Mo Ziyan returned home just after seven in the morning.
As she opened the chilly door and shuffled into the kitchen, her reflection appeared in the floor-to-ceiling glass door. While she warmed up the soup she'd missed during yesterday's meal, she took a moment to switch on her computer.
Upon checking her inbox, she was greeted by a flurry of notifications—over a dozen new emails awaited her.
One note requested payment of property fees, while another provided schedules for various artists at her company for the upcoming month. Her older sister had also sent a reminder for her to visit home when she could.
After a quick scan, Ziyan realized time was slipping away, so she decided to eat a few bites before heading off to work.
Then she noticed the fifth email was from an anonymous sender. Curiosity piqued, she clicked it open, only to be startled by a huge ghostly face that screamed at her through the screen. The sound echoed loudly, as if the ghost might leap right out. It was yet another threatening message.
Feeling unfazed, she closed the window. Since marrying Lin Ansen three years ago, these types of emails had become a common occurrence. She'd grown used to them and couldn't help but admire the persistence of this anonymous sender. For someone unknown to her—gender, age, and motives all a mystery—how could he keep this up for three years? Her own expectations didn't even stretch that long.
Initially, when she wed Lin Ansen, she held some hopes. He was quiet, his deep eyes more handsome than she had imagined. But that excitement lasted barely an hour. After signing the marriage certificate, he sat in the car, tapping the steering wheel with his slender fingers, his expression calm and collected in the rearview mirror.
"Mo Ziyan, remember that marrying you means I can finally leave home. I still owe you something. After we're married, I'll give you anything you want—except love!"
Her heart sank at his words, the small joys of a new wife turning bitter in an instant. Still, she could only nod in response.
As she gazed out the window, she noticed the branches along the side of the road turning yellow, signaling apricot season, the usually fragrant plum rains beginning. A long stretch of asphalt seemed to lead into the unknown.
In the evening, Qianjiang Road was quiet, and while he discussed compensation terms, she drifted, recalling their first meeting when he directed her to the Civil Affairs Bureau. Despite her confusion, she didn't argue and went along to get the certificate with him. Their wedding documents captured her bewilderment and his indifferent demeanor in equal measure.
After moving into their new home, he had vanished, and they hadn't truly met since that day they signed on the dotted line.
He had promised to provide anything she desired, but she never asked for anything. If she didn't express a need, he wouldn't press the issue either. As a result, their marriage felt more like a formality, and there were times she forgot she was even married.
With a decisive snap, Mo Ziyan closed her laptop, tidied her hair, and prepared to leave for work. Just then, her phone rang unexpectedly. Annoyed at the sight of the incoming number, she recognized it as her mother-in-law, the ever-concerned matriarch of the Lin family.
Though she didn't know much about her husband, she was aware that his relationship with his family was strained, likely due to his choice to enter business despite their political background. Since their wedding, he hadn't returned home.
Nonetheless, his mother had somehow acquired her phone number and took it upon herself to check in occasionally, clearly worried about her son.
She answered the call, enduring her mother-in-law's well-meaning reminders about making Lin eat breakfast and the concern she expressed on seeing him lose weight on TV. The older woman pressed her to take him for regular health check-ups. She even arranged for him to visit a certain hospital on Saturday.
Ziyan patiently replied to every point raised. But after hanging up, she let out a sigh, fatigue settling in deeper; she had barely slept the night before.