Since you only provided "31" as the source text, the translation into English is: Thirty-one

Tang Hao had grown noticeably thinner; the once bright and handsome man, whose face radiated vigor and spirit, now wore only a shadowy gloom. In his hand was a half-filled bottle of liquor, uncapped.

“Nianqing! Why are you destroying yourself like this? What do you want from all this?”

The room was thick with the smell of alcohol, and the air felt ready to rip apart with anger and heartbreak. He fought the urge to smash the damned bottle to the floor. The woman sprawled drunkenly on the sofa kept her eyes closed, her long, trembling lashes hiding two clear drops that slid silently down her cheeks. Her face, flushed by alcohol, bore the traces of tears—two streams of molten grief scorching his heart. In the end, he simply set the bottle gently on the coffee table; Tang Hao knelt beside her and helped her sit upright. Every glance was torment, but he could not tear his eyes away.

His voice softened into a plea. “Let go of the past. Look up, face forward—the days ahead are still long.”

“Nianqing, what future do I have?” She kept her eyes closed, her breath warm with the scent of wine, her voice light as a feather. “Tell me, what future is left for someone like me?”

Only heartbreak remained. He had watched over her since she was a little girl. She shed tears over failing her piano exam; she cried when he injured his arm playing basketball. Her tears were ever abundant, and each drop struck him like a weapon. Yet before, his pain for her always carried a trace of something else—indulgence, sweetness. But now, it was pure, raw agony—sharp and irresistible.

In truth, after all the nightmares Nianqing had endured, Tang Hao no longer knew whom to blame. He lifted her face and tirelessly wiped away her endless bitterness. “You still have me. I’ve always been here. Open your eyes and you’ll see me.” He wasn’t sure if he was comforting her or himself.

Nianqing slowly opened her eyes, her gaze as water—but lifeless, stagnant. “I feel…dirty myself! Tang Hao, don’t treat me like this. I don’t deserve you. Why should I even stay in this world…”

“Nianqing, it’s not your fault!” He couldn’t let her finish; he straightened her up from the sofa, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly, his eyes unwavering and resolute. “It’s not your fault. Don’t think that way!”

“Not my fault?” Nianqing’s eyes searched the room, unable to find focus, repeating the phrase until something struck her and her face twisted in pain. “Yes, it’s not my fault! The fault is Xiang Zuo’s! He ruined me… Everything is his doing…” If not for Xiang Zuo’s words in the parking lot, she wouldn’t have drowned herself in drink at the bar; if not for that—how could things have become like this? She had struggled to stay by his side, only to keep watch over an empty, cold house…

“Nianqing!” Nothing had prepared him for this moment; he knew she was introverted and resilient, but never imagined her stubbornness would reach such extremes. The age-old paradox—endless arguments and struggles were in vain.

When Tang Hao left Nianqing’s apartment, he felt exhausted inside and out. Night had deepened; the sky was strewn with stars, shining tirelessly day after day, year after year. How much longer could he endure? The saddest thing wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer—it was that he dared not even ask the question.

Just as he stepped out of the elevator, he noticed a man sitting alone on the lobby’s lounge sofa. Tang Hao’s expression stiffened, and his steps faltered.

“Come sit,” Xiang Zuo beckoned, showing neither warmth nor anger. Tang Hao felt awkward; to be honest, he saw no need to talk with Xiang Zuo. In fact, he didn’t even know what attitude to take toward him. If not for Xiang Zuo, perhaps he and Nianqing would already be living together. But how could he blame him for that?

One of the saddest things in the world is wanting to hate someone, yet finding no grounds for hatred.

“To be frank, I was just about to go upstairs… to catch someone in the act!” Xiang Zuo said, clear and serious.

Tang Hao sprang up from the sofa, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Catch someone? What right do you have? Did you ever treat Nianqing as your wife? Have you ever been good to her? If you hadn’t left her alone here, ignoring her, how could she have ended up like this?”

He was agitated, yet Xiang Zuo smiled. That stern face, usually so serious, now bore an inexplicable ease. “Walking out of a ‘married woman’s’ apartment in the dead of night, then righteously accusing her ‘husband’ of incompetence—are you the first?”

Tang Hao, though guiltless, still flushed. He snapped, “You’re impossible!” and turned to leave. Clearly, he was a leader of a business, a man who seemed rational and intelligent by day—how could such warped logic hide beneath that dignified exterior?

“Wait!” Xiang Zuo finally called out, rising from the sofa. “If you care so much, how can you tolerate her staying by another man’s side? Does that need explaining?”

