Chapter 1: The First Day
The bar’s restroom stall was cramped, with dim lighting and metal-toned pipes on the walls that rapidly cooled the feverish heat in her body.
Wen Bairan pressed against it, feeling the chill. Her waist involuntarily arched toward the ceiling.
She twisted to a certain point and could move no further, jammed in place by something. With even the slightest shift, a prickling numbness spread throughout her body, most intensely in her lower abdomen.
The only part she could move was her neck. The next moment, a pair of lips descended upon hers. The bitter taste of coffee, laced with the mellow aroma of whiskey, blended by the warmth of the man’s mouth, became an irresistible trap.
She vaguely remembered she’d ordered this Irish coffee.
Who had drunk it?
“Are you sure?”
Through the thin stall door, the restroom echoed with the comings and goings of people—sharp laughs and sounds of vomiting mingled together, distant and muffled, as if she were submerged deep underwater.
Only this voice rang clear by her ear, asking the question.
It felt... familiar, somehow. But it wasn’t Zhou Lin.
Zhou Lin’s voice was smooth, though it had grown hoarse from smoking too much in recent years. Like a frenetic electric guitar, he never asked if she wanted it—as long as there was electricity, he could go wild.
The man behind her had a deep voice like a master-crafted cello, exquisitely crafted, evoking profound sorrow and intense desire.
Her knees giving way uncontrollably, she clung to the man’s arm, her fingers brushing against the cold watchband on his wrist. The chill made her shiver, and she leaned into his embrace. “I’m sure.”
She knew he wasn’t Zhou Lin.
The hotel was just downstairs. In those few short minutes, the alcohol in her system kept working through her, slowly taking control of every nerve. The feeling was strange.
Once, Wen Bairan had visited a geological museum where there was an earthquake experience room. The tremors of a magnitude 3 earthquake felt somewhat similar to this—her vision remained clear, but her head spun dizzily, her thinking seemed to stall. Zhou Lin had said, “If you can walk a straight line here, I’ll take you for a drink.”
What straight line?
She had already been drinking.
Exiting the elevator, the corridor stretched endlessly before her, adorned with burgundy carpet. The surrounding space seemed to spin and close in on her.
Wen Bairan couldn’t remember the room number. It felt as though they had casually entered an empty room.
The man’s tall frame pinned her to the wall, his breath hot, yet his kiss hesitated, unwilling to fall.
Growing impatient, she grabbed his collar, stood on her toes, and pulled him down, actively tasting the intoxicating taste in his mouth.
“Vivi, wait.”
He tried to refuse, but being rejected was the last thing she wanted today.
She needed another person’s warmth and embrace, the only comfort available to her in the deep of night.
Song Xu...
That’s what she called him.
In truth, Wen Bairan didn’t know what it meant, but the body in front of her jolted abruptly, then began to heat up.
In the blink of an eye, it was burning hot.
As she fell onto the foot of the bed, she caught a chaotic glimpse of the moon outside the window—bright, cold, like winter snow, freezing her in place, unable to pull away from the source of heat.
Later, it truly felt like an earthquake,
rhythmic,
intense,
as if trying to shake her guts loose. With nowhere to hide, the excessive vibrations even made the moon bob and dip to the other side of the window.
The light seeping through the gap in the curtains carried a warmth unlike that of the night, bright white. Wen Bairan squinted blurrily and realized, oh, it was already the sun.
The room was quiet, with the hum of the air conditioner blowing steadily.
She lay pillowed on an arm, the man behind her facing sideways, half his face buried in the soft white pillow, the other half exposed to the faint light of early morning. Along the side of his head, a strip of light about half a finger’s width wide held countless tiny dust particles dancing in the glow, as if afraid to wake him.
Wen Bairan’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.
As if sensing the movement, the hand resting at the junction of her abdomen and thigh twitched reflexively, distinct knuckles moving like a dripping faucet. Slowly, he rubbed his fingertips together.
Her breathing grew heavy for no reason.
She didn’t dare breathe, afraid he would wake the next moment.
But fortunately, he remained still, making no further movement.
Certain he was still sound asleep, she slowly, very slowly, moved his hand away, then gradually, very gradually, sat up on the bed. Her feet didn’t touch the ground simultaneously, but the moment she stood, a fierce, aching weakness shot up through her legs, nearly making her collapse back onto the bed.
Gritting her teeth, she waited a moment and bent down. She had to do this. Tiptoeing, she gathered the clothes scattered along the way. Her underwear she couldn’t find, nor did she have time to keep looking. Gently pushing the door open, the moment it closed behind her, she broke into a frantic run toward the floor of her own room, without a second thought.
She avoided the elevator—she was too ashamed to see anyone right now.
In the stairwell, with every step downward, Wen Bairan asked herself, how did this happen?
How exactly did it come to this?
She had clearly come on this business trip with Song Xu. How did they end up in bed?
Her hungover mind left little room for reflection. Stumbling back to her room, she locked herself in the bathroom and commanded the disheveled, evidently overindulged woman in the mirror: “Quick, think back. Think carefully. Remember.”
Memory fragments flashed through her mind rapidly. She seized a few and recalled that they had met at the bar yesterday.
