After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 29

Jing Feizuo noticed subtle changes in Wen Jin after her return from Europe.

Specifically, Wen Jin gradually became busier again. While still less hectic than before, her assistant—who had been handling countless miscellaneous tasks—finally received some reprieve. Wen Jin began taking on some of the more demanding responsibilities herself, even occasionally staying at the office from morning till night.

What surprised Jing Feizuo even more was that Wen Jin was willing to go on business trips again.

A suitcase lay open on the floor, neatly packed with the essentials for Wen Jin’s short trip: clothing and toiletries.

Her movements were slower than usual, her hands lingering over each item for several seconds, as if trying to slow down time itself.

Jing Feizuo leaned against the doorframe, cradling a mug of warm milk. She watched Wen Jin pack in silence.

“It’s only three days,” Wen Jin finally said after folding and unfolding a shirt for the fifth time. “Not three years.”

Wen Jin’s movements paused.

Of course she knew it was only three days. But ever since they made their six-month pact, she had wanted to do everything with Jing Feizuo, even shower together.

The decision to go on this business trip hadn’t been easy. She didn’t actually need to sign the contract in person; she simply needed an excuse to get away for a while.

She needed to know if Jing Feizuo would feel even a moment of discomfort in her absence.

For over three months, she had practically embedded Jing Feizuo into her very bones. Yet that figure racing on the track seemed to constantly remind her that this woman remained effortlessly in control, capable of withdrawing at any moment.

So she had to take a brief step back, to gauge Jing Feizuo’s reaction and plan her next move accordingly.

Should she continue her gentle offensive, or try a different approach altogether?

Perhaps Wen Jin had been lost in thought for too long. Growing impatient, Jing Feizuo suddenly reached out, grabbed her tie, and pulled her closer.

Surprised but quickly recovering, Wen Jin responded to this unexpected intimacy.

The empty cup toppled onto the carpet.

The moment Wen Jin’s lips pressed down, Jing Feizuo tasted the bitter black coffee. But whether it was the lingering sweetness from the milk she’d just finished or something else entirely, the flavor felt overwhelmingly sweet, almost intoxicating.

This kiss was fiercer than usual, as if demanding to claim three days’ worth of affection in advance.

Wen Jin’s hand gripped the back of Jing Feizuo’s neck with such force that it nearly left finger marks, while Jing Feizuo’s fingers dug into Wen Jin’s suit jacket, crumpling the expensive fabric.

When they finally broke apart, Wen Jin’s breathing was ragged, and lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth, like a violent mark.

Jing Feizuo wiped away the excess lipstick. “It’s time to go.”

Standing in the entryway, Wen Jin checked her ID and documents again.

Her movements remained precise and efficient, but…

“President Wen, should you check the time?” Jing Feizuo raised her voice deliberately. “Are you really not worried about missing your flight?”

Wen Jin didn’t move, instead staring at her for a long moment. “Darling.”

“Hmm?”

“You’d better really miss me.”

Jing Feizuo smiled and leaned in to give her a farewell kiss on the cheek. “Go now.”

Wen Jin’s figure disappeared behind the door, the mechanical hum of the closing elevator echoing through the empty corridor.

Jing Feizuo walked back into the living room. The house was terrifyingly large, and now she was alone here. She couldn’t quite tell if she felt relaxed or regretful.

A notification pinged on her phone, but she didn’t check it. She recognized the calendar reminder tone and knew what it was reminding her of.

She would never forget this day.

Fine rain wove a dense net, shrouding the entire cemetery.

Jing Feizuo held a black umbrella, her fingertips reddened by the cold wind.

In the end, she swallowed the urge to tell Wen Jin what day it was. In truth, she rarely mentioned her mother to anyone. Those memories were like old paintings locked at the bottom of a paint box, their colors dried and unspoken.

The photograph on the tombstone had faded, the woman’s gentle smile blurring in the misty rain.

Jing Feizuo knelt down, placing a bouquet of flowers before the stone marker, her fingertips brushing against its icy surface.

She wasn’t used to speaking to the unseen at gravesides, but at this moment, Jing Feizuo had so much she wanted to say to her.

“Have I ever told you that the doctors said most of my memories from before I turned eighteen are hazy? It’s the brain’s self-preservation mechanism.”

Her features bore a seventy percent resemblance to the woman in the photograph, though the latter’s were softer.

She suddenly recalled how her mother used to comb her hair with her fingers when she was little, saying her strands were as smooth as silk. Now, strands of her rain-soaked hair clung to her neck, with no one to brush them aside.

It rarely rained at this time of year. This downpour had come suddenly, catching even the weather forecast by surprise.

The climate grew stranger, or rather, worse, with each passing year.

In the year her mother’s plane crashed, Jing Feizuo desperately wished for the world to end. Whether through climate anomalies or an asteroid strike, she saw no way out and frantically hoped for humanity’s extinction, as if only then could her despair be erased.

