The Young Miss Refuse To Love
Chapter 33: This was my resentment

Chapter 33: This was my resentment

Qi Jianyi frowned at the cryptic sentence, "You are me, and I am you?" She mulled it over, trying to unravel its meaning, but the words twisted in her mind, offering no clear answers.

Who was the original Qi Jianyi referring to? Was it herself? Or someone else? The more Qi Jianyi dwelled on it, the deeper her confusion grew. Her eyes lingered on that final sentence, her lips unconsciously moving as she repeated it over and over, as if by sheer repetition, its mystery would unravel.

But nothing changed. No forgotten memories resurfaced, no sudden clarity dawned—only the mounting frustration gnawing at her mind.

"What does this even mean?" she mumbled under her breath, exasperation clear in her tone. Despite her best efforts, the answer eluded her. With a resigned sigh, Qi Jianyi decided to move on. Perhaps the rest of the diary held clues that would make sense of this strange phrase later.

Turning the page, Qi Jianyi was met with a stark contrast. Unlike the sparse words of the earlier entries, the fourth page was filled to the brim with frantic scribbles. The ink was smudged in places, as if teardrops had blurred the hurried handwriting.

Qi Jianyi’s heart clenched as she softly traced the small, dark stains, imagining the sorrow that must have accompanied their fall. The words were a mess—rushed, riddled with errors, and yet they spoke of a deep, unspoken pain. Qi Jianyi couldn’t help but wonder what turmoil the original Qi Jianyi had been going through when she wrote this.

For a brief moment, she hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing over the chaotic script. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the melancholy that threatened to take hold, before finally steeling herself to read the words scrawled across the page.

"My name is Qi Jianyi. My parents had me when they were in their prime age. They were thriving in their career, chasing the success in front of them. And they had me. But, I did not know whether my existence was coincidental or planned. However, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it is that my existence was not a miracle."

As Qi Jianyi read those lines, a pang of empathy washed over her. The words hung heavy on the page, laced with a sense of detachment that made Qi Jianyi’s chest tighten. She could feel the weight of the original Qi Jianyi’s uncertainty and sadness at the absence of her parents.

Qi Jianyi’s fingers trembled slightly as she continues to read.

"However, the nanny always told me that I was my parents’ greatest achievement. She repeated those words so often that they became etched into my mind. I used to believe her—after all, she was the only one who was truly there for me at the time. She was more of a mother to me than my own. As a three-year-old, I clung to those words, carrying them with pride.

Every morning, I would wake up, hoping to have breakfast with my parents. But they were never there. Nanny and Uncle Butler would tell me that my parents had to wake up early and didn’t want to disturb my sleep. So they would have breakfast before I woke up and kiss me goodbye before heading to work.

And I naively believe it."

Qi Jianyi felt a sense of melancholy washed over her. The image of a little girl, full of hope and pride, longing for her parents’ presence, tugged at her heart. The realisation that the original Qi Jianyi had spent her early years with only the comforting lies of her nanny and the butler to hold onto left her feeling hollow.

How lonely that must have been, to rely on those small reassurances while growing up in a house that echoed with absence.

The more Qi Jianyi read, the tighter her grip on the book became. It felt as though she was reliving a past that wasn’t hers—memories that didn’t belong to her, yet stirred something deep within her.

A strange, inexplicable connection tethered her to the words on the page, as if they were unraveling a hidden part of herself she hadn’t known existed. The emotions welling up inside her were unsettlingly familiar, as though she was mourning a childhood she had never lived.

"But little did they know, I knew they were lying. I was six years old then, and for three years, I had believed their comforting falsehoods. Both my nanny and Uncle Butler would reassure me that my parents were busy, but they always kissed me goodnight and good morning. Yet, I had never once seen them do so.

I missed them—my parents, whom I barely knew. I didn’t even remember what they looked like at that time, but every day, I made sure to gaze at their wedding portrait so I would recognize them when they finally came home.

So, the six year old me decided to wait. I stayed awake in the middle of the night, hoping to catch them sneaking into my room to give me that goodnight kiss. But they never came. I don’t remember how long I waited, but I do remember my room slowly filling with light as the sun began to rise. I had waited through the night, until the world awakened, yet they never stepped into my room.

