Under the Cheongsam Skirt - Chapter 9

Zhao Ciqin’s room remained exactly as it was when she left. The corners of the quilt were neatly tucked under the bed, and the display cabinet beside it held her favorite embroidery trinkets. The wooden floor was spotless, without a trace of dust.

The only difference was the presence of a lean, formidable man standing by the window. Even from behind, he exuded an air of coldness, authority, and overwhelming pressure.

Zhao Ciqin froze in her steps.

Though she hadn’t consciously thought of anything, she could feel her shoulders stiffen, her blood rushing to her feet, anchoring her firmly in place. Yet every cell in her body screamed at her to retreat.

This conflicting sensation drained the color from her face.

It was then that Mu Changfeng turned around.

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Or perhaps, with his sharp instincts, he had already sensed her arrival but chose not to speak first for some reason. Only after the two of them had stood in silence for a while did he finally say:

“What do you want?”

“What?” Zhao Ciqin was momentarily stunned.

Outside the window, dark clouds obscured the sun, casting a dim light that softened the stern aura around Mu Changfeng. Yet his tone still carried a hint of aloofness. “Starting from the second half of the year, I’ll be transferred back to Shanghai. Aside from this, what else do you want?”

Zhao Ciqin looked at him, finally realizing what he meant:

“…You think I’m using the divorce to threaten you?”

Mu Changfeng didn’t respond, but his expression seemed to silently convey three words: Aren’t you?

Zhao Ciqin’s emotions suddenly became complicated.

It wasn’t just sadness; more than anything, it was a sense of reflection.
Two people who aren’t suited for each other, even if they force themselves together, are destined to part in the end.

She and Mu Changfeng were those two people. So, her years of pain and struggle, in his eyes, were nothing more than a ridiculous game.
Zhao Ciqin shook her head. “I don’t need you to do anything for me. We’re already divorced.”

The crease between Mu Changfeng’s brows deepened. He seemed unprepared for her response, his voice tense as he said, “I didn’t agree.”

Zhao Ciqin replied, “A year ago, I sent you telegrams and letters.”

“I didn’t agree.”

“We announced our divorce in the newspaper.”

Mu Changfeng fell silent. Normally calm and composed, his mind was now in turmoil, unsure how to respond.

This conversation and Zhao Ciqin’s attitude were beyond what he had anticipated. Even when he arrived at the Zhao residence earlier and saw Jiang Jue’s worried expression, he had assumed she was just throwing a tantrum.

If she was angry with him, he thought he could simply coax her back.

But he hadn’t expected Zhao Ciqin to be the same as she was a year ago, yet the trace of vulnerability in her had completely vanished. In its place was a gentle but resolute demeanor.

Mu Changfeng heard her say softly, “You see, our divorce is already a well-known fact. When you returned this time, you must have also seen the new lady brought into the house.”

Zhao Ciqin’s lips curved into a faint smile. She raised her eyes, finally able to meet his gaze directly. “If you haven’t seen that newspaper, I still have a copy saved. I can show it to you.”

Young Marshal Mu.

Mu Changfeng had been called this countless times before, with either respect or fear. To him, it was just a title, nothing more. But never before had it made his body tense so tightly, his skin prickling with cold.

After a long pause, he suppressed the unfamiliar fear in his chest and stared at Zhao Ciqin, his voice still as cold as ice: “…I haven’t met them.”
Zhao Ciqin hadn’t expected him to address that first.

She quickly replied, “That’s your business. We’re no longer connected. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“There’s chaos in the south. I couldn’t stay by your side for long,” he added, trying to explain further.

Zhao Ciqin said, “I know. That’s why I didn’t blame you.”

“Then why,” Mu Changfeng paused, a rare hint of confusion in his voice, “did you still leave me?”