Chapter 7

Xu Yan slept away another whole morning. Last night at the bar had been a blur—when Shen Zhi called, Xu Nian had snatched the phone to answer it, afraid his brother would soften—but actually Xu Yan had never intended to pick up. Later he'd powered off the phone, and still hadn't turned it back on. Xu Yan stretched his limbs listlessly; two days of hangovers in a row, and he felt hollowed out.

After washing up, Xu Yan went back to bed, picked up his phone and switched it on, checked what good food was nearby. The phone had been asleep all night, a bit groggy too—it lagged for a second, then the notification bar began displaying the various messages received. Xu Yan was too lazy to look; he opened the delivery app first, and after careful deliberation finally ordered from a universal chain restaurant—braised chicken rice.

"..." Xu Yan suddenly lost his appetite. He should have had Xu Nian call an auntie to cook.

He opened WeChat again, replied to a few messages, traded a few rounds of barbs with Xu Nian. Xu Yan scrolled past some group chats, and finally suddenly noticed that Shen Zhi's chat window had a bright red dot: "4".

How to put it—there was a feeling of being graced, after all Shen Zhi rarely took the initiative to send him a WeChat message, and when replying would absolutely never say more; the number on the chat window was basically always "1". Xu Yan had secretly speculated whether Shen Zhi only ever replied with one line because he was the 1, but on second thought, his own messages as a 0 were so wordy—clearly it had nothing to do with the attribute. Not loving was simply not loving.

To say there was no ripple in his heart would be a lie. He'd only left yesterday—how could he completely let go of someone he'd liked for six years in a single night? Feelings aren't like lifting a barbell, something you can hoist up heavily and slam down heavily, not that clean-cut. They seep in, entangle, climb on the body like vines—can only be cut and snipped away bit by bit.

He opened the messages. The first was from last night. Shen Zhi: Where are you

The rest were from this morning. Shen Zhi: I'm going out for a bit

Shen Zhi: The assistant says the suit ordered earlier has arrived—go back and sign for it

Shen Zhi: They said no one was home, your phone is off

The familiar implication—you should have been home; why was no one answering the door when they delivered the suit? What are you even doing?

Xu Yan lay flat, pressed his brow, picked up the phone again. Just as he was about to type a reply, the ringtone sounded—Shen Zhi's call. He startled, stared at the screen for several seconds before pressing answer, said nothing—truly didn't know what to say. In the past there would never be a lull between them, because Xu Yan would always be the one to speak up first. Now that he wasn't talking, Shen Zhi seemed momentarily unable to react. So the two of them fell silent at the same time. After a while, Shen Zhi asked, "Where are you."

The voice sounded in his ear, a little low. Xu Yan's right ear went numb on its own, traitorously. He paused before answering, "Outside."

"Haven't had enough to drink yet?" Shen Zhi asked coldly.

Today was his day off; a client had invited him to play golf. The drive was half an hour—he should have left at ten, but he sat in the study until ten past ten. Those ten minutes were almost him watching the second hand tick past one second at a time, but Xu Yan never came back, as if determined to oppose him. At noon the assistant messaged that the suit had been delivered but no one was home, and Xu Yan's phone was off when called—this meant Xu Yan hadn't gone back at all.

"No, you should hire a..." Xu Yan wanted to tell Shen Zhi to hire a bao mu—after all, his multi-purpose mother hen had already run off—but he quickly realized: Shen Zhi was getting engaged soon, hiring a bao mu didn't need him to suggest it; the man would arrange it himself, nothing to do with him. So he suddenly didn't know how to speak again. What exactly was he supposed to say? Say I'll never come back again, won't bother you anymore, you're free, baby?

That sentence, once spoken, would mean their six-year relationship was severed right here. Xu Yan was reluctant—of course he was. Over the past few years he had imagined countless times what the ending between him and Shen Zhi would look like, good and bad. This relationship had always been his one-sided persistence and insistence; all the bitterness and hardship were deserved, had to be swallowed down with blood in his mouth. But Xu Yan discovered he actually still had a bottom line—when pouring out everything failed to win any response, and instead headed toward an unbearable situation, he would run faster than anyone.

He had stumbled through learning to walk for so long—falling, getting up, again and again—finally learned to walk with great difficulty, only to suddenly realize there were still more unknown, enormous things ahead, waiting for him to explore and comprehend alone, and the final answer might not be as wished—not might not, it definitely would not be.

"Speak." Xu Yan had stopped mid-sentence, and Shen Zhi urged him with some impatience, voice low.

