Beyond the Shadow, I Am Finally Myself
Su Qing stared at the seven-tenths sweet tiramisu in front of her. The cocoa powder sprinkled on the cream looked like a layer of late autumn dust. The cloying sweetness mixed with the expensive perfume in the restaurant made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Not to your taste?" Lu Tingxiao's voice came from across the table, deep and steady, with no hint of emotion. He had just finished an international video call, and still carried the coldness of the study with him. His gaze, framed by gold-rimmed glasses, swept over her like he was scanning an inanimate object.
"Too sweet," Su Qing said honestly. Her taste buds still clearly remembered the dark forest cake she'd loved a year ago—the rich, slightly bitter aroma held the edges of her personality that hadn't yet been worn down by marriage.
"Weiwei likes this level of sweetness," Lu Tingxiao cut his steak with textbook elegance, his tone flat as if stating an undeniable law of physics. "From now on, all desserts at home will be made to this standard."
Weiwei again.
That woman—who only existed in the photo frame in Lu Tingxiao's study, in his occasional distracted memories, and in countless demands of "You should be more like her"—wrapped Su Qing's marriage like an invisible plastic film, airtight. She had to wear the white tea perfume Weiwei preferred, the plain-colored clothes she liked, hold her coffee cup with her left hand, and even have her speaking speed corrected for "not being gentle enough." For a year, Su Qing had lived as a carefully calibrated replica of someone else—everyone except herself.
"I'm not her," Su Qing set down her silver spoon. The crisp clink of metal against bone china cut through the quiet restaurant. It took all the courage she'd been storing up to say it; the days of enduring had left her exhausted.
Lu Tingxiao finally looked up, as if truly noticing her presence for the first time. A faint, almost mocking smile tugged at his lips. "Su Qing, do I need to remind you of our agreement?"
The agreement. A deal where she traded her marriage to keep her father's small company afloat. When she'd nodded yes back then, it was partly due to the weight of reality, and maybe a lingering schoolgirl crush on this senior. But she'd been naive—marriage wasn't salvation; it was a deeper quagmire, and she was the shadow gasping for air at the bottom.
"I know," she lowered her eyes, staring at her knuckles that had turned pale with tension. "I'm honoring the agreement and playing the part of Mrs. Lu, but do I have to give up my sense of taste too?"
"It's not giving up—it's adjusting," he corrected her, no room for negotiation in his voice. "Or maybe the funding for your father's company this quarter needs to be re-evaluated."
He always knew exactly where to twist the knife. Su Qing said nothing more, picked up her spoon again, and scooped a large bite of tiramisu into her mouth. The overwhelming sweetness burned her throat, but she forced it down. Her eyes stung involuntarily—not from sadness, but from the physical reaction to the cloying taste. Over the past year, she'd swallowed far more than just unpleasant desserts—countless blows to her dignity, and the grievance of being treated like a shadow.
Lu Tingxiao didn't look at her again. His gaze drifted to the bustling night view outside the window, vacant. Su Qing knew he was staring through the lights, gazing at the white moonlight that only existed in his memories. This constant "absence" was more suffocating than any harsh words.
Back in the bedroom, she removed her makeup. The woman in the mirror had a pale face, with exhaustion etched deep in her eyes. She opened the wardrobe—filled with plain, elegant clothes that fit "Weiwei's style," not a hint of extra color, like her buried past. She knelt down and rummaged through the bottom of the wardrobe, pulling out an old cardboard box. Inside was a neatly folded red dress—not a bold scarlet, but a terracotta red with orange undertones that brightened her complexion and matched her once-spirited personality. She'd bought it with her first bonus after starting work, a symbol of her longing for an independent life. But after marrying Lu Tingxiao, it had been condemned to the bottom of the wardrobe forever.
Her fingers brushed the soft cotton fabric, and her eyes finally overflowed with tears. She wasn't someone who cried easily, but this year had drained all her reserves of patience.
Her phone vibrated—it was a voice message from her best friend Tang Yue. "Qing, is he making you act like Weiwei again? I'm telling you, leave him! You're so talented—you could make it anywhere! Your dad's company is important, but your life matters too!"