When Ling Yi was ten years old, he was sent to a 7,000-square-meter garden mansion in the French Concession.
The car stopped and the black iron door opened. He stepped on the gravel road and heard the iron door slam shut behind him.
He is not a relative, not an orphan who came to seek refuge, he was sold. The person who bought him told him that from now on, he would be the adopted son of this family and the one prepared for his young lady.
A large flat lawn spreads out in front of you. The camphor trees grow tall and dense. The wind passes through the leaves, making a rustling sound. The white two-story foreign-style building stood quietly at the end of the lawn. On the curved terrace on the second floor, a fourteen-year-old girl was looking down at him.
The girl's expression was very cold, and her eyes fell from top to bottom, with a natural unruliness and indifference.
She didn't like Ling Yi at first. She didn't want to have such a boy in the family. As the days passed, she gradually got used to Ling Yi's presence, and got used to him waiting for orders at any time, and later she began to do whatever she wanted with him.
Let him serve tea, let him run errands, let him stand quietly in the corner and wait.
She didn't regard him as her future husband, just as something that belonged to her.
Ling Yi was proud in his heart. He was unwilling to be humble and to let others do as they pleased. But he has no other place to go. He was bought back, and his fate is in the hands of the girl and her family.
He could only endure it.
He hid all the anger, grievance, and self-esteem in his heart, and pretended to be resigned and quiet on his face.
Time passed slowly, and Ling Yi grew up into a young man.
In dark corridors, on the terrace at dusk, occasionally when two people get very close, a strange and hot feeling will suddenly come over them.
He didn't understand what this restlessness was. He only knew that this kind of thought could not be seen or spoken out.
The huge gardens are beautiful, the lawns are always manicured, and the bungalows are exquisite and elegant.
In the huge garden, he was the only one who knew that within the bright walls was a long, silent torment with no end in sight.
He lowered his head, silently enduring the slights casually inflicted by his superiors, and silently suppressing the secret impulses of adolescence that quietly grew in his heart. Year after year, he was trapped in this empty and gorgeous manor.
Intention: Without intention, it is forced love
