Chapter 46: Zhong Xiaoqin Says She Has No Regrets

At the hospital entrance.

“Xiaoqin, what am I supposed to say to you?” Xiaoqin’s mother sighed.

Her father stood beside her, shaking his head.

“Oh, Mom, Dad, don’t worry about me. I’m fine now.”

“You’re remarried—what’s going to happen to you later? How can we not worry? There’ll come a day you regret this.” Xiaoqin’s mother spoke with frustrated disappointment.

“Don’t worry—I absolutely don’t regret it. I’ve had enough of that life.”

Seeing she was about to speak again, Xiaoqin quickly said: “Enough, Mom, Dad. Don’t trouble yourselves—I’m an adult. Don’t you think I know what I want?”

After comforting her parents for a while longer, she called a car to take them away.

Watching the receding tail lights, Xiaoqin sighed.

She knew her parents feared for her future, but right now she felt content—she believed her choice was right, and she didn’t regret it.

Back at her rental, Xiaoqin talked with Zhong Xiaoyang for a while, sharing what had happened that day.

Zhong Xiaoyang replied half-heartedly, then ended the conversation. He had no energy for romance anymore; just maintaining casual contact was enough.

Xiaoqin didn’t know the details, but she knew Zhong Xiaoyang’s family had hit trouble. She understood the sudden upheaval and even comforted him.

Another month passed in the blink of an eye.

During this time, many things happened.

Wang Yan, Gu Jia, and Xu Ziyang spent another pleasant stretch of time in Henglu Village.

Henglu Village underwent massive construction and transformed greatly.

Gu Jia was never short on money—not only from Wang Yan’s gifts, but also from the several million she’d received from her former Junyue Mansion property, so she never counted on tea sales for profit.

After setting aside funds for normal operations, she used most of the remaining money to develop Henglu Village.

She helped repair the homes of lonely elderly villagers and left behind a dedicated fund to care for them.

The villagers were simple and kind, always looking after their elders—but their own conditions were poor, so their help was limited. Gu Jia’s money essentially solved the problem.

The mountain path grew slippery in the rain, dangerously so; it was all leveled and reinforced.

The village’s stone paths were left untouched, only lightly repaired to help elderly villagers with mobility issues. After all, it was the moss-covered, uneven stone path, winding up the slope, that carried the accumulated years—the dream recalled by every generation born here, the longing of every wanderer far from home.

Wang Yan thought: in their memories, there would surely be “that moss-covered, uneven stone path beside the willow tree in front of our home.”

The children's school was made of wood and had rotted over the years; it was also repaired. She bought many books for extracurricular reading and replaced the old desks and chairs with new ones.

She also fixed up various other small details—overall, Henglu Village had changed dramatically.

The villagers wore happy smiles, eagerly awaiting the next tea harvest.

Because Gu Jia had said: every time tea was sold, the leftover money would go back into developing Henglu Village.

The excited village chief could only keep thanking Gu Jia over and over. The whole village threw a grand feast to celebrate their improving lives. After spending more time together, the initial distance faded—they realized Wang Yan was an open, honest man, and they poured drinks down his throat relentlessly.

Not drinking meant you didn’t show enough respect; not drinking meant you looked down on them; not drinking meant you refused their face.

Wang Yan couldn’t bring himself to refuse—it would ruin the mood. He drank from morning to night; he wasn’t a wine barrel, and he ended up vomiting uncontrollably. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore—he was terrified. Since his purpose for coming had been fulfilled and he’d stayed long enough, he quickly took Xu Ziyang, who pouted and didn’t want to leave, and Gu Jia, who was laughing helplessly, and fled back to Shanghai in disarray.

Since the incident with Wang Manni, Jiang Chen had been spending time with her almost every day.

Wang Manni knew Jiang Chen’s feelings for her, but she said nothing.

Jiang Chen knew Wang Manni knew his feelings, but he said nothing either.

