Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Don’t Look Back (Part Three)

This was not the first time Yu Manyi had hugged Song Qi. She had hugged him or been hugged by him many times before—whether to dodge the gatekeeper’s search at the Yu household, to leap down from a wall, to comfort each other during reunions, or in countless moments of desperation when he used an embrace to ease her fears.

But this was the first time she hugged him simply for the sake of hugging him.

Her body nestled into his arms, her hands resting on his shoulders. After a moment, he gently took her hands and moved them to her sides.

Song Qi shifted slightly, causing her to sway along with him. Yu Manyi buried her head in his shoulder, so deeply that he let out a chuckle, his breath tickling her ear as he said, “How am I supposed to kiss you like this?”

“Who said anything about kissing?” Her voice was muffled, and she deliberately switched to his other shoulder, still facing him with the back of her head. Song Qi lowered his head to brush against the top of hers, noticing that she had used the bath products in this room. Her scent had subtly changed, now matching his own.

Yu Manyi had grown taller since coming to Shanghai, and the heels she wore were getting higher. Lately, Song Qi didn’t need to stoop to talk to her. But this height was deceptive—when she jumped into his arms to hide, her usually tense body softened considerably. He couldn’t resist kneading her a little, and the more he did, the more she seemed to melt into him, until he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you made of a pillow?”

“You’re the one made of a door plank,” Yu Manyi shot back without thinking, “all flat and hard, poking me to death.”

“Then get off.”

“Fine, I’ll get off.”

She tried to spring up with a carp-like flip, but while her body moved, her hands were still held by Song Qi. With a tug on her arm, their positions flipped, and the “flat and hard” one loomed over the “pillow” like a canopy.

His left hand’s fingers interlocked with her right, pinning half her body to the headboard. His nose sought hers, his eyelashes brushed against hers, and his lips finally found where they were meant to go. Yu Manyi turned her face to dodge, but a chill ran through her lower back, and she let out a small gasp—his hand had slipped to the low V-cut at the back of her nightgown, sneaking inside.

This clothing!

His fingertips circled her back’s skin, moving with a familiarity that sparked suspicion. Yu Manyi couldn’t break free this time, and her body’s reactions felt strange—trembling at the slightest touch. Biting her lip, she looked at Song Qi in confusion. Noticing her expression, he chuckled and whispered in her ear, “Why read books? You could just ask me.”

…He saw that day!

“Why… are you…” Yu Manyi asked, her voice trembling.

“What am I?” His hands indeed bore calluses from years of handling guns—barely noticeable during a handshake but starkly rough and scraping against her back.

“You can’t just know this stuff naturally!”

“You’re right, I just know it naturally,” Song Qi laughed. “You’ve learned everything from me—why not this?”

He lifted her wrist, guiding her to lean against the headboard, while his other hand continued to roam her back. His lips, rougher than hers, kissed from her neck to the side of her lips, lingering in places both critical and inconsequential, teasing her until she opened her eyes to glare at him.

Grinning, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Are you getting impatient? Why are you always so mad?”

After his teasing, her free hand had lifted too, initially resting on his back before slipping down, sneaking under the hem of his loosely buttoned shirt, wandering from front to back.

This wandering snapped her back to clarity, and her palm on his back suddenly felt something off. Yu Manyi’s fingers traced a small ridge, and Song Qi clearly noticed the issue, quickly trying to pull her hand out.

“Don’t move,” Yu Manyi’s gaze sharpened.

The ridge led to raised skin, a long scar running across his entire back. She continued upward, finding a crisscross of healed scars—too many to count.

As she touched them, she stared into Song Qi’s dark eyes, and he predictably looked away.

“Take it off and let me see,” Yu Manyi said, pulling her hand out.

“Nothing worth seeing.”

She suddenly felt angry—he was hiding things again. Song Qi released her hand and started to get up, but her bent knee jabbed into his abdomen. He couldn’t hold back a muffled grunt, looking at her with disbelief.

