The Amnesiac Omega Who Reels Me In Every Day – Chapter 113
by Little PandaEven Lingering Regrets Must Be Settled
Jiang Ningshu x Song Lian
Stay with me for the next twenty years too.
That night, Jiang Ningshu didn’t give Song Lian an answer to her question.
That very night, Song Lian left.
She booked an international flight — whether for a vacation or to emigrate, no one knew.
Jiang Ningshu hadn’t responded to her then, and she didn’t try to stop her when she left the Jiang family home, because her heart was being torn apart — guilt and self-reproach over Zhao Yan’s death made her afraid to accept Song Lian.
She couldn’t get past the hurdle in her heart.
In truth, from the moment Jiang Ya kidnapped her five years ago, Jiang Ningshu had known Jiang Ya’s purpose.
She knew why Jiang Ya had changed her college application preferences, and she knew why Jiang Ya had kissed another woman in front of Zhao Yan.
All of it was to drive her and Zhao Yan apart.
Jiang Ya had fallen in love with Zhao Yan during those ten-plus days she spent with her while Ningshu was away.
This kidnapping was something she had long-premeditated.
Perhaps knowing that Zhao Yan would only ever love Jiang Ningshu, Jiang Ya wanted to become Jiang Ningshu — to take her place and rekindle the romance with Zhao Yan, to win Zhao Yan’s love.
Jiang Ningshu found it absurd. She’d tried to stop Jiang Ya, to tell her not to disrupt Zhao Yan’s life anymore.
But Jiang Ya’s love was too pathological.
A mere ten-plus days, and she remembered them for over twenty years.
As if she lived only for Zhao Yan.
“Jiejie, don’t worry. I’ll take your place properly. Not only will I help you take good care of Xiao Jin, I’ll also help you make up for the regrets of that year — I’ll marry Yanyan and bring her home.”
“I’ll treat her well.”
“I hope you live well too, in this little attic.”
“Watch beautiful things happen.”
“The beautiful things that should have belonged to you.”
“Oh, no — they should have been mine to begin with.” Jiang Ya’s smile was grotesque and unhinged, every word a declaration: “Because now, I am Jiang Ningshu.”
Jiang Ya wouldn’t listen to anything Ningshu said. She couldn’t stop her.
She was imprisoned in that small, dark attic.
Now, she could barely remember what she’d felt at the time. She only remembered praying — praying that Yanyan wouldn’t be deceived, praying that Yanyan would never get together with her.
Praying that Yanyan would find someone of her own, build a family of her own.
She didn’t want to hurt Yanyan again after so many years.
After so many years, she had long since accepted it. She didn’t know whether she still loved Yanyan — she only understood clearly that she and Yanyan were never meant to be in this lifetime, and she hoped they’d never meet again, never be entangled again.
How could she dare to intrude?
How could she dare? What right did she have to intrude?
But things didn’t go as she wished.
Not long after she was rescued, she heard about what happened with Zhao Yan.
Zhao Yan had still gotten together with Jiang Ya.
This meant that after so many years apart, Zhao Yan was still willing to love her.
It didn’t last long before Zhao Yan discovered that Jiang Ya wasn’t her.
After so many years apart, Zhao Yan could still distinguish her pheromones.
Later, Zhao Yan died. Jiang Ya preserved her body in formalin — for a long, long time before she was finally discovered and buried.
Jiang Ningshu knew Zhao Yan had died because of her.
Even at the moment of death, she still loved her.
Jiang Ningshu was consumed with guilt. She couldn’t bear the weight of a love like Zhao Yan’s.
She truly couldn’t bear it.
She owed Zhao Yan too much.
She thought: if she could start over, she would definitely be brave.
If she could start over, she wouldn’t willfully let Jiang Ya attend classes in her place.
No — if she could start over, she’d want Zhao Yan to never cross paths with her, not once in her entire life.
She asked nothing more of Zhao Yan, desired nothing more.
She only hoped that Zhao Yan could live happily, joyfully, in a world without her.
She owed Zhao Yan a debt — a guilt carved into her bones.
She wouldn’t dare forget it for the rest of her life.
But she couldn’t lie to herself. Her heart already belonged to someone else now.
During those five years trapped in the dark attic — those eighteen hundred-plus days and nights — who was the person she thought of most often, who appeared most often in her dreams, who kept her going?
It was Xiao Jin. It was Song Lian.
Companionship truly brings so much. Mutual salvation in the darkness is the hardest thing to forget.
Xiao Jin was about to turn twenty-four. It had been nearly twenty-five years since she and Zhao Yan broke up. Song Lian had been in her life for twenty-two years. After their separation, Song Lian had searched for her for five years.
Time really can smooth away so much, and add so much in return.
Countless days and nights, inexpressible bonds.
She had long been accustomed to her — long regarded her as family, long held her as a piece of her own heart.
How could Jiang Ningshu not see Song Lian’s feelings for her?
And the moment she reunited with Song Lian, she had understood completely her own feelings for her.
Song Lian was leaving. Was she going to keep being a coward, keep drowning in guilt over Zhao Yan, and repeat the same mistake?
