When Su Qinghan returned home, the villa was pitch black.
The servants had probably already gone to sleep. Only a nightlight was left on in the living room, casting a dim yellow glow over the flowers at the entrance that hadn’t been arranged yet.
She stood at the door for a while, changed her shoes, and without turning on any lights, went upstairs in the dark.
Pushing open the bedroom door, moonlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spreading a thin layer of silver frost across the floor.
She didn’t wash up or change clothes. She simply fell onto the bed, pulled the blanket over herself, and hugged it messily.
Outside the window, there were stars. The autumn night sky was high and far, with stars scattered sparsely across the canopy, flickering on and off, as if someone had casually sprinkled a handful of crushed diamonds.
She stared at the starlight without blinking.
Today she had celebrated Jiang Muyun’s birthday; it should have been a happy occasion.
She had waited so long for this day—ever since Jiang Muyun went abroad, she had been waiting.
Waiting for her to come back, to stand before her, to smile and say,
“Qinghan, long time no see.”
Today, all of that came true. Jiang Muyun was still so beautiful, so gentle. When she smiled, there was a whole world in her eyes.
But for some reason, at this moment, she didn’t feel any joy at all.
There was an emptiness in her chest, as if something had been gouged out, and the wind passed through it, leaving a chill.
She realized that all she could think about was Yan Yu.
Yan Yu being bullied by Jiang Muyun and her friends—sitting alone in a corner, her evening gown stained, with a faint expression that seemed like a smile or like she was about to cry.
Yan Yu with Dai Feng—Dai Feng pushing her wheelchair, the two entering through the side door, the light falling on them, and for some reason, that image stung her eyes.
Yan Yu…
She opened that photo from the Moments again.
Then she closed her eyes, but the images only became clearer.
All at once, countless memories of the three years with Yan Yu flooded into her mind, like water from a breached dam, unstoppable.
She remembered their first meeting.
At that time, Jiang Muyun had just left, and she felt completely hollowed out, locking herself in her room every day.
It was Yan Yu who knocked on her door, carrying a bowl of hot soup, standing at the doorway, and said cautiously,
“Qinghan, have something to drink, or your stomach will hurt.”
She remembered those long nights.
She suffered from insomnia, and Yan Yu would stay with her, sometimes chatting, sometimes saying nothing, just sitting quietly.
Crickets chirped outside the window. The lamp on the coffee table cast long, overlapping shadows of the two of them, like a painting.
She remembered when she was in a bad mood, she would inexplicably take it out on Yan Yu.
Yan Yu never talked back, only lowered her head, and after she finished yelling, softly said,
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”
Thinking back now, it was clearly she who was being unreasonable, yet Yan Yu was the one apologizing.
She remembered all those times she made Yan Yu wear those clothes—clothes similar to Jiang Muyun’s style: white dresses, light blue blouses, and that pair of beige flats she once said looked good.
Yan Yu obediently put them on every time, stood in front of the mirror, and turned her head slightly to ask,
“Qinghan, do I look good?”
At the time, she thought it was only natural.
But now, behind every “Do I look good?” she realized there was an unspoken question: “When you look at me, are you really seeing me, or are you seeing her?”
Su Qinghan buried her face in the blanket, her breathing heavy and stifled.
Yan Yu’s smile—her eyes curved like crescent moons.
Her back when she sat in her wheelchair—small and frail, making you want to hug her from behind.
The loose hair that fell when she looked down at a book.
And the noodles she cooked—though average in taste, they always warmed her heart.
Three years. Over a thousand days and nights.
Yan Yu stayed by her side for three whole years.
And what she gave Yan Yu in return was nothing but the status of a “substitute” and a heart that had never truly belonged to her.
Su Qinghan turned over and lay on her back.
“But you were only after my money, weren’t you?”
“For three years, you never truly gave me your heart, did you?”
‘Was that really the case?’
Outside the window, the starlight was still cold and clear, illuminating the overly empty bedroom.
Su Qinghan suddenly felt that she had done something wrong.
But she didn’t want to think about exactly what—because she was afraid. Afraid that if she understood it clearly, she would realize she didn’t deserve the three years of kindness Yan Yu had given her.
That night, Su Qinghan had a dream.