Under the Cheongsam Skirt - Chapter 8

Qin Anmei’s description gave Zhao Ciqin a sense of foreboding. However, based on the descriptors like “tall” and “hard to approach,” there were many people in the city who fit that profile, and it wasn’t necessarily the one she had in mind.

Zhao Ciqin went to the art studio.

Located at the intersection of East Street, the area was prime real estate with high foot traffic. Next to it was Longyang Department Store, and across the street was Shanghai’s most famous Western-style afternoon tea spot, where many socialites often gathered. However, the art gallery next door was eerily quiet. Initially, Qin Anmei had been concerned about the gallery’s financial situation, but after witnessing the wealth of the Zhao family, she no longer worried.

The Zhao family had been in business for three generations. They had initially made their mark in Shanghai through their expertise in Jiangnan textile manufacturing. When the new era arrived, Zhao LuoXu, Zhao Ciqin’s father, followed the trends of the times and established a soap factory. With his extensive network and connections to many political figures, the Zhao family didn’t bat an eye at the expenses of running a single art gallery.

In the afternoon, a black Chevrolet parked at the entrance.

When Qin Anmei came to call her, Zhao Ciqin was momentarily distracted, and a drop of ink fell from her brush onto the painting. “Someone from home is here?” she asked.
Qin Anmei replied, “They said your mother asked you to come back.”

Half an hour later, the car navigated through the bustling streets, carefully avoiding pedestrians who didn’t know to give way, and arrived at Shujuan Mansion.
In the living room, under the glow of an expensive crystal chandelier, Jiang Jue seemed restless. Even though she tried to appear composed, there was an underlying sense of unease.

As soon as Zhao Ciqin returned, she sat beside her. “Mom, why did you call me back so urgently?”

Jiang Jue finally smiled and gently patted Zhao Ciqin’s hand. “Silly child, what are you saying? Now that you live alone, do I need a reason to see you?”

She continued, “I received a telegram from your brother recently. He should be coming home soon.”

Zhao Ciqin smiled. “That’s great.”

Zhao Chengqi was born much later, a full fifteen years younger than her, but the two had a close relationship. Two years ago, when Ningcheng fell, Zhao Chengqi joined the army and hadn’t returned since.

At the time, Jiang Jue had cried endlessly, even refusing to read his telegrams for a while. But gradually, she came to accept her son’s decision.
After discussing Zhao Chengqi, the room fell into silence.

This wasn’t due to Zhao Ciqin’s nature. She was naturally reserved, and even with her parents, she wasn’t the type to act spoiled. She carried the graceful and serene demeanor typical of women from Jiangnan. In her youth, this might have seemed rigid or uninteresting, but with the passage of time, her innate beauty became something people couldn’t look away from.

After several hesitant moments, Zhao Ciqin sensed something unusual about Jiang Jue. Just as she was about to ask, Jiang Jue spoke:

“Ciqin, have you ever thought about what you would do if Changfeng came back to find you one day?”
Zhao Ciqin was stunned.

She looked at Jiang Jue’s earnest face, her throat feeling as if something was stuck.

After a long pause, she finally said, “Mom, we’re already divorced.”

“I know,” Jiang Jue insisted, looking at her. “But when you made that decision, he wasn’t home. He might have had many reasons beyond his control.”
“But no matter how many reasons he had, my decision won’t change.”

“…”

The atmosphere in the living room grew tense.

Finally, Jiang Jue said, “I’m not trying to speak well of him, but Ciqin, life isn’t about making just one choice. You two grew up together and know each other well. Back then, you were the one who wanted to marry him. What changed?” She paused, then took Zhao Ciqin’s hand. “He’s in your room now. Go see him. Give him a chance, and give yourself one too.”