Love on a Time Limit - Chapter 5

The car lights swept across the quiet street, casting blurred shadows of trees through the dimness.

The night was silent, with lush flowering trees lining both sides. The distance between each courtyard estate was vast.

As the car turned another corner, an understated yet imposing wrought-iron gate with intricate carvings came into view. A Chinese-style villa in muted tones was half-hidden in the night.

The designated driver nervously maneuvered Song Ming’s top-of-the-line McLaren—not yet available domestically—into the parking space in the courtyard. “This is the place, right boss?” he asked.

Song Ming, sitting in the passenger seat, had been typing on her phone. She glanced up at the driver’s question.

New messages kept popping up on her screen, and in moments another row of red notification dots appeared. Song Ming skimmed them, then turned off her phone with a faint smirk. “Yeah, this is it.”

Ji Shan could actually be reliable sometimes.

Having afternoon tea with some random model was nowhere near as “interesting” as attending a party.

After completing the ride-hailing order and tipping the driver—a habit from her time abroad—Song Ming bounded up the steps with light steps, fishing out her keys to unlock the villa door.

The spacious villa was empty, but thanks to regular cleaning, it looked no different from when Song Ming had last left it.

This party had been held in a rather remote location, practically on the outskirts of the city. Too lazy to return to her downtown apartment, Song Ming had decided to stay at this long-vacant villa instead.

Her phone continued buzzing with messages. She replied to the ones that caught her eye, deleting a couple from men without even reading them.

Half a minute later, a friend request popped up, the verification message a string of exclamation marks. Ji Shan’s exasperation practically screamed through the screen, making his usually artsy profile picture look downright deranged.

Song Ming blinked, then couldn’t help but laugh.

The poor guy had been lumped in with those clueless men when she’d accidentally deleted his message along with the rest.

After laughing, Song Ming mercilessly turned off her screen and flipped her phone face-down on the table.

If she accepted Ji Shan’s friend request now, she could already imagine the earful she’d get. Just the thought of it made her phone seem irritating by association, so she pushed it aside and ignored it.

It had been a while since she’d visited this house. After glancing around, she remembered there was a study on the second floor.

The study was spacious, with a high-backed armchair facing floor-to-ceiling windows. Song Ming casually activated the electric curtains and walked over to the sofa out of habit. Something felt missing—then she spotted a sleekly designed side table to her left, holding a bottle of red wine and a glass, exactly the kind she usually preferred.

Only then did Song Ming relax, finally feeling the comfort of being “home.”

Settling into the sofa, she gazed out at the artificial lake in the distance. Lantern-style streetlights dotted the perimeter at even intervals, framing the hazy nightscape perfectly from her vantage point.

After a quick shower, Song Ming lazily draped herself in a bathrobe and curled up on the sofa. A glance at the night view triggered a misfire in her alcohol-and-music-numbed brain, suddenly reminding her of Zhou Chenglin’s drunken remark at the party earlier.

While drinking with a girl whose fox-like eyes were particularly alluring, Zhou Chenglin had laughed and called Song Ming heartless.

The girl had playfully agreed, pouting that Song Ming was cruel.

Cruel? Song Ming almost laughed. She hadn’t even done anything to that girl—what right did she have to call her cruel?

Wait, what was that girl’s name again…?

Song Ming couldn’t remember. The name was in the notes, the phone was downstairs.

Getting the phone would surely bring another wave of noise, and Song Ming’s desperate need to fill her life with something seemed to have washed down the drain along with the water from the shower. From this moment on, she didn’t want anyone bothering her at all.

Whatever, Song Ming thought, resting her head in her hand. Whoever it was, what did it matter to her?

Heartless… A familiar voice seemed to whisper in her ear, laced with hatred and mockery:

“Song Ming! Is this how you say you love me?… How utterly heartless.”

Song Ming frowned, a sudden headache creeping in.

She didn’t like recalling this memory. That woman had been beautiful, flawless from her toes to the tips of her hair, her lipstick always looking irresistibly kissable. The lines of her back were sharp yet soft, like touching the finest jade.

But her words had been merciless. Whenever they couldn’t agree, Song Ming would silence her with a kiss to end the argument.

The sharper and harsher the woman’s words, the softer her lips had been.

The taste of her lipstick had always been a light, sweet flavor, one Song Ming had once been addicted to.

But even addictions come to an end.

Some people’s love is like fruit—it rots with time.

Song Ming smirked self-deprecatingly and stood, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that took up an entire wall.

The mahogany shelves were packed with books of all genres and languages. Song Ming’s fingers trailed over the spines, searching aimlessly for something to pass the time.

Her fingertip brushed against a dark red hardcover poetry collection with gold-embossed patterns, and she suddenly paused.

Her memory was actually excellent—if she wanted to remember something, she never forgot. But this poetry collection left no impression. She only recalled the first half, while the latter half’s contents were a complete blank.

Song Ming tilted her head up, confirming that the book was indeed shelved among those she had already read.

“How odd.”

She chuckled and pulled the book out.

This was a mistake she almost never made. On a night as dull and tiresome as this, using such a slip-up to reminisce about a trivial past event was at least some form of amusement.

Song Ming even leisurely took a sip of red wine before opening the poetry collection with mild anticipation.

As she flipped through the crisp white pages, she encountered slight resistance. With a flick of her finger, a bookmark slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

Bending down to pick it up, Song Ming realized it was just the stub of some long-expired banquet ticket. A line of delicate handwriting accompanied it, the faded ink carrying an outdated intimacy: Darling, here’s a little surprise for you. Let’s see when you’ll find me.

Song Ming froze.

She recognized this handwriting. She remembered this banquet.

She didn’t need to turn the stub over to recall—it was from two and a half years ago, back when she and someone had been inseparable.

Ah, that was it. She had only read half of this book before falling asleep. Someone had put it away for her, deliberately shelving it among the finished books, then left this bookmark behind.

After a long silence, Song Ming placed the bookmark back inside the poetry collection and pushed the entire book out of sight.