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Qingshan Cemetery was only three kilometers from my studio.

Ever since leaving Yang Xue, this was the only place where I could find peace at night.

Because here lay the greatest sorrow of my life—memories that would never fade.

In truth, I had never been angry at Yang Xue for treating me as a substitute. The true reason for my pain and grief was that I had never truly freed myself from the shackles of my past.

I had tried to love Yang Xue, to make her into someone else.

But all my sincerity had been toyed with, trampled on.

And in the end, I realized that I had only fallen from one hell into another, even deeper abyss.

The moment I understood that staying like this would only bring me more pain, I chose to let go.

If Yang Xue had cared for me even a little, things wouldn't have come to this.

But I knew better than anyone what it felt like to cling to a first love.

I had buried that feeling deep inside, searching for a substitute to fill the void.

Yang Xue, on the other hand, had chosen an extreme form of revenge.

In the end, we were the same—equally pathetic.

"You're here again."

The caretaker recognized me. I visited every week, rain or shine, and over time, we had become familiar.

I often brought cigarettes or liquor, a small token of appreciation, hoping he would help keep the grave clean when I was away.

Each time I approached the cemetery, a sharp pain pierced my chest, stirring up both the beautiful and the agonizing memories of the past.

Finally, I reached the grave.

Even after all these visits, my heart still pounded wildly as I knelt down, tracing the photo on the tombstone.

In a gentle voice, I murmured, "Song Zhi, I'm here to see you."

I was born into a family devoid of warmth.

My memories of my parents had long since faded into indifference. To them, I had always been nothing more than a burden—something that should never have existed.

From as early as I could remember, they beat me.

Had they not feared the consequences of going too far, I might have already died at their hands.

I had never known a parent's love.

Weren't mothers and fathers supposed to love their children instinctively?

At least, that's what the books said.

But I had never felt it.

The words I heard most often were curses.

They blamed me for ruining their lives, for taking away their freedom.

I was a jinx, a debt they had to repay in this lifetime.

At home, I endured their beatings.

Outside, I was ridiculed, humiliated, called a bastard child.

At first, I didn't understand. But as I grew older, I became more and more withdrawn.

I was a child abandoned by the world.

Until Song Zhi appeared—bringing light into my darkness.

One night, my parents strung me up and beat me mercilessly.

My only crime was scoring first place on an exam—beating the child of their boss.

For an entire night, I dangled there, feeling like I was about to die.

I begged them to let me down, but they only laughed coldly before heading out to a restaurant, leaving me behind, barely clinging to life.

Just as I was about to lose consciousness, a small figure climbed over the wall, untied the rope, and carried me home.

She took care of me.

Her name was Song Zhi.

She was my neighbor, my classmate.

When she saw the bruises covering my body, she cried.

When she saw the hollow despair in my eyes, she told me not to lose hope—that I had to find the courage to leave.

Every word she spoke was like a beacon in the darkness, illuminating my world.

Then, one day, I noticed the scars on her arms.

That was when I realized—her home was no different from mine.

But unlike me, Song Zhi always carried a bright, cheerful smile.

It shook me to my core.

How could she stay so happy in a home that had never loved her?

She was like an angel—soothing me, encouraging me.

That was the first time we spoke, yet it felt like we had known each other for years, as if we were long-lost friends.

She understood my situation, just as I could hear the screams coming from her house late at night.

We were like lambs on a barren field of despair, surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, clinging to each other for warmth.

From that moment on, we became inseparable, sharing everything with each other.

Her optimism influenced me.

Though I was still trapped in a living hell, at least now, I had hope.

But my mind was already broken.

Years of abuse and neglect had left deep scars.

Depression consumed me.

Every night, I questioned why I had ever been born—why I even existed.

But Song Zhi never gave up on me.

She made me promise that I would keep living.

Not just survive, but truly live—happily.

Then came the day our college entrance exam results were released.

That was when everything fell apart.

I had ranked first in my entire school.

But instead of celebrating, my parents exploded in rage.

To them, I was nothing but a curse, a burden.

They would rather throw their money at a beggar than spend a cent on my education.

