The Kindest Lie

Chapter 5: The Empty Wardrobe

Cheng Yu couldn’t remember when he had finally fallen asleep after crying himself empty in the bedroom.

All he knew was that when he opened his eyes again, it was a little past four in the morning.

He was still lying on the floor.

His head rested against the shoebox, and his neck ached so badly it felt like someone had hit him with a metal rod. The bedroom light was still on, harsh and painfully bright. He must have slept there for hours, surrounded by scattered photographs and movie tickets.

One of the photos was stuck to his cheek.

The one from Yunnan.

The cat in the picture stared straight at him.

Slowly, Cheng Yu pushed himself upright and staggered toward the bathroom to wash his face.

As he passed through the living room, his eyes landed on the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner.

Yesterday afternoon, they had looked neat and organized.

Now they looked like coffins.

Small ones.

He looked away almost immediately and walked straight into the bathroom.

The man in the mirror looked worse than the day before.

His eyes were swollen.

His lips were dry and cracked.

A stubborn strand of hair stuck up no matter how hard he pressed it down.

He stared at himself for several seconds before lowering his gaze.

Today was Sunday.

No work.

Which meant he had an entire day to spend trapped inside this house—with these boxes, this shoebox, and the few clothes Shen Zhiyuan had left hanging in the closet.

He couldn’t stay here.

Anywhere else would be better.

He changed clothes and left without eating breakfast or even drinking water.

Late November in Beijing was already bitterly cold.

The wind wasn’t strong, but the chill seeped into his bones anyway, like ice pressed tightly against bare skin.

Pedestrians hurried past with hunched shoulders and lowered heads.

Cheng Yu shoved his hands into his coat pockets and walked slowly.

He had nowhere to go.

He was just wandering.

When he passed a breakfast shop, the smell of fried dough sticks and soy milk drifted outside.

Shen Zhiyuan loved fried dough sticks.

But every time he bought them, he would lecture Cheng Yu about unhealthy cooking oil and insist he shouldn’t eat too many.

Cheng Yu would always reply, “Then don’t eat them yourself.”

And Shen Zhiyuan would say, “I’m only having one.”

Then he would eat three.

Cheng Yu stood outside the shop for a while.

In the end, he still didn’t go in.

He turned the corner and kept walking.

He didn’t know how long he had wandered before he finally stopped at a familiar intersection.

Across the street stood a gray office building.

Shen Zhiyuan’s law firm was on the sixteenth floor.

He told himself he hadn’t meant to come here. That he had simply wandered around without thinking and somehow ended up at this place.

But deep down, he knew better.

He knew this road too well.

He had come here countless times before.

Sometimes to bring documents Shen Zhiyuan forgot at home.

Sometimes to have lunch together nearby.

Sometimes for no reason at all—just because he happened to be passing by and wanted to see him.

The receptionist at the firm knew Cheng Yu well.

Every time she saw him, she would smile brightly and say, “Brother Cheng is here.”

Then she would call toward the break room, “Attorney Shen, your better half is here!”

Cheng Yu had always liked that phrase.

Your better half.

He would stand by the reception desk and wait while Shen Zhiyuan walked down the hallway toward him, suit jacket hanging open, files usually tucked beneath one arm.

The moment Shen Zhiyuan saw him, his expression would soften instantly.

Attorney Shen would disappear.

And Shen Zhiyuan would remain.

Most people probably wouldn’t notice the difference.

But Cheng Yu always did.

Now he stood across the street, staring up at the sixteenth floor.

It was Sunday.

The windows were dark.

Nobody was working overtime.

Shen Zhiyuan wasn’t there.

No.

Shen Zhiyuan wasn’t anywhere anymore.

The thought struck him suddenly, like a stone slamming into glass.

The glass didn’t shatter.

But cracks spread through it instantly.

Cheng Yu pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed hard at his frozen face.

His skin was cold.

His hands were cold.

No matter how much he rubbed, nothing warmed up.

Then his phone rang.

The number wasn’t saved in his contacts, but he recognized it immediately.

