The Iceberg Ex-Wife Doesn't Want to Take My Tragic Ending Script (BE Script) - Chapter 7

In the past, Shi Xiu would tell Shang Jinyue everything, excitedly presenting her whole self to her.

In front of Shang Jinyue, she was transparent.

Shang Jinyue never imagined Shi Xiu could keep secrets from her.

She was accustomed to it, taking it for granted.

So, Shang Jinyue was not prepared. When she, suppressing her displeasure, tried to check up on Shi Xiu today, she was shut out.

Shang Jinyue remained calm and restrained, deliberately softening her breathing.

She wasn’t relieved by Shi Xiu’s sudden sense of boundaries.

Because the person sitting opposite Shi Xiu was not the seventeen-year-old Shang Jinyue. It was twenty-seven-year-old Shang Jinyue, who, like Shi Xiu, had inexplicably returned to age seventeen.

Upon realizing she had returned to age seventeen, Shang Jinyue felt an unplaceable joy.

She had returned to the most beautiful period of her life with Shi Xiu.

At least, for the next ten years, the situations that had once left her helpless could now be handled perfectly.

Shang Jinyue was confident of her victory, waiting in her seat for Shi Xiu’s pestering.

But what greeted her was being abandoned, rejected, and even met with Shi Xiu’s cold response.

Shang Jinyue loved looking at Shi Xiu’s eyes. This person’s eyes were always bright, always clean when looking at her. The sunlight landing in her pupils made her the sun itself.

Yet, this very pair of eyes turned cold the moment they realized it was her. Even her voice noticeably cooled.

The massive disparity left Shang Jinyue suspended in mid-air. She felt that something must be wrong. But whether it was the way she spoke, the method she used to solve problems, or even the habit of recognizing her family’s car and walking straight toward it, Shang Jinyue could confirm that the current Shi Xiu was the twenty-seven-year-old Shi Xiu.

This person was not good at hiding herself; everything was completely exposed. And that included: the distance she intentionally kept from her.

Shi Xiu, on the other side of the video, quietly watched Shang Jinyue, her narrowed eyes looking half-smirking. It was hard to describe this as the gaze of someone in love.

Did Shi Xiu really want to divorce her?

Shang Jinyue appeared as calm as ever on the screen, but her hand resting on the desk was uncontrollable, clenching tightly, her fingernails digging into her palm. Shi Xiu couldn’t see Shang Jinyue forcing her surging emotions into the darkness. She didn’t care either.

After Shi Xiu refused to answer Shang Jinyue’s question, the atmosphere between them grew silent. In the past, Shi Xiu was the one who always found things to talk about during their calls.

Now that she didn’t want to chat, the conversation naturally stalled. Habits maintained for too long are mistaken for obligations.

But why should it be? Feng Xinyang was right; people are equal.

Shi Xiu didn’t want any further involvement with Shang Jinyue.

She only answered Shang Jinyue’s opening question and was ready to hang up: “No need to worry. I can handle my ankle injury myself. I have things to do. If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.”

“Woof! Woof!…”

Just then, the sound of a small dog barking came from Shang Jinyue’s side.

Like their unexpected phone call, a white, fluffy ball of fur suddenly burst into the frame. It jumped onto Shang Jinyue’s lap. Its fluffy fur was well-groomed and slick, and its dark, round eyes looked like grapes. Its name was also Pútao, which means Grape.

This was the West Highland White Terrier Shang Jinyue raised. In the past, this little dog was very affectionate toward Shi Xiu. Every time Shi Xiu went to the Shang house, it would come looking for her to play. Shi Xiu was also fond of it, always bringing it treats.

Unfortunately, Pútao passed away in the first year of Shi Xiu and Shang Jinyue’s marriage. It wasn’t sick; its life had simply reached its natural end. It was already rare for a small dog like this to live to twenty.

If Pútao had one regret, it was probably that it didn’t wait for Shang Jinyue to come home before it passed. That day, Pútao’s vital signs were already very weak. Its tiny body heaved with every labored breath. Shi Xiu knew who it was trying to hold on to see, so she called Shang Jinyue repeatedly. But she couldn’t get through.