Tang Hao turned back, seeing Xiang Zuo’s face stripped of any levity. The sudden change left him unsure which words were true and which were false.

“I care about her. I want her to be happy. Is that wrong? What right do you have to lecture me?”

“If you truly love her, Tang Hao, you should be the one to give her happiness—not hope another man will.”

The two men faced off in the silent lobby, each lost in their own thoughts. After a long pause, Xiang Zuo broke the silence, speaking clearly and forcefully.

“If it were Momo, I’d lock her up until the day she came to her senses!”

Tang Hao’s mouth hung open, at a loss for words. He never expected such a rational man to be so domineering and unreasonable; crude as it was, it was a truth he dared think but not act upon. Only now did Tang Hao truly look at the man before him—sharp, imposing eyes, so resolute that objection seemed impossible.

“Sit down,” Xiang Zuo said, steadying his voice with candor. “I have a proposal—I believe you’ll be interested.”

Zhang Momo, out of nowhere, found herself with a new suitor.

Normally, when a woman finds another man among those clamoring for her attention, it should add a measure of satisfaction. Especially when that man is not unpleasant—in fact, leaves quite a good impression. But for Zhang Momo, this new suitor only brought anxiety. The reason was simple: he was Tang Hao.

Every late afternoon nearing the end of the workday marked the beginning of a romantic episode, as well as a new round of restless uncertainty. Zhang Momo sat behind her desk, cradling a bouquet of soft pink lilies, their fresh fragrance filling the room, yet her face was troubled, looking pitiful.

“Tang Hao, are you serious? Are you really pursuing me, or just playing around?”

The man before her was truly the ideal husband candidate; Zhang Momo had reached that conclusion when she was fifteen. Gentle, patient, reliable, sincere, sunny and handsome—not one quality missing! Yet even with his perfection, admiration is one thing—possessing him is quite another. It’s like envying a neighbor’s treasure; but when that treasure sprouts legs and runs into your home, the delight vanishes, replaced by constant anxiety, fearing you’ll be accused of theft.

“What do you think?” Tang Hao smiled, showing a neat row of white teeth, utterly oblivious to the trouble he caused. He grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, picking up a design draft from her desk and leafing through it with interest. “Go about your work—pretend I’m not here.”

Not here? Such a conspicuous creature—how blind would one have to be to pretend he didn’t exist? Worse, Zhang Momo was facing her computer, and every glance caught half his profile. The sausage factory logo design was due for the client tomorrow, but despite repeated attempts, she couldn’t focus, and her face grew more forlorn.

“Tang Hao, honestly, are you a corporate spy? Admit it! For half a month now, you show up at my office every evening, making it impossible for me to work. Tell me, which company sent you?”

“Have you forgotten how you used to rush to my house after school?” Tang Hao looked up, righteous. “Back then I was preparing for college entrance exams, and you pestered me every day; now you find me annoying?”

Zhang Momo wilted. Though her intelligence couldn’t connect the two events, Tang Hao spoke nothing but the truth.

Back in junior high, she was hopelessly addicted to romance novels, day and night lost in those passionate stories—even during class and sleep. As a junior high student, this was forbidden, far exceeding what parents considered acceptable diversion. So, she made excuses to go to Tang Hao’s house daily, claiming to study for exams, while basking in her own delight under the nose of a college-bound student.

As the saying goes, what goes around comes around; unfortunately, Zhang Momo realized it a bit late. Just as she was lamenting, the office door suddenly swung open, and Zhang Nianqing, not seen for months, stood at the threshold with an expression of debt collection.

Seeing Nianqing, Zhang Momo nearly leapt from her chair in joy; could it be that the person who refused contact for months had finally come around? In her muddled excitement, she called out “Sister,” but Nianqing didn’t glance at her; her stormy, bitter gaze fixed on Tang Hao, accusing and condemning for a long moment.

“I have something to discuss with Momo. Please leave.”

“Alright!” Her demand was blunt, but Tang Hao replied smoothly; facing the fury in Nianqing’s eyes, he still managed a sunny smile and exited the office in cheerful strides.

Only then did Zhang Nianqing turn her gaze toward the bewildered Zhang Momo. “What’s going on between you and Tang Hao?!” The aggressive interrogation left no room for compromise, no consideration; Zhang Momo’s heart skipped—so the neighbor who lost her treasure had come to make trouble…

Author’s note: Thanks to Brother You for the red envelope—my hands are trembling, tears are flowing.

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