The Kindest Lie

Shen Zhiyuan was forty minutes late. Cheng Yu sat by the window, the white wine in his glass long gone. The waiter had already come over three times to ask whether he wanted to order, and all three times Cheng Yu had told him to wait a little longer—his husband still hadn’t arrived. The waiter nodded politely and walked away again, but the look in his eyes was impossible to miss. Sympathy. The kind people tried to hide but never really could. The restaurant was full of couples. At the table beside Cheng Yu, a young man leaned across the table to feed his girlfriend a bite of tiramisu. The two of them smiled at each other like idiots in love. A little farther away sat a middle-aged couple who looked like they’d been married for years. They barely spoke, but the husband quietly refilled his wife’s wine whenever her glass emptied. Candles flickered on every table, their warm glow reflecting against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cheng Yu’s phone lit up. A message from Shen Zhiyuan. Traffic jam. No punctuation. No explanation. Not even an I’ll be there soon. Cheng Yu stared at the two words for a long moment. At seven o’clock on a November evening, the route from the law firm to this restaurant shouldn’t have been congested at all. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he typed back: Okay. After sending it, he suddenly thought the reply looked pathetic. By the time he wanted to unsend it, it was already too late. Shen Zhiyuan hadn’t always been like this. Back then, if he was even five minutes late, he’d send three apologetic messages in a row, each one ending with some ridiculous emoji he’d downloaded from who knew where. Cheng Yu used to tease him about it. “Mr. Shen, your image is about to collapse. What kind of elite lawyer sends kitten apology stickers?” And Shen Zhiyuan would laugh and say, “Why would I need an image in front of you?” That was back then. Cheng Yu turned off his phone and took the velvet box out of his pocket. It was small, dark blue, carefully chosen after he’d spent an entire afternoon comparing colors. The shade matched Shen Zhiyuan’s favorite tie exactly. Inside was a pair of silver cufflinks. Simple and elegant. The letters S and C were engraved into the metal—Shen and Cheng. The engraving shop had been hidden deep inside an old alley in the east district. The owner originally refused the order, saying the initials were too tiny to carve cleanly, but Cheng Yu had stood there bargaining for nearly an hour before the man finally agreed. He’d watched the entire process himself. At one point, the engraving tool nicked his finger. The cut wasn’t deep, but it bled enough that he still had a Band-Aid wrapped around his index finger now. He opened the box. Closed it. Opened it again. Over and over. The seat across from him remained empty. Another twenty minutes passed. Finally, Cheng Yu called the waiter over and asked him to serve the food without waiting anymore. The waiter looked visibly relieved as he hurried toward the kitchen. The steak arrived sizzling hot, butter and black pepper filling the air with a rich aroma. Shen Zhiyuan would probably like this place. He loved steak, especially medium-rare. At first, Cheng Yu had hated it. The pink center always looked undercooked to him. But Shen Zhiyuan loved the tenderness, and over time Cheng Yu had gotten used to it too. Tonight, he’d ordered his steak medium-rare as well. When he sliced into it, the center was perfectly pink. He took two bites. Then slowly set down his knife and fork. It tasted like nothing. At that moment, the glass door opened. Shen Zhiyuan walked in wearing a dark gray overcoat, bringing the cold night air in with him. Cheng Yu had never seen that coat before. It wasn’t one they’d bought together. Shen Zhiyuan was tall and broad-shouldered to begin with, and the coat fit him perfectly, making him look sharp and distant all at once. He stood at the entrance, scanning the restaurant briefly before spotting Cheng Yu. Then he walked over and sat down. No smile. No wave. Not even a “Sorry for making you wait.” The first thing he did was take out his phone. Instead of putting it on the table, he kept it in his hand and started typing. Cheng Yu watched his fingers move across the screen. Those were hands he knew better than anyone. A platinum wedding ring still rested on Shen Zhiyuan’s finger—the simple band they’d chosen together years ago. Inside it, one word had been engraved in tiny letters. Forever. Almost unconsciously, Cheng Yu touched the ring on his own hand. Cold. “Busy?” he asked softly, like he was trying to suppress something. “Mm.” Shen Zhiyuan never looked up. “Do you remember what day it is today?” His fingers paused for the briefest second. So brief that Cheng Yu might have missed it if he hadn’t been staring so hard. Then Shen Zhiyuan answered flatly, “Our wedding anniversary.” “So you remembered.” Cheng Yu smiled