Three Years

Lin Zhiyi first met Xie Jin at a charity gala she didn't want to attend.

That year she was twenty-five, just back from studying abroad, still carrying a sharpness that hadn't yet been worn down by society. Her grandmother insisted she go, saying, "Meet more people; it'll be good for your future." She wore a modest champagne-colored gown, her hair pinned up, revealing a fair neck.

The gala was crowded with people she didn't know and didn't want to know. She hid on the terrace to enjoy the breeze, holding a glass of untouched champagne, watching the lights below.

Footsteps approached from behind, but she didn't turn around.

"The wind is strong here." A man's voice, low, like the deepest string of a cello.

Lin Zhiyi finally turned.

Xie Jin stood at the terrace door, behind him the dazzling chandeliers, but the light seemed absorbed by something, failing to make him look any warmer. He wore a black suit, his tie meticulously tied, his features cold and distant, his gaze indifferent, as if looking at an unimportant decoration.

"Thanks for the reminder," she said.

She thought he would leave, but he stood beside her, watching the lights below with her.

"Miss Lin," he suddenly spoke.

"You know me?"

"The only daughter of the Lin family, just back from England." He said it without any emotion, as if stating a report. "Xie Jin."

He gave his name but didn't extend his hand.

At that time, Lin Zhiyi didn't yet know what that name meant. She just found this man strange, strange enough to pique her curiosity: "Mr. Xie also avoiding the crowd?"

"No," he said. "I came to see you."

Lin Zhiyi was taken aback, then couldn't help but laugh: "That opening line is a bit cliché."

Xie Jin glanced sideways at her. There was too much in that gaze she couldn't read at the time—scrutiny, confirmation, and a faint trace of relief. "Maybe," he said.

Then he turned and walked away.

That was their first conversation, no more than ten sentences. Later, when Lin Zhiyi looked back, she realized it was the longest conversation Xie Jin had had with her in three years.

Later, when the Lin family encountered trouble and Old Master Xie came to propose a marriage alliance, she learned that the "accidental" encounter that night had never been an accident.

At that time, she had asked Xie Jin: "Did you marry me because you like me?"

On their wedding night, he stood at the guest room door, his back to her, and said, "Old Master thinks you're suitable."

Suitable. What a good word. Neither hot nor cold, neither near nor far, just enough to block all her expectations.

Lin Zhiyi pulled herself out of her memories and realized she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room of the Xie family's old mansion.

It was already dawn. The rain had lessened but was still falling. Outside, the sky was a gray expanse, making everything in the room seem veiled.

She looked down at her wrist. That birthmark—if it could still be called that—was no longer glowing, leaving only a faint golden trace, a little darker than before. She pressed it with her finger; there was no pain, no unusual temperature.

But what happened last night was no dream.

The broken French window had been temporarily boarded up, with remnants of glass shards and golden liquid still on the floor. After her blood dried, it actually turned out to be a light gold.

"Awake?" came Xie Jin's voice from the doorway.

Lin Zhiyi looked up. He stood in the doorframe, his face frighteningly pale, as if he had shrunk overnight. He wore a clean white shirt, buttons fastened to the top, sleeves not rolled up, covering his wrists. He held a glass of water.

"You were unconscious for four hours," he said. "Drink some water."

Lin Zhiyi didn't take it. She looked at him like a stranger: "Last night... that thing was you?"

Xie Jin was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"You're a dragon?"

"Yes."

"We've been married for three years, and you never told me."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Xie Jin placed the water on the nightstand, moving slowly as if afraid to disturb something: "Because if I told you, you wouldn't have married me."

Lin Zhiyi let out a cold laugh: "Xie Jin, don't pretend to be so devoted. You didn't marry me because you liked me; it was because of that life contract, right? I heard you and Grandpa talking last night."

Xie Jin's figure visibly stiffened: "You heard everything?"

"I heard it all," Lin Zhiyi said. "I heard you say I only need to fulfill my wifely duties and don't need to know anything else. I heard you say there was no need for me to know what the life contract is."

She stood up, looking him straight in the eyes: "So let me make this clear today. I don't know what you are, and I don't know what you want from me. But I want a divorce, and I'm determined to get it. You saved me once, and I won't hold last night against you. Let's call it even—"

"You can't hold it against me." Xie Jin suddenly interrupted her.

His voice was calm, but the gold in his eyes began to surge again, as if magma was churning deep inside. He took half a step forward, cutting off her words: "Lin Zhiyi, I can't sign that divorce agreement right now. If I do, I'll die."

Lin Zhiyi was stunned.

Xie Jin raised his hand and slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. On his chest, there was a scar. The shape of that scar was exactly the same as the birthmark on her wrist, as if burned by something scalding, the edges curled, deep red, and now faintly glowing.

"The life contract," he said, "a pact between dragons and humans. Bound by the marital title, sharing a heartbeat. Three years ago, I married you to survive the shedding period."

Lin Zhiyi looked at the scar on his chest, then down at her own wrist, suddenly feeling that all this was as absurd as a nightmare.

"So you treated me like medicine?"

"I used to."

"And now?"

Xie Jin buttoned his shirt again, moving slowly: "Now, I can't stop the medicine."

Lin Zhiyi laughed in anger. She grabbed the water glass from the nightstand and threw it hard onto the floor. The sound of breaking glass exploded in the room, water splashing onto Xie Jin's pant legs, but he didn't flinch.

"Xie Jin, what makes you think I'll continue being your medicine?" Her voice trembled. "Three years, I loved you like a fool, and you treated me like air. Now that I don't want you anymore, you tell me that leaving you will kill you? What do you want me to do? Feel sorry for you? Pity you? And then stay by your side, continuing to be your life-contract wife?"

Xie Jin looked at her, the gold in his eyes slowly dimming: "You can leave."

Lin Zhiyi was stunned.

"You can leave," he repeated, his voice softer, as if drifting from a great distance. "But you need to think clearly. Once the divorce agreement takes effect, the life contract will break. Within seventy-two hours, I will fail to shed and die from internal explosion. Then the dragons won't let you go. They'll think you killed their heir, and you'll be hunted for the rest of your life."

He said all this calmly, as if discussing the weather, but Lin Zhiyi felt a chill: "Are you threatening me?"

"It's not a threat," Xie Jin said. "It's a fact."

He turned and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he paused without looking back: "Zhiyi, I'm not a good person. I haven't been good to you these three years, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't dare."

"Dare to do what?"

"Dare to let you get close to me."

His figure lingered in the doorway for a moment, then disappeared down the hall.

Lin Zhiyi stood amidst the broken glass, unmoving for a long time. She looked down at her wrist, where the golden scar was starting to burn again.