RMM -Chapter 332 Mo Qi Extra (Part 1)

After people lose something, it’s often easy to see their own hearts clearly. That’s why people talk about cherishing things only after they’ve lost them.

Unfortunately, some things, once lost, are gone completely and utterly. No amount of regret can change that.

Mo Qi took a deep drag of his cigarette, lost in thought. When was the first time he had met Duan Wei?

Like someone obsessed, he rifled through his memories, turning them over and over, searching for any trace of her. One cigarette after another burned down in his hand. His head ached, yet he could recall nothing—not a single clue of their first encounter.

Then he cried. Like a child, lost and bewildered. Like someone who had just caused trouble and had no idea how to fix it. He wept uncontrollably.

Only at this moment did he clearly realize just how heartless he had been toward Duan Wei—not even leaving her a single memory of him.

He thought: back when he had spoken harshly to her, when he didn’t even want to look at her, how painful must that have been for her?

He didn’t know exactly when it started, but he began to feel a vague sense of regret. And as the days passed, as he grew further away from Duan Wei, that regret grew from a small, restless ache into a massive presence that constantly gnawed at his nerves, never letting him have a moment of peace.

He truly regretted it. How could he have been so blinded? Why hadn’t he believed in Duan Wei? They had walked together for so many years!

Only now did Mo Qi understand that all the consequences were of his own making. His own insecurities, his so-called “pride,” had caused him to push Duan Wei away. Even knowing how deeply she cared for him, he couldn’t overcome his timid heart. He kept thinking: with her prestigious background, if I have any intentions, isn’t that self-humiliation?

Moreover, a wealthy young lady like her—how could one ever be certain of her feelings? Perhaps her affection for him had been just a passing fancy. After all, everyone around her came from well-known families; their manners and worldview were all similar. Then suddenly, someone like him—a completely ordinary person—appeared. It would feel novel to her, but novelty has no expiration date labeled on it. So this “game-like” relationship, which Duan Wei started, would also end when she chose to stop.

From beginning to end, he had no choice in the matter.

So his pride and insecurity made him constantly, both consciously and unconsciously, reject Duan Wei. Even knowing her feelings were sincere, he didn’t dare to accept them.

Yet after all those years of daily companionship, even a block of ice would have melted. Duan Wei was exceptional—a woman so brilliant that all eyes would linger on her. How could Mo Qi resist her attraction?

His heart had been falling all along. Sweetness and unease battled within him. When would Duan Wei’s heart change? After all, they came from different worlds—there could be no future. And with her family’s prestige, could someone like him, an unknown nobody, ever reach her level? After every moment of satisfaction she brought him, self-loathing followed: he was just a poor boy. What right did he have to reach for someone so far above him?

Thus, Mo Qi began to resent Duan Wei’s background. To him, it was an insurmountable mountain pressing down on him. Duan Wei was no fool. After he had inadvertently mentioned her family a few times, Mo Qi suddenly grew unusually cold, sometimes even sharp with his words. She understood his sensitivity to their social gap, but willing to respect him, she stopped mentioning her family entirely.

Mo Qi’s behavior escalated. He began to dislike Duan Wei’s friends—each one haughty, born with golden spoons in their mouths. Their world had never known ordinariness. Wherever they went, all attention would focus on them. Their elegance irritated him. Their mere existence constantly reminded him of his own lowliness, of a life forever barred from their world.

Every time he encountered Duan Wei’s friends, their casual glances felt like needles on his skin. He imagined in their eyes mockery, disdain, silent scoffs:

“Someone like you dares to aim for Duan Wei? A toad dreaming of swan meat. Foolish delusions.”

So after every meeting with her friends, Mo Qi would quarrel with her, sometimes threatening never to see them again.

They were just privileged brats, not worth his company.

For Duan Wei, her habit of enduring Mo Qi’s excesses, of compromising, stemmed solely from love—she loved him so much that she made excuses for his mistakes, defended him.

