On Our Wedding Night, He Held Me and Called Me His White Moonlight

On their wedding night, he gripped her chin and called out, “Song Qingwan.”

She didn’t cry. When she touched his cuff link, she sensed what he was truly feeling at that moment: he was thinking of her.

Not Song Qingwan. Her.

She had a condition: when she touched someone’s personal belongings, she could sense their real emotions.

During their three years of marriage, he had said in public, “She’s not as good as Song Qingwan.” But after the gathering, she touched the suit he had taken off and sensed that he was jealous, because another man had looked at her for a moment too long.

He had told her, “Get rid of the baby.” Yet that very night, she touched his safe and sensed the security agreement he had signed, hidden inside. The people he was protecting: her and their child.

She knew everything. But she never let on.

Until the day they signed the divorce papers, when he asked, eyes red, “Do you really want to leave that badly?”

She smiled. “Gu Tingshen, I know what you’re really thinking every time you say the opposite.”

He didn’t believe her.

She picked up his wedding ring and touched it gently. Then she repeated, word for word, what he had kept hidden in his heart for three years.

For the first time, the man who had never shed a tear fell to his knees before her.