Chapter 31: How Many Sides of You Have I Yet to See

The orphanage in the south had always been funded by the Ye family. Every holiday, Ye Shihua would bring his ten-year-old son, Ye Shenghan, to the orphanage to donate supplies and bring warmth to the children. Back then, he handed her a colorful lollipop—large and swirling with vibrant hues—and smiled, saying, “Don’t cry!”

—Don’t cry, Lily of the Valley,
—I’ll play with you.

She took the candy from him and gazed at the spiraling rainbow, as if peering into a kaleidoscopic dream. Looking up at him, she saw he was a head taller, the fragmented sunlight falling on his raven hair, shining with a clear luster. She smiled; he seemed like the prince from her dreams, ready to lead her to a city without tears, where angels knew not sorrow.

“I have to go now.”

“Will you come back to see me, Young Master Ye?”

“I’ll visit when the holidays come.”

“Really?”

She watched his departing figure, holding the director’s hand, and asked, “Grandma Director, if I think about Young Master Ye every day, if I miss him so much, will he come quickly to see me?” She had neither parents nor home, but looking at Ye Shenghan, a current of warmth surged into her heart—warmth, when you’ve touched too much cold, is paradise itself. She was like a lily of the valley, waiting to reclaim her happiness.

The director smiled.

Lily of the Valley’s fingers trembled as she plucked the strings, mingling with the silvery moonlight. The lingering melody told a tale from long ago. Memories stirred like wind and clouds, fleeting glimpses flashing by. Seventeen years had flown past. The graceful youth, turning back, hid his sorrowful, tearful eyes and watched her in silence.

“Young Master Ye, it’s been so long!”

“The Ye family is gone—”

Gone—gone—

She seemed to see his desperate grief, the childish song from her memories fading further and further away.

At the ends of the earth, at the corners of the world, half of one’s friends fall away.
Rare are the moments of joyful reunion; partings are many.
I ask, when will you return? Don't linger when you come.
Do not linger...
Do not linger...

Warm tears, clear and bright, fell onto her pale jade fingers, like shattered lake water. Ye Linglan lowered her head, gently covering her eyes, hiding that trace of loneliness. After a soft sigh, she bowed politely. The private room was surprisingly quiet. The next moment, she heard faint applause, echoing her heartbeat.

Ye Linglan nodded, but was startled to discover that everyone else had left; only he and she remained. Mo Zhicheng caught the surprise in her eyes and simply said, “I didn’t say anything. It’s just that when they saw I kept watching you, they knew to leave.”

“—”

Mo Zhicheng leaned back with elegance, fixing his gaze on her, leaving her nowhere to escape. He lifted the porcelain cup, brought it to his nose for a gentle sniff, then sipped it gracefully. Every movement was refined. “How many sides of you have I yet to see?” he murmured, glancing at her in the corner. Beneath the light, her tear-stained eyes were just visible. The woman bit her lip; the fur collar of her cheongsam was white as spring snow, but when worn by her, its beauty was eclipsed, highlighting her delicate, porcelain-like charm. From afar, she looked like a painting.

She wasn’t far from him, and his deep voice seemed to whisper right beside her ear.

—How many sides of you have I yet to see?

Many—so many! Without the Ye family’s support, they would have been homeless, forgotten by the city; without it, she would never have had the chance to leave, to study at South River’s most prestigious university, nor would she be who she was today. Ye Shenghan was her savior; ever since she took the Ye surname, her fate had been entwined with theirs. Mo Zhicheng—it was you who destroyed it all!

Tears trembled in Ye Linglan’s eyes. She forced herself to endure, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her flesh, pain shooting through her hand.

Mo Zhicheng watched her, gazing into eyes as clear as a tranquil pool, holding a hint of resentment. He murmured, “Come here.”

Ye Linglan did not move, only meeting his gaze, a trace of resistance in her expression.

“Come here—” Mo Zhicheng spoke again, his tone tinged now with irritation and impatience.