The Stolen Lover

Untitled Episode 12

Within days, the pain had sapped Zhang Wen of all strength for jesting. When Xiaoyan was present, he clenched his teeth to stifle cries, enduring until his entire body convulsed. The medication's effectiveness dwindled rapidly—initially lasting half a day, but within weeks, even injections provided relief for only an hour or two.

Sometimes, to let Zhang Wen scream his pain out fully, Xiaoyan would make excuses to slip out. She'd crouch outside the ward door, listening to his nightmarish howls. When the pain finally knocked him unconscious and silence fell, she'd start crying. The corridor was too quiet; her sobs echoed back at her.

Xiao Yan knew Zhang Wen had bought the ring long ago, tucked away in the bedside table. She forced a smile and asked, "Didn't you bring the ring? Then put it on me now. You don't have to beg—I'm willing."

Zhang Wen said, "I'm dying, but you must live well. Find someone better than me." He regretted chasing her back after graduation—she never should have had to endure this. "Don't wear this ring," he said. "When I leave, I'll take it with me, along with everything we ever had."

Xiao Yan lacked the strength to recall these images, yet once they surfaced, the memories surged uncontrollably.

Zhang Wen's blue-and-white hospital gown, the restraints binding his body, the piercing wails at midnight, his face gaunt as dried bones, the scent of antiseptic... And her forcing herself each day to dress beautifully for his visits, the click-clack of high heels echoing down the hospital corridors—those sounds, smells, and shadows would forever fill her mind, permeate the rest of her life.

In his final days, Zhang Wen could no longer endure the agony. His lucid moments grew ever shorter, sustained only by the cold machinery keeping him alive. Xiaoyan stayed by his bedside day and night, hoping he might open his eyes just long enough to see her. Whenever Zhang Wen opened his eyes and saw Xiaoyan, he would smile. That hadn't changed in all these years. No matter how much pain he endured, that smile remained.

Zhang Wen begged Xiao Yan to release the restraints. He didn't want to die bound to a hospital bed. Xiao Yan knew that if the roles were reversed, she too would want to pull out the tubes. But she couldn't do it. She truly couldn't. She feared that each time Zhang Wen slipped into unconsciousness, he might never wake again. But whenever his eyes fluttered open, it felt like hope reignited. She believed he would pull through—he was so resilient. If he could just get through this ordeal, he would survive. He would survive.

Seventy-one days passed. Xiao Yan clutched Zhang Wen's hand, her head resting on his chest as she fell asleep. She was utterly exhausted. She told herself that if she did fall asleep, she must dream beautiful dreams—dreams where she saw Zhang Wen lively and energetic, where he acted like a mischievous boy trying to win her affection, where he appeared mature in front of others, where he begged her not to make him wash the dishes... Lost in these thoughts, she drifted off. When the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, the shrill beep of the machine roused everyone—except Zhang Wen.

By then, Xiaoyan could no longer cry.

Zhang Wen's parents took his ashes back to their hometown for burial. As they left, his father said, "Child, in our hearts, you will always be our daughter-in-law. But don't come see him. He wants you to be happy."

The scholar Xiao Yan first saw had eyes as pure and clear as Zhang Wen's had been during his freshman year. But that wasn't why she chose him. After over a year of cycling between life and death, she was too exhausted—too drained even to muster the strength to die again.

She looked at the Ga Zi in the scholar's book, then at the scholar himself, whose eyes were as clear as water. She thought: He could write Ga Zi's body to death, yet he saved Ga Zi's heart. Perhaps one day, he could save her too.

It was this simple thought—so pure it seemed absurd to others—that led Xiaoyan to entrust her fate to the Scholar. As she gazed at the snowflakes drifting down from the sky, smiling through her tears, she sensed a glimmer of beauty, a spark of hope. Perhaps she could still live.

The Scholar asked if she had ever truly loved him. Five years had passed, and she had tried.

Nan Ge asked if she had ever hated the Scholar. She didn't know.

Xiao Yan replied to the scholar: "I tried. I don't know."

When Xiao Yan's message arrived, Nan Ge and the Scholar sat in a bar, downing shot after shot of hard liquor. Nan Ge had Xiao Lei bring the Scholar a row of Tequila shots and prepared a row of "See You Tomorrow" shots for himself. Both needed to get utterly drunk.

Almost simultaneously, both men raised their phones and watches to their eyes. After reading the message, Nan Ge patted Xiucai’s shoulder, lifted his glass, and downed it in one gulp.

These past few days, Scholar had nearly cried himself dry. His relentless questioning of Xiaoyan seemed only to seek a definitive full stop. The Xiaoyan he knew never wavered once a decision was made. He understood this clearly, yet still clung to a faint glimmer of hope.

