“Jealousy.”
Li Yaru squinted lightly, appraising him, then suddenly smiled. “Does Zhuang Qiting get jealous? You have all the money, all the power, all the status—you have everything. Whatever you want, you get it. They can’t even compare to the tip of your pinky finger. They look at them like dogs. And you’re jealous?”
Zhuang Qiting heard the teasing tone in his wife’s voice but didn’t argue. He did look at them like dogs, but that didn’t stop jealousy.
When he lost control, he could even be jealous of a baby in swaddling clothes, let alone dogs.
After a sleepless day and night, his spirit stretched to the limit, his throat dry and cracked from thirst, he said hoarsely, “I am jealous, Ah Rou. I’m jealous of them.”
“I’m jealous that they can make you smile, win your favor, understand you, and earn your gaze and tenderness. But I always upset you, make you dislike me. I can only rely on my dominance and ruthlessness to keep you by my side. I often thank my money and power that I can give you endless riches, otherwise, you probably wouldn’t look at a man like me…” Zhuang Qiting’s lips curved faintly into a smile.
Only then did Li Yaru look at him seriously. She was stunned. “Zhuang Qiting, are you serious?”
“I’m very serious. Li Yaru.” Zhuang Qiting held his breath; his heavy, ragged breath felt like sinking into thick mud.
To open oneself up to a lover took courage, something he realized he lacked in front of Li Yaru. Being domineering, overbearing, and autocratic wasn’t about courage.
He gently placed his palm on the back of Li Yaru’s hand. The golden wedding ring on his ring finger sparkled; the diamond, enduring for twenty-five years, still shone eternal.
The red velvet tablecloth gleamed under the warm light.
“Ah Rou, I have no sense of security. I know you didn’t marry me willingly. If I gave you the choice again, you wouldn’t choose me. The kind of man you like is…” Zhuang Qiting was reluctant to admit it but had no choice. He lowered his voice, “Someone like Fan Zizhuo.”
Li Yaru’s mind went blank. Her heart tightened until all that was left was confusion and helplessness.
They had never spoken like this before; he had always been the man above all, invincible.
She often wondered how he could be so domineering—he must have been spoiled, surrounded by so many admirers, growing up with this overconfidence.
But now, his words revealed faint traces of… self-doubt?
“I…” Her voice trembled. After a long moment, she forced out, “I never said I liked men like Fan Zizhuo.”
“Did you?” Zhuang Qiting smiled. “He was your first love. Things between you were naturally complicated. But I…” He scoffed at himself, “I forced you.”
“You really did force me to like you back then.” Li Yaru shook her head.
Zhuang Qiting’s eyes darkened as he gazed out at the night sea.
The moon was bright tonight, and the waves shimmered with a delicate glow. Seagulls circled, flying here and there.
Once the words were out, continuing was no longer difficult. Zhuang Qiting was unusually relieved.
On this vast, endless sea of waves, it seemed there was nothing left unspeakable.
He looked at his wife’s stunning face as if gazing at the eighteen-year-old girl in a red dress sparkling on stage—she was as beautiful as a bright moon, as radiant as a star.
He regretted many things now, but having used every means to win her, he would never regret that.
“You said you were unwilling to fall for a coarse woman from the streets like me. That’s not true.”
The wine had long since breathed. Zhuang Qiting poured two glasses—handed one to Li Yaru, then drank the other in one gulp. “You don’t know how attractive you are. I’m dull, mature, domineering; even my own woman can’t read me. Except for satisfying you with money and in bed, I don’t seem to have any other way to keep you.”
Zhuang Qiting held the thin stem of the glass, smiling silently.
He had been dominant for most of his life, getting whatever he wanted, but in front of his lover, he was just an ordinary man.
The more he tried to hold on, the more he entangled himself.
Li Yaru pursed her lips and took a sip of the wine. Her other hand shyly grasped the tablecloth draped over her lap.
Actually, things weren’t as bad as he said. Sometimes he could be romantic—especially in that area, he was exceptionally gifted.
Whatever desires she had—money or feelings—she never lacked anything with Zhuang Qiting. He gave so much it overflowed.
Wasn’t this a way to enter her heart? How many women could be fulfilled without flaw in these ways, continually filled and filled again? How could they not grow fond?
She calmly put down her glass, lowering her voice. “You never said these things before. I’m… surprised.”
Zhuang Qiting smiled self-deprecatingly, gazing deeply at his wife. “I’m not good at saying this, Ah Rou. I don’t want you to look down on me. I want to be strong in your eyes—even if you don’t like me, you can rely on me or… use me.”
