Chapter 61: Twisted

She sat by the flower bed, wildly imagining, her hands trembling with excitement—even if the scene had never truly happened, just picturing it in her mind gave her immense satisfaction.

But after a while, just as that satisfaction faded, a sharp wave of shame surged into her heart, making her want to slap herself hard.

Yang Yi, pathetic Yang Yi, do you really have to rely on a man to reclaim your dignity? Rely on some inexplicable, fleeting love? On a prize that could vanish at any moment—to make up for your wounded pride, your humiliated vanity? Where is your sense of shame? Don’t you feel ashamed?

You actually imagine parading Chen Huanyue before them, showing off, flaunting your superiority? It’s not just ridiculous—it’s utterly pitiful.

You have nothing to offer, yet you want to prove your worth, your strengths, your very existence—by clinging to a man, and one who may not even belong to you!

You’d be better off dead. You’d be better off killing yourself—dying to prove you won’t endure humiliation—is more dignified than proving yourself through a man’s hollow, fleeting love.

She had never hated herself this much—hated everything about herself, her parents, her family, her poverty, her weakness, her cowardice, her incompetence! She hated her vanity, she hated her inferiority.

She even hated Chen Huanyue—for injecting this faint color into her pale life, giving her unnecessary fantasies, giving her unreasonable hopes.

If I had never had it, I wouldn’t be so terrified. You made my barren life feel even more barren.

She clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. She bowed her head, biting her lower lip until it nearly bled.

Night fell slowly. Around her, classmates came and went, none noticing the girl sitting by the flower bed, her inner world in turmoil.

After a long while, she finally came to her senses—the night was fully dark.

She wandered aimlessly across campus, carrying two thermoses.

Look at them—why are they so carefree? Why is she always so burdened, so anxious?

Look at that couple—their expressions so relaxed, laughing and playfully shoving each other as they passed her by—while she couldn’t even walk openly beside Chen Huanyue.

Look at those girls, returning with bulging supermarket bags. She never dared buy so many snacks. Every time she went to the supermarket, she silently calculated the prices on the labels.

Look at those two girls ahead—one in a snow-white chiffon dress, the other in a miniskirt—confident, bold, radiating the unique charm of their age. And she—she looked down at her faded gray T-shirt, her worn denim shorts, her thirty-five-yuan flat sandals.

She had no money to dress herself, and she only ever wore plain, modest clothes, never daring to reveal even a sliver of skin.

Inferiority enveloped her constantly—shyness and squalor oozed from every cautious glance, every hunched gesture, every forced tone of voice, even from every pore, every strand of hair.

She thought of Chen Huanyue—she didn’t know what she felt for him. Did she love him? It didn’t seem like it.

More likely, it was gratitude—for the glimmer and fantasy he brought to her sorrowful life, for the splash of color that brightened her pale existence.

Though she always suspected his motives—perhaps he wanted to laugh at her, to experience the life of the lower class as a lofty young master, to indulge in the condescending pity of a prince falling for a Cinderella—still, he had truly entered her life, hadn’t he?

Yes, she had never dreamed of a future between them. There was no future for them—how could there ever be?

They could only meet in this ivory tower, in this place where neither identity nor class mattered, sharing a pure, simple love untainted by profit or materialism—then part ways, returning to their original worlds.

That was her vision of the future.

She filled two thermoses, but didn’t want to return to the dormitory—perhaps she didn’t want to face their faces, perhaps she didn’t want to face how they would stir her emotions again.

So she wandered aimlessly across campus, carrying the two thermoses, with no destination, no purpose, walking alone, utterly isolated.

At this moment, she even missed Chen Huanyue—even if he was lying to her. His gentle smile, his soft words, his tender demeanor, his calm actions—these could soothe her current confusion, bring warmth to her hollow heart—even if it was warmth like poison.

Where was he now? What was he doing?

For the first time, she wanted to reach out to him—call him, ask what he was doing. Even if she couldn’t see him, just hearing his voice, receiving a simple phrase, begging for two words of comfort, could free her from this loneliness and uncertainty.

But she didn’t want to call. She feared she’d grow used to his presence, used to his comfort, used to depending on him—and when he left, she’d find it unbearable. For now, at least, she could still hold on.

Besides, she made herself as poised as a princess, as proud as a queen—to uphold a dignity stronger than any princess or queen, even though she was penniless, insignificant—her spirit was absolutely noble, even arrogant.

But in secret, in a corner she refused to acknowledge, a bubble floated up, fleeting: “Chen Huanyue, why don’t you contact me? Why aren’t you reaching out to me right now?… I’m waiting for your call… even a text would do…”

As soon as the bubble rose, she crushed it—she refused to give herself even a sliver of extra hope.

Don’t think of him! Don’t let his name enter your mind—his figure, his face, his smile, his words, everything about him—forget it all!

This is weakness! This is incompetence! This is meaningless fantasy!

Think of your professional knowledge. Think of the job you’ll do tomorrow. Even think of the key points for your final exam—these grounded things are what you can truly grasp.

She carried the thermoses halfway across campus until her arms ached, her legs tired, her body drained, her mind finally calm. Just as she turned to head back to the dorm, Chen Huanyue called.

“Xiao Yi, where are you?” His voice was gentle, almost excited.