The more unreasonable Mo Qi became, the more silent Duan Wei grew. His resentment toward the wealthy deepened; he grew more cynical and bitter.

And then, Zhao Nuanxun appeared.

Unlike Duan Wei—tall, elegant, graceful—Zhao Nuanxun was petite, delicate, pitifully dependent. Duan Wei adapted to him with poise, showing the refinement of her high-class upbringing. Zhao Nuanxun, on the other hand, clung to him, always seeking his opinion, entirely reliant on him. This intrigued Mo Qi, made him feel a strange excitement.

Most importantly, Zhao Nuanxun didn’t come from wealth or status. She, like him, had an ordinary background.

Sweet-looking, obedient, and not of high birth—she perfectly fit the standards Mo Qi had always sought. With her, he could relax, act freely, and feel no inferiority. With Duan Wei, he felt insecure, anxious, constantly fearing she might leave him. So he thought: rather than waiting for Duan Wei to end things, it’s better to withdraw first, sparing himself future humiliation.

Everything that followed happened under Duan Wei’s increasing silent repression and growing sorrow. Mo Qi tacitly allowed, even guided, the events to unfold. Sometimes, seeing the faint sadness cross her face when she saw him with Zhao Nuanxun, he strangely felt a sense of satisfaction.

“Look, Duan Wei. You may have wealth and status, but now you are the one desolate. And your desolation is bestowed by me, a nobody without rank or fortune. Funny, isn’t it?”

In this twisted, subtle excitement, Mo Qi and Zhao Nuanxun drew closer, consciously and unconsciously pushing Duan Wei out of his world.

When Zhao Nuanxun first cried to him, claiming Duan Wei had bullied her, insulted her, and scolded her—stating that the poor girl was uneducated and had no standing—Mo Qi, watching her tearful, pitiful face, suddenly remembered: all these years, Duan Wei had never cried in front of him. Not once. Her eyes had never reddened. He was always the one to quarrel, and she would smile, accept, adapt—making it seem like he was unreasonable while she was always gracious. But did she truly forgive, or did she secretly scorn him? Did she silently mock him after every tantrum? Look at you, Mo Qi. Your so-called pride is only because I pity you. That’s all you have.

Thinking this, Mo Qi’s expression changed; it felt like a thousand needles pierced him, his whole body aching.

Without question, he chose to believe Zhao Nuanxun, blaming himself entirely. After all, one thing she said wasn’t wrong: Duan Wei’s status was indeed untouchable. He and Zhao Nuanxun were of the same world.

So he embraced Zhao Nuanxun, comforted her, confessed to her, whispered sweet nothings to cheer her up, and then stormed to confront Duan Wei. He scolded her for bullying the delicate Nuan, saying that even if they were of lower birth, she couldn’t do whatever she pleased. Wealth didn’t give her the right to act with impunity.

That time, he spoke harshly, deliberately choosing cruel words to hurt Duan Wei, releasing years of pent-up frustration. He knew exactly which words would wound her most, and he relished the act of scolding her thoroughly.

Finally, he saw Duan Wei with reddened eyes—the first and only time in her life. Her face was filled with shock and endless sorrow. The weeping woman before him was unfamiliar; he could see her grief almost manifest around her, tugging painfully at his heart, making him want to step forward, hold her, and apologize.

He knew, of course, that Zhao Nuanxun’s words were likely false. After all these years, he knew Duan Wei. If she truly had a heart that preferred wealth over him, she could never have liked him—and she had loved him all these years.

But Mo Qi had become practical. Society had taught him too much. He clearly saw the gulf between himself and Duan Wei, the world’s unfairness. He despised those born superior, the rich and powerful, who had everything handed to them, while he might never obtain even a fraction.

So even as he felt pain, he became more ruthless. He knew that no matter how harsh he was, Duan Wei would never blame him. Without a second thought, he vented all his suppressed grievances upon her.