The Stolen Lover

Autumn, Nanjing, late at night, residential complex. The stairwell light had been out for ages. Staggering to his door, Xiu Cai fumbled for his phone to illuminate the keyhole, taking a long moment to unlock it. Closing the door, he didn't turn on the light. Sitting on the shoe bench, he burst into loud sobs, curled up in the corner, crying like that for over ten minutes. The phone screen remained frozen on the last message he'd sent: "Without you, nothing matters anymore." The wedding photo still hung on the wall, untouched for years. He had just been thinking it was time to take it down. Finally, his sobs subsided. By the faint light, he rose and walked toward the living room balcony. A cool breeze blew in, revealing only a few lights still glowing in the neighborhood. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and stared straight ahead at the distant streetlights, his eyes filled with sorrow and despair. Suddenly, a dark figure in the corner of the balcony shoved him violently from behind. Caught off guard, the scholar toppled over the seventh-floor balcony and plummeted downward. There was no scream, only the sound of a thud as he hit the ground. Afterwards, the dark figure vanished silently into the darkness. Years ago, Xiucai was a penniless scholar, scraping by writing fantasy novels online. He wore a perpetual look of frustration and discontent. Yet fortune smiled upon him: though his first book was little more than a coaster, he hit it off with the publisher's new, beautiful editor. Their whirlwind romance led to marriage, and before they knew it, four or five years had passed. That evening at Brother Nan's bar, the Scholar arrived earlier than usual. True to form, he sat silently in a corner, clutching a large mug of beer. Regulars trickled in, and soon the place buzzed with activity—some singing, others chatting, clinking glasses. No one paid him any mind. Just as things were heating up, Nan Ge and two friends walked in. Acquaintances exchanged greetings, and the earlier arrivals beckoned them over. The table erupted into a wild mix of topics, bottles soon tilting haphazardly. Brother Nan was the type who never got drunk when he went out. As long as he was still sitting at the table, no one could knock him out. When he was in a good mood, he'd usually chat with familiar old friends. Seeing Scholar sitting alone at his usual spot, Brother Nan walked over. "What's up, bro? How many rounds have you downed today?" The Scholar looked up and saw Brother Nan approaching. He hurriedly handed him a cigarette and lit it for him. Brother Nan didn't stand on ceremony; he leaned in, lit it, and patted the Scholar's hand—that was enough courtesy. "Same old, same old? When are you going to break through that one-glass barrier? How's your novel writing going lately? Got any new books out?" The Scholar sighed. "I guess 'same old, same old' is all I'll ever be in this life." "Come on, brother! You're still a big name in Nanjing—no, all of East China! I'm counting on you to hit it big someday so I can flip your signed books and get rich! You can't just keep doing the same old thing day in and day out. You gotta push yourself harder. What's that saying? 'Write tirelessly, produce a mountain of work.' With your height, reaching that mountain should be easier than it is for me!" The scholar gave a bitter laugh. "Brother Nan, don't rub it in. I write that crap just to scrape by—nothing but nonsense and drivel. I just churn out whatever fills the page, mash Marvel and Journey to the West together in one pot, then serve it up. Anyway, the readers are all those broke kids who love underdog stories about getting superpowers without lifting a finger. It's all about fueling their dreams. I'm broke too—we poor folks survive on nothing but dreams." Brother Nan raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, bro, got your feelings hurt somewhere today? Something's off here. Fight?" The Scholar took a deep drag on his cigarette and let out a long sigh. "If only I had someone to fight with..." Brother Nan dropped his smile and patted the scholar on the shoulder. "Married couples? Cold wars don't last long. It's just everyday family stuff. Don't butt heads over every little thing. Just soften up a bit and it'll blow over. You're a grown man—showing your wife some respect won't make you look weak. Don't dwell on it. Come, have a drink. It's on me tonight. Bottoms up!" Brother Nan raised his glass and downed it in one gulp. Feeling awkward about leaving any, Scholar took two or three gulps and finished his too. "Listen, brother, women think differently than us guys. They come in two types: goddesses and neurotics. Most of the time, they switch between the two seamlessly. You gotta figure her out, go with the flow. If you confront her head-on, you're done for. Not only will you lose, but you'll be the one left feeling bitter. Why bother? But if you play along and keep her happy, you'll be showered with care every day. Isn't that a win-win?" Xiu Cai stared at Brother Nan eagerly. "Hey, Brother Nan, tell me more! How exactly do you figure her out? How do you get to the bottom of it?" Brother Nan laughed heartily. "Catch-up lessons, brother? Order another round. Tonight I'll give you a proper lecture. Guaranteed to help you redeem yourself. From now on, every night she'll be clutching the bedrails and tearing at the sheets—your wife will never raise her voice