I told myself they must have been too tired. But then nanny said my parents would come to give me a good morning kiss before heading to work. I held onto that hope and waited again.

But they didn’t come. I waited until my nanny entered the room to wake me up, just as she always did. She was surprised to find me already awake, and I told her I had just woken up because the sun was too bright.

That day, the weather was nice, and I learned two things. I learned how to lie, and I learned that my nanny and Uncle Butler had been lying to me all along.

It was my first lie. And it was the first time my hope was shattered."

Qi Jianyi’s heart ached. The raw innocence of the original Qi Jianyi, the quiet acceptance of painful truths, and the small, heart-wrenching moments of growing up were too much to bear. The pages seemed to pulse with the sadness of a lonely child, one who had learned too early the bitterness of broken promises.

She understood all too well the feeling of having your excitement crushed. She had once eagerly awaited moments to play with her parents, only to have those promises broken without a word of apology.

That was the first time Qi Jianyi learned not to get excited about things that weren’t certain. From that day forward, the innocent, childlike thrill she once felt faded, leaving a quiet emptiness in its place—an emptiness that lingered within her even now.

"Nanny said I was my parents’ greatest achievement. So why did they never come home to see me? What was the difference between me and those kids in the orphanage? I questioned it for years.

But here’s the funny thing—they had another child when I was three years old. Twins, Qi Jinlu and Qi Jinli. The difference between them and me was that mom brought them to work while I was left at home.

That’s when I realised—the day the nanny lied to me about being my parents’ greatest achievement was the day the twins were born. I didn’t even know I had younger brothers until I was seven years old. And I only found out because I stumbled upon a portrait of the four of them together.

I never had a portrait with them.

I was abandoned.

No matter how much they tried to explain it, that fact could never be erased. For a long time, I thought they weren’t ready to be parents, that they had me before they were prepared. That’s why they barely did their duty as my parents.

But I was wrong.

They simply didn’t want me because I came into this world when they were too busy with their careers. The twins, on the other hand, were the result of their expectations and love.

I was their first child, but I was never treated like one. This was my resentment."

The cold truth behind the original Qi Jianyi’s resentment was laid bare, and it was a bitterness that struck deep. The realisation that she had been abandoned, overshadowed by the twins who were born from love, have been a heavy burden to bear.

The stark contrast between her lonely existence and the warmth her younger brothers received was a wound that could never truly heal.

On one hand, Qi Jianyi felt deep sympathy for the original Qi Jianyi, and on the other, she understood her resentment all too well. She herself had experienced being pushed aside by her parents.

When she was six, her mother gave birth to a little sister, and from that day forward, everything changed. She was no longer the princess of the house, the cherished darling in her parents’ eyes. Instead, she was merely the older sister, expected to "protect" her younger sibling from the world.

However, unlike the original Qi Jianyi, who swallowed her pain in silence, the six-year-old Qi Jianyi voiced her grievances. She told her parents how their actions had hurt her and made her feel invisible. Her parents, Mother and Father Qi, realised their mistake much earlier than Mr. and Mrs. Qi ever did.

They changed, no longer blatantly favouring the youngest daughter while ignoring the eldest. Although a bit of favouritism toward the younger sibling sometimes slipped through, Qi Jianyi learned to overlook it. As long as it didn’t deeply wound her, she chose not to argue.

Yet, even though her parents apologised and tried to make amends, they couldn’t erase the wound that had been deeply engraved in her memory. As she grew older, Qi Jianyi’s perspective broadened, and she came to accept that no parents treat all their children equally.

But she still resented those who chose to have children without fully committing to the responsibility. If you bring a child into the world, you’re responsible for them for life. Too often, parents forget this, treating their neglected child as a burden or a doll to be cast aside when no longer wanted.

Just like the original Qi Jianyi. She wasn’t a burden or a doll. She was simply a forgotten existence, all because she was born at a time that didn’t suit her parents.

But could she have chosen whether or not to come into the world? Clearly not. It was her parents who decided to bring her into existence, yet she was the one who bore the blame.