Yet the world continued to function normally. Her teachers even worried that her performance on the final exams before winter break might drag down the class average.

Jing Feizuo’s voice was barely audible, almost drowned out by the rain.

“You think I should thank my brain?” she murmured. “At the last class reunion, there was a dispute. Someone mentioned how lucky I was—that even after you left, I still got a huge sum of money.

“I must have been devastated then, but all those emotions seem to have faded with my memories. My brain helped me forget the worst pain, but it also stole so many details about you. It’s so unfair. I’d rather feel the pain if it meant remembering you more clearly.”

The rain seemed to pierce through her umbrella, seeping into Jing Feizuo’s eyes. Her vision blurred, her eyes stung, yet the corners of her mouth trembled upward into a smile.

One day at university, Jing Feizuo was looking through old photos when she realized many of her classmates’ faces had blurred into an indistinct haze.

The doctor said, “You’ve forgotten some episodic memories, but it’s not a major concern. Do you need medication?”

Jing Feizuo declined. She hadn’t forgotten her language skills, professional expertise, or her loved ones. Her brain was remarkably efficient.

Until one clear morning, she woke from a nightmare and tried to recall her mother’s last words to her before boarding the plane. The scene she thought was etched into her bones had fragmented into incomplete fragments.

She sat on the edge of her bed, a tidal wave of panic washing over her, leaving her drenched in icy dread.

Terrified, she rushed to the hospital.

The doctor’s voice was gentle yet cruel: “This is the brain’s self-preservation mechanism. Forgetting painful memories is also a new beginning. Don’t force it.”

Jing Feizuo stood frozen, the world buzzing in her ears like tinnitus.

How could she not force it?

That was her mother, the person who loved her most in the world. She needed to remember every single moment.

For the next two days, she locked herself in her room, swallowing the prescribed pills raw and torturing herself with relentless attempts to recall the past. She clawed through layers of thorns that blocked her path to her mother’s memory.

Fate’s cruelest curse is to crush the beauty you possess right before your eyes. After losing it, every sweet memory becomes arsenic seeping into your bones.

Jing Feizuo knelt amidst the ruins of her memories, enduring this prolonged agony.

“I’m dating someone again, but it’ll probably end in two months.

“You promised you’d love me forever and always be by my side, but you never told me what to do after you vanished from my life.

“If I’m destined to be unable to bear the pain of losing someone again, then… should I have never had anything to begin with? Losing something you once had is ten thousand times more cruel than never having had it at all.

“I don’t want to suffer so much that I forget. I miss you so much, Mom.”

Jing Feizuo pressed her face against the rain-soaked tombstone and closed her eyes.

The tombstone was washed again, this time by warm water.

Jing Feizuo recalled the day her mother brought her to A City alone. Those warm hands had cupped her face as her mother said, “Darling, don’t be naive and trust others so easily. Don’t get hurt. But don’t be afraid either. If you do get hurt, remember that Mom will always be here, loving you and catching you when you fall.”

But that safety net had flown away with the plane.

Jing Feizuo remained in that posture for a long time, her legs growing numb as she stood up, leaning on the umbrella.

The rain intensified.

Now, Jing Feizuo found herself inexplicably praying for the weather to return to normal.

She let out a self-deprecating chuckle and continued walking until she left the cemetery.

In the car on the way back, Jing Feizuo wrung out the hem of her soaked pants. The driver glanced at her. “Miss, would you like a tissue?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, instinctively reaching for the passenger seat where Wen Jin usually kept a dry towel.

But this time, her hand grasped only empty air.

Her phone buzzed again, jolting Jing Feizuo out of her momentary daze. She pulled it out and saw a message from Wen Jin: “It’s raining in H City.”

Attached was a photo: a rain-soaked city street, with Wen Jin’s blurry reflection visible in the glass of a roadside shop.

Jing Feizuo stared at that shadow for a long time.

Meanwhile, in a café, Wen Jin’s gaze lingered on her chat with Jing Feizuo. The last message in the conversation remained the unanswered photo.

She flipped her phone over and glanced at the woman sitting across from her. “What a coincidence.”

Shen Zhiyi smiled, a smile that was more businesslike than genuine, with barely a hint of the warmth of encountering an old friend.

“When we first met in G City, I thought Jing Feizuo and I were destined to be together,” she said, lifting her coffee cup. “Who knew it was actually you I was meant to meet?”

Wen Jin returned the smile. “Not bad, I suppose.”

Suddenly remembering something, Shen Zhiyi tapped her finger lightly against the rim of her cup and asked bluntly, “Have you and Jing Feizuo broken up?”

Wen Jin looked up, a flicker of coldness in her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

The former friends now seemed more like enemies meeting with mutual animosity. Shen Zhiyi shrugged. “Nothing. I just thought you’d be with her today.”

“What’s today?”

Shen Zhiyi’s smile faded.

She stared into Wen Jin’s eyes, as if trying to gauge whether she truly didn’t know. “It’s the anniversary of her mother’s death.”