Chapter 8 Day Two
Midnight.
The phone on the sofa vibrated and lit up repeatedly.
The figure by the floor-to-ceiling window turned her head stiffly. The cold, lonely moonlight gave her face a pale, ashen glow.
Wen Bairan walked over and glanced down.
Staring at one spot for too long had made her eyes dry and aching. Her eyelids fluttered reflexively, and tears finally welled up, filling her eyes.
She closed her eyes, picked up, answered, and held it to her ear.
She took a deep breath before speaking.
"Where are you?"
The voice on the other end gave an address.
She hung up, wiped at the moisture from the corners of her eyes, and walked through the living room. Seeing the dress on the floor, Zhou Lin’s face as he left flashed through her mind.
‘Wen Bairan, don’t you regret this.’…
As proud as he was, even the most heartfelt words coming from his mouth would only feel like a hard, blunt smack.
The aching dryness in her eyes persisted. Wen Bairan looked away, stepped over the dress, and went out.
The moonlight followed her slender figure but was blocked by the skirt trailing on the floor.
A meteor burned out in the galaxy, its last lonely glimmer.
Seen by no one.
-
Du Bar.
In the reserved booth, a group of people had already had two rounds of drinks. Zhou Lin arrived late.
"Yo, Lin’s here." Jiang Shijin stood up, threw an arm over his shoulder, and handed him a bottle with a lazy grin. "You’re late? How many bottles for punishment?"
Zhou Lin wasn’t in the mood for jokes and pushed him away impatiently. "Get off me."
He slumped into the sofa, his shoulders sagging, sinking into the cushions. He casually grabbed a cigarette from the table, lit it, and took a long drag.
The dim light in the booth already made it hard to see clearly, but the smoke swirling around his face only emphasized the dark mood radiating from him, making it obvious how irritated he was.
"What’s wrong? Who pissed off our boy?"
Zhou Lin’s temper might seem bad, but he actually had few buttons to push. Most people couldn’t even get to him, let alone find an opportunity to get a rise out of him.
But these past few years had been a bit better. After getting together with Wen Bairan, his emotions had become more amplified. Occasionally, you could even see Zhou Lin drinking his troubles away.
Jiang Shijin sat down next to him, burning with curiosity. "Hey, you didn’t…"
"...Did you go see Wen Bairan?"
Just as he thought of Wen Bairan, someone else asked first.
Turning his head, he saw Ke Shumin.
She had also arrived late today, just five minutes earlier than Zhou Lin.
Usually lively and loud, the type to chug bottles noisily, tonight she was unusually quiet. If she hadn’t spoken up, Jiang Shijin wouldn’t have even noticed she was here.
Having known Zhou Lin for so many years, Ke Shumin knew all too well that only one person could make him look this down and gloomy.
Her eyes held a trace of nervous hesitation, as if there was more to her words. "...Did she say something to you?"
Zhou Lin squinted as he smoked, saying nothing.
Jiang Shijin also asked, "What, you two still broken up?"
These two had never a calm moment since they got together. They broke up eight times a month, only to turn around and be all over each other again like nothing happened. All this on-again-off-again had lasted eight years just like that.
Zhou Lin still scowled, but he finally spoke. "Does anyone have Xiao Zimei’s number?"
Jiang Shijin: "Xiao Zimei? What do you want with her? Last time, didn’t you say she stole a watch from you when she drove you home? Planning to get it back?"
"Get back my ass. Since when have I ever touched something someone else has used?" He took a fierce drag. "I think it’s dirty."
As soon as he finished speaking, Ke Shumin’s expression subtly shifted.
But the lighting was too dim for anyone to notice.
Jiang Shijin asked again, "Then why are you looking for her?"
Zhou Lin paused, his frown deep enough to kill a mosquito. "Who knows what kind of crap she’s been filling Wen Bairan’s head with. Now she’s set on breaking up with me."
Jiang Shijin knew Wen Bairan well. She had an innate sense of pride, her confidence stemming from her own excellence. Whether it was academics or work, she always left them behind.
Their circle of rich second-gen was often accused of being idle and useless. Aside from eating, drinking, and having fun, their intelligence was mostly spent on being born into the right family. The people they dated were either all beauty, no brains or shrewd and greedy. Any woman with substance tended to look down on them.
But Zhou Lin had gotten lucky.
Wen Bairan was beautiful, cultured, never arrogant about her talents, nor insecure. She loved him devotedly. Over the years, although they’d had their share of big and small arguments, overall, they were a loving couple. The reasons usually revolved around Zhou Lin’s playful nature and his lack of boundaries.
