Liking

She felt like she wanted to die.

In the past, when Xing Yue lost her temper, she often argued with Bu Yao. It wasn't that Xing Yue had a bad temper. There were simply too many things she couldn't stand.

Back then, Bu Yao never cried. She only spoke more fiercely until Xing Yue gave in. Then the whole family would tell Xing Yue to be patient, understanding, and generous.

Bu Yao's parents were the worst. "Marriage is about supporting each other, not winning arguments or proving who's right." "Our Yao is only eighteen. She'll spend most of her life with you. What's one little thing?"

The way they talked, you'd think twenty-five-year-old Xing Yue had hit the jackpot by marrying eighteen-year-old Bu Yao. As if she'd gotten some enormous bargain.

If Xing Yue had actually enjoyed any benefits from being married to Miss Bu, that would have been one thing. The trouble was, she hadn't.

A few years ago, a prominent editor wanted to interview Xing Yue for a company event. Xing Yue had always insisted on keeping her face out of the public eye for work, but her agent warned her that the editor had some influence and worried about offending her.

Xing Yue had thought she might "show off" the fact that she was Miss Bu's lawfully wedded wife. Before she got the chance, word reached Madam Bu. And what had her dear mother-in-law said?

"Is there something about you that can't be seen?"

That incident, that one sentence—Xing Yue could hold it against Madam Bu for at least fifty years.

Xing Yue was still lost in painful memories of her marriage when a faint warmth against her lips brought her back to the present.

Bu Yao wrapped her arms around Xing Yue's neck and answered her with action.

Xing Yue froze for two seconds before pushing Bu Yao away. She pried the soft arms off herself, gripped the face she so bitterly resented, and kissed it hard several times.

Then she lifted the covers, rolled into bed, and said, "Sleep."

The wind and rain had been fierce last night. The asphalt outside was wet, with puddles of varying depths everywhere.

The morning breeze was chilly. Xing Yue took today's clothes from the wardrobe, grabbed an extra jacket, and tossed it onto the bed. Then she sat down at the vanity to do her makeup.

She peeled off her moisturizing mask and started on sunscreen and foundation. Maybe because she rarely went out in the sun, her skin was much better than other people's her age, with hardly any spots, wrinkles, or sagging. Still, anyone could tell at a glance she wasn't a young girl anymore.

So why was Bu Yao's skin still so firm and delicate? It looked soft enough to bruise at a touch, fresh and dewy. With a ponytail, she could pass for a high schooler.

Xing Yue was nearly done with her makeup and was brushing on setting powder when something touched her calf. It tickled.

She looked down. A pair of small feet swayed right beneath her eyes, toes and heels rosy as though brushed with rouge, softer-looking than flower buds.

Xing Yue pretended not to see them. She finished her makeup and chose a pair of silver-thread tassel earrings.

The feet that had been swinging in midair began climbing her calf, nudging her gently again and again.

"What?" Xing Yue turned her head.

Bu Yao sat on the bed without a word, swinging her little feet and pressing them against Xing Yue in a motion like a cat kneading.

Her face had a cool, striking beauty. When she tried to look pitiful, she had the fragile air of a superstar fallen from grace.

Xing Yue could have gone mad with anger. Bu Yao was going to be the death of her. She slapped her lipstick onto the table hard enough to rattle all the bottles and jars of makeup.

She got up, went downstairs to fetch Bu Yao's high heels from the entryway cabinet, and returned with her anger still bottled up. Then she crouched beside the bed.

Bu Yao raised a foot and placed it straight into Xing Yue's hand. "Thank you, honey."

Mom had said that when someone responded to a request, she should thank them. That way, Xing Yue wouldn't be angry.

"Don't call me that," Xing Yue said.

Every pair of Bu Yao's shoes was custom-made overseas and one of a kind. The materials were exceptionally precious, too. Even holding one casually, Xing Yue could feel how soft it was. It wouldn't rub her feet raw; the heel was sturdy, and the upper was luxurious and elegant.