She reached to pull off his shirt, yanking open the single button and grabbing his arm to make him turn. The loose shirt was tossed onto the bed, and Song Qi sat with his back to her, resigned.

His posture was too upright, only slightly hunched, with his shoulder blades and spine protruding as he bent. Yu Manyi coldly eyed the whip marks and burns on his back, tears falling as she looked.

He had said he nearly died in prison for a newspaper, brushing it off as a casual remark when scolding her in frustration.

Was this what he meant by nearly dying in prison?

Few knew he had been in prison, and those who did spoke of it vaguely. He likely hadn’t told anyone about these scars. If they hadn’t gotten carried away today, he wouldn’t have given her the chance to discover them.

She cried silently, torn between anger and heartache. After a while, Song Qi sensed something was wrong. When he turned, her tears had soaked the front of her clothes, new ones still streaming down her face.

“I told you not to look,” he sighed, grabbing his stolen shirt and balling it up to wipe her face. Under her grief, she didn’t care about the mess, letting him come close and dry her tears with the shirt.

Song Qi began to regret lingering in those inconsequential places earlier. With Yu Manyi crying like this, his chance was gone. He tossed the soaked shirt under the bed, lay back down, and lifted Yu Manyi onto himself, letting her eyes rest at his collarbone.

New tears flowed down his collarbone, threatening to flood the bed. Song Qi sighed deeply and said, “It was a long time ago. You saw—they’re all healed. If you keep crying, I’ll have to suffer for these scars again… You’re still crying?”

This reasoning worked, and she finally stopped.

Yu Manyi lay on his chest for a while, waiting for the tears to stop and her voice to return. She crawled up a bit, meeting Song Qi’s bewildered expression. Wiping her tears, she climbed higher, mimicking his earlier sequence, lingering at his lips and less critical spots, before carefully pressing her lips to his when his mouth curved upward.

He hadn’t taught her this last part. Yu Manyi kissed cautiously and earnestly, guided only by her imagination of a kiss. When she pulled back, her eyes, red from crying, met his awkwardly as she asked, “Like this?”

His eyes curved slightly. She hadn’t seen him smile like this since coming to Shanghai.

“Yes, just like that,” he said, mirroring her method with a light touch to her lips.

His shirt, used to wipe her tears, was unwearable, so he lay bare-chested. Yu Manyi felt she couldn’t keep pressing on him and rolled to his side, only to be pulled back into his arms as he turned.

His body curved, skin warm, trapping her in his embrace. It was an emotionally charged tussle—nothing happened, yet they were exhausted, eyelids nearly glued shut.

“Don’t leave. No one knows you didn’t go back to your room,” Song Qi murmured drowsily.

“So we just lie here and sleep?” Yu Manyi flipped like a salted fish, turning from facing away to facing him, still within the space his arms enclosed.

Song Qi nodded, tightening his arms to press her body against his waist and abdomen.

“Is that okay?”

Yu Manyi, recalling her knowledge, cautiously asked, “Can you handle it…?”

…What kind of nonsense had she learned?

“It’s tough,” Song Qi said with closed eyes, “but that’s the difference between man and beast.”

He reached up, turned off the bedside lamp, and the room plunged into darkness, with only his breathing in her ears. Yu Manyi lay with open eyes for a while, then reached to his back, gently touching the scars, as if offering belated comfort.

The scars were too deep, and she felt like crying again. In the dark, Song Qi kissed the corner of her eye, mumbling almost unconsciously, “When I saw that mark on your palm, I was furious too.”

Her palm? What about her palm?

It took Yu Manyi a long time to recall—it was the mark from when Third Mother struck her palm with a ruler for buying his newspaper. When he returned to the Yu household and saw her wipe her tears with the back of her hand, he had noticed.

Thankfully, the mark on her palm had long healed, as had the scars on his back. Yu Manyi pressed her palm to his warm back, closed her eyes, and soon fell asleep in his arms.

