My Good Life

When Ouyang Yu walked into the office, Gu Yubai was standing by the window, staring at the sky.

This morning, he received a text message from a strange number. It read: ‘Gu Yubai, sorry!’

No one owed him an apology except her.

For all the years he suffered, he received a measly apology. Sorry… so distant!

She never understood him. What he wanted from her was not remorse.

The moment he saw the text message, he realized that there was nothing except regret between them.

Love? Not an ounce…

She gave him fake affection and that’s what he received. Fake love…

‘So, Lin Meng, we are still not done. You owe me a lot, you ought to pay back.’

He looked out the window, his sinister eyes turned more unpredictable.

‘Is your apology sincere?’

…

Lin Meng looked at the text message on the phone she sent to Gu Xiaobai yesterday.

Thereafter, Ouyang Ning never left Lin Meng alone, scared and worried Gu Yubai would come and cause trouble again. The man never cared about others.

Lin Meng decided to explain what happened that day. It was her own problem, no one else should get in trouble because of her.

She placed the phone on the dresser and walked out of the door. In fact, she wanted to find an opportunity to meet Gu Yubai and clear things. She owed him an apology, an explanation.

However, since the last time, she had been scared of seeing him alone. After five years, he had really changed a lot. Compared to the past, he was calmer and more restrained. There was gloom in his eyes that made people wonder.

His temper was just as bad as before. He was a stubborn man…

She entered the study room. In the middle of the night, everyone was asleep. No one would bother her, and she won’t be a bother to anyone.

It had been half a year since she came back but this was her first time visiting the study. Nothing had changed. Her desk was still placed as before. She was a little surprised.

The corners of her eyes were moist. She stood at the table, poured some water on the inkstone and quietly ground the ink.

Since childhood, grandfather had made her and Zi’an learn calligraphy.

‘If you want to use a brush you must grind the ink.’

She was too lazy to practice often, but his writing grew more beautiful with continued practice.

In the past, as he practiced calligraphy she would stand beside him, grinding ink. Those days were gone forever.