Lai Hui felt her excitement doused with cold water. With eyes wide open, she grew more and more aggrieved, thinking how she had planned a reconciliation with enthusiasm, yet he preferred sleep over spending time with her. Her once warm heart turned cold instantly. At such times, one’s mind is prone to wander and overthink. She listed all of Jia Yi’s faults, the harsh words said during fights seemed to become truth, and she remembered her recent suffering, crying softly. Hearing her cries, Jia Yi could no longer sleep. He got up to comfort her, “Baby, I was really tired after working all day. I’ll go with you tomorrow, okay?”
Lai Hui, with tear-filled eyes, asked, “Do you not love me anymore?” Jia Yi found this funny; not wanting to watch a movie with her didn’t mean he didn’t love her. His laugh, however, only fueled her anger further. “You’re laughing? I know you think I’m ridiculous! If you don’t love me, just say it, I, Lai Hui, won’t cling to you because of the abortion!”
Jia Yi hated when Lai Hui brought up that incident; it was like being constantly reminded of one’s mistake, showcasing others’ magnanimity. And Lai Hui had committed this taboo, bringing it up every time they fought. Each mention was like a self-imposed sentence, and now, like a convicted criminal, he felt he had nothing to lose. Thus, the “criminal” Jia Yi angrily said, “I’m tired like a dog, isn’t it for you? Can’t you just understand? It’s just a movie, we can watch it anytime. Today, I need to sleep. If you want to go, go by yourself.” With that, he wrapped himself in the blanket and went back to sleep.
In Chapter 17, Lai Hui was stunned by his outburst, having forgotten her initial intent to reconcile. What she said about him not loving her was just in anger; if she had never doubted their love before, after this outburst, she started to. She left the room in low spirits, wandering the busy streets where couples walked hand in hand, leaving her alone in her sorrow. Her imagination ran wild, and she pinned the label of a cad on Jia Yi.
The police had identified the suspect; the next step was gathering evidence. Thereafter, Lai Hui became paranoid, searching through their apartment, probing with words, and even tailing Jia Yi, leaving no stone unturned. Every piece of evidence suggesting Jia Yi’s infidelity brought her both excitement and sorrow, yet she couldn’t stop. The straightforward Jia Yi didn’t think much of it, often speaking without caution, giving Lai Hui ammunition for their disputes. Their fights escalated, where even a look from Jia Yi could be misconstrued as evidence of wrongdoing.
Lai Hui told Jia Yi, “Do you know? You’ve changed since we came to this city!” Jia Yi retorted, “I haven’t changed, you have!” They both saw changes in each other but not in themselves, and neither was willing to accept the other’s change. Time moved forward, but their relationship was stuck in the past, in the purity of their high school days.
Both would compare the present to their high school times—Lai Hui said, “Back then, you would always coax me until I wasn’t angry anymore.” Jia Yi said, “Back then, you wouldn’t make unreasonable demands.” They simultaneously exclaimed, “You’ve changed!” They forgot that people change, influenced by new environments, tougher challenges, and the sedimentation of life experiences. Love, at such times, must endure rigorous trials, and Lai Hui and Jia Yi were failing this test. Their trust and dependency had hit rock bottom, and their relationship couldn’t withstand any more turmoil. It’s not the love that’s fragile; it’s the people.
Jia Yi pulled out a tissue to wipe the blood-stained back of his hand, opened the safety door, and stepped into the vibrant world outside. He didn’t know if he would lose himself as he had when he was young, losing Lai Hui, or if he would lose himself entirely in the future. After all, this world was full of temptations. He pessimistically thought, if he and Lai Hui lived in isolation, just the two of them, without external pressures or unnecessary choices, living in a simple hut, with clothes to wear and food to eat, picking flowers in the morning and reflecting in the evening, perhaps neither would change!
He sat in his BMW convertible, worth over a million, and the thought of an idyllic retreat was but a fleeting one. The world was full of poisonous poppies, yet one willingly indulged.
The following week was a headache for Lai Hui. She had never known her father could be so resourceful as to find her phone number. That morning, Zhou Yuqian didn’t go to work, and after breakfast, they returned to the bedroom for a nap when Lai Hui’s phone rang. Zhou Yuqian saw her face darken as soon as she answered. “Dad, how did you get my number?… Wait… The caller ID shows A City, are you in A City?… What? Just got off the train? What are you doing here?… Wait for me there, I’ll be right over!” Lai Hui hung up the phone in a huff, looking quite upset, which was a rare sight for Zhou Yuqian. He asked, “What’s wrong?” “It’s just my dad, coming to City A without even a heads-up!” Lai Hui got up to fetch clothes from the wardrobe and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll put him up in a hotel, he won’t bother you!” “It’s fine, let him stay here,” Zhou Yuqian responded, curious as he had never heard Lai Hui mention her father before. Lai Hui paused in her task of rolling up her sleeves, then forced a stiff smile, “No need, the hotel is better!” Despite this, she ended up taking her father, Zhang Zongxiang, back to Nanling. The main reason was that after calling several hotels, she found no vacancies. Moreover, whenever she met her father’s puzzled gaze, she felt angry, thinking about how he had never fulfilled his responsibilities as a father. Resolute in her decision, she told Zhang Zongxiang everything straightforwardly and drove him back to Nanling.
Lai Hui hadn’t seen her father in four years, and her only thought upon seeing him was — time spares no one. His once slender face was now etched with wrinkles, deep enough to trap mosquitoes when he smiled. His back was bent, his temples grayed, and he wore what was probably the only decent piece of clothing he owned, a half-new, half-old shirt with half-moon lapels, paired with blue nylon trousers. After a day’s journey by train, he reeked of sweat, mixed with the lingering smell of cooking oil from his years as a chef. Zhang Zongxiang had divorced Lai Ru Yun when Lai Hui was five. At that time, he worked as a chef in a state-owned enterprise canteen, which was considered a decent job in their small town, providing free meals for the family. However, when Zhang Zongxiang was not yet thirty, he was seduced by a widow, leading to a clandestine affair that was eventually exposed. Lai Ru Yun, along with her two sons, stormed into the widow’s house, beating both the “adulterer and adulteress” with sticks, and then divorced him. Divorce was rare in those days; typically, if a husband strayed but admitted his fault, couples would reconcile. But Lai Ru Yun, who had some education and was strong-willed, refused to forgive and took the matter to court. Zhang Zongxiang lost his job due to his moral conduct and the house was naturally awarded to Lai Ru Yun. He moved in with the widow, remarried, and had a son who should be in university by now.
