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... ow that’s a lie, Mara."

His eyes bore into hers, searching for a flicker of truth, a sign that his words might reach the heart he once knew.

"You and him... You were never together, not really. He’s just your friend. Because your heart it still belongs to me. Your body remembers my touch, craves it. You love me, not him. Admit it, Mara. You’re doing all this just to hurt me, aren’t you?"

His voice cracked, the weight of his pain pressing down on him.

"How much lon ...

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Mo Qian Xue now lives in a soddy, destitute, small house with broken furnitures. The grass had grown wild and unruly from lack of proper care. The rice pot in the kitchen, it’s left empty. Well, this mess seemed quite manageable, however, why is it they only have one quilt in the house?

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Mo Qian Xue worked hard to become rich. She built workshops, opened factories, one aided by her sickly husband towards prosperity. Fortunately, she could live a peaceful life far from bickering relatives, but then, much to her dismay, she still had to deal with the villagers knocking on her door.

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