Chapter 2: The “Someone Else” He Talked About
1765 Words
Cheng Yu couldn’t remember how he got home from the restaurant.
All he remembered was the rain.
It had fallen steadily the entire way—not heavy, just endless and irritating, the kind that seeped into everything. The taxi heater was turned up too high, making the car unbearably stuffy. The warmth pressed against his temples until they throbbed.
The driver glanced at him several times through the rearview mirror, like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he stayed silent.
Cheng Yu sat in the back seat with his eyes closed, leaning his head against the cold window. Every vibration of the car rattled through his skull hard enough to make his teeth ache.
He should’ve been crying.
He clearly remembered crying outside the restaurant.
But now his eyes were dry.
Not a single tear would come out, as if something inside him had completely sealed shut.
There was something lodged in his chest too—not exactly pain, but a heavy, suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe. He almost wanted to reach into himself and rip it out just to see what it was.
Instead, he shoved a hand into his coat pocket.
His fingers brushed against the velvet box.
The cufflinks Shen Zhiyuan hadn’t taken.
He’d brought them home after all.
By the time he arrived, it was close to eleven.
The living room light was still on.
Shen Zhiyuan had left it that way.
The divorce papers sat on the coffee table beneath a glass cup.
Cheng Yu recognized it immediately.
They’d bought the pair in Jingdezhen last year—one painted with a cat, the other with a dog. Shen Zhiyuan had laughed and said the dog looked exactly like him, and Cheng Yu had rolled his eyes and replied that the cat looked more like Shen Zhiyuan, always wearing that permanently annoyed expression.
Now the cat cup sat on top of the divorce agreement.
Moisture from the bottom of the glass had soaked through the paper, leaving behind a faint transparent ring.
Cheng Yu stood in front of the coffee table and looked down at the documents.
Divorce Agreement.
The bold Song font felt cold and formal.
The header carried the name of Shen Zhiyuan’s law firm.
Below it were rows upon rows of neatly organized clauses.
The apartment belonged to Cheng Yu.
The savings belonged to Cheng Yu.
The car belonged to Cheng Yu.
At the bottom, Shen Zhiyuan’s name was already signed in black ink.
Clean.
Sharp.
Exactly the same signature he used on legal documents.
Cheng Yu picked up the papers and flipped through them slowly.
He’d seen Shen Zhiyuan’s signature countless times before, but never had those three characters looked so harsh.
Every stroke was steady.
Every stroke was emotionless.
Cold enough to make him want to tear the papers apart.
As he lowered the agreement back onto the table, he noticed a note tucked underneath.
The handwriting was unmistakably Shen Zhiyuan’s.
Short and concise.
Call me after you sign it. I’ll have someone handle the paperwork. You don’t need to come in person.
“You don’t need to come in person.”
Cheng Yu stared at those words and suddenly wanted to laugh.
When they got married, they’d spent an entire morning waiting in line at the Civil Affairs Bureau.
And now, for the divorce, he didn’t even need to show up.
How considerate.
Shen Zhiyuan had always been considerate.
Back when Cheng Yu got sick with a fever, Shen Zhiyuan had gone out in the middle of the night to buy medicine, then still woken up at six the next morning to prepare for court.
Their friends used to envy him endlessly.
“Cheng Yu, you seriously hit the jackpot. A man like Shen Zhiyuan? Handsome, successful, loyal—and he treats you ridiculously well.”
He really had treated him well.
At least once.
Cheng Yu crushed the note into a ball and threw it toward the trash can.
It hit the rim and bounced away, rolling underneath the coffee table.
He didn’t bother picking it up.
Instead, he walked into the bedroom.
At first glance, everything still looked the same.
Shen Zhiyuan’s clothes were still hanging in the closet.
His razor and toothbrush were still in the bathroom.
Even the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air.
But the moment Cheng Yu opened the wardrobe doors, he noticed it immediately.
The empty hangers.
Not everything was gone.
Only the things Shen Zhiyuan actually used.
The shirts he wore most often.
That dark gray coat from tonight.
The suitcase he always carried on business trips.
Everything had been removed carefully and quietly.
Like he’d planned this for a long time already.
Cheng Yu sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
The sheets were dark gray, chosen together years ago because Shen Zhiyuan claimed darker colors didn’t stain easily.
Cheng Yu reached toward his own bedside table.
A lamp.
A half-finished novel.
A charger.
Everything was still there.
Then he looked at Shen Zhiyuan’s side.
Empty.
The book he’d been reading before bed was gone.
His glasses were gone.