The workmanship alone on a pair like this cost more than an ordinary family could afford. The price of the materials was beyond imagining.

Xing Yue slipped the shoes onto Bu Yao's feet and pulled up the backs over her heels.

Bu Yao frowned, a little displeased. "Then what should I call you?"

After ten years, Xing Yue was putting someone else's shoes on for her again. She felt like she wanted to die.

This was killing her. Where had things gone wrong? She stood quickly and took a deep breath. Bu Yao's tenderness had gone to her head, and she'd given in again and again.

No. She absolutely couldn't let this continue.

"Call me Mom, then. You're a giant baby who needs someone to feed you every day. Why call me honey? Call me Mom."

Xing Yue was in a foul mood, with nowhere to vent her anger. As she packed her bag, she told Bu Yao to leave. "I'm moving into my rented place tomorrow. I've sold this villa. The new place is shabby, old, and tiny. Don't come over. There's nowhere for you to sleep."

No one had ever called Bu Yao a giant baby. She knew what it meant, and being described that way for the first time made her angry too.

She muttered, "Mom doesn't scold me."

"Of course your mom can't bear to scold you. You're her only daughter. She treats you like a treasure. Why doesn't she lock you in a castle? What did she let you out for?" Xing Yue sneered. She didn't want to say anything too cruel and held herself back. "What if the wind hurts you? Even walking makes your feet ache. You should stay in a castle, lying down, with hundreds of servants dressing and feeding you. All you'd have to do is eat and sleep, then sleep and eat, right up to your hundredth year. What a happy life."

Xing Yue considered that mercifully restrained. But to Bu Yao, the cruelest things she had ever heard in her life had all come from Xing Yue's mouth.

No one else dared speak to her that way. Her parents would have torn them apart and made them kowtow to beg forgiveness.

Seeing tears gather in Bu Yao's eyes again, Xing Yue knew she couldn't take it. But she could at least get away, couldn't she?

She picked up her bag and kept her voice cold. "I'm leaving. Are you coming or not? If not, I'm locking you in."

Bu Yao got off the bed and hurried over. She still remembered Xing Yue saying she hated it when women cried, so she didn't dare let the tears fall. They just swam in her eyes.

That made her look even more pitiful...

Xing Yue pointed at Bu Yao, her tone stern. "No crying."

Bu Yao pushed her hand away. "I'm not crying. I'm upset!"

Hearing the accusation delivered even louder than her own voice, Xing Yue almost laughed. "Someone's even put your shoes on for you so you don't have to go out barefoot. What are you upset about? Come on, tell me. What exactly are you upset about?"

The young lady's temper was as strong as ever. She might not be lashing out at Xing Yue like she used to, but her quiet defiance was aggravating enough.

Bu Yao asked, "Wouldn't you be upset if someone you liked called you a giant baby? Especially when she kissed and held you yesterday?"

Xing Yue was at a loss for words. The woman in front of her looked even more aggrieved than she felt, as if she'd suffered some terrible wrong. Yet Xing Yue was clearly the one who kept compromising and giving ground.

She opened her mouth, then hesitated, wanting to say something.

Bu Yao suddenly took her hand. Her skin was burning hot. Nodding as if to reassure herself, she drew a shaky breath and spoke haltingly. "Mm. I like you... I like Xing Yue... I like you so much. I like Xing Yue the most..."

Her feelings were as fierce as they had been when she was eighteen, if not fiercer. She was like a cloud set ablaze above a mountaintop, brilliant and burning, just like her hair.

Bu Yao burrowed into Xing Yue's arms, pressing her reddened nose against Xing Yue's soft chest and feeling each breath beneath it. "Do you hate me that much?"

She had asked the question again. The answer clearly mattered to her. Her voice was thick with tears, and though none fell, she was even more heartbreaking than if she'd cried outright.

Xing Yue's gaze wavered, and even her words came out unsteadily. "I don't... hate you that much."

What was she supposed to do? She couldn't stay cold.