"Get out! And never come back!"

The last image I have of my father is his furious face as he learned my results—his voice ringing with hatred as he threw me out and cut all ties with me.

That day, something inside me snapped.

I couldn't understand—why did other parents rejoice when their child came first, yet mine only responded with fury?

I wandered to the river, ready to end it all.

But just as I was about to jump, Song Zhi arrived.

She hugged me tightly and said, "Let's leave together."

And so we did.

We left that city behind and moved to where we would attend university.

Not a single cent from our families—just the two of us, relying only on ourselves.

Through four years of hardship, we graduated, stronger than ever.

Without the chains of family holding us down, those four years were the happiest we had ever known.

It wasn't easy, but we never bowed to life's hardships.

Every day, Song Zhi reminded me that things would only get better.

"As long as we keep trying, life will be kind to us."

She made me stand in front of the mirror every morning and smile, telling myself to be happy.

I thought we would walk this path together forever.

But on the day of our graduation photos, an out-of-control truck took Song Zhi's life.

Even as half of her body was crushed, she held onto my hand and smiled.

"You have to live well—graduate, fall in love, get marri... Don't live in the past. It's not worth it."

At that moment, my entire world collapsed.

I held her in my arms and wailed in despair.

Without Song Zhi, I became a walking corpse.

I forced myself to keep going, but the longing for her was unbearable.

The day after graduation, I found myself by the river once again.

The thought of ending it all resurfaced.

That was when Yang Xue appeared.

She sat beside me, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the rushing waters.

I turned to look at her—and for a fleeting moment, I thought heaven had given me a gift.

A second chance to love Song Zhi.

My phone rang.

A local number—I knew exactly who it was.

But this time, I didn't hang up.

I answered.

"Come over."

When Yang Xue saw me, her face was filled with emotion, tears streaming uncontrollably.

She was no longer the glamorous woman she once was.

She looked disheveled, broken.

I had never seen her like this before.

Yang Xue always made sure to look her best, especially when she was chasing after Mu Chen, eager to present her most beautiful self to him.

But when we got married, she barely made an effort—mocking me, asking if I only cared about appearances.

It was only later that I understood—a woman dresses up for the man she loves.

She never cared how she looked in front of me.

Because I wasn't Mu Chen.

"Shen Qing."

Her sorrow didn't stir a single bit of sympathy in me.

If this had been the past, I would have slapped myself twice for making my wife cry.

But not anymore.

Mu Chen was right.

A replacement will always be just that—a replacement.

It could never become the real thing.

"I missed you..."

Just as she was about to pour her heart out, her eyes landed on the grave behind me.

She froze.

She stared at the photo on the tombstone.

For the first time, an unfamiliar mix of humiliation and fury contorted her face.

Yang Xue snapped her head up, her voice trembling.

"Who is she?"

Mu Chen's crazed laughter echoed beside us.

Pointing at the grave, he sneered hysterically.

"Ah Xue, don't you get it yet? To him, you were just a replacement! From start to finish, the man you chose—he never truly loved you. You were just a shadow of someone else!"

Yang Xue's body swayed.

She stared at me, her voice shaking.

"Is... is it true?"

Her tears fell like rain, despair filling her face.

"Tell me—every time you looked at me, who were you really thinking of?"

She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently, screaming,

"WHO WERE YOU THINKING OF?!"

I sighed, pried her hands away, and said,

"Does it even matter?"

She shook her head in disbelief.

The husband she thought loved her, the man she believed couldn't live without her—his heart had belonged to someone else all along.

For someone as proud as Yang Xue, this was unbearable.

Mu Chen kept mocking her, as if humiliating her could make up for his own disgrace.

He glared at me with hatred, as if he wanted to tear me apart.

I remained expressionless.

There was no longer any need to hide the truth.

Cruelty is a privilege of the cruel.

Yang Xue and I had both used each other as replacements.

Five years of love.

Three years of marriage.

Endless pain and suffering.

It was all my own doing.

I never blamed Yang Xue.

I simply realized—she could never replace Song Zhi.

And so, I let go.

That was all.