After a few cups, both men were feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"When I was a kid in Northeast China, the adults didn't work for half the year. They spent the whole winter playing mahjong. The place was small, and there weren't many kids to play with, so I got angry. Then I set fire to the woodpile at the house where they always played mahjong. It was so hard to light—matches wouldn't even catch. I had to use oiled paper to get it going. Then I watched the whole mahjong gang come out to put out the fire. After they finished battling the flames, I listened to them trying to solve the mystery. Someone said it must've been someone's careless cigarette butt. The owner of the house jumped in, saying, 'You could leave twenty cigarette butts on our firewood and it still wouldn't catch!' I hid in the corner, laughing to myself. I was happy for days."

Nan Ge didn't say a word, just smoked his cigarette while watching the scholar talk to himself.

"Once I told Xiaojiao this story. She laughed at first, but then she started crying. I hadn't seen her laugh much over the years. After that, I stopped letting her laugh, afraid she'd cry again. If you asked her about it, she wouldn't say anything. If you pressed her, she'd just lock herself in her room. Brother Nan, you tell me—has it been easy for me all these years?"

"Don't blame her. There are many things about women you can't figure out by asking. You have to understand them. Besides, I don't think she ever intended to hide that incident from you forever. She probably just never found the right moment."

"Five years—nearly two thousand days and nights—and she never found a chance?"

Brother Nan thought to himself: It wasn't that she didn't have chances to tell you—she just hadn't found a reason to.

"She probably just gradually realized telling you might lead to misunderstanding. It'd make her feel even more like a puppet."

"Brother Nan, do you think there's still a chance for us at this point?"

Nan thought for a moment and took a sip of wine. "If you keep at it, there's always a chance. But here's the thing, brother. If you can't untangle her emotional knot—or if she just can't let go of the past—then even if she comes back, she'll be like a walking corpse. When you didn't know, you were trying to warm her heart. Now that you know, can you still be the same person who warmed her heart before?"

Xiu Cai pondered for a moment, staring at his glass for a long while before lifting it and downing it in one gulp.

Nan Ge followed suit, downing his own glass. "Still planning to reply to her message?"

The Scholar remained silent for a long while. "I'll try again. If you've run out of options, then I'll accept it too."

Nan thought for a moment, then typed a line:

"It's not that you haven't tried hard enough. It's that I never knew how to try. Not every question needs an answer. Maybe I'm not the final answer you seek, but I still want to discover it with you."

"Is that okay?"

The Scholar glanced at it. "Alright. If she still won't come back, then I'll accept my fate."

Nan Ge steered the conversation elsewhere. As they chatted and drank, they realized that pain, when shared, is halved. But when kept bottled up inside, it grows like a snowball rolling downhill.

Seeing the message, Xiao Yan knew Xiu Cai must be with Nan Ge and not at home. She hurried back to pack a few things. Truthfully, she wasn't worried about running into Xiu Cai, but it was better not to see him. By the time she finished packing and returned to her apartment, it was nearly midnight. The apartment felt less lonely than she remembered; Xiao Yan had grown accustomed to it. She stared at Xiu Cai's message again, wondering if telling him about her past sooner might have changed the outcome.

But now that she knew about the person behind Scholar, Xiao Yan didn't want to continue this conversation. She added Nan Ge on WeChat directly. As for what to say, she figured he'd figure out how to start.

Back at the bar, Scholar had passed out. Brother Nan arranged for someone to take him home, deciding he’d head back to his place for some quiet time too.

Seeing a new contact request on his phone, Brother Nan casually tapped to accept it. Only after doing so did he realize, Oh, it's Li Xiaoyan.

Scrolling to confirm, it was indeed Li Xiaoyan. Brother Nan thought, Oh no, I've blown my cover. Where did it slip? He pondered inwardly. Xiao Qiao? Impossible. He'd deliberately covered up the messaging part during their afternoon chat. She shouldn't know. Did Xiu-cai call? That couldn't be either—his watch was synced the whole time. No third party knew about this. Even Fei-fei only knew he was mediating; he hadn't revealed any specifics. How could he have blown his cover? The messages were sent in Xiu-cai's voice too—it shouldn't have happened. Sixth sense? That's way too damn accurate. And it's normal for married couples to have a sixth sense—but how could he have a sixth sense about someone he'd never met?

Nan Ge racked his brain but couldn't figure it out. One thing he was certain of: if it hadn't been a slip-up, Li Xiaoyan would never have added him.

Hey, if you can't figure it out, just ask him directly. He's already added you anyway.

"Your persistence truly moved me. But perfection lies in that frozen moment. Clinging to this tragic beauty isn't your only path. Also, how did you slip up?"