Chapter 3: The Divorce Agreement
2163 Words
The divorce papers sat on the coffee table for three full days.
Every time Cheng Yu walked past them, he pretended not to notice them.
On the first day, he came home from work, sat on the couch for a while, then picked up the agreement and flipped through it. The moment he saw Shen Zhiyuan’s signature, he shut it again and tossed it aside.
On the second day, he deliberately placed a magazine over it. A smiling actress on the cover grinned brightly with perfect teeth, completely covering Shen Zhiyuan’s name.
On the third day, the magazine slipped onto the floor.
The signature was visible again.
The black ink caught the morning light slightly, as if quietly reminding him of something.
On the fourth day, Cheng Yu finally picked up the agreement again and read it carefully from beginning to end.
Word by word.
The document was exactly like Shen Zhiyuan himself—clean, precise, flawless.
The property deed listed both their names, but Shen Zhiyuan had voluntarily given up all ownership rights.
Their shared savings totaled 637,000 yuan and twenty-three cents.
Even the decimals were exact.
Every cent would be transferred to Cheng Yu.
The black Audi they’d owned for three years would also go to him.
As for the furniture and appliances, Shen Zhiyuan had only taken his own clothes and books.
Everything else remained.
The couch.
The television.
The bookshelf they’d spent two entire weekends assembling together.
Even the absurdly expensive coffee machine Cheng Yu had insisted on buying.
All of it was listed neatly in the inventory.
At the very end was a single sentence:
Belongs to Cheng Yu.
After reading the entire agreement, Cheng Yu confirmed two things.
First, there wasn’t a single clause that disadvantaged him.
Shen Zhiyuan had given him everything he possibly could.
If divorce were a lawsuit, then Shen Zhiyuan had practically handed over a complete surrender.
Second, from beginning to end, the agreement never once mentioned why.
Shen Zhiyuan was a lawyer. Every document he drafted was usually filled with “whereas,” “therefore,” and “pursuant to.”
But not this one.
This agreement only explained how to divide their property.
Not why their marriage was ending.
As if five years together required no explanation at all.
Only distribution.
Cheng Yu set the papers back down and went into the kitchen to pour himself water.
The moment he saw the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, he paused.
Only then did he remember.
Washing dishes had always been Shen Zhiyuan’s job.
From the beginning, they’d divided things clearly.
Cheng Yu cooked.
Shen Zhiyuan cleaned.
Cheng Yu was the better cook, and Shen Zhiyuan washed dishes meticulously enough to rival a dishwasher.
While cleaning up, Shen Zhiyuan liked listening to podcasts.
Sometimes legal commentary.
Sometimes tech news.
Cheng Yu would wipe down the stove nearby while listening absentmindedly. Every now and then he’d catch something interesting and ask, “Wait, what did he just say?”
Shen Zhiyuan would immediately put down the sponge, turn around, and explain it seriously to him.
There were five cups in the sink.
Two bowls.
Three pairs of chopsticks.
Cheng Yu stood there silently for a moment before finally turning on the faucet.
He squeezed out too much dish soap.
Foam overflowed instantly, spilling over the edge of the sink.
He turned the water on harder, trying to rinse it away, but the bubbles only multiplied.
Eventually, he shut the faucet off entirely.
Both hands braced against the sink, he stared blankly at the slowly collapsing foam.
Then he made a decision.
He was going to see Shen Zhiyuan.
Not call him.
There were things that couldn’t be said properly over the phone.
Besides, Shen Zhiyuan might not even answer.
Cheng Yu already knew where he was staying.
The serviced apartment next to the law firm.
Whenever work ran late, Shen Zhiyuan stayed there because the firm offered discounted rates.
A few times, Cheng Yu had stayed there with him too.
The breakfast buffet served surprisingly good egg pancakes.
Cheng Yu changed into a clean shirt and adjusted the collar in front of the mirror.
He looked thinner than he had a few days ago.
