Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Love Letters

“Meng Fu, you come and write me a love letter. You must be literate.” As soon as Meng Fu stepped through the prison door, he was summoned by Di Jun.

His expression was somber, and Di Jun quickly noticed something was amiss. “What’s wrong with you? Is this the look of someone who’s just seen their lover?” he joked.

“Not a lover. It’s her husband.”

“He came to see what you were doing? That’s just cruel. If you don’t look, you might escape his wrath. At least there’s still some semblance of humanity in here.” 

“No, I feel sorry for him,” Meng Fu replied, his voice softening. “I want him to see my miserable state; maybe it’ll make him feel a little better, and in turn, I might feel better too.”

“Meng Fu, you are really...” Di Jun shook his head in disbelief. “You’re too kind. If it were me, I’d probably be left as nothing but a memory after being devoured in this place.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to write?” Meng Fu asked, a smile breaking through his sadness.

“It’s a love letter. You write it first, and I’ll mimic your handwriting,” Di Jun said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Meng Fu picked up the pen, feeling an unusual sense of embarrassment wash over him. He had never written a love letter before and had no idea how to begin. “Big brother, can you tell me about your woman? What’s she like? I need to know so I can write appropriately.”

“To what end? My woman isn’t sick; she doesn’t need any medicine.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Meng Fu said patiently. “If I understand her personality and interests, I’ll write a better letter.”

“Oh.” Di Jun smiled, his scarred forehead softening. “Yi Ying is a very gentle woman. She loves to read, write, and draw. Her paintings are vibrant, almost reminiscent of Picasso’s style.”

“Big brother, it’s actually Picasso, right?” someone interjected, unable to contain themselves.

“Shut up, did you speak?” Di Jun retorted, kicking over in irritation.

The interloper fell silent, muttering under their breath, “I’ve been to school for a few years; Picasso is abstract. This colorful description clearly fits Van Gogh.”

As Meng Fu absorbed Di Jun’s affectionate portrayal of Yi Ying, a warm current flowed through him. In this world, there exists both ruthless familial ties and pure, untainted love.

Even a touch of warmth can make life feel less futile.

Here was a man, a fearsome underworld figure, yet capable of such infatuation that he would go to the lengths of crafting a simple love letter for his beloved.

Meng Fu paused, then began to write, channeling the words from a romantic film he’d seen, penning lyrics that echoed the purest sentiments of love:

“Ah, my love is gone with the south wind,  

Ah, they all arrived at the windswept coral reef.  

Every time I meet you unexpectedly,  

It always makes me forget everything completely.  

Play like a little girl,  

You can hear my heartbeat.  

Coral reefs dappled our skin,  

It’s just the two of us,  

Because I like you!  

Ah, my love is gone with the south wind,  

Ah, they all arrived at the windswept coral reef.  

My tears can flow in a stream,  

I don’t want to look at your gentle eyes.  

Hang your head like a little rose,  

I want to touch the petals.  

The shore is covered with mossy green, a symbol of love,  

The cheeks of the two of us gradually pressed together,  

Because I like you!  

Ah, my love is gone with the south wind,  

Ah, all to the windswept coral reef.”

The purity of the love shone through his writing.

“Meng Fu, what you’ve written is quite good,” Di Jun remarked, observing the filled page with a furrowed brow. “But I don’t know many of these words.”

“This…”

It wasn’t until Yi Ying returned to Di Jun’s cell that Meng Fu realized his blunder. There was no way Di Jun could have seen the film “Love Letter,” let alone recall its lyrics.

Yet, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Yi Ying looked at the letter, her face lighting up with a smile, unaware of the truth—that Di Jun had not penned those words himself.

Months rolled on, and as winter approached, Meng Fu found himself lost in the passage of time, nearly forgetting what day it was.

His aunt hadn’t visited, and Gu Ze hadn’t come either.

He felt like a speck of dust, forgotten in some dark corner.

Sometimes, he wished Gu Ze would bring him anything about Xiao Yi—anything that might prick at the scars in his heart. At least it would provide a connection between them.

“Number 0732, someone is visiting,” a guard called out, breaking his reverie.

He was lying on his bed, absorbed in a Naruto comic that Gu Ze had given him when the guard interrupted.

Visits? Who could it be? His aunt? Or Gu Ze?

Life had a way of surprising him.

“Xie Zhenzhen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he recognized the girl standing before him.

Xie Zhenzhen looked different from the high school girl he remembered—her hair dyed, her face adorned with light makeup, almost unrecognizable.

“I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to see you,” she said, her voice laced with regret.

“It’s okay; maybe it’s better if you didn’t come,” he replied, lowering his gaze to avoid her eyes.

“If I didn’t come, I’d forget you more easily,” he thought bitterly.

“I didn’t mean to stay away. My parents sent me to study in Australia. I thought since you weren’t at A University, it wouldn’t be interesting for me to come back. But now that I’m back for a few days, I wanted to see you,” she explained, her eyes pleading for understanding.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze, the weight of their past hanging heavily in the air.

