Chapter Seventy-Four: The Marital Status Column Reads Widowed

In the silent lounge, only He Zheyu and Zhao Yiya remained. They sat separately on the sofas—He Zheyu with a cigar between his lips, his expression utterly blank. Across from him, Zhao Yiya watched the pale smoke drifting from his mouth, glimpsing a touch of sorrow etched in his brows. She bit her rosy lips with her pearly white teeth, trying to suppress the grievance swelling in her heart, but in the end, it could not be contained. Her voice, tinged with desolation, broke the silence. “Is it because of Mo Qinghan that you humiliate me like this? That you disgrace the Zhao family—even your own He family?”

He Zheyu flicked the cigar into his teacup. With a hiss, it was extinguished. He laughed—a short, mirthless sound, gone in an instant. As the last vestige of his smile faded, his gaze turned razor-sharp, fixing on Zhao Yiya. His words were cold and cutting.

“This is the greatest punishment I can give you. Do you know why I went to the funeral home first?”

Confusion clouded Zhao Yiya’s face. “Wasn’t it to pay respects to your mother?”

“No. It was because today is that girl’s burial. I want every wedding anniversary of yours to be haunted by dread. I want every day that follows to be spent in repentance.” His tone was detached, yet every word struck her heart like a blade.

Tears welled at the corners of Zhao Yiya’s eyes, pain slicing through her as if by a knife. She sprang to her feet, her anger erupting. “He Zheyu, do you think your cruelty will make me afraid? I, Zhao Yiya, am the one sitting here as Mrs. He, while Mo Qinghan can only lie forever in that cold Shuihui River. No matter how much you resent it, you married me, and Mo Qinghan will always be nothing but a despised mistress!”

He Zheyu rose from the sofa as well, stepping forward until his lips hovered a mere centimeter from her ear. His words were icy, slipping into her ear with chilling clarity. “In the marital status column of my household registration, I had them change it to ‘widowed.’”

The word “widowed” struck Zhao Yiya like a thunderbolt, and she collapsed to the floor. The arrogance she’d summoned moments before vanished without a trace. This meant that if she ever went with He Zheyu to the registry to apply for a marriage certificate, the reporters would inevitably uncover Mo Qinghan’s existence. In the end, it would be Mo Qinghan who was recognized as the lawful wife, while she, Zhao Yiya, was nothing but a stand-in. Only now, after suffering such humiliation, did she realize that her marriage to He Zheyu was empty—a union without legal protection, in name only.

Sitting on the floor, she laughed through her tears. “He Zheyu, is my love for you so cheap that you would go to such lengths just to humiliate me?”

“This is only the beginning. You can’t even bear this much? My agony at losing my wife and my hatred at losing my son—all of it is thanks to you, you ruthless woman. Every ounce of pain, I will return to your Zhao family, and to the He family as well.” He Zheyu’s voice was frosty. Seeing Zhao Yiya sobbing uncontrollably on the floor, he added, “It’s just as well. You and your aunt both became stand-ins. You should exchange your insights.”

With that, he left the lounge.

Not long after, He Xuanyi, Zhao Xuer, Zhao Guangxiong, and Zhao’s mother returned to the lounge after seeing off the guests, only to find Zhao Yiya collapsed on the floor, her face streaked with tears. Zhao’s mother and Zhao Xuer hurried to help her up. Zhao’s mother, heartbroken, wiped the tears from Zhao Yiya’s face and complained, “Didn’t I always say that He Zheyu is too complex and not suited for Yiya? No one listened to me, and now look what’s happened. She can’t go to her husband’s family, and she can’t come home either. What kind of marriage is this?”