There was a faint hollow beneath his cheekbones now.
He splashed cold water onto his face, then decided it wasn’t enough and reached for toner.
The moment he picked up the bottle, he froze.
Shen Zhiyuan had bought this for him.
Last winter, Cheng Yu had casually complained once that his skin felt dry.
The very next day, Shen Zhiyuan came home carrying this bottle.
Not for a holiday.
Not for an anniversary.
Just an ordinary Tuesday.
All because of one careless comment.
Cheng Yu set the toner back onto the shelf.
The bottle wobbled dangerously.
He caught it instinctively.
The second his fingers touched the cap, another memory surfaced.
That day, Shen Zhiyuan had rushed into the bathroom before even taking off his coat.
“Look,” he’d said, pushing the bottle into Cheng Yu’s hands. “The sales assistant said this brand is really good for your skin type.”
Cheng Yu had laughed at him.
“Since when do you trust salespeople?”
And Shen Zhiyuan had replied matter-of-factly, “Because she said your skin was dry.”
The hallway outside was quiet.
Too quiet.
Cheng Yu stood there for a while, suddenly feeling short of breath, as though the air around him had thinned.
He closed his eyes briefly and forced the memories away.
Now wasn’t the time.
He was going to see Shen Zhiyuan.
He needed answers.
The apartment wasn’t far away.
Fifteen minutes by taxi.
During the ride, Cheng Yu opened the agreement again.
Only this time, he noticed something he’d missed before.
The date.
Shen Zhiyuan had signed the papers the day before their wedding anniversary.
The day before they were supposed to have dinner together.
Cheng Yu stared at the date for a full thirty seconds before folding the papers and shoving them back into his bag.
His grip tightened around the strap hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.
The serviced apartment required a key card for elevator access.
Cheng Yu stood in the lobby and sent a message.
I’m downstairs. What floor are you on?
Three minutes later, Shen Zhiyuan replied.
1412.
Nothing else.
No Why are you here?
No Go home.
No I don’t want to see you.
Just a room number.
Cheng Yu stared at the four digits, unsure whether it meant honesty or indifference.
Someone was playing piano music in the lobby.
He didn’t recognize the piece.
The melody drifted softly across the marble floor like flowing water.
At the front desk, the receptionist smiled politely.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Mr. Shen. Room 1412.”
She picked up the phone, called upstairs, exchanged a few quiet words, then nodded.
“Mr. Shen said you can go up.”
The elevator walls were made of glass.
As it rose, Cheng Yu watched the city lights sink farther and farther below him until the traffic became nothing more than scattered specks of light.
It felt strangely suffocating.
Like he was being lifted inch by inch toward something he didn’t want to face.
Room 1412 sat at the very end of the hallway.
By the time Cheng Yu reached it, the door was already open.
Shen Zhiyuan stood inside waiting for him.
He wore a gray set of lounge clothes they’d bought together years ago.
The cuffs were slightly frayed.
His hair looked shorter too.
He’d gotten a haircut.
Cheng Yu had rehearsed countless things to say.
In the taxi.
In the elevator.
Walking down the hallway.
He’d wanted to question him.
Yell at him.
Throw the agreement in his face.
But the moment he saw Shen Zhiyuan, every prepared word vanished.
Not because he softened.
But because Shen Zhiyuan’s gaze was too calm.
Too impenetrable.
Like a wall with no cracks and no doorway.
There was nowhere for Cheng Yu to force his way in.
He pulled the agreement from his bag and set it down on the shoe cabinet near the door.
A neglected pothos plant sat beside it, its leaves yellowing from lack of water.
“I haven’t signed it yet,” Cheng Yu said.
“I know.”
Shen Zhiyuan leaned against the doorframe, both hands tucked into his pockets.
“Can you at least tell me why first?”
Cheng Yu barely recognized his own voice.
It sounded strange.
Like someone else was speaking through him.
“Can’t you at least let me understand before everything ends?”