Lin Xu.

Cheng Yu answered the call.

“Hello, Mr. Cheng. I’m Dr. Lin, Shen Zhiyuan’s attending physician.”

The man’s voice was calm and gentle, carrying the restrained politeness unique to doctors.

“I’m sorry to disturb you over the weekend, but Mr. Shen Zhiyuan left some belongings here at the hospital. When you have time, could you come pick them up?”

Cheng Yu held the phone silently.

Attending physician.

The words circled in his head several times before sinking in.

He wanted to ask—

Attending physician for what?

When did this happen?

Why didn’t I know?

But in the end, he only asked, “Can I come today?”

“Of course,” Lin Xu replied. “I’m on duty today. Anytime is fine.”

After hanging up, Cheng Yu hailed a taxi.

The private hospital was in the eastern part of the city, about thirty minutes away.

The taxi driver kept the radio on the whole ride. The hosts were cheerfully discussing the best places to see ginkgo trees over the weekend, their voices crackling between bursts of static.

Cheng Yu leaned against the window and looked outside.

The roadside trees were completely bare.

Not a single ginkgo leaf remained.

They had all fallen.

At the hospital, he gave his name at the front desk, and a nurse led him upstairs to an office on the third floor.

Lin Xu stood when he entered.

He looked younger than Cheng Yu expected.

Silver-rimmed glasses.

A white coat buttoned neatly to the collar.

Probably in his thirties.

But the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look exhausted.

The moment Cheng Yu saw him, he remembered.

This was the man who had supported Shen Zhiyuan in the rain that day.

The “other man.”

The stranger Cheng Yu had silently hated for so long.

“Please sit,” Lin Xu said softly.

Cheng Yu sat down.

The office was small.

A swollen brown paper bag sat on the desk.

Lin Xu pushed it toward him.

“These are Mr. Shen Zhiyuan’s belongings from the hospital. Some clothes he brought when he was admitted, along with his medical records and test results.”

He paused briefly.

“According to policy, we only keep them for one month. But I thought you might want them.”

Cheng Yu accepted the bag without opening it.

It felt heavy in his hands.

The opening had been sealed carefully with tape.

“When was he diagnosed?”

The question came out before he could stop himself.

He had thought he would ask whether Shen Zhiyuan suffered.

Whether anyone was with him at the end.

Whether he had left any final words.

Instead, he asked about time.

He wanted to know the exact moment everything changed.

The exact moment Shen Zhiyuan stopped being the Shen Zhiyuan he knew.

Lin Xu was silent for several seconds before answering.

“Six months ago. It was already late-stage by then.”

Six months.

Cheng Yu immediately started counting backward.

May.

Shen Zhiyuan had gone to Shanghai on a business trip in May.

When he returned, he had lost weight.

Cheng Yu asked whether he was overworking himself, and Shen Zhiyuan smiled and said he was just busy with cases lately.

May.

That was around the time Shen Zhiyuan stopped eating dinner at home regularly. He always said he had client meetings, work dinners, overtime.

May.

One night, Cheng Yu woke up and realized Shen Zhiyuan had been in the bathroom for a long time. When he finally came out, his face was pale.

Cheng Yu asked if he was sick.

Shen Zhiyuan said his stomach was upset because he had eaten something bad.

And Cheng Yu believed him.

He believed every single word.

“The first time he came to my office, he came alone,” Lin Xu said quietly, his tone almost clinical. “I advised him to inform his family. He told me he didn’t have any family to notify.”

Cheng Yu tightened his grip on the paper bag.

“He came alone every time after that as well. Chemotherapy, examinations, medication pickups.”

Lin Xu lowered his eyes slightly.

“Once, after chemotherapy, he had a severe reaction and vomited in the hallway. A nurse offered to contact his family, but he refused. He said he only needed to sit for a while.”

“He sat in the hallway for forty minutes before calling a taxi himself.”

Lin Xu paused.

“That day, he mentioned someone named Cheng.”

Cheng Yu’s breathing faltered.

“He said that person cried very easily. He said even movies could make him use half a box of tissues.”