Song Xu was there meeting a client when he saw her alone. She bought him a coffee, and then... then somehow, many empty glasses appeared on the table. She started feeling very hot, her face burning, her mouth cool. One image surfaced: Song Xu trying to get an ice cube out of her mouth, and then... and then...
Dammit!
What happened after that?!
Wen Bairan pressed her forehead, massaging her temples hard, trying once more to recall. A few more fragments emerged intermittently.
It seemed, perhaps, maybe... she felt like a fish, swimming in the sky.
“Look, Song Xu, my fins have turned into wings!”
…
…
…………
Oh my god, did she really say that?!
I wanna die...
No way, racking my brain like this won’t get me anywhere.
She rushed out of the bathroom, drew the curtains, wrapped herself in the blanket, faced the desk lamp, and with a furrowed brow, began to psyche herself into recalling the day before.
The day before, the day before...
The day before, when Ke Shumin called, Wen Bairan was still pulling overtime at the office.
"Ran Ran, why aren’t you here yet? Everyone’s arrived and waiting for you."
It was Zhou Lin’s birthday today.
His bunch of friends had chartered a yacht half a month ago, planning to spend the night out at sea.
By evening, the group had been waiting dockside for a long time, but the boat still hadn’t set sail. When they asked, it turned out Wen Bairan hadn’t arrived yet—they were waiting for her.
Ke Shumin, who’d heard about the fight between her and Zhou Lin, turned toward the dock and lowered her voice. "Look, I know you’re pissed, but it’s his birthday today, and there are a lot of people here. Are you really not coming?"
In the vast office, only one workstation by the window was still lit.
Wen Bairan took off her black-framed work glasses, pinched the corners of her eyes with her thumb and index finger, and rubbed them. Her closed eyes showed signs of fatigue. "Not going. I already told him not to wait for me. You all have fun."
Ke Shumin knew how stubborn she was and didn’t try to persuade her. "Alright, let’s see how long you keep this going."
Wen Bairan didn’t have the energy to explain that this wasn’t just a tantrum—it was real. She casually removed the clip from her hair, letting her long hair tumble down, and ran her fingers through it, massaging her sore scalp. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the light was still on in the director’s office diagonally behind her.
Was Director Song still here too?
"Gotta go, I still have things to do."
Ke Shumin: "Okay, then get to it. I’m hanging up."
After ending the call, Wen Bairan glanced at the small mirror standing on her desk. The pink Hello Kitty pattern was almost obnoxiously bright. The woman in the mirror had disheveled hair, a pale, palm-sized face, cherry lips, a delicate nose, and eyes that were beautiful without being vulgar. Perhaps because the night was so deep, her bright eyes held a trace of a sad, lost look.
Last time, passing by a mall, Zhou Lin had casually stuffed a blind box he’d bought into her bag, and it turned out to be this thing. Wen Bairan said she was past the age of liking these pink kitty heads and that he should just take it and give it to some other girl.
Zhou Lin had been glued to his phone at the time and brushed her off, "Have you seen any young girl nowadays who still likes this stuff?"
Then, as if waking up, he noticed Wen Bairan expressionlessly putting the mirror back into her bag. He raised an eyebrow, hooked his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and cooed, "Weren’t you the one who loved cute things the most before? Stop talking like you’re an old lady. In my eyes, you’re no different from when you were twenty."
Wen Bairan didn’t say anything, nor did she pull away from his embrace. Zhou Lin knew that meant she had cooled off. They walked arm in arm for about twenty meters before he went back to looking at his phone. Wen Bairan gradually fell behind and didn’t walk side by side with him for the rest of the way.
From not too far behind, she watched his back and wondered when she had started seeing more and more of his back.
She couldn’t remember.
In university, Zhou Lin was undoubtedly the most eye-catching presence on campus. His bad-boy look, cocky attitude, and the casual elegance and superiority in his every move made it hard to look away from him. In the early days of their relationship, when she accompanied Zhou Lin to various events, in a luxurious KTV private room, he handsomely leaped onto the stage, took the microphone, and said, "From today on, Wen Bairan is my woman."
Back then, Zhou Lin was truly a golden boy. His eyes were sharp, his figure tall and straight. Holding the microphone, his usually playful gaze became serious for the first time.
But as days turned into years, the things that once had that spark in his eyes gradually grew dim.
Like a cloudy sky, the moon was still there, but covered by clouds, there was no more light.
She had thought about it for a long time and sent him that message yesterday.
Zhou Lin never replied.
Wen Bairan worried that he might have been too busy partying to see it. But Ke Shumin’s call today confirmed that he had seen it.
She flipped her phone over, and the screen lit up. The lock screen wallpaper was still a photo of the two of them. It was from their last trip together, about two years ago, on Koh Samui. The sunset cast a golden glow on the sea, blurring their silhouettes—Zhou Lin and her stood side by side facing the ocean, arms raised high, both embracing the future. Not each other.
She’d been staring at the computer for too long; her eyes were dry, and the corners ached badly.
Wen Bairan blinked hard a couple of times, unlocked her phone, deleted the lock screen photo, and replaced it with the stock wallpaper. She took Zhou Lin out of her blacklist.
The last message was timestamped early this morning, at 12:38 a.m.
[Wen Bairan]: Let’s break up.