Chapter Eighty-Two: The Shattering of Happiness Begins

The days that followed were comfortable and tranquil. Ye Qianran had to admit that Wei Zhuang was indeed a perfect husband—he matched every image she had conjured in her girlhood fantasies: attentive, considerate, gentle, and so protective that she sometimes felt she might drown in his tenderness. Yet, no matter how close she became to him, there remained something between them, an invisible barrier.

Ye Qianran knew exactly what it was.

She had never wanted to bear this child. The better Wei Zhuang treated her, the more uneasy she felt, as if thorns pricked at her back. The kinder he was, the stronger this feeling grew.

One day, as she sat lost in thought, Wei Zhuang walked in carrying a bowl of white fungus and lotus seed soup. Seeing her seated by the window, he broke into a smile. “What are you thinking about?”

Ye Qianran stood, returned his smile, but said nothing.

Wei Zhuang quickly set down the tray and gently guided her back to her seat, laughter glimmering in his eyes. “You mustn’t move about carelessly, my dear. It wouldn’t do to disturb the baby.”

Ye Qianran had no choice but to sit as he wished. “It’s only been two months. How could I possibly disturb the child?”

Wei Zhuang picked up the soup, cooled it carefully, and brought the spoon to her lips. Ye Qianran frowned and shook her head repeatedly. “I don’t want to eat.”

Wei Zhuang coaxed her patiently. “This isn’t just for you—it’s for our daughter. Even if it’s just for her sake, you should have a little.”

Ye Qianran pouted. “Everyone else hopes for a boy. Why do you wish for a girl?”

Wei Zhuang smiled. “What use is a boy? Look at me, and you’ll know. Girls are better—someone to love and cherish.”

Ye Qianran shot him a glare. “That’s a twisted kind of logic.”

Wei Zhuang chuckled knowingly, set the bowl aside, and reached out to help her. “If you don’t want to eat, let’s go for a walk together. It’s good for the baby.”

Ye Qianran offered him her hand. “You really do know quite a bit.”

Wei Zhuang supported her with great care. “Of course. This is my first child, after all. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong.”

At those words, Ye Qianran’s body tensed for an instant. Wei Zhuang looked at her, puzzled. “What’s the matter?”

She forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

The weather that day was exceptionally fine. After days of unending snowfall, the sun shone warm and bright, melting the snow on the branches so that droplets fell like crystal beads—like morning dew at the tips of leaves. Beneath the winding bridge in the courtyard, the lake remained emerald green, and in the distance, the pine trees stood tall and verdant. A few plum blossoms had timidly opened, their faint fragrance drifting on the air. Cloud Garden was built by the mountain and water; standing beneath the plum trees, one could still glimpse the bluish mountains far off. They walked along a cobbled path, which led to an octagonal pavilion by the water. Wei Zhuang guided her into the pavilion. Ye Qianran took a deep breath—it had snowed for days and she had been confined indoors. Only now, stepping out, did she realize how beautiful the world was. Wei Zhuang gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her temple. “Are you tired?”

Ye Qianran shook her head. “Not at all.” She paused, looking at him. “But I do feel a bit cold.”

Wei Zhuang tapped her nose, a hint of playful reproach in his voice. “I told you to wear your cloak before we went out, but you insisted not to. Now you’re cold, aren’t you?”

Ye Qianran seized his sleeve with both hands, shaking it gently, her tone tinged with coquettishness. “Will you fetch it for me?”

Wei Zhuang shook his head helplessly. “I can never refuse you.” He helped her sit down. “I’ll get it. Promise me you’ll stay put.”

Ye Qianran nodded obediently. Wei Zhuang had only taken a few steps, not yet left the pavilion, when Ye Qianran called after him, “Yunkai?”

“Yes?” Wei Zhuang turned to her.

She walked to his side, her eyes brimming with affection. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Wei Zhuang wrapped his arm around her waist and deepened the kiss.

It was a kiss both gentle and lingering.

Fresh and intoxicating.

Wei Zhuang pressed his forehead to hers, smiling foolishly. “Is this my reward?”

Ye Qianran’s voice was soft and full of feeling. “Go on, I’ll be waiting for you.”

But Wei Zhuang still did not release her. “If it’s like this, I’d let you boss me around for a lifetime.” He kissed her cheek before finally letting go.

Ye Qianran laughed softly. “Hurry back.”

Wei Zhuang turned and left.

As he walked, happiness welled up from his heart, the smile on his lips as if it could melt the whole winter. Perhaps, Wei Zhuang thought, he could really hold on to her, could truly keep happiness by his side.

Crossing the flower path paved with stone, Wei Zhuang’s smile lingered. He remembered how dazzling the sun was that day—painfully bright. Then, he saw Ye Qianran curled up at the foot of the pavilion steps, clutching her abdomen, her clothes stained scarlet, the snow beneath her a vivid red. In that instant, he felt his world collapse.

He gathered her in his arms and ran, frantic, as something irretrievable slipped from his grasp.

But it was already too late.

When Ye Qianran awoke, night had fallen. The room was unlit and shrouded in darkness. She reached for her abdomen, feeling gradually returning—she knew, with stark clarity, that the child was gone.

She breathed out, not knowing if it was relief or sorrow.

Then Wei Zhuang lifted the covers and lay down beside her, fully dressed, his body cold as ice. He wrapped his arm around her waist—so light, and yet so heavy.

He gazed at her, stroking her face, and after a long while, drew her into a tight embrace.

He whispered, “Qianran, I feel so much pain.”

Her heart clenched.

He was crying.

Ye Qianran felt the warmth of his tears soak into her skin, burning so hot it made her heart ache.

His voice was hoarse, carrying exhaustion and a rare vulnerability.

His shoulders shook uncontrollably, his grip around her waist unyielding. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, silent for a long, long time.

Ye Qianran was shaken.

For he so seldom wept.

The only other time she could remember was one cool night, when a single tear traced down his cheek.

Regret welled up within her, deep and boundless—but there was no going back.

No going back, ever again.

That night, she dreamed she was falling from a cliff, her body shattered to pieces.