Chapter 19 — I Never Made It to Nam Thanh With You

In my past life, after my father passed away, I was consumed by a cycle of endless regret. I regretted not spending more time with him, regretted being so preoccupied with the affairs of the Gu family that I pushed him to the sidelines, and regretted that, until the very last moment, I could never bring myself to tell him the truth: that I was not happy, not even a little bit. But this time, he was still here. And I finally managed to voice the words I had kept locked away in my heart for so long.

Father patted my back gently. "Put your things back where they belong."

"Why, Father?"

"You have done nothing wrong. There is no need for you to run away as if you are fleeing a disaster."

He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a yellowed notebook. The cover was decorated with sketches of crooked, leaning houses. I recognized it instantly—it was my diary from primary school.

"I found these belongings your mother left behind, and I only recently finished organizing them."

Father flipped to a specific page. It contained the scrawled handwriting of a ten-year-old me: *I want to travel to places far away when I grow up. I want to see so many, so many ancient houses. Grandfather says that houses can get sick too. I want to learn how to heal them.* Beside the text, there was a crude drawing of a crumbling fortress. I had completely forgotten about it, yet he had cherished it all these years.

"Your sudden desire to leave for the Northwest was never just a whim," he said quietly. "It was because, in the time that followed, we were all too busy asking you if you wanted to follow the path of Yanli, and we forgot to ask you where you truly wanted to go yourself."

I clutched the diary to my chest, tears streaming down my face. Father sighed heavily. "You will attend the opening ceremony as planned."

"I will personally announce my refusal of the marriage alliance with the Gu family."

"And as for your work, you will retrieve the credit for it yourself."

I nodded. This time, I would not run away.

The following day, Father took me to see my academic advisor. The professor had prepared all the documentation from two years prior, covering the entirety of the competition I had entered: the registration forms, the mentorship process, the timestamped logs of data revisions, and my final submission. On every single document, there was only one author's name: mine.

"I have seen the promotional handbook put out by the Gu family," the professor said, his voice laced with indignation. "Since when did Gu Yanli become the lead creator? He did not even attend the final defense of the project."

I smiled faintly. "In the past, I chose to stay silent and allow it. But that will not happen again."

The professor handed me the stack of proof. "Professor Shen is already aware of the situation. During the opening ceremony, the organizing committee will formally announce the true author of the urban renewal project. The Gu family is welcome to use the project to promote the historic district, but they are strictly forbidden from altering the identity of the rightful creator."

I tucked the documents safely away. My heart felt an unusual, profound sense of stillness. In my previous life, I had always felt that claiming credit for my own hard work was akin to fighting with Yanli—that as a married couple, we shouldn't keep score. But when he took my work and handed it to others, he had never felt that such an action was inappropriate. My refusal to fight for what was mine did not mean that it ceased to belong to me.

Over the next few days, Gu Yanli did not come to see me. He was likely still waiting for me to bow my head and admit my faults. Although Song Wannin had deleted her posts, she had not withdrawn from the opening ceremony. The new promotional booklets had stopped printing, but the batch that had already been produced remained in circulation, and the Gu family made no move to recall them. Ha Man-ru called my father several times, but he never allowed me to take the calls.

Two days before the opening ceremony, Gu Yanli finally sent a text: *Have you tried on the dress yet?*

I did not reply. A moment later, he sent a photo. It was a gown in a pale, moonlit white. *My mother says you refused to go for a fitting. It was tailored to your old measurements, so it should fit perfectly. I will come to pick you up on the day of the ceremony.*

I glanced at the message, then placed my phone face down on the table.