chapter 8

The first time I visited Li Wenzhou’s home as a student, attending his playwriting class, the house still had its mistress.

He Shuyu was a gentle woman. Because she was childless, she looked younger than her actual age, but her eyes were already old, and she seemed bland and uninteresting.

In her youth, she was a drama actress, and met Li Wenzhou through theater. Back then, she was at the peak of her career, with a promising future ahead.

After falling in love with Li Wenzhou, she forever froze her most beautiful moment in the painting hanging in the study. That was her last performance.

After marriage, she completely left the stage behind, dedicating herself to the family, washing her hands to make soup and tend to the household.

In a flash, more than ten years passed. Years of being a housewife made her an excellent cook and a meticulous homemaker, but she had been worn down into the shape of Li Wenzhou, or rather, had become a soulless appendage.

Whenever Li Wenzhou lifted his eyelids, she knew exactly what kind of tea to prepare for him. She appeared at the right moments, did what needed to be done, and quietly withdrew, so docile that as the mistress of the house, she was almost invisible.

She was an orphan, with no relatives or friends; her entire life revolved around her husband. She never went out shopping, dining, or for beauty treatments; when she left the house, it was only to buy groceries and daily necessities, and she would return home immediately after.

It was hard for me to comprehend that such a selfless woman could exist in this world.

I called her “Shimu” (teacher’s wife), and she would timidly and quietly respond, lacking the presence one would expect from an elder. I was young, pretty, and lively, and it was obvious she felt inferior in my presence.

Li Wenzhou was such a talented man; the woman standing beside him shouldn’t have been so mediocre. Rather than the mistress, she was more like a maid.

As time went by, my attitude toward this so-called Shimu became increasingly condescending.

Of course, as a fellow woman, sometimes I did feel sympathy for her.

After class, I would seek her out for conversation, sharing the knowledge I’d learned and the books I’d read, telling her how wonderful the outside world was-partly to show off. She would just smile dryly and quietly agree with me.

I invited her to go shopping and eat with me. She nervously refused several times, but eventually came along, though she was uncomfortable the entire time.

The day I finished my debut play, Li Wenzhou was delighted and opened several bottles of wine to celebrate that night. We drank and performed together.

My work was an adaptation of Kunqu Opera’s Companion of Fragrance. Drunk and carelessly dressed, we took up the script and went on stage. Li Wenzhou played the male lead Fan Sheng, I played Fan Sheng’s concubine Cao Yuhua, and I pulled He Shuyu in to play Fan Sheng’s wife Cui Jianyun.

He Shuyu couldn’t refuse me and had to perform. But her movements were stiff, her lines sounded like chanting, and her acting was awkward and unbearable-nothing like a former professional actress, and her performance was even worse than mine, an amateur.

That night, I could see the loneliness in her eyes. But the next day, she reverted to the smiling housewife who made pastries.

Later, I learned the reason. Because she couldn’t have children, she felt guilty toward her husband and oppressed herself into this state. She was a very conservative woman, believing that if she was lacking in one aspect, she had to compensate doubly in others to keep her husband’s heart.

I tried to comfort her a few times, but there was little I could do. She was already set in her ways.

At heart, I am selfish and self-serving, and couldn’t concern myself too much with her. I cared more about myself.

When Li Wenzhou and I discussed writing in the study, she would bring us pastries, always knocking three times before entering. -I later realized this was a good habit.

She was kind to the point of foolishness, and perhaps only now understands the meaning of inviting a wolf into the house.

I was never meant to be such a despicable third party, and Li Wenzhou thought so too. So he sent He Shuyu away and made me the mistress.

I held both admiration and affection for my teacher, and guilt toward Shimu, but the former naturally outweighed the latter.

I consoled myself that their marriage was already troubled; even without me, it was destined to break apart. Li Wenzhou would tire of her sooner or later.

After He Shuyu left, I settled in without guilt.

I thought they had truly divorced, and she had truly left.

Until I walked into the bathroom in Li Wenzhou’s study.

Instead of a mirror above the sink, there was one-way glass, like in an interrogation room.

I turned on the light and, through the glass, saw directly into the Secret Room-and saw He Shuyu locked inside.

Emaciated, haggard.

She sat on the bed, staring blankly in my direction, but she couldn’t see me.

I watched her, unilaterally, for a long time.

Did Li Wenzhou keep her here because he still had feelings for her?

It couldn’t be; he had clearly grown tired of her.

But I didn’t dare to gamble, nor did I want to investigate further. All I knew was that as long as she was locked in here, I could continue living in this big house with Li Wenzhou.

So I pretended I hadn’t seen anything and left.

I was three months pregnant with Li Wenzhou’s child, and I resolved not to think about these things anymore, to focus on having the baby first.

Once I had the child, no matter what happened afterward-even if she came out one day-I would still have the upper hand. I was young, beautiful, talented, and could bear children, completely outshining her.

By then, I would rightfully marry Li Wenzhou and have a happy, warm family of three.

But then, the unexpected happened.