After Letting Go, Her Regret Remains - Chapter 9

Meng Yuan stared at her for a few seconds before switching on all the lights in the house. She stepped closer, intending to take the wine glass from her hand. “You’re drunk. Let me take you upstairs to sleep.”

“No.” Shang Li shook her head, gently pushing her away. The smile on her lips grew increasingly bitter. “Aren’t you even willing to explain?”

As she finished speaking, a wave of nausea surged up her throat. An intense self-loathing rose in Shang Li’s heart, making her almost retch.

She truly hated it, hated herself like this.

Why couldn’t she be more ruthless, more decisive, and just leave?

What was she still waiting for? What was she still hoping for?

Did she have to cling to Meng Yuan, demanding an explanation or begging for a glimmer of hope?

Wasn’t Meng Yuan’s silence in the dressing room the clearest answer?

“There’s nothing between us. What do you want me to explain?” Meng Yuan’s voice cracked as she spoke, and she coughed dryly a few times. When she spoke again, her voice was even hoarser and more strained. “Can’t you just stop overthinking?”

“Am I overthinking?” The alcohol had slightly numbed Shang Li’s mind. Blood rushed swiftly through her veins, and reason and restraint were cast aside. “Then tell me, why were you with her in the same place? Why did you go to help her? What else is going on between you two.”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing!” Meng Yuan grabbed her wrist, closing in. Her dark eyes bore deeply into Shang Li’s, unwavering and resolute. “It was just to repay a favor. Other than that, there’s no other relationship between us. I don’t even like her. Is that explanation enough?”

Meng Yuan’s love was intense, and her hatred was straightforward she had no patience for deception.

Shang Li should have been comforted and let it go, but her heart remained unbearably heavy and unsettled. After a moment of silence, threads of grievance welled up in her eyes. “You smiled at her.”

Meng Yuan was taken aback, finding it utterly unreasonable. But in the next second, she saw two crystal-clear tears roll down Shang Li’s cheeks, like broken pearls. A faint pink flush spread across her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

“But you haven’t smiled at me in such a long time.”

Meng Yuan’s lips trembled slightly, as if affected. A ripple stirred in her gaze, and she could no longer bear to look directly into Shang Li’s eyes.

“Meng Yuan, do you?” Shang Li struggled to speak, her voice trembling with a sob, “do you still love me?”

The air instantly froze. The dense drizzle outside blurred their vision, casting everything in a hazy, dreamlike state.

Shang Li looked into Meng Yuan’s eyes, only to find them hollow and lifeless.

With every breath, a dull ache throbbed within her.

Meng Yuan was momentarily blinded by the light in Shang Li’s pupils. Her gaze shifted and landed on a small mole beneath Shang Li’s eye.

A trail of moisture slid over it, carrying the same sorrow and brokenness, silently yet sharply accusing her.

The wine glass slipped helplessly from Shang Li’s hand, crashing to the floor with a heavy thud. Shards splintered between them, scattering in all directions.

Meng Yuan’s brows furrowed slightly as she glanced down. Suddenly noticing that Shang Li was barefoot, her frown deepened. “Let’s go inside first.”

Shang Li paid no heed. Her thin, frail figure remained stubbornly in place, her gaze burning bright and clear, like a serene lake reflecting the shattered, desolate moon.

In the face of Meng Yuan’s silent lips, the strength gradually drained from Shang Li’s body. She slid slowly down along the doorframe.

Meng Yuan stepped forward and reached out to embrace her, but Shang Li trembled violently, as if every touch from Meng Yuan would leave a stark, bleeding wound.

Her sharp claws would scratch her, and the blazing flames spewed from her beak would scorch her.

Seeking advantage and avoiding harm, it was a biological instinct.

Meng Yuan’s presence enveloped her, so close, yet so unfamiliar.

Gone was the faint, fresh, and softly sweet woody floral scent she had once known the clean, bright iris fragrance she had gifted to Meng Yuan, a scent that belonged uniquely to her.

Now, it was replaced by a perfume whose name she didn’t even know, rich and icy, repelling anyone who drew near.

“Shang Li,” Meng Yuan’s tone deepened as she loosely wrapped an arm around Shang Li’s waist, bending down to kick away the larger shards of glass.