That year, Zhou Lin had partied too hard and ended up with a stomach hemorrhage. Wen Bairan stayed by his side in the hospital for a full week, never leaving. Someone who had never set foot in the kitchen learned to make congee and soup for him, nurturing him back to health until he was glowing. Even Jiang Shijin was jealous, joking that Wen Bairan must have hit her head hard to fall for a heartless guy like Zhou Lin.
Truth was, Zhou Lin knew himself that women like Wen Bairan, who were willing to love someone steadfastly, were hard to find these days. So, these past two years, he’d started learning to keep his distance from the opposite sex. No matter how late he partied, he always went home. But after years of wild living, some habits weren’t easy to break overnight.
Wen Bairan was like a medal on his chest, marking his growth and maturity. The longer time passed, the heavier that medal weighed. He couldn’t take it off, nor did he want to.
Seeing Zhou Lin’s furious expression wasn’t a joke, Jiang Shijin also turned serious. "That bad? No wonder she didn’t come to your birthday. We should definitely call her over and ask."
Unfortunately, Xiao Zimei wasn’t part of their circle. She’d been brought along a few times by friends of friends, and when they really thought about it, no one had her contact.
The booth fell silent for half a second before a slightly chubby guy raised his hand. "I follow her on Douyin. Want me to try sending her a private message?"
Zhou Lin’s eyes immediately snapped toward him. He nodded. "Get her out here. Right here."
"Now?"
He stood up, crushing the cigarette butt under his toe. "Now."
Jiang Shijin called after him, "Hey, where are you going?"
"Taking a leak." Zhou Lin’s figure quickly disappeared around the corner.
"We haven’t even started drinking yet. What kind of leak? More like tears." Jiang Shijin muttered under his breath, then turned to see the guy slowly pulling out his phone. He went over personally to supervise the message, not trusting him to do it quickly. "Hurry up, what are you dawdling for? Just tell her Lin’s here and she has twenty minutes to show up."
The corridor leading to the bar's restroom connected to a side door. Someone had left it slightly ajar, and the stifling night air seeped in through the crack, making it even hotter than inside the venue.
By the public sinks, Ke Shumin leaned against one of the mirrors. Seeing Zhou Lin emerge, she immediately straightened up, as if she had been waiting for him.
Zhou Lin glanced at her but didn’t acknowledge her.
He walked over, turned on the faucet, washed his hands, and shook off the water droplets.
Ke Shumin waited a moment, then couldn’t hold it in any longer and stepped forward. "I need to talk to you."
"Go ahead," he said indifferently, adjusting his hair in the mirror, barely paying her any mind—a somewhat disrespectful attitude.
Ke Shumin bit her lip, speaking like each word was painful. "I saw Wen Bairan this evening."
He froze in the mirror.
The faucet was still running, water splashing noisily onto the counter.
Zhou Lin braced his hands on the edges of the basin, his eyes still fixed on the mirror. "What did she say?"
He seemed unaware of the urgency in his own tone.
Ke Shumin pressed her lips together, her fingers fidgeting anxiously as she faltered. "You know, she and I are very close. Over all these years, I’d say I’m her only real friend. Normally, I shouldn’t be telling you what she told me in confidence, but Zhou Lin, you’ve been together for eight years. I can see that your feelings for her are genuine, and she... she felt the same way once too. At this point, it’s not about who’s right or wrong anymore, do you understand?"
Zhou Lin remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"I’m not taking sides. I just feel like continuing like this isn’t fair to either of you. But I still hope you won’t confront her or blame her. She has her own struggles and her own reservations. She’s always wanted things to work out with you, but the timing between you two has never been right." Her words came faster, her nervous expression almost as if she were making excuses on someone's behalf.
Zhou Lin had run out of patience. His dark eyes turned cold and hostile as he suddenly turned to face her, his gaze sharp enough to cut. "What are you trying to say?"
Ke Shumin wrung her hands, her awkward and guilt-filled pause seeming deliberate. "Well... she did tell me some things..."
-
---
W Hotel.
The hotel had opened this year in the most bustling area of Shenjiang. A five-star establishment, its high-floor executive suites cost six figures per night.
Wen Bairan stepped into the glass elevator and turned to face the boundless night view. The skyscrapers on the opposite side of the river stretched in undulating waves, countless lights twinkled like fireflies against the dark sky.