Li Yaru wanted to say she didn’t dislike him, but she didn’t want to comfort him like that, so she kept silent.
Her red lips stained by the wine deepened in color, her chin lifted slightly, making her jawline smooth and beautiful, proud.
Zhuang Qiting’s eyes darkened. He loved her proud, passionate, untamable look, and yet he was stubbornly determined to change her, to discipline her—even if it meant using the vilest methods to hold her.
He was truly despicable.
Every threatening word he said, he knew was a threat, a warning, each slap, every love bite dark and heavy.
When his father produced that agreement, he didn’t stop it, watching helplessly.
Afterwards, he endlessly showered her with the best and most extreme pleasures, wanting her to be unable to leave him, even if her heart wasn’t in it.
Maybe today was his reckoning.
Zhuang Qiting swirled his glass with two fingers, then turned to her. “Li Yaru, I have no security, no confidence in myself. I’m sorry for letting you misunderstand for so many years, for making you hurt and sad—it’s all my fault. You cried last night. As your husband, I’m ashamed. From now on—”
Li Yaru blinked, softly reminding, “Husband?”
The man froze, didn’t respond, only silently took a thin rosewood cigarette case and a golden-red lighter from inside his jacket.
His eyes lowered, not letting Li Yaru see the redness within. “I’ll tell them to bring out the dishes. I’ve said too much and wasted time.”
With that, he got up and hurried out of the cabin, already lighting a cigarette, needing something like pain relief.
Li Yaru watched his retreating figure and suddenly sighed. For some reason, she felt sorry, angry, and strangely endearing all at once.
Such a man, so high above everyone else, bowed his head physically, and now bowed in spirit. It must have been a tribulation for him too.
They didn’t seem like a couple married for twenty-five years, finally letting some things out at this moment.
All these years, she never truly understood him; he never truly understood her.
Fooling through twenty-five years, yet still every night was filled with endless passion—that was a kind of miracle.
They never bared their hearts, but their passion was like a diamond—eternal. Perhaps that was a match made in heaven.
Li Yaru rubbed her throbbing brows.
The waiter brought the main course—exquisite and intricate dishes clearly prepared with care, paired with different wines.
Li Yaru’s thoughts weren’t on the food, but not wanting to waste the chef’s efforts, she took a few bites—though she ate rather messily, stuffing herself with big mouthfuls.
The fish maw soup was thick, smooth, warm, and comforting.
Occasionally, she tilted her head to glance at the man on the deck. The strong sea breeze lifted the corner of his jacket, but his tall, upright frame remained unmoved.
Li Yaru had to admit this man had shielded her from the wind and rain for twenty-five years. Without him, she might be a different Li Yaru.
Whether that Li Yaru would be happier or worse, she couldn’t say. But she was sure she never regretted marrying him.
Zhuang Qiting could be terribly bad at times, but also very good.
The cigarette had been lit and extinguished several times. Sparks flickered in the wind, faint and unremarkable, just a tiny warmth in this vast dark sea.
Zhuang Qiting leaned against the railing in a forlorn way, occasionally turning to glance at the woman eating inside the cabin. She ate heartily, almost crudely, yet endearingly so.
He smiled, suddenly recalling the first time he took her golfing.
He’d deliberately struck a casual, handsome pose to attract her, but she stubbornly munched on a pile of broken crackers.
The first time they met, she said he was already thirty, nearly breaking his heart.
After that, he never wore dark clothes again, wanting her to see him as a youthful, dashing man.
He was always frustrated with her.
Often, he wondered if he was really so unattractive—was he only able to overwhelm her in bed?
Zhuang Qiting stopped thinking and turned quietly to the sea.
When the clicking of high heels came from behind, he turned to see her approaching gracefully.
“Finished eating?” he asked quietly.
“You’re not eating?” she asked, puzzled.
“I’m not hungry.”
Li Yaru hummed softly, tilting her head as the sea breeze blew her thick, curly black hair, making one want to reach out and touch it, finger through the silky strands inch by inch to the ends.
They looked at each other silently. She suddenly reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing his cheek.
Her tender finger pads fluttered like butterfly wings across his strong, sharp features. “I want to know why.”
Zhuang Qiting smelled the fragrance on her fingertips. His voice deepened, “Why what?”
“Why you have no security, why you lack confidence.”
Unable to bear her seeming taunt, Zhuang Qiting suddenly gripped her rebellious fingers tightly, staring at her darkly, fierce.