A Beijing socialite stole my boyfriend; she went crazy after I got married.

Jiang Chu wandered around the old house for another half hour.

After leaving the east courtyard, she walked along a narrow path made of blue bricks, turned through a moon gate, and entered a small courtyard.

This place is quieter and smaller than the previous courtyards. In the center stands a very old persimmon tree with an unusually thick trunk and branches that spread out to cover most of the sky.

The leaves had long since fallen, leaving only a few ripe persimmons hanging on the branches, their orange-red color shimmering in the cold winter light like a few warm splashes of ink on a painting.

There were several clumps of withered grass at the base of the wall, which had been pressed to the ground by frost and curled up into a light brown patch.

Jiang Chu stood under the persimmon tree for a while, looked up at the persimmons, and thought that the tree had probably outlived anyone who had ever lived in the courtyard.

She went out through a half-open side door, outside which was a narrower covered walkway.

There are several old flowerpots piled up under the eaves, untouched for who knows how many years. The soil inside has hardened into clumps, and nothing is planted in them; they just sit there empty.

Most of the red paint on the pillars has peeled off, revealing the grayish-white base underneath.

Jiang Chu slowly walked back along the covered walkway. The winter sunlight spread out outside the walkway, making the blue bricks on the ground gleam with a deep blue-gray.

As she turned a corner in a corridor, she saw Xie Jing.

The man stood in an open area at the end of the veranda, his back as straight as a pine tree.

Jiang Chu followed his gaze.

Outside the corridor is a pool of water.

The traditional rectangular shape is edged with neat bluestone slabs, which are covered with a thin layer of moss. The moss is a dark green that grows from being constantly immersed in moisture.

A layer of ice had formed on the water's surface, not very thick. Through the ice, one could vaguely see the color of the water below, a hazy grayish-blue, reflecting the white sky overhead.

Two wintersweet trees grow by the pond, their branches slender and stiff, with small, firm, pale yellow buds hanging quietly.

Jiang Chu walked over.

"When I was a child, my older brother took me fishing here."

Xie Jing said in a low voice.

"In the summer," he paused, "it's alright with air conditioning indoors, but it's unbearable outside. It's not that hot in Reykjavik, but I always feel like my head is going to explode and I'm going to be roasted alive."

Jiang Chu couldn't help but laugh.

"Big brother is sitting over there—"

He pointed towards the stone slabs by the pool, "Wearing long sleeves and pants, not moving at all. I was wearing a tank top and shorts next to him, but I just couldn't sit still. I asked him if he wasn't hot."

Jiang Chu asked softly, "What did he say?"

"A calm mind brings coolness," Xie Jing said quietly. "At the time, I thought he was being deliberately mysterious, but many years later, I slowly began to understand its meaning."

"So," Jiang Chu looked at the ice, "did you catch any fish back then?"

"I caught a few," Xie Jing thought for a moment, "they were all small crucian carp. I had the kitchen cook them later, and I had some soup."

Do you still go fishing?

"...No more."

"Hmm," Jiang Chu chuckled, "I'm pretty much the same. My grandpa used to take me fishing a few times, like grass carp and common carp. Once he caught a really big one and showed it to me. I almost slipped into the water, and he was so scared that he threw down the rod to pull me out. In the end, the fish was gone. He kept nagging about it afterward, even when we got home. He talked about it for days, which annoyed my grandma so much that she slammed her fist on the table."

The wind outside the corridor was gentle, causing the branches of the winter plum blossoms to tremble slightly. A few tiny petals fell into the cracks in the rocks beside the ice and stopped there.

The two remained silent for a long time.

Jiang Chu looked up. "Are you in a bad mood? Did you have a fight with Xie Qingyang?"

"At most, it's just her making a fuss," Xie Jing shook his head slightly, "...but thinking about my older brother, he could have lived a few more years."

Jiang Chu remained silent.

"Although his condition is more serious, the rate of aortic dilation can be controlled, and with surgery, he can hold on a little longer."

He paused for a moment.

"But the old man is the kind of person who, even with my brother's good temper, can't stand arguing with him all the time, and he might even get physical. Long-term emotional stress can cause high cortisol levels and chronically raise blood pressure. The pressure on the aortic wall increases little by little, and the rate of expansion is much faster than normal... plus what happened with Qiu Yuan later."

Xie Jing looked at the reflection on the lake and said, "She used aphrodisiacs. Those things dilate blood vessels and reduce peripheral resistance. It's not a big problem for ordinary people, but for someone who already has aortic root dilation, the risk window is much larger."

No drastic process is needed; after taking that type of drug, even under relatively normal stress, the accumulated damage is real.

"Later, when Ms. Qiu mentioned her pregnancy, it was another emotional shock."

Xie Jing chuckled softly, "Later, my older brother died. She cried bitterly at the funeral and even tried to commit suicide. I couldn't tell if it was an act or real. If she really loved him, how could she do such a thing? Back then, I couldn't understand it and didn't want to think about it too much. I was afraid I would strangle her."

Jiang Chu let out a soft breath and rested her head on his shoulder. "People are complex. Even blood relatives can hurt each other and then regret it, or they might not regret it at all, let alone..."

"Indeed," Xie Jing sighed, "If we're talking about who harmed our elder brother more, it's definitely that old man."

They looked together at the frozen surface of the pool.

Jiang Chu really didn't know how to comfort him, "Think of it on the bright side, he and Qiu Yuan are both gone, so it can be considered retribution."

Xie Jing lowered his head and rested his chin on the top of her head. "That's true."

He was silent for a few seconds, then put his arm around her and stood up. "Let's go get something to eat."

As the two walked back along the covered walkway, and as they approached the passageway, the cool fragrance of winter plum blossoms in the air gradually gave way to a rich and robust sweet scent.

That's the aroma of rice, with its rich, oily scent, that comes from rice being slowly simmered in an earthenware pot.

It also contains the unique caramel sweetness of brown sugar melting at high temperatures, as well as the fruity aroma of red dates and dried longan after being steamed.

Jiang Chu sniffed. "Wow."

"Aunt Wang made eight-treasure sweet porridge today, as well as her family's traditional cheese flatbread."

Xie Jing looked down at her, a slight smile playing on his lips. "She watched me grow up. When I returned to China and lived in this courtyard, she would often bring me food."

The door to the side room on one side of the second courtyard was pushed open.

A middle-aged woman wearing a dark blue Chinese-style cotton-padded jacket with neatly combed white hair walked out with a smile.

She had many wrinkles on her face, but was in excellent spirits, with the straightforwardness and affability of an old Beijing resident in her eyes and brows.

"Young Master, Miss Jiang, are you hungry?"

"Aunt Wang," Xie Jing said calmly, taking the hand of the girl beside her as she stepped forward, "this is Jiang Chu."

"Hello, Aunt Wang," Jiang Chu greeted her obediently. "Your cooking smells so good!"

"Wow, what a beautiful girl!"

Aunt Wang looked at her in surprise, then quickly broke into a wide smile. She took Jiang Chu's hand and looked her over, her eyes filled with the joy of an elder looking at a younger generation.

"I knew it! Why was there such a festive atmosphere in the yard on such a cold day? Come on, it's warm inside, come in and have something hot."

The room was warmly heated, and on a gleaming old rosewood round table, an exquisite white porcelain bowl and a plate of freshly baked flatbread were already set out.

The fire-roasted pastry was golden and crispy, with layers of flaky crust slightly puffed up, emitting an enticing aroma of milk and flour, and sprinkled with a fine layer of white sesame seeds.