The Kindest Lie

Chapter 9: The Signature

After standing in the rain for so long, Cheng Yu came down with a fever.

Not a serious one.

Just the kind that lingered.

Thirty-seven point five. Thirty-seven point eight.

A dull warmth settled behind his forehead and temples, as if someone had draped a hot towel over his brain. It wasn't enough to knock him flat, but it refused to go away.

He didn't take sick leave.

He went to work as usual.

During the day, he sat in front of his computer drawing plans, moving the cursor back and forth across the screen, sketching lines he might end up deleting the next day anyway.

One of his coworkers glanced at him and frowned.

"Engineer Cheng, you don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Cheng Yu replied. "Just didn't sleep well."

Later, he poured himself a cup of hot water and stood by the break room window drinking it.

Outside, the sky was washed-out gray.

No clouds.

No sunlight.

Just emptiness.

When he got home that evening, he didn't bother making dinner.

He mixed a packet of Banlangen into a glass of water, drank it in one gulp, then sat down on the sofa wrapped in his old sweater.

His gaze settled on the papers lying on the coffee table.

The divorce agreement was still there.

He still hadn't signed it.

Shen Zhiyuan's signature had been sitting on the last page for nearly two weeks.

Black ink.

Clean, decisive strokes.

Exactly like the signature he'd written on the lawsuit.

Cheng Yu stared at it.

Sometimes, without realizing it, he would reach out and touch it.

His fingertips traced the shape of the characters.

The ink had long since dried. All he could feel was the texture of the paper beneath his fingers.

He found himself wondering what Shen Zhiyuan had been thinking when he signed it.

Had he signed it at his desk in the law firm?

Or here, at this very coffee table?

Had he signed it quickly, without hesitation?

Or had he paused between strokes the way Cheng Yu was doing now?

He picked up a pen.

They had bought it together at Muji years ago.

A transparent plastic pen with the spring and ink cartridge visible inside.

Shen Zhiyuan had said it was practical.

Cheng Yu had said it was ugly.

Shen Zhiyuan had replied that as long as it worked, appearance didn't matter.

Later, Cheng Yu had bought one too.

One for each of them.

Shen Zhiyuan had probably taken his when he left.

This one had remained behind in the coffee table drawer, mixed in with a roll of double-sided tape, a pair of scissors, and a calculator that hadn't worked in years.

He uncapped the pen.

The tip touched the paper.

A tiny black dot appeared.

He began writing the character Cheng.

Then stopped.

The pen remained pressed against the paper too long. Ink spread outward into a dark blot.

He stared at it for a moment before crumpling the page into a ball and tossing it into the trash.

Then he reached for another copy.

Not a new one.

Just the second copy of the agreement.

When Shen Zhiyuan had printed the documents, he'd prepared two sets.

One for signatures.

One for records.

Cheng Yu smoothed the pages flat and picked up the pen again.

This time, he finished writing his name.

Cheng Yu.

The characters looked awkward and uneven.

Nothing like the neat signature he used on contracts.

They looked like a child practicing handwriting in a workbook.

Every stroke deliberate.

Every stroke somehow misplaced.

He set the pen down and lifted the agreement.

The two signatures sat side by side.

Shen Zhiyuan.

Cheng Yu.

Separated by blocks of printed text.

The last time their names had appeared so close together had been on their marriage certificate.

Back then, Cheng Yu's hand had trembled while signing.

Shen Zhiyuan had laughed.

"If you're this nervous signing your name, how are you going to sign contracts later?"

And Cheng Yu had replied:

"I'm not nervous about contracts. I'm nervous about this."

Now his signature sat on one side.

Shen Zhiyuan's on the other.

Several lines apart.

They no longer looked like the names of a married couple.

Just two strangers who happened to share the same piece of paper.

He laid the agreement back on the coffee table and stood.

Then he walked toward the entryway.

The brown paper bag still leaned against the shoe cabinet.

He hadn't touched it since bringing it home from the hospital.

Not because he'd forgotten.

Because he hadn't been ready.

Until now.

He crouched down and picked it up.

Back in the living room, he placed it carefully on the coffee table.

The tape sealing it had been pressed down firmly.

Using his fingernail, he slowly peeled it back.

The adhesive released with a dry, whispering hiss.

The bag opened.

On top was a dark blue hospital gown.

Neatly folded.

Fresh from the hospital laundry.

It carried the faint scent of disinfectant and steam.

He set it aside.

Underneath was a gray knit cardigan.

The one Shen Zhiyuan had been wearing before he was admitted.

The cuffs showed slight signs of wear.

Cheng Yu unfolded it.

Ran his fingers over the fabric.

Then folded it again and placed it beside the hospital gown.

Beneath that were black pants.

A pair of cotton slippers.

At the very bottom sat a sealed plastic bag containing Shen Zhiyuan's personal belongings.

A watch.

A wallet.

A set of keys.

And a platinum wedding ring.

Cheng Yu picked up the bag.

Through the clear plastic, he studied the ring.

A simple platinum band.

