Chapter 64: Why Do I Feel Like You’re Mad At Me?

That night, the Buddha Jumps Over soup Lu Huaiyan brought back for Jiang Se went untouched.

She spent half an hour cuddling on the sofa, then hurriedly removed her makeup, washed up, and slipped into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

In the middle of the night, she woke up feeling overheated, briefly wondering if she was coming down with a low fever again.

As her groggy consciousness pieced itself together, she realized it was because the man behind her was holding her too tightly.

His bare torso pressed against the exposed skin outside her pajamas, their closeness creating a layer of sweat.

In the past, Jiang Se would have pushed away such a heat source.

But now, perhaps accustomed to his almost domineering embrace, she blinked slowly a few times and drifted back to sleep.

She slept so deeply in the latter half of the night that she didn’t even notice when Lu Huaiyan left.

When she woke up, her WeChat was flooded with a long string of messages, all from Guo Qian.

[Picture.JPG]  

[There’s no photo Guo Qian can’t get her hands on.]  

Followed by a GIF of her looking smug.

Jiang Se smiled, not bothering to scroll further, and opened the first image in the chat.

It was an old photo.

A dimly lit billiard room, with Lu Huaiyan standing at the center.

He leaned against the pool table, head lowered, chalking his cue.

Beside him stood Cen Li, Guo Song, and a few others. Guo Song held a cue as well, clearly playing against Lu Huaiyan.

The billiard room was spacious, with seven or eight men and a few girls present.

By the window, watching the pool table, was Zhu Mingli. Her gaze was fixed on Lu Huaiyan, but in the half-open window behind her, a fleeting figure passed by.

That figure was just behind Zhu Mingli’s side, and at first glance, it looked like the two were cleverly captured in the same frame through the windowpane.

Jiang Se stared at Fu Yun’s profile in the photo and gave a soft smile.

This photo was taken at a banquet, if she remembered correctly, during her twentieth birthday, hosted by the Guo family.

By then, Zhu Mingli and Fu Yun must have been quite familiar with each other—scheming together for years, how could they not be?

Yet, no matter the occasion, those two always acted like strangers. Even now, Jiang Se couldn’t figure out why someone as proud as Zhu Mingli would fall for Fu Yun.

Lost in thought, her finger accidentally swiped to the next photo.

The moment she saw it, Jiang Se’s gaze sharpened briefly before her expression returned to normal.

Her finger continued scrolling through the screen, and the next dozen or so photos were all of Lu Huaiyan and Guan Jiayi.

A handsome man and a beautiful woman—even in a crowded employee cafeteria, they were strikingly eye-catching.

The angles of these photos were varied—some far, some close, some high, some low—clearly candid shots.

One of them perfectly captured the moment Guan Jiayi glanced at Lu Huaiyan.

The girl held a low-calorie drink, sipping through a straw while stealing a glance at him, her clear, pure eyes filled with nothing but him.

The man kept his gaze lowered, seemingly unaware of her attention.

The photo was beautifully taken, like a scene straight out of a romantic drama.

Jiang Se didn’t linger on it, quickly flipping through the rest of the photos. After the images came a video.

A gloomy, snowy day, an arched window with a vintage design, snowflakes falling gently, piling up on the window ledge.

A man sat by the window, playing the piano.

He played with focus, his distinct eyelashes quietly lowered, his slender fingers dancing across the black-and-white keys. The video was less than 30 seconds long, starting when the music was already nearing its end.

The moment Jiang Se heard the first note, she knew it was Debussy’s *Clair de Lune*—the piece she’d chosen for herself on her coming-of-age ceremony.

As the final note fell, the man lifted his gaze, a lingering tenderness in his usually indifferent eyes.

The moment he looked up, a clear, vibrant “Ah Yan” followed.

It was Guan Jiayi’s voice.

The video ended with her trembling, heartfelt “Ah Yan.”

Jiang Se calmly tapped to exit, returning to the chat and scrolling down. Sure enough, Guo Qian’s subsequent messages were all about Lu Huaiyan and Guan Jiayi.

Skimming through them quickly, Jiang Se tossed her phone onto the bed and got up to wash up.

She had an appointment with Dr. Gina for therapy and needed to prepare properly.

