Chapter 2: The Turning of Sun and Moon

Li Siyu furrowed her brow and hesitated for a moment, not entering the room immediately. After a brief pause, she tied the black donkey to a nearly withered peach tree. Holding up her skirt with one hand, she stepped onto the threshold and, through the doors that opened to the left and right, walked into the room.

The instant she stepped inside, Li Siyu instinctively backed out, covering her mouth and nose with her hand, her brows knitting tightly. Just moments ago, she had caught a whiff of a sour, fermented stench mixed heavily with the pungent smell of alcohol.

Outside the room, she took several deep breaths to steady herself, fighting the unpleasant odor before stepping forward once more. The room was unlit, and with the overcast sky, it was overly dim inside.

As her eyes adjusted to the faint light, Li Siyu gradually took in the state of the room’s contents and arrangement. To call it a display was generous. She soon pinpointed the source of the stench.

Scattered everywhere were snack wrappers, chicken bones, sunflower seed shells, peanut husks, and empty bottles strewn across the floor. Some snack packages were even moldy, and in a cup of instant noodles, mushrooms were flourishing robustly.

This was only the tip of the iceberg.

At a glance, the entire room resembled a landfill. Even the green plants in their pots had been stabbed through with two empty bottles. The antique furniture, once elegant and refined, was now obscured and stained by the trash, the original colors impossible to discern.

This place... was worlds apart from the Zhang family home she remembered—a complete reversal. In her memory, when Old Master Zhang was alive, the courtyard’s peach blossoms bloomed profusely, their fragrance filling the air. The lawn was trimmed and swept daily. The rooms were spotless, always kept immaculately clean.

Everything had been orderly, without a hint of disorder.

But now...

Everything had changed, diverging drastically from the memories she held.

Inhale... exhale...

The steady sound of snoring shattered her thoughts, pulling her attention back to reality.

Following the sound, she saw a figure in the corner, wrapped in a thin, darkened quilt, lying on the floor asleep.

Suppressing the foul stench, Li Siyu cautiously lifted her skirt and stepped forward, her eyes vigilantly fixed on the figure.

As she neared, peering through a gap in the grimy quilt, she recognized the familiar, still somewhat fair face beneath. Her expression deepened with sorrow.

This man lying on the floor was none other than her fiancé, Zhang Hao.

She sighed silently.

Glancing at the white liquor bottle tightly clenched in his hand, it was clear he had drunk alone again last night.

She took the quilt from him, who had passed out on the floor.

Standing still, she bit her lip and stared for a long moment.

She chose not to wake Zhang Hao but instead stepped back several paces to a relatively open spot, distancing herself from the garbage-strewn living room.

Then, rolling up the wide sleeves of her traditional Hanfu, she frowned at her skirt’s hem. After a brief hesitation, she produced two slender cords, lifted her skirt to reveal her pristine ankles, and tied the skirt snugly around her legs.

Only then did she let out a long breath and turn her gaze toward the living room, which resembled a refuse heap.

Crossing the threshold, she entered without hesitation and began swiftly clearing away the trash.

It was evident she wasn’t putting on a show; her movements were brisk and practiced, as if accustomed to such tasks.

Yet the scene was starkly incongruous.

Dressed in a dark green Hanfu gown, her delicate, sculpted features reminiscent of a figure stepped out of an ink painting, she rolled up her sleeves and tied up her skirt, deftly tidying the modern mess.

“Cough...”

“Cough cough...”

Suddenly, she began coughing. Covering her mouth and nose, her brows furrowed deeply, but her eyes showed no disgust—only unbearable pain.

Her cough was not from dirt or revulsion.

Having grown up in the countryside, far from privileged circles, she had endured hardships and sufferings from a young age; dirt and exhaustion were familiar companions.

But her health had always been frail. Now, assaulted by the sharp, foul odor, her coughing was relentless and worsening.

“Cough, cough cough...”

“Cough cough cough cough cough...”

These persistent coughs gradually overpowered the steady snoring, which eventually ceased altogether.

The disheveled figure wrapped in the grimy quilt stirred, clutching his throbbing head as he sat up, blinking in confusion at the garbage-ridden surroundings—and at the slender figure bent over, coughing amid the refuse.

...

“Where am I...?” Zhang Hao rubbed his head, drawing in short breaths.

He scanned the familiar yet filthy scene—the living room transformed into a dump, the furniture stained and obscured beyond recognition.

Am I... home?

I shouldn’t be... shouldn’t I be in Yan Hai City?

How... how did I end up back here?

And why is my house filled with garbage?

It was supposed to have been clean ever since Siyu came...

Ha.

What right do I have to mention Siyu?

Since he had encountered misfortune while working in the city, and learned of his father’s passing, he had sunk into despair. A hospital diagnosis confirmed severe depression, and since then, he had dragged his weary body back to Zhao Family Village.

At that time, he spent his days at home drinking heavily, idle and listless, his life a bleak, colorless haze.

Only after drinking did he find a semblance of his true self, the self unshackled by illness. In that dreamlike, illusory state, he found some comfort, a sense of purpose, a reason to live.

He was trapped in this cycle, unable to escape because waking brought a cruel contrast to the dream.

In this bleak existence, Siyu appeared. She helped pay his debts, cleaned the house, tended to his daily needs, and busied herself with all the household chores.

But what about him?

He remained lost in his affliction, tormented and decadent, ignoring all her efforts. Every day was spent drinking, gaming, and idling—doing nothing else.

Five years passed in this way... five long years.

During those years, while caring for his daily life, Li Siyu began filming and sharing her daily routines online. Unexpectedly, she became a sensation, the top ancient-style beauty on the entire network, earning millions annually.

Just as Li Siyu’s career soared, he finally emerged from his depression. He saw the light of life, the meaning of existence, recognized Siyu’s dedication to the family, her hard work. He wanted to share the burden, to live for her.

But the family... was already broken.

How absurd.

Indeed, it was laughable.

After five years of endless toil, coupled with filming and editing, her already fragile health gave out.

Li Siyu fell ill, and soon... she passed away.

After her death, he was utterly despondent, disappointed in himself.

He donated all their money, left the village full of memories with Siyu, and moved to Yan Hai City to work.

Still, he drank every day, often unable to distinguish dream from reality. One day, after getting drunk again, he fell asleep right on the street...

Looking back on his brief life, it was truly ironic.

But who had brought him back here?

Zhang Hao pressed his throbbing head, recalling the events after falling asleep.

“Cough cough cough...”

“Cough cough cough cough cough...”

The persistent coughing grew louder, clearer.

Suddenly, Zhang Hao snapped his eyes open and tried to rise, but his body felt weak.

That cough...

He knew it all too well.

It was Siyu’s voice... Siyu’s voice!

He struggled and staggered to his feet, eyes scanning the garbage-strewn room for the familiar figure.

The next moment, the image of a slender woman in a dark green traditional Hanfu, sleeves rolled up and skirt tied, came into view.

Zhang Hao’s pupils contracted sharply. Tears welled in his eyes, and despite his unshaven face, the corners of his mouth lifted involuntarily.

That was truly... Siyu!