at you except when moaning in ecstasy. Deal?" "Deal! Pour me another." Bartender Xiao Lei brought over a glass with a sly grin. "Master Scholar, is it a big win on the imperial exams or a wedding night celebration? You've held this record for over a year. We wouldn't break tradition unless it's a major occasion. When you leave, consider tipping the staff—three hundred or five hundred won't hurt. Just give what feels right." The scholar chuckled, his face finally clearing of its Song Dynasty poetry gloom. "Here, Brother Nan, I toast you! Not a shot—just sip by sip." Brother Nan chuckled too. "That's the spirit! Confucius once said, 'To master a craft, first get drunk with your master.'" Xiao Lei quickly chimed in, "But wasn't it always about sleeping? Why change it to getting drunk?" "Well, it depends on the situation. If you can sleep, say sleep. If you can't sleep, say get drunk. Otherwise, you'd be at a disadvantage." Xiao Lei chuckled and went back to work. The scholar fell silent again, looking like he had something on his mind but couldn't quite put it into words. Seeing Brother Nan genuinely troubled, he dropped the teasing. "Hey, brother, don't bottle it up. Tell me what's on your mind. I'll help you sort it out." The Scholar lifted his cup, took another sip, and stared at it for ages, hesitating to speak. Nan grew impatient. "Man up, stop dithering. Spill it! Don't worry, I've got a tight mouth—I won't broadcast your business. What's up? Did your wife cheat on you?" The scholar bit his lip, slumped his shoulders, and stared at Nan Ge with a sour expression. Nan Ge understood immediately. He sighed, scratched his head, and raised his cup again. "Here, drink." After setting his cup down, Brother Nan paused and asked cautiously, "Is it confirmed?" The Scholar pondered, "Probably." "Don't say 'probably,' brother. This isn't something you can be vague about. You know the saying, 'Catch the thief with the goods.' What do you mean by 'probably'? Let me hear it." "Where to start? I don't even know how to explain it. Sigh..." "If you don't know, start from the beginning. I'll help you sort it out." The scholar lit a cigarette, took a drag, and tapped it against the ashtray. "We've been married five years. Right after our honeymoon, the fighting started—a minor spat every three days, a major blowup every five. By the end, we didn't even know what we were arguing about. We just muddled through, clanging and clattering along. Then, for the past six months or so, the fighting suddenly stopped. Now she's off on business trips every other day, doesn't lift a finger to help around the house. When she comes home at night, she's constantly texting, not saying a single word to me. We haven't even... well, it's been over half a year since we last did that. Nan Ge, don't you think it's obvious she's got someone else on the side?" "Any more?" "That's all." "You're jumping to conclusions about infidelity based on that? That's way too hasty. I've seen plenty of long-married couples who don't talk or have s*x—it's incredibly common. Just ask any of my buddies. Which one actually talks to his wife? Which one still has s*x? Isn't that the norm?" "Normal? How is that normal?" "It's perfectly normal, bro. Look, most people our age got married before thirty. You graduated at twenty-three. Four or five years of social experience barely clears the mush in your head, and then boom—you're marriage age. As long as the two of you hit it off and your parents are eager enough, they'll be rushing to set up the crib. Hey, do you have kids?" "No." "That's actually pretty good. Most people rush into marriage at the so-called 'right age' without a clue about what marriage really is, how two people navigate daily life together, whether love alone can sustain them, or how family conflicts might arise. Marriage doesn't cut any slack for the unprepared—troubles and unhappiness follow. Flash marriages and divorces are nothing unusual these days. Once kids come along, the cost of divorce becomes too high. Some grit their teeth and separate, others grit their teeth and endure. If they don't end up as sworn enemies, it's a miracle. For you two to last five years without kids and still not split up is already a miracle in itself. Isn't it normal to have nothing left to say to each other? What does your wife do?" "She's an editor at a publishing house." "Then you two should still have common ground. Don't you ever chat about writing or stuff when you have free time?" "We used to chat occasionally in the early years, but that stopped. Every conversation turned into an argument, so we just stopped talking as much as possible." "Didn't she used to travel for work?" Xiu Cai thought for a moment. "Rarely. Not as often as these past six months." "Didn't you ask why she suddenly started traveling so often?" "No." "Then how do you know it's not for legitimate work reasons?" "Nan Ge, I've known her for years. After being together so long, I don't need proof for many things. I can feel her attitude toward me directly—like she's already written me off. She lives her life, I live mine. Home is just a hotel to her. You can't fake that feeling." "What you say... well, it makes sense. But that still doesn't prove she's cheating. It just suggests she might have lost hope in the marriage. Has she mentioned divorce?" "Not yet." "Hmm. Have you looked at her phone?" "No. We've never looked at each other's phones over the years."