After starting work, Wang Manni would sometimes sit at Jiang Chen’s coffee shop, just talking.

She didn’t know if she’d moved on, but at least she’d started smiling again. With Jiang Chen, she mostly spoke of the bitterness of eight years of drifting ending in nothing; with Xiaoqin, she mostly spoke of her weariness with her current life.

It seemed that after this experience, she had seen through everything, accepted her fate, and bowed her head.

Jiang Chen saw it all, and it pained him deeply—but no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t bring himself to speak.

After so much anxiety, the outcome for Zhong Xiaoyang’s family finally came.

His father was definitely done for. In the end, they kept only their family home and his Shanghai apartment, plus a few ten thousand yuan in cash—nothing else.

He had long since gotten past the initial shock; he’d expected this result. Zhong Xiaoyang’s demeanor was surprisingly stable—he had no choice, after all. Life had to go on.

His mother had walked through it step by step. Perhaps it was a woman’s nature—she couldn’t bear the collapse of a once-thriving family and career. At first, she was terrified and anxious, but now she was doing better.

After settling his mother, Zhong Xiaoyang returned to Shanghai.

He was no longer the rich second-generation—he now had to worry about daily survival.

Of course, he still had to do what needed doing.

Zhong Xiaoyang put his things at home, then went to find Xiaoqin.

He knew the address—she’d told him before.

When Xiaoqin returned from work, she saw Zhong Xiaoyang sitting at her door and was stunned with joy.

“Oh! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

Zhong Xiaoyang forced a smile: “I wanted to give you a surprise.”

He stepped forward and hugged Xiaoqin tightly, tightly.

Xiaoqin felt the emotion radiating from him and didn’t resist.

After a long while, unable to bear the stares of passersby, Xiaoqin patted his back: “Enough, everyone’s watching. Let’s go inside.”

Zhong Xiaoyang silently let go, saying nothing.

But Xiaoqin saw his reddened eyes and felt a sudden pang of sympathy.

Inside the apartment, Xiaoqin said: “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Shall I buy some groceries and we cook together?”

Zhong Xiaoyang shook his head and pulled Xiaoqin down onto the sofa.

“I missed you.”

“You know, during this time, you were the one constantly comforting me...”

As he spoke, Zhong Xiaoyang hugged Xiaoqin again. Perhaps thinking of how a once-rich second-generation now struggled for survival, his emotions broke loose—he burst into tears.

Xiaoqin silently patted his back, whispering soothing words.

“There, there. It’s okay—I’m right here with you.”

After a long while, Zhong Xiaoyang felt he’d released enough. He let go of Xiaoqin and wiped his tears.

Xiaoqin handed him tissues and asked gently: “What exactly happened?”

With red eyes, Zhong Xiaoyang couldn’t tell the truth—that would be insane.

He polished the story and told Xiaoqin a softened version.

After listening, Xiaoqin worriedly asked: “Oh? Is your mother okay?”

“She’s fine. Don’t worry—I’ve taken care of everything.”

Seeing Xiaoqin was about to ask more, Zhong Xiaoyang quickly changed the subject—he feared he’d unravel if he kept talking. “Enough, enough. Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

He cupped her face in both hands, locking eyes with her: “Do you love me?”

Xiaoqin hadn’t reacted yet—this leap was too sudden.

Seeing Zhong Xiaoyang’s forced strength, Xiaoqin felt a flicker of panic. She didn’t know if she loved him—she simply stayed silent.

The atmosphere thickened. Zhong Xiaoyang slowly, slowly leaned in.

Xiaoqin nervously closed her eyes.

Feeling the warmth of his lips, she instinctively responded...

The moment was perfect—wasn’t this exactly when you acted? Zhong Xiaoyang’s hands tentatively circled Xiaoqin’s neck, then slowly slid downward.

