He laughed. “That’s a bitter almond, not the sweet almonds you’re used to. It’s for relieving coughs and asthma. Its bitter flavor helps disperse phlegm and lower lung qi. For wind-cold coughs like mine, I use ephedra, licorice, balloon flower, and purple aster.”
Rolling her eyes, Shen Xi Fan sighed. “Looks like my luck isn’t off to a good start this year.”
While He Su Ye was busy brewing medicine, Shen Xi Fan slipped into his study. She wanted to find a few beginner-friendly books on Chinese medicine to avoid being teased for her ignorance again.
She searched through the books one by one until she finally found something suitable for herself: Traditional Chinese Medicine: A Textbook for Medical and Pharmaceutical Majors. Opening it, she realized it was one of He Su Ye’s undergraduate textbooks. Sections of the text had been underlined, with notes filling the margins. It was clear he had studied diligently.
Flipping through the pages, she read aloud, “The properties of Chinese medicine, the compatibility of Chinese herbs, dosage, and methods of administration—pretty comprehensive. Huh, what’s this photo?”
It was an ordinary group photo, featuring He Su Ye, Li Jie, Qiu Tian, Fang Ke Xin, and a girl—someone she didn’t recognize. The girl was beautiful, someone she had never seen at any gathering or occasion.
But her intuition as a woman told her that this girl was connected to He Su Ye.
There were no clues—Li Jie had never mentioned her, and the others avoided the subject entirely. Shen Xi Fan had often wondered why a man as outstanding as He Su Ye didn’t have a girlfriend.
Was the answer here, tied to this girl? Was she the one everyone intentionally avoided mentioning, the source of his hidden pain?
From the kitchen, He Su Ye called out, “Little girl, your medicine is getting cold! Come drink it!”
Startled, she hurriedly closed the book and shoved it back onto the shelf. In the kitchen, He Su Ye was adding water to the rice cooker. The bitter aroma of Chinese medicine filled the air, sharp and unmistakable. She wrinkled her nose—it smelled incredibly bitter.
Why were there so many people in the world trapped by love, like herself, ensnared by their own pasts, unable to move forward?
She had once read a post that said:
“Some people love only one person for ten years as if it were a lifelong vow. They create a barren land in the dark recesses of their hearts for that person. In their lonely journey, they keep having the same dream—a dream of that person who left long ago, and the love they once shared.
For this, they endure the pain, carry the burden, and even find a tiny trace of joy. But then, everything changes overnight. All the warmth turns to ice, and in an instant, they grow old, nearing death. Even as they die, they whisper that person’s name. Such love is both tragic and monumental.”
She didn’t have the courage to ask about He Su Ye’s past, just as she didn’t want to talk to anyone about her own. A corner of her heart grew colder, as if her soul had been chilled to the core.
Why did it have to be this way? Why did her heart ache for He Su Ye, filling her with sorrow? Why did she feel like crying? Why did she want to smooth out the furrow in his brow? He always smiled faintly, but to her, it seemed forced.
Suddenly, she didn’t dare to hope for his kindness anymore. She couldn’t bear it—she wasn’t worthy of it. Such happiness belonged to someone else.
She lacked the courage to face it.
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