Volume One, Chapter 41: Have You... Changed Your Mind?

In the bedroom of the Lu family villa, Lu Jinnian paced like a caged lion, restless and irritable. He ransacked the vanity drawers—nothing. The storage cabinets in the walk-in closet—still nothing. The living room was a disaster, the storage boxes beneath the TV overturned and scattered. Even the storeroom hadn’t escaped his search.

Nowhere. Not a trace.

A throbbing beat pulsed at his temples. His stomach twisted with sharp, drilling pain, as if some relentless excavator were tearing through his insides. He grabbed his phone again. Still no reply from Sang Wan.

But the message showed as read. Only ten minutes ago, it had been unread, and he’d comforted himself that it was late—she was probably asleep. But she’d seen it now and chose to ignore him?

Rage exploded inside him, reaching its peak in that instant. Lu Jinnian called Sang Wan, his fury barely contained.

Ring.

Ring. Ring.

The monotonous tone droned on. He called several times, but Sang Wan never picked up. Doubled over from stomach pain, his face dark, Lu Jinnian hung up and dialed the housekeeper.

“Sir, the medicine box is in the cabinet under the island counter. But your stomach medicine is in your bedside drawer. Please check there.”

He froze.

Dragging himself back to the bedroom, he sat at the edge of the bed and opened the drawer.

There it was: stomach medicine, hangover pills, multivitamins—all the medicines he took regularly, arranged within easy reach. He’d turned the whole house upside down for nothing.

The instructions were in the leaflet, but Sang Wan had stuck colorful labels on the boxes: “Three times daily,” “Two pills each time”—clear and impossible to miss.

He took two pills and leaned back against the headboard, tension slowly unwinding from his nerves. But the anger still burned within him.

She’d seen his message. Yet she hadn’t replied! How dare she? How could she be this heartless?

Brooding, he never noticed when sleep overtook him.

Dawn crept in. Lu Jinnian woke from a nightmare, still in yesterday’s clothes, not even a blanket over him. He’d fallen asleep upright, propped against the headboard.

The bathroom mirror reflected a dark, brooding face; the usual charm and composure were nowhere to be seen. Distracted, his razor slipped, and a sting shot through his chin. Blood welled from the cut, deepening the scowl etched across his features.

…

Halfway up the mountain, in another villa, Sang Wan came downstairs to find Lou Ye already awake.

He looked listless, his spirits low, and his voice thick with congestion. “Breakfast is ready. Eat, and the driver will take you…”

“Alright,” Sang Wan said, taking her seat at the dining table.

Seeing Lou Ye had no intention of eating, she turned and asked, “Aren’t you having any?”

Lou Ye shook his head. “You go ahead.”

She reminded him to take his medicine after eating before changing her shoes and heading out.

As the elevator doors closed, she caught the faint sound of Lou Ye asking the chef, “Is there any century egg and pork congee?”

A small relief loosened Sang Wan’s chest. If he was willing to eat, recovery was only a matter of time.

But after work, stepping out of the office and seeing the driver pacing like an ant on a hot pan, Sang Wan frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“The cat is fine, it’s the young master…” the driver replied. “He wanted century egg and pork congee this morning, but the chef made several kinds and he didn’t like any of them. His fever’s come back, and he looks so weak. The housekeeper wanted to call you, but the young master threw a fit.”

“Let’s go. I’ll take a look,” Sang Wan said, descending the steps.

The driver didn’t move.

She took out her phone and called Lou Ye.

Ring.

Ring. Ring.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Senior…”

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, so fragile that an image of 2S, their dog, flopped weakly on the carpet, flashed through Sang Wan’s mind.

“Is there anything else you’d like to eat besides the congee?” Sang Wan asked gently. “I bought groceries. I’ll come cook for you.”

“Senior…” Lou Ye’s voice trailed off.

“Lou Ye?” she prompted, but there was only silence.

Her heart tightened. She turned to the anxious driver. “Let’s go. If anyone asks, tell them I told you to pick me up.”

“Thank you, Miss Sang!” the driver said, darting forward to open the car door.

Once Sang Wan was inside, he hurried back to the driver’s seat, and the car merged into the stream of traffic like a shadow.

As Sang Wan entered the villa, the air was heavy with the aroma of meat porridge. Several bowls of century egg and pork congee were lined up on the kitchen island—some with extra century egg, some with more pork, some with scallion and ginger, some without. Each bowl looked as if it had been tasted, but none truly eaten.

The old housekeeper’s face was creased with worry. “It’s been a whole day. Other than a few bites to try, he’s eaten nothing. The young master says… he has no appetite.”

“I understand,” Sang Wan nodded and first checked on the sleeping Lou Ye before rolling up her sleeves and heading for the kitchen.

The fridge was packed to the brim with all sorts of ingredients—fowl, meat, fish, everything imaginable. She took half an old hen and set it in the pressure cooker for soup. She kneaded dough, rolled out noodles by hand.

She made shredded chicken soup noodles, doubling the white pepper for extra warmth.

Before serving, she knocked gently on the door. “A-Ye, dinner’s ready!”

As if a switch had been flipped, Lou Ye, who had lain motionless on the bed, sat up abruptly. His gaze, meeting hers, shifted from confusion to something deeper. “…Alright.”

When he sat at the table, a few cold dishes were already laid out, similar to those from the previous midnight, though the ingredients had changed.

She handed him chopsticks and, without a word, ladled a spoonful of vivid red chili oil onto his noodles, followed by half a spoon of vinegar.

Lou Ye paused, wanting to protest—didn’t she remember he was sick? Hadn’t she herself said he needed light, nutritious food? Chili oil and vinegar were hardly that.

But he couldn’t deny it—the tangy, spicy aroma, mingling with rich chicken broth, seemed to reach straight into his soul, and his mouth watered involuntarily.

With the first bite, the sharp flavor shot through his sinuses, all the way to the top of his head. His languid body stirred to life; energy returned. Bite after bite, alternating noodles and side dishes, Lou Ye ate with gusto.

Sang Wan’s phone chimed. She glanced at it, then set it aside.

Instinct told Lou Ye—it was Lu Jinnian.

Because Sang Wan was here.

Because she called him A-Ye.

Because she’d made him a noodle soup he’d never had, but instantly loved.

Because, just like that, his soaring mood crashed.

After clearing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher, Sang Wan turned to Lou Ye. “Did you take your medicine today?”

He stayed silent.

She knew he hadn’t.

She placed the pills by his side. “Take them in half an hour.”

She was about to leave.

Lou Ye swallowed his words of protest when her phone rang again.

Sang Wan patted 2S, tossing a yarn ball which the dog chased away. She grabbed her bag and stepped into the elevator.

Behind her came Lou Ye’s forlorn voice: “Senior…”

Sang Wan turned.

Outside the elevator, Lou Ye stared at her stubbornly, a storm of emotions in his eyes. “Did you… change your mind?”

Sang Wan was taken aback. “What?”

Lou Ye snapped out of it suddenly.

What right did he have to ask if she regretted it, if she wasn’t planning to divorce Lu Jinnian after all?

“It’s nothing,” Lou Ye said, shaking his head.

Taller than her by half a head, he looked like a handsome young man worn down by illness, a touch of fragility to his entire bearing, his gaze still carrying a hint of shattered hope.

Sang Wan seemed to understand.