Lai Hui had forgotten last night’s moonlight, the calm sea, and the white waves. Upon waking in the morning, Zhou Yuqian had left a note by the bedside: “Xiao Li will take you back to Nanling!” Along with nine characters including punctuation, Lai Hui crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. That day, the media was buzzing with news of Zhou Yuqian’s divorce from Li Yueqin, with their wedding photos plastered everywhere on TV and in newspapers. Over tea or after meals, people had a new topic—Li Yueqin, who had retired for love, devoted herself to being a housewife, but ultimately couldn’t overcome the “seven-year itch.” Some sighed: “Poor Li Yueqin, she sacrificed her career, turned into a worn-out housewife, only to be betrayed by her husband.” Others were indifferent: “A tycoon marrying a star, it’s just for novelty. This outcome was predictable.” There were those who angrily cursed: “The media is so damn boring, why do they care about someone else’s divorce? I haven’t had a raise in three years, and I’m not bothered about others’ marital issues.” Opinions varied, and Zhou Yuqian refused interviews, while Li Yueqin, after days of silence, frequently appeared in magazines, newspapers, or TV interviews.
Sitting on the sofa, with the TV large and clear, Li Yueqin sat elegantly opposite the host, speaking fluently, “In fact, my ex-husband has always doted on me for the past seven years.” The host asked, “Then why the divorce?” Li Yueqin smiled charmingly, “The divorce was my initiative. My ex-husband didn’t support my acting career, and although we married for love, I couldn’t let go of my fans who love me.” The host then asked, “Why didn’t you consider having children in these seven years?” Li Yueqin’s smile stiffened for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes, she spoke with a choked voice, “That’s my biggest regret.” The host, upon hearing this, didn’t press further, moving on to other topics.
Lai Hui chuckled lightly in front of the TV, impressed by this formidable woman. That one sentence of regret could spark endless speculation—was it regret for not having children, or for Zhou Yuqian’s inability to perform? Seeing Li Yueqin holding back tears, Lai Hui almost believed that Zhou Yuqian indeed had such a flaw. Bored, she turned off the TV; the vast living room was now silent, with the lights outside flickering, bright as day. Forget it, when people don’t distinguish between right and wrong, why bother with whether the night follows its duty?
Lai Hui’s gaze swept over the newspaper on the table; the entertainment section recounted Zhou Yuqian and Li Yueqin’s past love story in a moving manner. She read every word; it was indeed a well-written piece, making readers feel sad for their end.
Lying in bed with the lights off, the window open, a gentle breeze entered, and the moonlight cast shadows on the curtains. Recalling the last words on the newspaper—”Life is but a dream.” She spread her hands; the shadow of the window frame projected onto her palm, the faint moonlight like water, the beauty of the world, nothing but a dream. Whose love isn’t just a dream? Jia Yi often said this to his friends, also borrowing the words of a great man—”To forget the past is to betray.”
After Xiaoyu moved in with him for over a month, they were still in the honeymoon phase of cohabitation, sitting together on the sofa watching TV, taking evening walks in the park, each occupying a corner of the study, Jia Yi working while she wrote, quietly savoring happiness as time passed. Jia Yi had many friends—colleagues, club members, even people he met just once were considered friends. Before Xiaoyu moved in, his friends often brought a single girl for a date, and after the date, they would exchange numbers and become friends. But after Xiaoyu moved in, he stopped exchanging numbers, deleting most of the single girls from his contacts.
Everyone thought his reference to “a dream of love” was about Xiaoyu, with friends teasing him for being sour even though they were still together. How could he say such desolate words? Not until one night when Jia Yi got drunk at a bar, crying pitifully while clinging to a friend’s girlfriend, muttering, “Do you know? Lai Hui, ‘to forget the past is to betray.’ How can I forget you? How?” That night, his friend didn’t dare send him home, calling Xiaoyu to say he was passed out drunk and would be brought back the next morning.
Jia Yi’s past love was a dream, hidden deep in his heart. Forgetting it would be a betrayal, and while he hadn’t betrayed Lai Hui in spirit, he hadn’t betrayed Xiaoyu in body either. He lived in torment, always fearing that one day he might break up with Xiaoyu and use his twenty million to buy back Lai Hui. Drunk, he knew neither cold nor warmth; it was his only escape.
The next day, sober, his friend warned him not to come home drunk again, though he didn’t understand why, and his friend offered no explanation. Back home, Xiaoyu hadn’t slept; she slept at nine in the morning, still two hours away. “I was worried about you. Does your head hurt?” Xiaoyu asked, touching his forehead. “I’m fine, just drank a bit too much,” Jia Yi avoided her concerned gaze. Though his friend didn’t say, he vaguely remembered that Lai Hui would emerge when his willpower was at its weakest, and he was powerless against it. “Then take a bath and get some sleep,” Xiaoyu said, turning back to the study.
Jia Yi soaked in the bath, the steam enveloping him. He pulled out cigarettes and a lighter from his shirt pocket; the shirt, cigarettes, and lighter weren’t his. His shirt was a mess from vomiting, and his friend, concerned he might catch a cold, generously swapped shirts with him. Taking a deep drag, the smoke circled in his lungs before escaping through his throat, triggering a fit of coughing. He threw away the cigarette and groaned in pain, cradling his head.
Zhou Yuqian had divorced. Would he marry Lai Hui?
In the past few days, whenever he thought of this matter, he felt a sense of despair. Television, newspapers, and magazines all seemed to awaken his despair. If Ruolai had married Zhou Yushang, if she had… The water in the bath had cooled, chilling his skin. He slapped his feverish forehead hard, struggling in agony, struggling… The newspapers were everywhere, and Zhou Yushang, as the protagonist of the news, could no longer avoid it. Not only were there concerned calls from clients and business partners, or transoceanic criticisms from his parents, but even his employees had lost their focus at work. The office was filled with discussions about the chairman. Most people had saved the entertainment section of major portal websites in their browser bookmarks. Zhou Yushang had to appear in public and hold a press conference. Sitting there, Zhou Yushang was composed and elegant, his bespoke suit highlighting his inherent nobility. He smiled at the reporters and said, “Divorce is merely a family matter. Please be lenient and do not continue to pursue this story, affecting the work and life of both me and my ex-wife!” A reporter asked, “Mr. Zhou, your love story with Miss Li Yueqin was well-known. Isn’t it very regrettable that you didn’t walk hand in hand to the end?” Zhou Yushang laughed, “Indeed, it’s very regrettable!” Another reporter asked, “Is it true that there are rumors about you being impotent?” Zhou Yushang still had a smile on his face: “Unfortunately, no one wants me to prove it!” Yet another reporter asked, “Will you and Miss Li Yueqin reconcile?” Zhou Yushang’s smile turned a bit sour: “No one can predict the future.”