*

Over the weekend, when Yu Manyi returned, it was as if she’d taken the wrong medicine—at least, that’s how You Hong saw it.

Smiling foolishly while sitting, standing, even lying down. Was this what people in love were like? Wasn’t love a bit too damaging to one’s humanity?

You Hong, seeing Yu Manyi like this, assumed the two had made some groundbreaking progress over the weekend. But when Yu Manyi, unable to sleep, came to her at midnight, and the two girls lay in bed chatting, You Hong was stunned:

“You two just kissed?”

“Yeah,” Yu Manyi nodded, grinning.

“Just one kiss?” You Hong pressed.

“One while awake,” Yu Manyi said. “I think there were a few more while half-asleep, but I wasn’t fully conscious.”

Well, good for them, You Hong thought—fighting the world by day, striking and setting fires, and at night, just one kiss.

She rolled over, bored, and didn’t want to hear more.

“Hope you two get to the real stuff by your first anniversary,” she said.

“What anniversary?” Yu Manyi didn’t catch on.

“Your dating anniversary,” You Hong said sleepily. “One year since you confirmed your relationship. Their progressive ways aren’t like our arranged marriages or matchmakers. Young people date, confess, fall in love… I’m sleeping.”

You Hong fell asleep, leaving Yu Manyi staring at the ceiling, slowly realizing something was off.

Right.

Right!

These progressive youths—don’t they all start by hanging out, going on dates, strolling together, developing feelings, confessing, and then starting a free love? Even You Hong didn’t need to say it—those romantic novels from the Mandarin Duck and Butterfly school she read early on all said the same!

So why, with her and Song Qi, had they skipped the most crucial step while doing everything else?

The room was pitch black. Yu Manyi hugged her arms, glaring at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting freely.

Right, so strange! Why did everyone suddenly assume she and Song Qi were a couple, and why did she just go along with it? Song Huazhang gave them matching clothes, Da Lei and the others reported Song Qi’s whereabouts the moment she arrived, and Fang Qian thought she could move into Song Qi’s place right after arriving in Shanghai—

Why, why! She was an unmarried young woman!

Yu Manyi started to get angry.

Why hadn’t Song Qi confessed to her? Why did he pull her close, take her to meet elders, roll around with her on the bed, and teach her how to kiss him without ever confessing?

Were they really dating? Or did Song Qi not even have that intention, ready to walk away one day and ask, “Oh? What did you think we were?”

The ceiling was dark, and Yu Manyi, staring at the unlit chandelier, was fuming.

Or maybe there was another possibility—Yu Manyi’s lips curled, suddenly feeling wronged. Maybe Song Qi thought that for someone like her, Yu Manyi, a confession wasn’t necessary.

You Hong had just said, “progressive young men and women.” Was Yu Manyi progressive? Maybe now she was, but she wasn’t quite like those who’d been progressive from childhood. Did Song Qi think that for other girls, a confession was required, but for someone like Yu Manyi, with her feudal roots, it wasn’t a big deal and didn’t require special effort?

After this whirlwind of thoughts, Yu Manyi sat up abruptly, turned on the bedside lamp, and shook You Hong awake.

Poor You Hong, just sinking into dreams, was yanked back to reality. She shielded her eyes from the lamp’s glare, seeing Yu Manyi’s tear-filled, red eyes through her fingers.

You Hong: …?

Yu Manyi: “Cheap Man, I’ve been played with!”

You Hong: …What??

You Hong couldn’t make sense of Yu Manyi that night. Honestly, without cracking open her mind, her thought process was hard to follow. But in Yu Manyi’s world, all her grievances made perfect sense—so much so that she sulked the first day, gave Song Qi the cold shoulder the second, and on the third, when he came to eat with her, she slammed her chopsticks down mid-meal, deciding to make him guess.

Song Qi wore the same expression You Hong had that night.