No one came by to mention Chen Yu’s silent devotion, no awkwardness lingered about being with Zhong Xiaoyang. In her heart, he was the one she’d always imagined as her ideal.

Xiaoqin’s body stiffened, yet she didn’t resist—she felt deep pity for this once-bright boy now forcing a hollow smile.

No sudden phone rang, no unexpected visitor arrived. Everything flowed smoothly, naturally—like water finding its course.

Afterwards, Xiaoqin, flushed with maidenly shyness, buried her face under the covers.

Thinking of what had happened, she felt both shame and panic.

She was ashamed because, secretly, she’d compared him—Zhong Xiaoyang, young and fiery, was far stronger than Chen Yu.

She was panicked because she hadn’t expected to give herself so easily—would he look down on her? Would he think her loose?

The blanket was suddenly yanked back—Xiaoqin let out a startled cry.

Seeing Zhong Xiaoyang staring at her, she quickly grabbed the blanket to cover herself: “Don’t look! Close your eyes!”

Zhong Xiaoyang paused, triumphant, then forcefully rolled over and pinned her down, kissing her lips hard.

Xiaoqin stopped resisting—she instinctively responded.

Zhong Xiaoyang released everything—the pent-up frustration, the bitterness—all of it.

Xiaoqin savored it—she wanted to completely forget Chen Yu, to love this bright boy with all her heart.

Afterwards, Xiaoqin was no longer shy. After two rounds, she was tired, her face flushed, her body still trembling as she lay curled against Zhong Xiaoyang’s chest.

“Will you be good to me?”

“For life.”

“Mm.”

After hugging a while longer, Xiaoqin grew hungry and didn’t want to cook. She picked up her phone and ordered takeout.

They ate, then did it again, and finally fell asleep.

Wang Yan’s family returned to Shanghai and rested for another day as usual.

The next day, school resumed, work resumed—everyone went back to their routines.

Again, so much time had passed—the company had piled up tasks, and Wang Yan had to handle them before he could be idle again.

Gu Jia, however, was better off. After upgrading her social circle, she invited Xiaoqin and Wang Manni to meet again.

It had been nearly a month since they last saw each other—everyone had changed a lot.

“Mannni, how are you?” Gu Jia, knowing what had happened, asked Wang Mannni first.

“I’m okay. But after this, I’ve finally understood.”

Seeing both of them look at her, she gave a self-deprecating smile: “I’ve wasted eight years. Maybe this place was never my home.”

Zhong Xiaoqin asked from beside her: “So you’re thinking of going back to your hometown?”

“I’ve been hesitating for a while. Not decided yet. I’ll see how things go.”

Neither of them spoke. This was her own matter—what could two locals say?

After a moment of silence, Gu Jia said: “Hey, Mannni, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Go ahead,” Wang Mannni nodded.

“This morning, over tea with the ladies in my circle, I heard something—I don’t know if it’s true.”

“There’s a man surnamed Liang who was expelled from his family. He was spotted in Hushi by an old friend. Soon after, the Liang family collapsed. Now they’ve mostly fled overseas.”

“They’re from Hong Kong. I don’t know if it’s Liang Zhengxian’s family. None of them knew the exact name—just mentioned it in passing.”

A thunderclap out of nowhere—Wang Mannni froze. Flash after flash of Liang Zhengxian’s strange behavior since returning from Hong Kong passed through her mind: “Yes. Yes. It all fits.”

She remembered the night he vanished—his unspoken words, his hesitation.

“It must be Liang Zhengxian. It has to be him.”

Wang Mannni’s face turned pale, stunned and afraid.

She recalled the conversation she’d had with Liang Zhengxian right after he returned from Hong Kong.

She had asked him—about marriage.

“So close. Just so close.”

Even Zhong Xiaoqin, though slow-witted, now understood from Wang Mannni’s shifting expression and asked worriedly: “Mannni, are you okay?”

Wang Mannni snapped back to reality, dazed: “Huh? Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking about some things.”