“I’m…” Her tone rose slightly, but she caught herself, forcing it flat. “I’m filling hot water.”

“Good. I’ll come find you.” Then he hung up.

Yang Yi stood there, bewildered. But quickly, she carried the two thermoses to the path leading to the dorm’s water station, trying to appear ordinary.

When Chen Huanyue saw her, he smiled—his pale skin flushed faintly with excitement. He snatched the thermoses from her hands, forgetting how she always kept distance from him in public, and casually grabbed a stranger—a male classmate—and cheerfully asked him to deliver the thermoses to Yang Yi’s dorm entrance.

The boy agreed—Chen Huanyue always had this ability: to make people obey him effortlessly, even feel honored.

Then he took her hand and led her toward the campus gate, his excitement and anticipation unmistakable—this was the first time she’d seen him so unguarded.

“Where are we going?” she asked uneasily.

“Let’s go eat.” He spoke mysteriously, then laughed self-consciously at his own tone. “Come on, come on—you’ll see when we get there.”

She followed him, puzzled and uneasy, to the campus gate—where a long black limousine waited. She didn’t recognize the brand, but knew it was astronomically expensive—beyond anything she could imagine—and Chen Huanyue was pulling her toward it.

Her unease grew. She stopped, wrenching her hand free. “What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

Her heart pounded wildly—and she didn’t know why it raced so fast—later, she realized it was fear of confronting the vast, unspoken chasm she’d always avoided seeing.

“My mom’s on a business trip and passed by our campus. She heard I’m dating someone, so she wanted to take us out for dinner.” He tried to sound casual, as if this were as ordinary as attending tomorrow’s class.

But his uncontainable excitement, his boyish eagerness—the way he acted like a child showing off his greatest achievement to his mother—revealed how much he anticipated this.

Yang Yi’s heart sank deeper and deeper, frantic and struggling.

She didn’t know what she was thinking—she only remembered herself retreating, desperate to flee—as if she weren’t meeting her boyfriend’s mother, but some monstrous beast.

“What’s wrong, Xiao Yi? Don’t worry—my mom’s the gentlest person!” Chen Huanyue finally noticed her pale face. He halted, his usually sharp tongue turning clumsy:

“It’s nothing—just a regular dinner. She’s just an ordinary middle-aged woman. Don’t be afraid… Maybe we shouldn’t go? Let’s go back to campus… I’ll call her…”

Ignoring his mother’s car, just a few steps away, he half-dragged Yang Yi back, anxiously reassuring her: “Don’t worry—it’s nothing. My mom’s just curious… she’s just passing through… she means nothing by it…”

Yang Yi broke out in cold sweat, as if drowning—but she gripped Chen Huanyue’s arm like a lifeline, forcing her lips to stop trembling: “Go back. Your mom’s waiting. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. I’ll walk back to the dorm myself.”

But Chen Huanyue refused to let her leave alone—perhaps her face was so terrible he insisted on escorting her back; she nearly cried from panic.

As they struggled, a woman stepped out of the limousine and called softly: “What’s going on?”

“Mom, Xiao Yi… she’s not feeling well. I wanted to take her back to the dorm…” Chen Huanyue quickly explained, blaming himself for their tugging.

The woman was slender, well-maintained, appearing only about thirty. She walked over calmly, studied Yang Yi, then said kindly: “Oh, silly boy—your girlfriend isn’t well! Come, the car has hygiene items and warm drinks…” And without hesitation, she took Yang Yi’s hand and led her toward the car.

At that moment, she suddenly calmed as if enlightened by a wise monk—and in her heart, she made a decision, one that gave her sudden composure.

What was there to fear? Worst case, she’d be criticized, humiliated, scrutinized—perhaps with lofty disdain, perhaps with gentle but relentless pressure, perhaps with veiled implications—but none of it would escape these patterns—and she’d already made her decision. What was there to fear?

They entered the car—it was the first time in her life she’d ridden such a luxurious vehicle—but now she barely remembered its interior. Her mother and son had spoken, asked her questions—she couldn’t recall her answers. What she remembered most clearly was her rigid posture and a cup of sweet floral tea.

They arrived at a luxury chain hotel—she only now remembered: Lihao Hotel—but at the time, she hadn’t noticed. She’d been consumed by how to endure the coming humiliations and mockery.

Just like her imagined confrontation by the flower bed, she again envisioned herself being humiliated—preferably brutally: money thrown at her face, checks flung scornfully onto her, tea splashed over her head—even worse, a bowl of hot soup poured from her scalp down her body—so she could leave like a heroine in a drama, proud and aloof, leaving only a solitary silhouette behind.

So she forced herself to be neither humble nor haughty, neither cold nor fawning, neither too talkative nor too silent—it was excruciatingly hard, perhaps the hardest thing she’d ever done at a dinner table.

But nothing happened. None of her imaginings came true. Chen Huanyue’s mother was kind, graceful. Only occasionally did her gaze betray a mother’s instinctive scrutiny of her son’s girlfriend—otherwise, she was calm, gentle.

Gratitude and disappointment arose together in her heart. She hated her gratitude—she felt like a slave thanking his master for a moldy loaf of bread.

For her disappointment, she felt another sorrow: she realized, tragically, that her character and personality had been twisted—twisted by poverty, twisted by this damned fate, completely and utterly.