Chapter 1 — My Sister Stole My Fiancé

On the night of our engagement party, I pushed open the bedroom door to find my childhood sweetheart lying in bed with my older sister, her mind clouded and unresponsive. Afterward, my parents urged me to yield the marriage to my sister. I only asked my childhood sweetheart one question.

"Were you sober when that happened?"

He fell into a long, agonizing silence.

"Yes. Please don't blame her."

In that exact fraction of a second, I knew with absolute certainty that he had also been reborn, carrying the memories of our past life. I nodded. My sister finally got her wish, marrying my childhood sweet-heart. On their wedding day, I still could not bring myself to call him brother-in-law. So, before the ceremony even commenced, I decisively purchased a plane ticket and fled the scene.

During three years spent overseas to soothe my spirit, my sister's social media feed updated daily with scenes of her married life. Sometimes it was a warm glass of milk left on the bedside table upon waking in the morning; other times it was his silhouette wearing an apron, leaning slightly as he cooked in the kitchen. Every single status update dripped with triumphant love. My husband looks so handsome cooking, thank goodness I don't have to hug him through a screen. That post received no likes from my parents or our mutual friends. I knew it had been posted for my eyes alone. Yet, I still tapped the like button.

The most recent post was a photograph of a box of folic acid tablets, accompanied by a very brief caption. Preparing for pregnancy. This post garnered likes from everyone. My parents even left doting comments expressing their sympathy for my sister. Don't pressure yourself too much, just let nature take its course. Goddess Ming Na is preparing to become a mother? Is it too late for me to line up to be reborn as her child?

There was one comment that stood out with glaring dissonance. Preparing for pregnancy? Wasn't the person who got married three years ago Te Ha? When did sister Ming Na get married? I recognized the commenter as our college roommate. While the wedding had been taking place, she had been studying abroad and could not make it back in time to attend. That comment vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Soon after, she posted a different comment underneath. Wishing sister Ming Na an early blessed child, I will send my wedding gift money right away.

I let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. Everyone was deliberately pretending to have amnesia regarding the events of that year, carefully skirting around anything that had to do with me. Turning off my phone, I drew in a deep breath and raised my gaze to look out at the deep azure waters of Lake Wanaka beyond the balcony. The willow tree standing in the very center of the lake resembled a solitary island, unable to lean against the shore, unable to touch the mountains, widely known as the lonely tree.

In our past life, my childhood sweetheart and I had also loved each other with a fierce, consuming devotion. The three of us had grown up together. My sister and I were twins. From childhood onward, even our parents frequently mistook us for one another, yet he never did. Every single time, he walked with absolute precision straight to my side, addressing me softly as little Te Ha. He knew our parents lavished more physical care and concern on my sister due to her fragile health. Because of that, the partiality he held for me was never concealed. On his birthday, he gave gifts only to me; after school, he waited only for me. Whenever someone asked if he ever mixed the two of us up, his retort was always immediate and unwavering.

How could the two of them possibly look alike? Little Te Ha is clearly much more adorable!

On that particular day, my sister had been standing just outside the classroom door and heard every word. When school let out, she stealthily locked me inside a restroom stall, disguised herself as me to run down to the school gates, and pressed a kiss onto the lips of Tong Tri Da. When I was finally let out, all I saw was Tong Tri Da’s brooding, dark expression, and my sister standing timidly behind him with reddened, tear-rimmed eyes. Back then, I truly believed the person who would walk by his side for the rest of my days was meant to be me.

As we grew older, our union progressed naturally into an engagement. Yet on the eve of our wedding, my sister drugged herself and sent a frantic message to Tong Tri Da. If you do not come, I will find any random man to be with. When those words flashed across the screen, the paralyzing terror of losing Tong Tri Da caused my instincts to take over, and I deleted the message entirely.

The following morning, my sister clutched her shredded nightgown and climbed onto the balcony. Before plunging into the void, she cast a single look in my direction.

Nguyen Te Ha, are you satisfied now?

Then, she jumped.

A searing pain bloomed across my cheek. It was my mother, her hand still suspended mid-air as though itching to deliver another blow. But Tong Tri Da intercepted her, his fingers clamping mercilessly around her wrist.

Mother, none of this is Te Ha's fault.