Shen Zhiyuan didn’t answer immediately.
His expression never changed, but Cheng Yu noticed his fingers tighten briefly inside his pocket before relaxing again.
“I already told you,” he said quietly. “I’m seeing someone else.”
“What’s her name?”
This time, Shen Zhiyuan looked at him for several seconds without answering.
The hallway light cast shadows beneath his eyes.
Dark blue shadows.
Like he hadn’t slept properly in a long time.
But before Cheng Yu could think more about it, Shen Zhiyuan finally spoke.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?”
Cheng Yu’s voice finally began to shake.
So did his hands.
He gripped his bag strap tightly, trying to steady himself, but he couldn’t stop trembling.
“Shen Zhiyuan, look me in the eye and say that again.”
Shen Zhiyuan looked at him then.
Really looked at him.
Not casually.
Not indifferently.
His gaze lingered so deeply that for one terrifying second, Cheng Yu thought he might actually cry.
But he didn’t.
“You don’t know him,” Shen Zhiyuan said softly.
“I’ve been with him for a while now.”
“And I’m sorry.”
Cheng Yu stood frozen.
The words crashed into him one after another.
For a while now.
I’m sorry.
The sounds of the lobby piano drifted faintly upward.
Somewhere behind them, an elevator door opened and closed.
His legs suddenly felt weak, but he stayed standing.
“You lied to me.”
His own voice sounded distant.
Quiet.
Almost like he was talking to himself.
“Shen Zhiyuan… is there something you’re hiding from me?”
For the first time, something shifted across Shen Zhiyuan’s face.
Only slightly.
Like a ripple breaking the surface of still water before disappearing instantly.
But Cheng Yu caught it.
After eight years together and five years of marriage, he knew Shen Zhiyuan too well.
He saw the tightness in his jaw.
The way his Adam’s apple moved.
The way he turned his face away afterward, staring instead at the glowing green emergency exit sign down the hall.
“You’re overthinking it,” Shen Zhiyuan said.
His voice had gone cold again.
“I just don’t want to keep living like this.”
“Look at me when you say that.”
Shen Zhiyuan stayed silent.
“Look at me!”
Finally, he turned back.
And in that instant, Cheng Yu thought he saw something break inside those eyes.
Fast.
Too fast to hold onto.
Like a stone sinking into deep water, leaving only a brief splash before disappearing completely.
“Cheng Yu.”
Shen Zhiyuan said his name softly.
So softly it almost sounded like he was speaking to himself instead.
“Sign it.”
“It’ll be better for you.”
Not better for us.
Better for you.
Cheng Yu took a step backward.
The carpet muffled every sound beneath his feet.
Then another step.
Shen Zhiyuan remained standing there in the doorway, hands still in his pockets, expression calm again.
Above his head, the gold-plated room number—1412—gleamed under the lights.
And suddenly Cheng Yu realized how much now stood between them.
A hallway.
A doorway.
A stranger he’d never met.
And the sentence: I don’t want to keep living like this.
But the most pathetic part?
Even now, standing three steps away from him, noticing the exhaustion beneath Shen Zhiyuan’s eyes and the frayed cuffs of his clothes…
Cheng Yu still wanted to ask:
Did you eat dinner?
But he didn’t.
He turned and walked away.
When he reached the elevator, he glanced back once.
Shen Zhiyuan was still standing exactly where he’d been before.
Same posture.
Same silence.
The elevator doors slid open.
Cheng Yu stepped inside and turned toward the hallway.
Just before the doors closed, he saw Shen Zhiyuan’s shoulders suddenly sag.
As though he could finally stop forcing himself to stand straight.
Then the doors shut.
And Cheng Yu could no longer see him.
As the elevator descended, Cheng Yu slowly crouched down against the railing.
He didn’t know if he’d imagined it.
He didn’t know whether someone who had betrayed you could still look like that after you left.
He truly didn’t know.
And he would continue not knowing—
Until the phone call one month later.
- Writer