An inscription engraved on the inside.

He didn't need to open it to know what it said.

He turned the bag over.

A date had been written across the seal in black marker.

The day Shen Zhiyuan had been admitted to the hospital.

A nurse had written it.

The handwriting was small and neat.

He opened the bag.

The ring rolled out onto the coffee table.

It spun once before coming to rest beside the divorce agreement.

Cheng Yu picked it up.

Holding it beneath the light, he examined the engraving.

Forever.

The word remained perfectly clear.

Five years.

Shen Zhiyuan had worn it every day for five years.

From the day they married until the day he entered the hospital.

He never took it off.

Not while showering.

Not in court.

Not during business trips.

Not even while standing in the kitchen cooking noodles.

Once, they had argued.

Cheng Yu couldn't even remember what it had been about.

They hadn't spoken for two days.

Yet the ring had remained on Shen Zhiyuan's finger the entire time.

Slowly, Cheng Yu removed his own ring.

A faint pale mark circled his ring finger.

Five years of pressure had left the skin lighter and thinner than the rest.

He placed both rings in his palm.

Two simple bands.

Cool and small.

Lying side by side.

He looked at them for a long time.

Then he placed them both inside the plastic bag and sealed it again.

Next, he picked up the pen.

Turning to the last page of the agreement, he wrote today's date beside his signature.

Late November.

After writing it, he glanced at the calendar to make sure.

Then lowered his head and carefully finished the date.

When he was done, he folded the agreement and slid it into a manila envelope.

The note Shen Zhiyuan had left contained a mailing address.

Attention: Human Resources Department.

Employee Family Affairs.

Cheng Yu copied the address onto the envelope.

Slowly.

One number at a time.

As though making a mistake would somehow change everything.

When he sealed the envelope, he ran his tongue over the adhesive strip.

The glue tasted faintly bitter.

Slightly astringent.

He pressed the flap shut and placed the envelope on the coffee table.

Tomorrow, he would drop it into a mailbox on his way to work.

That was all.

He stood and picked up the gray cardigan.

The smell of disinfectant had faded.

Now it smelled like nothing at all.

He folded it and placed it beside his pillow, next to the old sweater.

The hospital gown went back into the paper bag.

He wasn't sure what else to do with it.

It wasn't really Shen Zhiyuan's.

It belonged to the hospital.

But throwing it away felt impossible.

It was the last thing Shen Zhiyuan had worn.

Eventually, he folded the paper bag closed and returned it to its place beside the shoe cabinet.

Standing there, it looked exactly the same as before.

As if nothing had happened.

As if no one had left.

Back in the living room, he sat down on the sofa.

The coffee table looked strangely empty now.

The divorce agreement was sealed inside an envelope.

The rings were sealed inside a plastic bag.

Everything important had been put away.

Only the transparent Muji pen remained.

Its cap lay off to one side.

The ink at the tip had started to dry.

Cheng Yu replaced the cap and returned it to the drawer.

Back beside the tape.

The scissors.

The dead calculator.

Then he picked up the remote control and turned on the television.

A documentary was playing.

Something about the ocean.

A narrator with a deep voice was describing the migration patterns of whales.

Cheng Yu lowered the volume.

Leaned back against the sofa.

And pulled the gray cardigan over himself.

The sleeves hung loosely over his wrists.

He gathered them in his hands and closed his eyes.

On the screen, whales swam through waters he would never see.

The narrator explained that every year they traveled six thousand kilometers.

From cold seas to warm seas.

And back again.

Six thousand kilometers.

Cheng Yu wondered how far Shen Zhiyuan had gone.

He pulled the cardigan tighter around himself and turned toward the back of the sofa.

The cushions smelled faintly of his shampoo.

The apartment still felt just as large.

Just as quiet.

Tomorrow he would mail the envelope.

Then he would come home.

Turn on the television.

Continue watching the documentary.

Life would go on.

That much, at least, he knew.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling light.

A cluster of dead insects had collected in one corner beneath the cover.

A tiny dark stain.

He watched it for a long time.

Then closed his eyes again.

The television continued playing.

The whales continued swimming.

He felt as though he should be thinking about something.

But his mind was empty.

Like the half-empty wardrobe in the bedroom.

The hangers were still there.

The clothes were gone.

At some point, Cheng Yu fell asleep.

On the sofa.

Wrapped in the gray cardigan.

The television still on.

The lights still burning.

He slept deeply.

Dreamlessly.

Or perhaps he simply couldn't remember.

All he knew was that he had fallen asleep and then awakened.

The sky beyond the window was dark blue-black.

For a moment, he couldn't tell whether it was dawn or dusk.

He checked his phone.

Four o'clock in the morning.

He turned off the television.

Turned off the lights.

Draped the cardigan over his arm.

And walked into the bedroom.

The bed looked exactly the same.

The same blanket.

The same pillow.

Beneath the pillow lay the old sweater and the gray cardigan.

He climbed into bed.

Pulled the blanket up to his chin.

And closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would drop the envelope into the mailbox.