He claimed that his repeated rejections of my sister were what drove her to such desperate measures, shouldering every ounce of blame onto his own shoulders. I rushed forward, weeping and begging my parents to stop striking him. For the next twenty years, I bore a son who never felt any natural warmth toward me. It was not until the day Tong Tri Da drew his final breath that I finally understood why. I gripped his hand, weeping until my soul felt hollowed out beside his hospital bed. Our son hurried back from university, gazing at me with a look of profound mockery.

You are shedding crocodile tears. If it weren't for you, father wouldn't have harbored this bitter resentment until it made him sick, dying long before his time.

I jerked my head upward in shock, but he refused to offer a single word of further explanation. It was Tong Tri Da. He slowly pulled his hand away from my grasp, his glazed eyes fixed on the window beyond, his lips moving in a frail, pleading whisper.

Nguyen Te Ha, in our next life, please do not delete your sister's messages anymore, all right?

He died young, leaving behind a crushing truth I could never reconcile. Not long after, I followed him into the abyss. When my eyes fluttered open once more, it was the night of our engagement party. I was holding Tong Tri Da's phone in my hand, staring at the message sent by my sister. Tong Tri Da, I have taken the medicine. If you do not come to save me, I will carelessly find any man.

This time, I quietly left the message marked as unread. Just as I moved to return the phone to its original place, my wrist was seized in an iron grip by a heavy hand, the pain sharp enough to make me frown.

Nguyen Te Ha! What do you think you are doing!

I looked at him with an aching heart. His meticulously styled hair was disheveled, the necktie I had tied for him with my own hands was crooked, and his bloodshot eyes carried a somewhat savage edge. This was the first time I had ever witnessed him lose his composure on behalf of someone else.

Nothing at all. I just noticed your phone lighting up and thought I would bring it to you.

He snatched the device from my grasp. Glancing down at the screen, his Adam's apple bobbed. Without offering a single word of explanation, he pivoted on his heel and bolted out the door. His shoulder grazed fiercely against mine, numbing half my body with pain.

What followed was the chaotic bedroom, the tangled limbs locked in desperate embraces, and the announcement of the exchanged marriages proclaimed by my parents amidst tears of joyous relief. I accepted every single development. On the exact date originally set for my wedding, which had been usurped for my sister and Tong Tri Da, I boarded a plane and embarked on a three-year journey around the globe.

Perhaps the college roommate's comment had unsettled my sister once again, for my mother finally called me. It was our very first phone call in three years. Having been estranged for so long, an awkward distance lingered between us. Following a tentative hello, the atmosphere fell into a heavy stillness.

Mother, is something the matter?

I took the initiative to shatter that invisible barrier. She paused, hurriedly stepping onto the conversational opening I provided.

No… nothing at all. Are you doing well in Switzerland?

Mother, I am currently in New Zealand.

The voice on the other end faltered into panic.

Pardon? Since when… wasn’t your social media feed showing…

I had no desire to listen to her agonizing rationalizations that only served to cut deep.

That was a post from half a year ago. If there is something you need to say, speak plainly.

You child, you always remain so…

Still completely lacking in warmth toward her elders, never possessing the honeyed tongue of my sister. I had heard those exact reproaches countless times before, able to recite them for two hours straight without repeating a sentence. Finally, she circled around to the true purpose of the call.

Three years have already passed. It is unsafe for a young woman to be wandering abroad by herself. Furthermore, you are not getting any younger, yet you still have not found a boyfriend. Your sister remains uneasy about it.

Uneasy, or perhaps terrified that Tong Tri Da had still not let go of me. We both understood the underlying truth. Knowing the true motive behind this call, it would be a lie to say I felt no disappointment. I had naively believed that during the three years I spent away, I was not the only one who had finally found peace. Looking at it now, peace was never something they required. From the very beginning, the one they protected above all others was my sister. As for me, I was merely the stumbling block obstructing their boundless favoritism.

What is it you wish to say, Mother?

My mother let out a dry, forced laugh on the other end, likely catching the frozen chill in my tone and finding it difficult to continue. In the end, it was my father who stepped into his role as the stern patriarch, barking at me through the receiver.

Is that any tone to use when speaking to your mother? You run off for all these years without sending so much as a single word!