She didn’t want to miss out on the person she loved again.
She didn’t want to cause more pain to herself and the people who loved her just because she wasn’t brave enough.
She should let go.
She still had more than half her life ahead of her. She should pursue her own happiness.
Instead of continuing to suffer in the darkness.
She decided: she would live for herself.
“Yanyan, I’m sorry. I’m going to break my word.”
“If there’s a next life, and you’re still willing, I’ll work like an ox and a horse1 to repay everything I owe you.”
In this life, I’m giving myself to someone else.
Time can smooth away so many things. What you once thought you could never let go of in your lifetime — in the end, it amounts to only that much.
Over these long twenty-plus years, her love for Zhao Yan had slowly worn away. Now, she truly no longer loved Zhao Yan — but in her heart, Zhao Yan would forever remain a beautiful presence she dared not forget.
A bright moon suspended in her heart.
Song Lian had booked a nine a.m. flight. She arrived at the airport at seven, pushing a single suitcase.
She sat in the departure lounge waiting, pulled out her phone to check the news, but lingered on one screen for a long time.
She was recalling how she and Jiang Ningshu had met and come to know each other.
It was strange. She’d never set foot in a club of that caliber — she wouldn’t even dare to glance at it when passing by. Yet she’d ended up there because she took a gig delivering a ring, and before she could even deliver it, Jiang Ningshu had pulled her into a room.
As if she’d gone there for her.
Her life changed completely.
In truth, Jiang Ningshu’s behavior at the time amounted to little more than forced possession. Her first impression of Jiang Ningshu was of a beautiful, ruthless, cold patron2 — but the more time they spent together, the more she understood, the more her heart ached for her. And the more she understood, the more she fell for her.
Song Lian couldn’t remember how many years ago she’d violated the first clause of their contract: you must not develop feelings for the patron.
After so many years, after everything they’d been through, she could no longer be what she once was — she could no longer accept staying by her side as just a lover.
She wanted a proper status. She wanted to be with her openly, legitimately.
To that end, she had already taken ninety-nine steps toward Jiang Ningshu. The last step was Ningshu’s to take.
Whether Jiang Ningshu would take that step — Song Lian didn’t know.
So she was, in fact, nervous.
This was her first relationship. If nothing went wrong, it would also be her last.
Time passed minute by minute. Song Lian’s slender, knuckle-defined fingers tightened their grip.
“Time to board…” When boarding was called, Song Lian murmured and rose to her feet, unable to name what she felt. Clinging to one last sliver of hope, she turned to look — and only then noticed someone standing not far to her side.
Jiang Ningshu wore exquisite makeup and a heavy coat, yet leaned on a walking stick that clashed utterly with her elegance.
She hadn’t just arrived. She seemed to have been standing there on that cane for a long time.
She was smiling at Song Lian — as if amused by this rare look of surprise on her face.
“Song Lian.” She called softly, the final syllable lifting.
“Jiang Ningshu…” Some emotion surged up. Song Lian, rarely at a loss, opened her mouth and closed it again, momentarily speechless.
Jiang Ningshu’s smile deepened, though it no longer carried that feigned lightness. Leaning on her cane, she limped closer to Song Lian.
Now it seemed that without a word, everything was understood.
“Where are you going?” Jiang Ningshu asked with a smile.
“Where do you want me to go?” Song Lian shot back.
Jiang Ningshu answered a question with a question: “I want to go to Weizhou Island. Once my leg heals, I want you to come with me.”
Her tone was gentle yet tinged with a hint of dominance — as if it were settled that Song Lian would accompany her, as if certain Song Lian would give her what she wanted.
Song Lian would give her what she wanted — but on one condition.
Song Lian’s earlier nervousness was gone. She’d relaxed entirely, putting on a mock-serious air as she said, “Chairman Jiang, your travel escort should be delegated to your next secretary. I’ve already resigned.”
How could Jiang Ningshu not see the little calculation beneath her serious facade? She played along, saying in an unhurried tone, “But I’m not going for work.”
“Then what for?”
“A honeymoon.”
This answer exceeded Song Lian’s expectations. She froze.
“Song Lian, we’re both getting older, and we’ve known each other for so many years — let’s skip the dating and just get married, okay? Once my leg heals, we can go right away to…”
“What did you say?” Song Lian cut her off, reaching up to grip her arms, voice trembling.
She’d lost her composure. She’d lost again.
Jiang Ningshu’s deep eyes filled with tenderness. “I said — stay with me for the next twenty years too. As my wife.”
The author has something to say:
“But the you from back then, and the me now — if only we could start over.”
Footnotes
- 做牛做马 | zuò niú zuò mǎ | Literally 'to work as an ox and a horse'; a traditional Chinese idiom expressing abject servitude or profound indebtedness, rooted in the agrarian reality where oxen and horses were the ultimate beasts of burden.
- 金主 | jīnzhǔ | Literally 'gold master'; Chinese slang for a wealthy individual who financially sponsors another person in a transactional relationship, often with expectations of companionship or exclusivity; here refers to Jiang Ningshu's contractual role over Song Lian.
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