Xie Zhenzhen felt her heart sink as she noticed Meng Fu’s disinterest. It felt as if all the warmth between them had dissipated. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said, finally meeting her gaze, his voice firm. “Please, don’t cry.”

In a moment of instinct, he reached out as if to wipe away her tears, but the clinking of handcuffs reminded him of the barriers between them.

The sound was jarring, a reminder of their circumstances.

“I won’t cry. If you don’t want me to visit, I won’t come again. Seven years—just seven years, and we’ll see each other again, okay?” Xie Zhenzhen said, her voice trembling as she dabbed at her eyes. “You must be bored here. I brought you some books.” 

She placed a stack of law books—thick tomes on civil law, criminal law, constitutional law, and jurisprudence—on the table, their weight echoing the burden in Meng Fu’s heart.

Was aspiring to be a lawyer too much of a dream for him now?

“Thank you,” he said again, his voice hollow.

The image of the love letter he wrote for Di Jun lingered in his mind, morphing into the memory of the first love letter he had ever received from Xie Zhenzhen, in which she had written, “Meng Fu, I’m waiting for you to accept me.”

By the end of February the following year, Meng Fu understood he would never see Xie Zhenzhen again. Gu Ze sat across from him, the silence between them heavy.

“Long time no see, Meng Fu,” he said, his tone casual.

“Mr. Gu, do you know what happened to my brother?” Meng Fu asked anxiously, his heart pounding.

Gu Ze ignored the question, instead tossing a bundle of photographs onto the table. The girl in the images was Xie Zhenzhen, smiling, chatting, dining with another man.

“Your girlfriend has moved on rather quickly,” Gu Ze mocked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Meng Fu’s heart sank. He should have felt anger, betrayal—but instead, he was struck by an unsettling calmness. Perhaps some sadness lay hidden within him, but more than that, he felt relief. Xie Zhenzhen was thriving, and that was a good thing.

“It’s good that she’s able to live her life,” he said, surprising even himself with the lack of bitterness in his tone.

“Very open-minded, indeed. I’d be furious if my woman were with another man. But then again, my woman is dead.” Gu Ze’s casual mention of death pierced the air, his eyes fixed on Meng Fu with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Meng Fu froze, the weight of that word settling heavily upon him. He wanted to express sympathy, to say something that might mend the rift between them, but he knew Gu Ze was weary of empty apologies.

Yet, he felt compelled to say something.

“Mr. Gu, can I know my brother’s condition?” he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Didn’t your aunt inform you?”

“No,” Meng Fu replied, his heart heavy with worry.

A smile spread across his lips as the rhythmic tapping of his fingers ceased. Gu Ze's voice, laced with unexpected cruelty, pierced the silence, "Seems like everyone's abandoned you now. Oh, except for your dear brother. He's hospitalized, I wonder why? Perhaps a pollen allergy?"

He paused, a smirk playing on his lips as he voiced the suspicion gnawing at Meng Fu. "Or maybe something more sinister."

Meng Fu remained silent, his heart heavy with worry. He was trapped in a web of despair, every step a painful reminder of his helplessness. Gu Ze, the only lifeline he had, seemed determined to cut him loose.

"Mr. Gu, please, I beg you. Can you inform my aunt? Ask her to come."

Gu Ze's response was cold and dismissive, "Beg? What right do you have to beg me?"

Meng Fu's pleading gaze turned icy. He realized the absurdity of his plea. What authority did he hold to command such a favor?

"If you had reacted with a bit more anger to that girl's photo, perhaps I would have been more inclined to help. But alas, she's not your lover, only a passing fancy. You've lost nothing, while I've lost everything."

Gu Ze's eyes bore into Meng Fu's, seeking a reaction, a sign of genuine sorrow. But he saw only a mask of indifference, a calculated performance. He doubted the depth of Meng Fu's feelings for the girl, believing them to be mere infatuation.

Disappointed, Gu Ze realized that Meng Fu's suffering was not as profound as he had imagined. "Some people's grief isn't so easily displayed," he muttered.

"Mr. Gu, please, just this once. Help me," Meng Fu pleaded, his voice desperate.

Gu Ze's response was callous, "Fine, I'll help you. If you kill yourself." A cold smile played on his lips as he added, "But you won't, will you? You still have Xiao Yi to think about."

"Mr. Gu," Meng Fu's tone was urgent, his hope dwindling. He stood up, his eyes pleading, but all he saw was disdain in Gu Ze's gaze.

He knew it was futile, that Gu Ze would not help him. Yet, he had to try, for Xiao Yi's sake.

"It's time," the prison guard interrupted.

Meng Fu turned to Gu Ze one last time, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. But before he could speak, he was dragged away. As he was led out, he glanced back at Gu Ze, who sat idly, a smug smile playing on his lips. It was a cruel mockery, a final insult to a man already broken.

END OF THE CHAPTER