Though everyone knew, she didn’t want to speak of Liang Zhengxian again. What could she say? That hearing the news had halved her longing for him? That her resentment had vanished—and now she even felt grateful he let her go?

She changed the subject: “Enough about me. Tell me about you, Xiaoqin?”

“You’ve been different today. Your complexion is glowing.”

“What’s the good news? Tell us!”

Gu Jia added from beside her: “Yes, Xiaoqin, you really do look different today.”

At this, Zhong Xiaoqin blushed.

She said shyly: “I’m with Zhong Xiaoyang now.”

“Aren’t you already together?”

Wang Mannni realized it instantly, and let out a long, knowing “Oh.”

She added quickly: “Tell us how it happened! Just a while ago you said he was still in your hometown—how could this have happened in just a few days?”

Gu Jia felt it was awkward, but said nothing. She just echoed Wang Mannni’s “Oh.” After all, she herself had been the same—what right did she have to judge? Besides, Zhong Xiaoqin’s face glowed with happiness. Say too much, and she might lose a friend.

Zhong Xiaoqin, radiant with joy, began recounting her sweet, romantic love story—telling them everything from that day.

When she finished, Wang Mannni smiled warmly: “I wish you happiness, Xiaoqin.”

Gu Jia could only echo: “I wish you happiness.” Everyone walks their own path—she had no right to interfere.

The conversation turned light, shifting to Gu Jia’s experiences in Henglu Village.

Though Gu Jia knew she had reached this point largely thanks to Wang Yan’s resources,

her own efforts and sacrifices could not be ignored. Seeing Henglu Village improve day by day, she was genuinely happy.

She told them about Henglu Village and some of the tea factories.

Naturally, she received lavish praise—and envy mixed with resentment.

That night, Zhong Xiaoqin lay in Zhong Xiaoyang’s arms, blissful and sweet.

Wang Mannni lay alone in bed, Liang Zhengxian’s words echoing in her ears, turning restlessly, unable to sleep.

She understood clearly: Liang Zhengxian ran because he had always known her mind—knew what kind of woman she was.

In other words, from beginning to end, Liang Zhengxian had never taken her seriously.

She truly owed Liang Zhengxian thanks. Had he agreed to marry her, Wang Mannni knew she would have demanded a divorce.

What if he’d been cruel and refused to divorce? What then?

And after divorce, what would become of her—a woman with two marriages behind her?

How would she face her aging parents back home? How would she face the neighbors’ whispers and stares?

She thought and thought—endlessly.

She thought of all she’d endured in Hushi, all the people she’d met. She truly didn’t want to go on. She couldn’t hold on anymore. She was tired.

Her parents had called many times, urging her to return.

“Maybe… it’s time to go back?”

For no clear reason, Wang Mannni’s nose tingled, and she burst into tears.

Because here lay her lost youth, her unfulfilled dreams, her stubborn refusal to settle, her refusal to be ordinary.

But now she was older. She’d been discarded. Her dreams were shattered. She had gained nothing—not even a single thing.

In her heart, she asked herself: “Do you regret it?”

Tears and snot streamed down. She clenched her teeth: “I don’t regret it.”

She cried, thought, grieved, remembered—until, without realizing, she fell asleep.

The next day, Wang Mannni submitted her resignation at work.

The process went smoothly. No messy drama.

Colleagues asked, concerned, why she was quitting so suddenly.

Wang Mannni simply smiled: “I miss home.”

No one knew what her colleagues thought, but each wore a thoughtful, unreadable expression.

Later, she arranged to meet Zhong Xiaoqin and Gu Jia for one last dinner—to drink deeply, wildly, as a farewell.

Wang Mannni didn’t know what exactly she was bidding farewell to. The city of Hushi? Or perhaps her former self?

Walking slowly along streets always crowded with cars by day and lit by neon by night, she found herself, without realizing, outside Jiang Chen’s coffee shop.