Chapter Fifty-Eight: It's Still Not Too Late to Return

Money? Of course money matters! She had lived happily even in the days when she had none; now, still without money, that happiness had dwindled considerably.

Back in their student days, love was never built on wealth. Lin Shuo didn’t earn much from his part-time jobs; most of it went to paying off debts. She had seen, with her own eyes, the fierce faces of the debt collectors—menacing to the point of violence if provoked. Once, Lin Shuo shielded her, telling her to run, but she refused to leave, desperately pulling at the men, trying to scare them off by threatening to call the police. One burly man, eyes bloodshot, shoved her hard to the ground.

The moment she fell, half her body went numb. In the struggle, Lin Shuo heard her scream; it drove him mad, making him forget he was outnumbered as he fought back.

In the end, the men left, swaggering away. Lin Shuo, battered and bruised, held Xiaoxiao tightly in his arms, his heart aching.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

She looked up at him from his embrace, giving him a warm, radiant smile. “You’re not strong enough now because you’re still young, but you won’t always be this way.”

“Are you really willing to bet everything on an unseen future? Even if I stay like this for years, for decades, you won’t regret it?” He found it hard to believe.

She took his hand, fingers interlaced, and vowed as if making an oath, “I didn’t regret it then, and I’ll never regret it, not for a lifetime. Even if you have nothing, even if you fall to the lowest depths, I’ll walk this road with you to the end. So, as long as you don’t let go of me, I’ll never let go of you.”

He was always a man of action, not words. Xiaoxiao’s declaration made him cherish her all the more. He gripped her hand tightly and answered with conviction, “All right! If there’s only porridge, we’ll drink porridge; if all we have is the northwest wind, we’ll share that too.” Right then, he took her to a tattoo parlor. Standing at the door, he asked solemnly, “There’s still time to back out. Are you sure?”

She replied excitedly, “I can’t wait for everyone to call me Mrs. Lin.”

He looked at her with a smile that could topple cities, a smile that locked her fate to his forever.

The tattoo artist was skilled, and two rings were etched perfectly onto their fingers. She forgot all about the pain, feeling as though she’d just completed the most important ceremony of her life—no guests, no officiant, no vows; just two young hearts running toward happiness.

He asked, “May I kiss my bride?”

She rose on tiptoe, nearly moved to tears.

From Daguan Tower, one could see the rippling jade waves of Dian Lake. Fingering the scar on her ring finger, she struggled to calm her emotions, still able to recall the strength of his grip that day. Yet, to this day, no one had ever called her “Mrs. Lin.”

The event was a great success, with many couples pairing up on the spot. Manager Huang was immensely pleased and generously booked a hotel for a celebration after work, insisting that everyone attend. The meal was tasteless to her; Xiaoxiao kept checking the time. As night fell and everyone grew tipsy, she finally slipped away, making an excuse to go to the restroom.

“Hey, where are you?” On Lin Shuo’s end, the music was deafening. Xiaoxiao pressed her ear close to the phone, straining to hear him. Lin Shuo carelessly named a place: “Jasmine Tang Dynasty, number 71.”

Night had fallen. She hailed a car and headed to the legendary villa district where the wealthy resided. Her mind was blank as she rode, waiting for Lin Shuo to fill her thoughts.

After passing the security check at the entrance, she was finally allowed in. The landscaping in the neighborhood was exquisite—each courtyard group with its own unique design. One exterior wall was adorned with blue-and-white porcelain plates, luxurious and beautiful beyond reproach. Towering bamboo, moonlit lotus ponds, winding paths leading into secluded corners, even distant mountain peaks borrowed into the view—all a feast for the eyes.

Standing outside villa 71, she shivered as she pressed the doorbell. The door swung open, and music crashed into her head. Inside, the house was packed with ghostly figures and shifting lights. The woman who answered the door was scantily clad, clutching a bottle of wine, and staggered toward the bar.

Lonely Times, Don’t Talk About Love – Chapter 58: There’s Still Time to Back Out, Now Complete!