Hurry back home. Your mother and I have already arranged a match for you. Focus on settling down and getting married soon, instead of constantly giving the whole family something to worry about.

My mother chimed in hastily from the side.

It is the young master of the Co family, someone whose roots and background we know intimately. He just returned from America three years ago and remains unmarried. Your Uncle Co has been growing anxious as well, so it happens that the two of you can go on a blind date.

A flicker of genuine surprise washed over me. Co Tan Nien could also be counted among our childhood acquaintances. Yet he was notoriously reticent. He had always trailed quietly in our wake, sometimes failing to utter a single syllable throughout an entire day. Back then, my sister had briefly fancied his striking looks and attempted to draw closer to him, but his demeanor was impossibly frigid. Even as a young boy, he wore an expression that suggested the entire world owed him a debt. Curiously, Tong Tri Da and he maintained a fairly decent friendship, often arranging matches on the basketball court. Every time I expressed a desire to tag along, however, his face would darken into a cold refusal. I had always assumed he harbored a deep dislike for me. Not long after, we entered university, and following his family's arrangements, he departed for overseas, vanishing for six full years.

Did he agree to this?

Unable to restrain myself, the question slipped past my lips. My mother let out a bright, pleased laugh.

Of course he did. How could we ever make such a decision arbitrarily without his consent?

My knuckles tapped rhythmically against the balcony railing, producing a hollow, echoing sound. I curled my fingers inward and spoke in a low murmur.

Very well. I will return tomorrow.

The following day, dawn was only just beginning to break by the time I reached the familiar gates of the family estate. Having been away for three years, the overall architecture of the villa remained entirely unchanged, save for the iris garden I had once tended in the courtyard, which had been entirely eradicated and replaced by beds of blazing red roses, their thorns meticulously pruned away. The housekeeper caught the direction of my gaze and offered an apologetic smile of explanation.

The young master had those planted specially for the eldest miss. Because he feared she might prick her fingers if she tried to pick them herself, he personally inspects the bushes every single morning before leaving, clearing away any newly sprouted thorns.

I gave a soft, noncommittal acknowledgement, withdrew my gaze, and stepped across the threshold. The living room was entirely empty, exactly as I had anticipated. The housekeeper, perhaps a recent addition to the household and misinterpreting my silence, hurried to soothe any lingering insecurities.

The eldest miss has been in fragile health while struggling to conceive, which has left her rather irritable lately. Madam and the master finally managed to soothe her to sleep, though they were exhausted in the process. They originally intended to change upstairs and come down to wait for you, but the moment their heads touched the pillows, they fell soundly asleep.

I offered her a polite, reassuring smile.

It is quite all right. Please, just help me carry my luggage up to my room.

She assented promptly, hefting my bags as she led the way up the staircase. Perhaps the movement carried a bit too much sound, because just as I reached the third-floor landing, a sudden shadow materialized before me. He was clad in a silk bathrobe, the collar casually unbuttoned to reveal a broad expanse of chest, his dark hair still damp at the ends. My eyes flicked briefly to the glass of water clutched in his hand, but I offered no greeting. Given the history between us, I hardly felt we occupied a relationship where we could casually brush shoulders and pretend the past never existed.

Following closely behind the housekeeper, I slipped right past him. Yet his gaze remained locked onto me, heavy and unyielding. My wrist was suddenly captured in a vise-like grip, forcing my head around. Under the intense, suffocating weight of his stare, I calmly and deliberately pulled my hand from his grasp.

Brother-in-law, this is hardly appropriate.

His gaze flickered, freezing in place. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it clunk heavily against his thigh before tightening into a fist and finally releasing. As though mulling over his words for an eternity, he finally spoke, a trace of guarded tension lacing his voice.

Why have you returned?

A profound weariness settled over my bones. I could not fathom why everyone was so utterly convinced that he could instantly cast me aside and pour his soul into loving my sister, yet remained completely incapable of believing that I could spend three years learning to release him. Lifting my chin, I opened my lips to reply, but the bedroom door directly behind him clicked open. My sister stood in the frame, draped in a silk slip dress, the faint, reddish bruises of lingering passion still stark against her pale collarbone.

What took you so long?