Fireworks at Twenty-Three

In the sixth year of their marriage of convenience, Mo Li finally learned to let go. Cen Yanjing’s heart belonged to Miss Zhao. He loved her but wouldn’t divorce his wife to marry her, and in the end, had to watch helplessly as she married someone else. At her engagement banquet, he graciously presented her with a gift worth a million yuan, and everyone thought he had moved on. But that night, at the summit of Taiping Mountain, he drank himself senseless and asked Mo Li with bloodshot eyes, “If I hadn’t married you back then, could I have married her?” In that moment, Mo Li suddenly found peace. Six years ago, she had entered the Cen family as a young woman full of love. Six years later, she was a woman who had lost even her child and had her dignity worn away. When she handed her husband, who had neglected her for two years, the divorce papers, his eyes reddened. “I don’t agree.” He said he had never thought of parting from her, yet there had never been room for her in his heart. The wind at the summit of Taiping Mountain was fierce, scattering the vows they had made when they fell in love at eighteen. Mo Li finally understood that some kinds of love only wear you down, no matter how hard you try to hold on. This time, she didn’t want to wait anymore. When love becomes a prison, letting go is the last shred of dignity.