"Oh, I..." Xu Yan pinched the bridge of his nose, said offhandedly, "I'm on a business trip."

"I went back this morning and you weren't home, so I grabbed some things and went out again. Sudden business trip, don't know how long, that's it."

He could leave cleanly, but couldn't say goodbye out loud. No matter what Shen Zhi's reaction would be—surprised, pleased, mocking, contemptuous—Xu Yan didn't want to bear any more of it. He had lived without dignity for years; at this final moment, let himself keep some face. From heart-flutter to heart-cold, six years—not something a single goodbye could completely end—so nothing needed to be said. Adults were so cunning; when the time came, both sides would naturally understand, good for everyone.

Without waiting for Shen Zhi to speak, Xu Yan said, "Got something, hanging up first," and ended the call. He lay on the bed holding the phone, stared at the light for a long time, finally exhaled—still a little heavy, but also satisfying.

The busy tone came through the phone. Shen Zhi leaned back in his chair, was silent for a moment, then opened WeChat and sent a message to his assistant.

Five minutes later, Xu Yan's phone received a message from his former Company's HR supervisor: Hey, someone from Jinyao Group just came asking about you.

Xu Yan sat up with a jerk—the motion was too violent, his head saw stars. He typed with difficulty: Asking what?

HR: Just asked if you were still at the Company. I said you resigned the day before yesterday.

Strange—at the very moment of realizing Shen Zhi had already discovered his resignation, Xu Yan instead instantly relaxed. Shen Zhi was that smart; he definitely understood what it meant. The progress bar had been pulled straight to the end—and that was good. Xu Yan guessed Shen Zhi must be very happy right now, might have already ordered fireworks on the way, might even get engaged tomorrow, should smile more in the future... hiss—that cold face, when it smiled, was really good-looking. Too bad he was never willing to show it in front of him.

He replied: Okay okay, I know.

Just as he sent it, the phone rang again without warning. The big "A Shen Zhi" three characters on the screen were like three iron pots clanging down on his head. Xu Yan tensed up immediately—Shen Zhi probably felt he was being brushed off, coming to demand an explanation.

He didn't think, flipped off the bed, dug the SIM ejector from his wallet, popped out the SIM card—at a time like this he still remembered ceremony. He placed the SIM card on his thumbnail, fingertip pressed against the pad of his index finger, flicked it upward—the tiny card 'whoosh' flew off. Where it landed didn't matter; he'd find it later—of course he had to. In the internet age, a phone number was tied to Alipay, bank cards, and all kinds of accounts; the cost of giving it up was too great. Xu Yan wasn't that stupid.

The call couldn't get through, but WeChat pinged again. Xu Yan opened it—Shen Zhi had sent: Have you made enough of a fuss?

Ha... just one sentence like that, and even through the screen Xu Yan could picture the impatient coldness on Shen Zhi's face. He'd seen it too many times—logically he should be used to it by now—but his chest still couldn't help feeling tight, like stones being piled one after another on his heart, unable to breathe.

He had obediently held himself back for so many years. No matter how neglected, no matter how stifled inside, Xu Yan had never shown Shen Zhi half a sour look, never said a harsh word. He alone had tasted all the sourness, bitterness, grievance, sorrow—this stemmed from the original one-sided willingness. Xu Yan bore his own profits and losses and didn't intend to argue; he had long since admitted defeat, and willingly. But at this moment, Shen Zhi only thought he was throwing a tantrum—his heart dead as ash, his dignity on the ground, his unrequited longing—in Shen Zhi's eyes, nothing but an unreasonable farce.

As a fellow man, could Shen Zhi really not empathize at all with his despair and disheartenment upon learning he was about to get engaged? Yes, yes, always—not just this one thing; countless details over the years corroborated this point—Shen Zhi only treated him as a bed partner, as a bao mu, so whenever Xu Yan dared to seek emotional reciprocation, Shen Zhi always ignored it, watched coldly from the sidelines.

Xu Yan had thought of this answer before, but when the fact really stood before him like Mount Tai pressing down, it inevitably made one feel sorrowful. So much so that he looked at the screen and suddenly laughed softly to himself, muttering, "So why did you agree to be with me back then?"

Of course no answer came. Xu Yan tapped into Shen Zhi's profile picture and blocked him.

Have you made enough of a fuss?

Made enough. Of course made enough. Xu Yan turned off his phone and thought—spending six years loving someone so cold-hearted and cruel like you, was indeed enough.