—

The last time Jiang Se saw Dr. Gina was on New Year’s Day. That day, Cen Mingshu had urgently dragged her out of Lu Huaiyan’s villa and brought her straight to Dr. Gina’s office without a word.

Dr. Gina, who was half-Chinese and half-British, spoke flawless Mandarin and already knew from Cen Mingshu that Jiang Se had returned to Beicheng.

As Jiang Se entered the therapy room, Dr. Gina smiled and asked, “Sleeping okay lately? Still taking your meds?”

Jiang Se gave a soft “mm,” placed her handbag on a stool, and slowly settled into the recliner. “That feeling’s started again.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“The feeling of being watched in the dark,” Jiang Se said. “It’s just like when my hands were bound and my eyes were covered. I keep feeling like there’s a gaze fixed on me, ready to tear me apart, to swallow me whole.”

Dr. Gina listened quietly, her gaze on Jiang Se soft and gentle.

The curtains in the therapy room were drawn, the lighting dim. The young woman’s expression was calm, but her eyes churned with emotions.

Fear, disappointment, and an irrepressible anger.

It was almost identical to the state she’d been in when she first came here at eighteen.

Back then, the stubborn girl had told her, “Everyone says that person is just a figment of my imagination, but I know they’re real.”

That stubbornness persisted for two years. In the third year, after one session, she suddenly said softly, “I think I really am sick.”

And now, it was as if she’d reverted to the height of her illness.

When the curtains were drawn open again, two hours had passed.

Bright light seeped in from outside. Dr. Gina picked up her pen to write a prescription, then looked at Jiang Se with a smile. “I’ve prescribed some additional medication and increased the dosage of your current ones.”

Handing the prescription to Jiang Se, she lowered her head to organize the case file, slipping the session recording into a box. In a casual, conversational tone, she said, “Your aunt is always worried about your condition worsening. I once joked with her that sometimes I can’t tell if you’re gravely ill or more clear-headed than anyone else.”

The remark was so offhand, it seemed like just a playful comment made to Cen Mingshu.

After saying it, she pulled a book from the shelf. “Next time you see Zheng Huan, bring her this book for me. It’s my teacher’s latest research on serial killers.”

Jiang Se was meeting Zheng Huan at the end of the month. She nodded, taking the book. “She’ll be back by then. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

Dr. Gina’s deep brown eyes reflected Jiang Se’s face as she smiled. “Thank you. When you see her, remind her to come see me. She needs therapy just as much as you do.”

—

As soon as Jiang Se got into her car, she placed the book on serial killers on the passenger seat.

When she got home, she brought the book to her room, about to message Zheng Huan, when Guo Qian called.

Miss Guo had sent over a hundred WeChat messages that morning without a single reply. She’d clearly reached her limit.

Sure enough, the moment the call connected, Guo Qian’s voice was uncontainable.

“What’s up with Lu Huaiyan? First, there were rumors with Sun Wei, and now he’s moving on to the Guan girl without missing a beat. Se Se, let me tell you, that video was filmed at Guan Jiayi’s villa in the UK!”

“That villa belongs to Guan Jiayi’s grandmother,” Jiang Se said, placing the book on her shelf calmly. “Even if it was her villa, why are you more upset about it than I am?”

“Guan Jiayi’s the principal dancer at Beiba now, and she’s always running to Grandpa Lu’s place whenever she has a chance. It’s painfully obvious she wants to be his granddaughter-in-law.” Guo Qian paused, then turned her focus straight at Jiang Se. “You’ve been back in Beicheng for days, haven’t you? Have you seen Grandpa Lu?”

Jiang Se’s hand froze as she set the book down.

On her second day back, Lu Huaiyan had asked if she wanted to visit the old residence to play with the macaw and have dinner with his grandfather.

She’d declined.

“No, I’ve been busy,” Jiang Se said evenly. “Qianqian, everyone has the right to openly like someone. If Guan Jiayi likes Lu Huaiyan, that’s their business. It has nothing to do with me, you, or anyone else.”

Guo Qian fell silent for a moment. “Se Se, why do I feel like you’re not even taking this relationship seriously? I thought—”

She didn’t finish, but Jiang Se knew what she meant.

This was her first relationship, and with someone she’d once liked. For most people, they’d fall hard. Faced with something like this, they’d at least throw a fit or get jealous, not stay as calm as she was.