faintly. Maybe he was trying to tell himself it was enough. It didn’t matter that Shen Zhiyuan was late. Didn’t matter that he kept staring at his phone. As long as he remembered. Cheng Yu slid the velvet box across the table. It glided over the white tablecloth before stopping beside Shen Zhiyuan’s hand. “Your gift,” Cheng Yu said softly. “Open it.” Shen Zhiyuan looked at the box but didn’t move. Not because he was surprised. Because he didn’t want to. The candlelight flickered over the dark blue velvet. “Open it,” Cheng Yu repeated. This time, his voice was slightly louder. The couple at the next table glanced over. At last, Shen Zhiyuan picked up the box. Slowly. Too slowly. As if he were deliberately dragging out the moment. The lid opened. The silver cufflinks reflected the candlelight, the engraved initials resting side by side just like the rings they wore. Shen Zhiyuan stared at them for a long time. Cheng Yu waited. Say something. Anything. Tell me they’re beautiful. Tell me thank you. Tell me I worked hard. But Shen Zhiyuan said nothing. He closed the box and set it aside. Then he looked at Cheng Yu. His eyes were empty. Not angry. Not cold. Just empty. Like he was looking at someone he barely knew. “Let’s get divorced.” The fork slipped from Cheng Yu’s hand. It hit the plate with a sharp clang that cut through the entire restaurant. Several nearby tables went silent. People turned to look. Cheng Yu didn’t care. He only stared at Shen Zhiyuan, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to laugh and say it was a joke. Anything. But Shen Zhiyuan only said calmly, “The house and the car are yours. I don’t want anything.” “What did you just say?” Cheng Yu’s voice had gone hoarse, like someone was squeezing his throat. “I’m seeing someone else.” Four words. Just four words. Cheng Yu shot to his feet so quickly that his chair crashed backward onto the floor. A waiter instinctively stepped toward them before stopping awkwardly halfway. “On our fifth wedding anniversary…” Cheng Yu’s voice shook violently. “This is what you wanted to tell me?” His hand braced against the table, trembling uncontrollably. The edge of the Band-Aid on his finger had started peeling away, exposing the half-healed cut underneath. “Shen Zhiyuan.” His eyes were red now. “Look at me when you say it.” Shen Zhiyuan stood up. He was half a head taller than Cheng Yu, forcing Cheng Yu to tilt his face upward. Shen Zhiyuan picked up the velvet box and clenched it tightly in his hand before finally saying in a low voice: “I’m sorry.” Then he turned and left. He walked past the silent customers. Past the stunned waiter still holding a tray. He pushed open the glass door and stepped outside. It had started raining. Not heavily—just a fine, icy drizzle like countless tiny needles. He didn’t open an umbrella. He simply walked into the rain until the dark gray coat gradually turned black with water. The door closed behind him. The restaurant slowly returned to normal. Cutlery clinked softly again. Conversations resumed in hushed voices. Cheng Yu remained standing there while the overturned chair lay beside him. After a long moment, he slowly crouched down and buried his face in his hands. Five years ago, at their wedding, Shen Zhiyuan had held his hand tightly while wearing a black suit. His eyes had been red as he said with a trembling voice: “Cheng Yu, the luckiest thing that ever happened to me was meeting you.” Five years later, he said: “I’m seeing someone else.” Nothing more. Cheng Yu stayed crouched there until the waiter finally gathered enough courage to approach him. “Sir…” the waiter asked carefully, crouching beside him. “Are you okay?” Cheng Yu nodded. Then he forced himself to stand, though his legs felt weak. He picked up the fallen chair, took several bills out of his wallet, and placed them on the table. “Sorry,” he said quietly. Then he pushed open the glass door and walked out into the rain. The drizzle was cold against his skin. Standing beneath the restaurant awning, Cheng Yu took out his phone. There were two messages on the screen. The first was the one he’d sent three hours earlier. I booked a table for seven. Don’t be late :) The second had arrived five minutes ago. The divorce agreement is on the coffee table. Let me know after you sign it. Cheng Yu read the message again and again. Rainwater dripped from the awning, soaking the cuffs of his pants. He tried to reply. Typed a sentence. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too. In the end, he sent nothing. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and slowly crouched down beneath the awning. Burying his face against his knees, he listened to the rain drown out everything else. On their fifth wedding anniversary, Shen Zhiyuan gave him two things: “I’m seeing someone else.” And a divorce agreement waiting for him at home. Back in the restaurant, the steak on the table had probably gone cold by now.