Since childhood, Song Qi had been fascinated by mechanics, loving to take apart watches and clocks, finding that everything followed a pattern. People’s patterns were far more complex than machines, but with enough study and summary, they could be understood.

Over the years, only Yu Manyi had repeatedly stumped him, yet intrigued him. And today, she’d thrown another glitch beyond his understanding.

He didn’t press her immediately, finishing his meal first and coaxing Yu Manyi to finish hers with a mix of bribes and threats. After dinner, they walked by the river. Yu Manyi, arms crossed, walked faster and faster, finally unable to hold it in.

“What’s wrong?” Song Qi asked, catching up as she cried.

Yu Manyi wiped her tears and demanded, “Why didn’t I get a confession!”

“…What?”

“A confession, the kind before dating!” Yu Manyi sobbed. “Why do other girls get confessions when they date, but I don’t? Why does everyone assume we’re a couple, and I just went along with it?”

Song Qi suddenly understood!

She’d used the perfect phrase: “went along with it.” That’s exactly what they’d done—naturally fallen into it!

Song Qi reached to wipe her tears. She wasn’t wearing heels today, so he had to bend down again.

This gesture softened Yu Manyi’s emotions slightly. After stifling her sobs, she pressed on:

“Do you think because I’m a feudal remnant, I don’t deserve a proper confession like your female classmates or colleagues?”

“I absolutely didn’t mean that,” Song Qi swore in the midst of wiping her tears.

“Yes, for people like us, it used to be just matchmakers, exchanging birth charts, no need to meet before marriage, no need for confessions. But we’re not arranged or betrothed—we’re…”

Yu Manyi’s throat caught, and she felt wronged again. “I thought we were in a free love!”

Song Qi, both heartbroken and amused, hurriedly said, “We *are* in a free love!”

Thankfully, the riverbank was nearly empty, or Song Qi would’ve lost face. Passersby seeing Yu Manyi cry like this might think he’d committed some grave sin. He felt a bit wronged himself but admitted he’d messed up.

He pulled the endlessly crying Yu Manyi into his arms, patting her back with guilt. “You’re right, I… I did just naturally start dating you and completely overlooked the confession part.”

Yu Manyi nodded in his arms, thinking, *Yes, you’re just that impatient and careless.*

“Alright, stop crying,” he said with a chuckle. “So it’s about this? You could’ve just told me. Yu Manyi, look up at me…”

She raised her tearful eyes in his arms, crying her heart out over a missing confession.

Song Qi smiled. “Who is this? Is this the Yu Manyi who set the Yu household on fire? The one who led workers to strike? The one who held up half the sky when I was out cold? And now you’re crying like this over a mere confession?”

As he spoke, he wiped her tears with his thumb. Yu Manyi closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, feeling both embarrassed and justified.

“What’s all that got to do with it…” she muttered. “Those were things I did out of necessity. I’m only…”

“I’m only nineteen,” she said suddenly.

Song Qi froze.

“You’re right,” he said, his expression softening as he looked at her face, stunned for a moment before pulling her shoulders into his embrace. “I keep forgetting—you’re only nineteen.”

In these turbulent times, with fate bringing them together, it was a thrilling era but not a kind one… Yu Manyi was only nineteen.

The river breeze picked up. Song Qi kissed the top of her head softly and said, “At nineteen, it’s normal. When I was nineteen, I thought even the moon was within my grasp. At nineteen, wanting things is only natural.”

Song Qi wasn’t much older, but perhaps having narrowly escaped death twice—once with the You family’s aunt and once with the newspaper incident—his mindset was far removed from his peers. Yu Manyi had forgotten: he was someone who’d faced death twice. And she was only nineteen, not even at the age he was when he first faced life-or-death choices.

Lately, life had been so peaceful that she’d reverted to the temperament of her age, with anger and joy coming easily. Yu Manyi looked up, hearing Song Qi ask, “So, shall I make up for it with a confession?”

Her lips curved upward, and she nodded emphatically.