Jiang Se lowered her lashes. “Stop worrying about this stuff. Focus on graduating. If you don’t want to come back for an arranged marriage, stay abroad. Aunt won’t abandon you.”

When Jiang Se had first arrived in Tongcheng, Guo Qian had proudly claimed she’d asked her grandfather for help and offered to split the “emergency funds” with her. But the old man, perhaps thinking Guo Qian was too reckless, reneged on his promise.

Money? Sure, come back to the country first.

Guo Qian’s funds went down the drain.

“I know,” Guo Qian said. “I’m looking for internship opportunities. Worst case, I’ll go work for Aunt.”

With the topic shifted, Guo Qian finally stopped talking about Guan Jiayi and Lu Huaiyan, chattering instead about her grand ambitions.

By the time the call ended, it was dark outside.

The twilight couldn’t dim the glow of the city’s countless lights.

Jiang Se placed her new medication on the bedside, took a shower, and when she stepped into the living room, her eyes caught the piano in the corner.

She thought again of the piece Lu Huaiyan had played in the video.

*Clair de Lune*.

Her favorite piece.

Jiang Se could play the piano too. Their childhood music education had started with the piano.

After mastering music theory, they moved on to the violin.

Seven years ago, after injuring her hand, she could no longer play the violin.

She could still play the piano, but her left pinky lacked strength, making the music sound off.

She never minded the scars on her body.

Even if the music sounded imperfect, she played when she wanted, unafraid of others’ judgment.

Jiang Se walked over, lifted the piano cover, and sat on the bench, letting the melody lingering in her mind flow through her fingertips.

The music sang.

Outside, a man stepped out of the elevator, not rushing to unlock the door. He stood quietly, his suit jacket draped over his arm, listening.

Only when the piece ended did he open the door.

Seeing him return, Jiang Se moved to close the piano cover, but the man, still lowering his head to take off his shoes, as if he had eyes on top of his head, said, “Wait a sec.”

He hung up his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and walked toward her.

“I’ll be your left hand,” he said, sitting behind her, his long legs casually bracketing hers. “That piece just now, *Clair de Lune*. I’ll play the left hand, you play the right.”

Jiang Se glanced back at him. “How’s that supposed to work?”

“It might not for others, but it will for us.” Lu Huaiyan leaned in, kissing her forehead. “Dare to try?”

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

Jiang Se turned back, her right hand on the keys, and without giving him time to prepare, she struck the first note. Mischievously, she varied the tempo—fast, then slow—stretching the five-minute piece to seven.

Yet, no matter how she changed the pace, he kept up.

The chaotic, playful rendition ended, and Lu Huaiyan’s right hand, resting on her waist, gave her a light pinch at her ticklish spot. “Had enough fun, young lady? Ready to play properly?”

The pinch made her laugh despite herself.

After that, she stopped messing around.

Her hand touched the keys, and she said to Lu Huaiyan, “Let’s go.”

“Mm.”

They pressed the keys simultaneously, their hands—one large, one small—blending seamlessly with each note, as if it were one person playing. He truly became her left hand.

The resonance of the music vibrated deep in their souls.

When the final note’s echo faded, they sat in silence for a moment.

Jiang Se heard Lu Huaiyan say, “Turn your head.”

She knew what he wanted, and it was what she wanted too. As she turned, she parted her lips.

His kiss was gentle, lingering, and soft.

But beneath the gentleness was an uncontainable, surging desire.

A light, ethereal piece had ignited their deepest longing for each other.

No matter how urgent he felt, Lu Huaiyan had no intention of doing anything on the piano. He gently closed the cover, lifted her with one arm, kissing her as he carried her to her room, his right hand undoing his shirt buttons and belt.

The bedroom curtains were already drawn, the room silent, desire fermenting in the darkness.

Lu Huaiyan noticed the girl seemed to carry a spark of anger today.

Her bite on his shoulder was deep, drawing blood, so much that when he leaned down to kiss her, he tasted iron.

Yet he relished this bit of her temper in bed.

When they first got together, she’d clung to him like a vine but never bit him, never left marks, never called his name in the heat of the moment.

Now, she not only bit him but loved calling his name.

He was a bit rough, and Jiang Se couldn’t help but bite again.

Lu Huaiyan let her, his grip on her waist tightening, his voice low and husky by her ear. “Why do I feel like you’re mad at me?”

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