Worlds Apart | Chapter 15 | Echoes of the Past | Novela.app

In Xiao Fengtai’s mind, Jiang Tong was akin to a rare animal. He had gone to great lengths to keep Jiang Tong within his reach, curious about the man’s unique "plumage" and habits, observing and testing him with what he believed was a scientific detachment. Madam Zhao’s words were a revelation—it turned out that in the eyes of others, he wasn't just observing this wild beast; he wanted to devour him. Could he? Would he taste good? Xiao Fengtai clenched his hands beneath the table, feeling a layer of cold sweat in his palms. He could suddenly hear the distinct thumping of his own heart. Madam Zhao, however, interpreted his pensive silence as the bashfulness of a youth in the throes of first love, which sparked a different concern. "You are still young; do not get too caught up in these matters," she cautioned him. "Think of your mother." Xiao Fengtai’s eyes dimmed. "I am not like her." "How are you different? To me, you look exactly like her." Madam Zhao waved a hand. "I know you do not like hearing this, but you must. Aside from a meddlesome old woman like me, no one else will tell you these things now." A look of pain surfaced in her eyes. The wrinkles between the former socialite's brows suddenly became deep and clear, revealing the exhaustion and age appropriate for her years. "I can never forget how your mother looked." "You are overthinking things." Xiao Fengtai pulled the frail, thin woman into his arms, resting his head on her shoulder. If Jiang Tong were present, he would surely doubt his own eyes—the usually silent and cold youth was now wearing an expression of such docility and sweetness. "Haven't you always been urging me to study Chinese properly?" he said with a smile. "I was just chatting with my teacher. I saw some words on the streets of London and wanted to ask him how to say them in Chinese." "Grandmother should be praising me instead." He intentionally put on a wronged expression, looking at Madam Zhao expectantly, playing the part of the filial grandson to amuse her. Madam Zhao stroked his cheek. No matter how well-maintained an elderly person's hands are, they are still like withered leaves, covered in the mottled furrows of age. *Too similar,* she sighed inwardly. The arch of the long brows, the creases at the corners of the eyes when smiling, the color of the pupils—and that way of appearing exceptionally frank and sincere when trying to hide something. It was as if a fragment of the dead girl's soul, tethered by blood, had drifted back to the world of the living. Those eyes—eyes that were once just as vibrant and lively, yet in their final moments had become clouded, hollow, and filled with sorrow and regret—seemed to hide behind the youth's tender, clear gaze, peering out timidly at her, reminding her of the mistakes she had once made. Madam Zhao smiled and rang the bell, calling for a servant to bring the tea and snacks Xiao Fengtai liked. She steered the conversation back to the Nasdaq index and the pieces he had been rehearsing lately. Time is the most grueling of blunt knives; she no longer had the energy to display the outward ferocity and strictness of decades past, but she possessed a thousand times more patience and coldness. A momentary lapse in resolve had cost her her daughter. She would not make the same mistake twice. Looking at her grandson's vibrant face, Madam Zhao was full of confidence. This time, she would be very careful. Extremely careful.