A faint bitterness appeared in Lin Xu’s voice.

“He said he couldn’t let that person find out.”

Cheng Yu lowered his head and stared blankly at the numbers printed across the paper bag.

The black ink blurred before his eyes.

“He asked me for a favor,” Lin Xu continued quietly. “He said that if one day you saw the two of us together, he hoped you would misunderstand our relationship.”

“I refused him at first. I’m a doctor. That kind of request isn’t appropriate.”

“But he came back again.”

“And again.”

“By the third time, the chemotherapy side effects had already become severe. He had lost almost twenty pounds.”

Lin Xu looked at the chair across from him.

“He sat exactly where you’re sitting now and said to me, ‘Dr. Lin, I don’t have much time left. Please help me this once.’”

The office fell silent.

Lin Xu removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes briefly before putting them back on.

“He was the most stubborn patient I’ve ever treated,” he said softly.

“And the one who hated being pitied the most.”

Cheng Yu suddenly stood up.

Even he didn’t know why.

His legs felt weak, unsteady beneath him.

He clutched the paper bag tightly against his chest, the sharp edge pressing painfully against his chin.

“Where is he?”

Lin Xu looked at him without speaking.

“Where is he now?”

This time, Cheng Yu’s voice shook uncontrollably.

Lin Xu rose slowly and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Cheng,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Cheng Yu stood there motionless.

People talked outside in the hallway.

A medical cart rolled past with a rattling noise.

He wanted to say thank you.

Wanted to say goodbye.

Wanted to say it was fine.

But he couldn’t force out a single word.

It felt as though something had clogged his throat completely, making it hard even to breathe.

Lin Xu walked him to the elevator.

Just before the doors closed, Cheng Yu finally asked the question he had been afraid of this entire time.

“When he died… was someone with him?”

Lin Xu didn’t answer immediately.

The elevator continued beeping softly with its doors still open.

Cheng Yu stared only at his own blurred reflection in the metal doors.

Finally, Lin Xu answered.

“No.”

His voice was very quiet.

“It happened very early in the morning. The nurse found him during rounds.”

The elevator doors slid shut.

Cheng Yu stood alone inside, holding the paper bag tightly in his arms.

The numbers descended one by one.

He still didn’t cry.

He simply held the bag tighter and tighter until the stiff paper dug painful red marks into his palms.

Inside were the clothes Shen Zhiyuan had worn in the hospital.

Cheng Yu lowered his face against the bag and inhaled faintly.

Disinfectant.

Laundry detergent.

The cold scent of a hospital.

That wasn’t Shen Zhiyuan’s smell.

Shen Zhiyuan smelled like faint cologne mixed with paper and ink from spending all day handling files.

He smelled like clean laundry dried beneath sunlight.

Like the sofa cushion warmed by afternoon sun.

Not this.

This smell was too cold.

Too sterile.

Too empty.

But this was the last trace of Shen Zhiyuan he would ever hold onto.

When Cheng Yu finally walked out of the hospital, sunlight reflected harshly off the white walls, forcing him to squint.

And suddenly, he remembered something.

Last autumn, when the ginkgo leaves turned yellow, Shen Zhiyuan had suggested they drive out to the suburbs together to see them.

Cheng Yu agreed.

But it rained that weekend, so they never went.

Shen Zhiyuan had smiled and said, “Then we’ll go next week.”

Next week.

The following weekend, Shen Zhiyuan worked overtime.

The weekend after that, Cheng Yu left on a business trip.

Then winter came.

The ginkgo leaves fell.

Then May arrived.

Then Shanghai.

Then six months.

Then this.

Cheng Yu stood outside the hospital entrance holding the paper bag tightly in his arms.

People brushed past him constantly.

Someone bumped his shoulder and apologized.

He heard none of it.

He simply stood there beneath the bright sunlight and tilted his head back to stare at the sky.

The glare burned his eyes.

But he never closed them.

All he could think was—

They should have gone to see the ginkgo trees that day.

Even if it was raining, they still should have gone.