Chapter 12: You Say Chu Jianghe Is Dead?

Perhaps she remembers the bits and pieces of our years together, but she never truly pondered over them.

Maybe she still recalls our first anniversary after marriage, when I carefully crafted a photo album filled with images of her captured over the past year.

On our second anniversary, since I wasn’t good with words and the phrase "I love you" felt too heavy, I wrote her a letter of ten thousand words.

For the third anniversary, I prepared a lavish feast for us to share, ending the evening with a dance to romantic music.

But after that day, we never celebrated any meaningful occasion again.

Neither her birthday nor our wedding anniversary saw her by my side.

That day, she didn’t go to work and wandered into the room I once lived in, dazed and listless.

Scattered across the floor were the paintings she had thrown down the day before. Jiang Yue stared at the mess, paused for a moment, then began picking up each piece carefully, placing them back into the album.

No matter how she tried to restore them, they would never be as they once were.

Frustrated, she suddenly hurled the album back onto the floor, her emotions flaring.

“Bastard! Chu Jianghe, you bastard!” she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. “Why the hell did you have to die?”

“Your death has nothing to do with me! I’m not to blame!”

“Why should I grieve for you?”

“Ah… you were just a substitute for him, so why should you—”

She lost control, shouting and smashing everything in the room to pieces.

Finally, she collapsed amidst the wreckage, crying out her pain.

I watched her, feeling a pang of pity, because she didn’t understand love and wasn’t worthy of it.

Seeing her so heartbroken, I didn’t think she mourned me.

From her words, it was clear she felt my death was not her concern.

At that moment, a gentle voice came from outside the door.

“Darling, what’s wrong with you?”

In came a woman adorned in jewels—Jiang Yue’s mother, Dai Rong.

Rumor had it that Dai Rong gave birth to Jiang Yue at seventeen. Though Jiang Yue was now twenty-five, her mother was only forty-two.

She was young and well-preserved, her skin as smooth as a woman half her age.

Standing side by side, mother and daughter looked like sisters.

Yet, like her daughter, Dai Rong never took me seriously. If not for Jiang Yue’s insistence, she would never have agreed to our marriage.

Even after we wed, Dai Rong never considered my feelings. She introduced new suitors to Jiang Yue right before me and publicly called me a worthless man.

Back then, I endured it all because I believed life was between Jiang Yue and me—not with her mother.

Let her curse; after all, she would die first and had only a few years left to do so.

But unexpectedly, I was the one who died first.

Dai Rong hugged Jiang Yue tightly as she entered, soothing her. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“Mom, why are you here?” Jiang Yue asked after regaining composure.

“I came to see you! What’s going on?”

Dai Rong frowned at the scattered photos. “Did that Chu Jianghe jerk make you unhappy again?”

Jiang Yue lowered her head in silence.

Her mother’s anger flared. “Divorce! I’ll have a lawyer draw up the papers immediately. You must divorce him!”

“He really thinks he matters! A live-in son-in-law should accept his fate, yet he dares to upset you? What a joke!”

Looking at Dai Rong’s furious, distorted face made me sick.

Over the years, if not for my love for Jiang Yue and respect for her as her mother, I would have long since severed ties.

Women who marry into wealthy families and act so arrogantly—I know that ugly side all too well.

Dai Rong furiously pulled out her phone.

Jiang Yue sighed softly. “Mom, no need. He… he’s dead.”

Dai Rong froze, silent for about five seconds before exclaiming, “Sweetheart, what did you say?”

“He’s dead,” Jiang Yue said calmly.

“You mean Chu Jianghe is dead?”

Dai Rong’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking as if struck by shock.

Jiang Yue nodded quietly.

“What… what happened? What’s going on?”

“A car accident. He’s been cremated.”

Dai Rong paused again, then suddenly laughed. “Good riddance! He never wanted to divorce you anyway. Now it’s all over.”

Jiang Yue said nothing, her gaze empty as she stared at the scattered paintings, her expression tangled with conflicting emotions.

Dai Rong held Jiang Yue gently again. “Sweetheart, he’s dead. Why be sad? Shouldn’t you be relieved?”

Jiang Yue stared blankly at the photos on the floor, her brows knitting and unknitting as if burdened by countless thoughts.

She sighed softly, her expression complex. “I don’t know why. When I first heard he died, I didn’t believe it. When it was confirmed, I was actually a little glad. But… I don’t know why, I feel uneasy inside, like it’s suffocating.”

Dai Rong smiled and said, “Sweetheart, I get it. You’re just scared.”

“Why don’t we sell this house and you come stay with me for a few days?”

Jiang Yue was silent for a moment. “He’s dead. Why should I be afraid? I… I don’t know why I feel this way.”

“Then don’t think about it. Come stay with me for a while, relax.”

Jiang Yue nodded.

Dai Rong then noticed the paintings on the floor and picked one up casually.

Looking closely, it was a portrait of Jiang Yue with her parents.

Jiang Yue had lost that photo and searched for it for a long time during a difficult period.

Taking advantage of her distraction, I had sent that photo from her phone to mine.

Using it as a reference, I painted a new one.

It wasn’t a perfect replica but captured nearly ninety percent of the original’s vividness.

Dai Rong was surprised. “Sweetheart, didn’t you say this photo was missing?”

Jiang Yue glanced at it and said, “Chu Jianghe painted it.”

“A painting?!” Dai Rong gasped, astonished.

Jiang Yue nodded without much emotion.

Dai Rong frowned. “But he didn’t know how to paint. And this looks almost exactly like the photo!”

Jiang Yue sneered. “I don’t know either, but he could paint.”

Dai Rong picked up the other paintings one by one, scrutinizing them. Her lips pressed together, then parted slightly, as if wanting to say something but holding back.

Jiang Yue stood and said, “Enough. Let’s go. Stop looking.”

Only then did Dai Rong put down the paintings and leave the room with her.

As they prepared to return to the bedroom to pack, Jiang Yue called out to a maid. “Liu, please clean Chu Jianghe’s room. Don’t throw away those paintings on the floor just yet. And take a few days off.”

Liu acknowledged and went to work.

Jiang Yue and her mother quickly packed some clothes and prepared to leave.

Liu appeared carrying a box and asked Jiang Yue, “Miss Jiang, should we throw these things away?”