She gazed expressionlessly at the glittering scene. As the elevator ascended, the pressure from the rapid ascent soon made her ears ring.
Her phone vibrated.
A faint vibration left her palm tingling.
Her eyelashes fluttered faintly as she lowered her gaze.
The pinned chat at the top of her WeChat messages had somehow been changed to an anime character wearing a straw hat.
Zhou Lin had told her the character’s name several times, but she never remembered.
He must have gotten into her phone when she went upstairs to retrieve her things—not only had he removed himself from her blocklist, but he’d also pinned his chat.
His childish energy always went into these trivial matters.
Her eyes skimmed over the last message in the chat, her slender fingers pausing slightly before moving to the unread messages below.
[Ke Shumin]: Has Zhou Lin contacted you?
[Ke Shumin]: Did you say anything to him? He seemed really upset...
[Ke Shumin]: I think you should hold off on telling him about that thing for now [shushing emoji]
[Ke Shumin]: (a video)
[Ke Shumin]: Unbelievable… they called Xiao Zimei over.
Wen Bairan tapped the video. With no signal in the elevator, it tried to load for a while without success, so she closed it.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, about to type, when the elevator arrived.
The doors opened, and as she stepped out, the video finally loaded—a mere five seconds long.
The dark, blurry footage made it impossible to distinguish anyone. Suddenly, Wen Bairan lost all interest in watching it, couldn’t even muster the energy to reply.
Exiting the chat, she blocked Zhou Lin again and followed the signs on the wall to room 3602.
The front desk had given her a new key card. Without knocking, Wen Bairan stood before the door, card in hand, as if contemplating what awaited her once she entered.
Last night, she could blame everything on alcohol. But today, she hadn’t touched a drop.
She knew clearly that once she stepped through this door, no matter her initial intentions, there would be no going back.
The evening gown at home still hung there, untouched, in the empty apartment.
In truth, Wen Bairan could smell Zhou Lin’s scent the moment she entered her apartment.
She had known he was there from the second she stepped inside.
His kisses were so familiar.
An overwhelming sense of betrayal washed over her, mingling with the heat of his body. She didn’t pull away.
The torment tearing her apart felt like self-punishment.
The pain was so severe she wished she could die.
When Zhou Lin left, she didn’t try to stop him, nor did she meet his eyes.
She was afraid of seeing the hurt in his gaze, afraid of the rekindled fire there, terrified that speaking would eliminate any chance of turning back.
She would rather they remain in this place of shared regret than let him discover the mess she’d made these past two days.
The hotel was quiet, the empty hallway stretching endlessly around her. The enclosed space seemed to spotlight Wen Bairan alone.
The copy of Caravaggio’s *Death of the Virgin* on the wall seemed to mock her own predicament.
She was no virgin.
The only difference between her and a prostitute was that she didn’t charge for her services and flattered herself that she was in control.
Wen Bairan had never imagined she would one day stoop this low, but so-called divinity and humanity ultimately evolved from animalistic instincts.
Her pain ran too deep; her rationality couldn’t endure such terrible devastation. Perhaps only by regressing to an animal state could she become indifferent to this injury.
She was only twenty-eight. Of course she knew there would be many more years ahead. But the thought that nearly a third of her life so far had been spent with Zhou Lin was agony—so crushing she could barely breathe, so acute she wished for immediate death.
Countless days and nights, countless intertwined moments, the ceaseless flow of time had long since fused them together. Now, she had to tear such a person away from herself with her own hands. She was bleeding silently. It felt as though she had swallowed shards of glass. The hand clutching the key card was white-knuckled from strain, a thin film of sweat appearing on Wen Bairan’s temples. Abruptly, she lowered her hand, tossed the card toward the corner, and turned to go.
Just then, the door opened.
Song Xu appeared without warning, as if he’d anticipated it.
His expression was blank, his thin, narrow eyelids gazing down imperiously. There seemed to be tenderness, yet also indifference.
Wen Bairan stared blankly as the cuff of his white shirt reached out toward her, the deep black onyx (or his eyes) drawing closer, gleaming with a cold, lonely light near the corner of her eye.
Suddenly, tears streamed from her eyes.
He gently cradled the back of her head, his large hand gently patting, his deep voice rumbling through her hair, "Not feeling well? Come in and sit."
The night felt charged.
All was silent.
The intricate patterns on the corridor carpet looked like some bizarre, fantastical dream.
Only the key card lay quietly in its original spot.