Even the melatonin he took every night had disappeared.
The only thing left behind was a charging cable dangling off the edge of the nightstand.
Lonely and forgotten.
Cheng Yu picked it up and wrapped it loosely around his finger twice before letting it fall again.
Then he stood and walked into the bathroom.
One by one, he shoved all of Shen Zhiyuan’s remaining belongings into a plastic bag.
Toothbrush.
Cologne.
Razor.
Half-used face wash.
The blue towel hanging beside the sink.
The towel was still damp.
Which meant Shen Zhiyuan had showered here today.
Left for that dinner.
Then calmly told him he wanted a divorce.
Cheng Yu tied the plastic bag shut with force and carried it outside.
The metal lid of the hallway trash bin slammed shut with a loud clang that echoed down the corridor before silence settled over the building once more.
When he returned to the living room, he turned on the television.
An old black-and-white movie was playing.
The heroine stood crying at a train station while the male lead held her hands and promised, “I’ll come back.”
Cheng Yu stared blankly at the screen.
No, you won’t.
You’re never coming back.
He turned the volume higher, trying to fill the apartment with noise.
But the apartment was too large.
One hundred and twenty square meters was perfect for two people.
For one person, it felt empty enough to echo.
A little after two in the morning, he finally texted a friend.
Are you asleep?
The reply came instantly.
No. What happened?
Cheng Yu stared at the screen for several seconds before typing:
Shen Zhiyuan wants a divorce. He said he’s seeing someone else.
This time, the reply didn’t come immediately.
The typing indicator blinked on and off for a long time before the message finally appeared.
Holy s**t. Where are you? I’m coming over.
Don’t. I just wanted to tell someone.
Are you okay?
Cheng Yu lowered his eyes.
Then typed:
I’m fine.
After sending it, he locked the screen.
The apartment fell quiet again except for the television.
The actress on-screen was still crying.
Cheng Yu leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t fine.
Not even close.
But he didn’t know how to explain it.
It wasn’t the sharp kind of pain people imagined heartbreak would feel like.
It was more like waking up after drinking too much.
His head felt heavy.
His stomach churned.
Everything felt wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it hurt.
Near dawn, he finally fell asleep on the couch.
No blanket.
His body curled tightly against itself, head resting on the armrest.
The movie had ended long ago.
Now the television was playing some loud shopping channel selling a machine that could turn vegetables into noodles.
The host’s shrill voice seeped into his dreams.
But he couldn’t wake up.
He dreamed about Shen Zhiyuan.
Not the Shen Zhiyuan from tonight.
The Shen Zhiyuan from years ago.
Wearing a faded gray hoodie, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the tiny apartment they used to rent together.
He held a piece of paper in his hands, folding it carefully.
Cheng Yu walked over.
“What are you making?”
Shen Zhiyuan looked up and smiled.
The corners of his eyes curved softly when he smiled back then.
Then he held up what he’d made.
A paper ring folded from a sticky note.
“Just practicing,” he said with a grin. “I’ll buy you a real one someday.”
In the dream, Cheng Yu reached out to take it.
The moment their fingers touched, Shen Zhiyuan’s smile disappeared.
He stepped backward.
His eyes suddenly turned cold and distant.
Exactly like they had looked tonight in the restaurant.
“Cheng Yu,” he whispered.
“I have someone else now.”
Cheng Yu woke abruptly.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
The shopping channel was still blaring in the background, and outside the windows, dawn had already turned the sky pale gray.
He sat up slowly.
Only then did he notice the damp patch on the pillow beneath his face.
He couldn’t tell whether it was saliva or tears.
Dragging himself upright, he walked toward the bathroom.
As he passed through the living room, his gaze landed on the divorce agreement again.
Shen Zhiyuan’s signature faced upward beneath the morning light, the black ink stark against the white paper.
Cheng Yu stopped and picked the documents up again.
This time, he noticed something he’d missed the night before.
Shen Zhiyuan had even left him their shared account.
Every cent they’d saved together over the past five years.
Cheng Yu let out a hoarse laugh.
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
His voice sounded rough enough that he barely recognized it.
“Do you think this will make me feel better?”
No one answered him.
Of course no one did.
He threw the papers back onto the table and walked into the bathroom.
Cold water splashed against his face.
The man staring back at him from the mirror looked terrible.
Red swollen eyes.
Messy hair.
Dry, cracked lips.
He stood there silently for a long time before turning on the faucet completely, letting the sound of rushing water drown out every other thought.
Today was only the first day the divorce papers sat on the coffee table.
There would be many more days after this.
- Writer