Finally, Xiao Chen replied, saying Shang Jinyue was having dinner with an important figure and couldn’t leave.

At the time, Shi Xiu didn’t understand what could be more important than seeing Pútao one last time.

The puppy’s faint life slipped away between her fingers. Shi Xiu watched the clock, counting every second until Shang Jinyue came home.

But fate was not kind. Shang Jinyue returned home moments after Pútao closed its eyes.

The winter air was filled with chill. Shang Jinyue looked weary from her travels.

Shi Xiu saw Shang Jinyue’s reddened eyes, but the apology came too late, and she didn’t even have to apologize.

To this day, Shi Xiu didn’t know if Pútao saw the lights of its owner returning home in its final moments.

She suddenly felt that she and Pútao were essentially the same. They were both placed last in Shang Jinyue’s life, always ready to be displaced for any unexpected event.

Pútao, if you knew your owner treated you this way, would you still love her?

Shi Xiu looked at the small dog nestled in its owner’s arms, wagging its tail frantically. The coldness in her eyes gradually gave way to more emotion.

Shang Jinyue clearly saw this on the video and attributed it to a “long-awaited reunion.”

The young woman’s eyes, rarely showing tenderness, softened.

She stroked Pútao’s head and played a game of “hard to get” with the person on the other end of the camera: “Since you have things to do, I won’t bother you.”

Shang Jinyue deliberately didn’t mention Pútao. The dog’s fluffy white tail, lifted by her fingers, twitched in front of the camera.

She thought Shi Xiu wouldn’t refuse. Pútao had been away from her for so long; she surely wanted to spend time with it…

“Okay.”

Shi Xiu didn’t want to. She hung up the phone without hesitation.

The screen that returned from the call interface was bright and glaring, reflecting Shang Jinyue’s stunned expression.

She stared fixedly at her chat interface with Shi Xiu, feeling an unprecedented humiliation.

The night wind was gentle, blowing softly through the open window and across the desk.

The pages of the book pressed under her phone rustled, one after another, cutting across Shang Jinyue’s fingers.

She didn’t know which page was sharp enough, but it managed to cut her little finger.

Pain radiated from the wound, drilling intensely into her body, constantly reminding her of the difference between reality and fantasy.

But was it her fantasy? They had once held each other so genuinely.

Shi Xiu’s smile was always bright, and her eyes were always full of her.

The heavy, dark night dampened their hair. She could stroke her cheek, her neck, her long fingers traversing mountains and rivers. They were the most intimate people in the world.

Shi Xiu had said it over and over, and Shang Jinyue had listened over and over: “I love you.”

But why is she not saying it now?

The red mark in her vision became increasingly prominent. Shang Jinyue suddenly remembered the bloodstain on the divorce agreement.

That was the last thing Shi Xiu left her. So tiny, easily overlooked. She wanted to leave her so badly that she wasn’t even willing to replace the paper and print a new copy. A bloody farewell, delivered to her.

Behind the card Shang Jinyue placed with the pomelo brooch, Shi Xiu had also written a line: “The end of the universe.”

This was from a documentary Shang Jinyue and Shi Xiu watched at home before the New Year when Shang Jinyue returned to China.

There was a line she liked that Shi Xiu didn’t understand: “our sun becomes a white dwarf – a hot, dense, shrunken stellar corpse.”

Shang Jinyue thought Shi Xiu probably understood now. She was telling her that she was that sun.

With words. With actions.

The conflict stemmed from within both of them. The pomelo brooch didn’t make a difference. It simply used up one last burst of the sun’s energy. It was used up when Shang Jinyue took it for granted.

Why did this happen?

Shang Jinyue sat quietly in the chair. The stars twinkling outside the window made her eyelashes tremble.

It wasn’t until Pútao nudged her shoulder, licking her cheek repeatedly. A drop of moisture fell onto the dog’s fluffy fur, leaving a shallow indentation.

Shang Jinyue belatedly realized.

She was crying.

Her body realized the problem between her and Shi Xiu even before her mind did.

The night wind suddenly surged in, making her chest feel empty and resonating with sound.

Shang Jinyue hunched over, the delayed pain making it difficult for her to breathe.

Author’s Note:

You’re crying too soon, Human-Machine Miss.