But the tiny fragments still pierced into her flesh, and soon, a faint crimson began to spread across the floor, blooming into decadent, bewitching flowers, only to be washed away by the rain.

The glaring red caught Meng Yuan’s eye, and her breath hitched. Pressing her lips tightly together, she wordlessly lifted Shang Li into her arms.

Cold.

So cold.

A bone-chilling cold.

The person in her arms trembled uncontrollably, one hand pushing her away while the other clung to her tightly.

Drinking poison to quench thirst.

After carrying her to the sofa in the living room, that hand still refused to let go. Drops of blood stained the floor, and as Meng Yuan stood up, Shang Li hooked her arms around her neck, trying to rise as well, as if completely oblivious to the pain in her feet.

Meng Yuan froze in place, letting out a soft sigh before bending down to settle her properly and taking a seat beside her.

A sea of crimson met her eyes, the unseen wounds still gushing fresh blood, starkly vivid against the fair, smooth skin of her feet.

“Dr. Qiu, it’s me. I’ve been cut by glass shards. The wounds are quite severe. Yes, alright! Thank you for coming.”

After hanging up the phone, Meng Yuan tried to stand, but a resistance pulled at her waist. Shang Li was clutching the hem of her shirt, gripping it tightly. Meng Yuan glanced over. “I’m going to get the first aid kit to treat your wounds.”

Shang Li parted her lips slightly, as if about to call her name, but after a moment of locked gazes, she suddenly asked, “Will you come back?”

Meng Yuan’s eyelashes fluttered. She nodded and murmured an affirmation.

When Meng Yuan returned with the first aid kit, Shang Li remained in the same position, her expression tinged with melancholy.

Meng Yuan sat down beside her, gently lifting Shang Li’s feet onto her lap. The damp, sticky blood immediately soaked into the white fabric of her pants.

The wounds were worse than she had imagined. As Meng Yuan leaned in for a closer look, her brows furrowed deeply. She used a cotton swab to clean the surrounding blood, then took a sterilized pair of tweezers to carefully remove the larger glass fragments embedded in the flesh.

Jin Jin had long since fallen into a deep slumber, and the spacious living room, occupied only by the two of them, was exceptionally quiet, save for the ticking of the second hand.

For convenience, Meng Yuan had tied all her hair back. Under the soft lighting, her features were clear, her expression focused, as if her entire world in that moment revolved solely around Shang Li.

Shang Li stared dazedly at the scene, so beautiful it felt like a dream, yet a dull ache throbbed in her heart. She let out an unconscious whimper.

“Does it hurt?” The person beside her immediately looked up and asked, the long pearl tassels of her earrings swaying gently, gleaming brilliantly.

Shang Li shook her head, then thought to nod, a surge of sourness rushing to her nose, nearly bringing her to tears.

“Just a little more. Hang in there,” Meng Yuan said softly, her voice carrying an unintentional tenderness as she lowered her head again to sterilize the tweezers.

A flood of tears clogged Shang Li’s throat. Biting her lip, she turned her head away, clenching her fists as she struggled to endure.

Whether it was the pain in her foot or something else, Shang Li couldn’t bear it any longer and softly called Meng Yuan’s name, “Meng Yuan.”

“Hmm?”

“Meng Yuan, do you still love me now?”

The air grew still again. Shang Li’s chest tightened, her emotions churning and pressing until they turned into low, choked sobs. “Meng Yuan, please tell me, okay?”

“Don’t move around.”

As Shang Li gazed at Meng Yuan’s silent face, her soul seemed to tear apart violently, leaving a gaping wound.

She was trapped in doubt, grief, and despair like a prisoner driven to the edge. Though she knew the person before her was the cause of all this, she could only turn to her for the sole way out.

She knew that continuing like this would only bring more pain, but after all these years, she had exhausted all her strength on Meng Yuan, leaving herself no courage to walk away.

So, she could only push, even beg, for Meng Yuan to set her free.

“Meng Yuan, I’m begging you, please tell me, okay?”

“…”

“If you really don’t love me anymore.”

“…”

“Please tell me, okay?”

“…”

“I won’t blame you.”

“…”

“I’ll leave. I’ll leave. I won’t cling to you.”

Meng Yuan’s hand, holding the tweezers, paused abruptly, and her heart suddenly tightened.

Support After Letting Go, Her Regret Remains