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The Awakening of the Substitute
墨書 Inktalez
The morning sunlight streamed through the slats of the blinds, slicing into strips that fell upon the luxurious silk carpet.
The air was thick with the familiar scent of cedarwood perfume that belonged to Lu Chen Zhou—sharp and pervasive.
I stood in front of the ironing board, holding a valuable Chanel suit.
Ivory white, with a subtle sheen, it resembled a color that Su Qing adored.
It had been ten years.
I had ironed countless pieces of clothing belonging to Lu Chen Zhou; every crease, every fabric, even the shape of the buttons had been etched into my memory.
My fingers brushed against the inner pocket of the suit, encountering an unusual roughness.
It was not the smoothness one would expect from silk lining.
I paused, my fingertips gently probing.
It was a folded piece of paper.
My heart tightened suddenly, as if gripped by an invisible hand.
I almost held my breath as I pulled out the paper.
Yellowed and fragile, its edges were torn and frayed.
I unfolded it.
—Central Academy of Fine Arts, admission notice.
My name, Lin Yan, was printed at the top.
The red stamp remained glaring, but above the name, there was a shocking tear that almost completely severed the words “Lin Yan.”
I remembered this notification letter.
Ten years ago, I thought it had long been lost in that chaotic summer.
The summer when my mother was gravely ill, my stepfather was at his wit's end, and I gave up my dreams to accept the “sponsorship” from Lu Chen Zhou.
My gaze slowly shifted downward.
In the bottom right corner of the notification letter, there were two signatures.
One was my stepfather Su Mingyuan’s.
The other belonged to Lu Chen Zhou.
Their handwriting was contrasting—one hasty, the other sharp—signed side by side, like two indelible brands.
It turned out it wasn’t lost.
It had been torn apart by them together and then hidden away.
Hidden in the pocket of his suit closest to his heart.
Ten years.
He wore this “trophy” every day, watching me imitate Su Qing’s strokes as I painted those hollow landscapes.
Watching me cover the scar left from protecting Su Qing with concealer.
Looking at me, slowly transforming into the "Su Qing" he desires, the one who "will never leave."
A metallic sweetness surged in my throat, but I swallowed it down fiercely.
I cannot spit it out.
I cannot dirty his carpet.
This is the instinct of "Su Yan" cultivated over ten years.
I carefully refolded the notice and placed it back in my pocket, moving as if it were not a piece of paper but a fragile porcelain item.
Then, I continued to iron.
Meticulously, until the suit was as smooth as new, without a single wrinkle.
Just like my life over the past decade, carefully pressed and shaped into the likeness of another woman.
Today, Su Qing returns to the country.
The fiancée of Lu Chen Zhou, the real Su Qing.
She is also my half-sister.
It is time for me, this "imitation," to exit.
Stepping into the bathroom, the woman in the mirror had a blurred face.
Linen-colored curls, lips turned up at a fifteen-degree angle, and even that barely noticeable sense of detachment in her eyes—all perfectly replicated Su Qing.
Only the faint scar at the corner of my left eye marred this "perfection."
I skillfully tore open a new flesh-colored concealer patch, precisely covering that mark.
The "Su Qing" in the mirror flashed me a standard smile.
I picked up my cosmetics.
Foundation, eyeshadow, blush… all shades personally selected by Lu Chen Zhou, said to be Su Qing's most frequently used combination.
I applied everything slowly and meticulously, as if completing a solemn farewell ritual.
I traced the brows and eyes that did not belong to me, applying colors that symbolized another woman.
Finally, it was time for lipstick.
YSL Rouge Pur Couture, shade 1966.
Lu Chen Zhou said this was Su Qing's signature red, passionate and aggressive.
Unlike me, forever pale and submissive.
I filled my lips with the lipstick and practiced the smile he loved most in front of the mirror.
Very good.
Flawless.
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