expected, had given her the world. He had taught her that to stand, one must first learn to kneel. In the very next instant, after trampling her dignity with mocking laughter, he had returned that dignity with both hands.

But now, to this man, she was a stranger after all.

In the darkness, she laughed bitterly. Her hand trembled, and she seemed to hear the whisper of paper sliding across the lacquered piano.

The door opened. She caught the scent of the salty sea breeze, a smell of memories—familiar, yet strange.

Tiny waves lapped at her feet, soaking the hem of her dress and, deeper, her heart.

“Miss, it’s time to go back.” As dawn approached, the bodyguard’s respectful voice called to her from several meters away—the most sacred moment of a woman’s life was about to arrive.

A wedding dress, a church, vows… Her gentle steps seemed to carry her closer to happiness, while the only thing forgotten was the bunch of orchids left in the corner, still beaded with morning dew.

Countless people have said that the most beautiful moment in a woman’s life is when she dons a wedding dress for the man she loves.

And when Si Yang saw Anning appear before him in a knee-length bridal gown, as a man, he instantly recalled a line she once wrote in a letter: “You stunned the years and softened the passage of time.”

“Why don’t you like a floor-length wedding dress?” He remembered this was the first question he asked her, and he would never forget her answer: “Because it would make running away too difficult.”

So, when she approached him, her skirt just grazing her knees, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Still planning to run, my little bride?”

Anning was tickled by his humor, but in the next moment, she opened her palm to reveal a shining silver coin resting quietly there—a sly glint in her eyes. “Shall we flip for it? Heads, I run; tails, you do?”

Si Yang took the lucky coin from her, flicking her forehead. “If you can make the coin stand on its edge, I’ll allow your change of heart.”

Anning shrugged. “Can I cheat?”

“What do you think?”

She stuck out her tongue mischievously. “You never get my jokes!”

Behind them, the church bells chimed nine. At that very moment, Lu Huaining, alerted by the servants, returned to the seaside estate—only to find it deserted.

Just as he thought his plan had failed, his eyes fell upon a document left on the piano: the transfer of shares agreement.

When his fingertips brushed the cool handkerchief hidden beneath the papers, and he saw the vivid butterfly embroidery, a rush of blood surged through him.

Kitten!

He ran out in a frenzy, the silk cool in his palm as his heart cried out—Kitten, is it you? It must be you!

“Mr. Si Yang, do you take this woman to be your wife, to join with her in matrimony? Will you love her, care for her, respect her, and accept her, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death parts you?” The priest smiled gently at the couple, the ancient Bible exuding its weight of history.

“I do.” The man’s voice was calm as water.

The priest nodded, his blessing turning to the dreamy bride. “Miss Xue Zuining, do you take this man to be your husband, to join with him in matrimony? Will you love him, care for him, respect him, and accept him, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death parts you?”

Anning—no, Xue Zuining—hearing her own name, felt reborn. She looked up at the cross, the symbol of the closest distance to God for a Christian. Yet, in this moment, standing so near, could she truly win God’s forgiveness?

“I…”

“No—!” A man’s anguished cry and the bang of the door shattered the church’s tranquility.

“Kitten…” Lu Huaining stared at Xue Zuining in her wedding dress. She was smiling serenely—she was about to marry another man!

“No! Kitten, you promised to give me a chance, you…” Watching her smile grow, his voice broke. “Come back! Come back to me…”

Xue Zuining could see the beads of sweat on his brow, the bright light soaking his desolate aura, severing her hesitation.

“I do!”

Those three words sliced open Lu Huaining’s bleeding heart, and split apart what once was. If everything had changed beyond recognition, why did he still hold on?

A mask of lies can never bury the truth.