Lu Zheng · Chat

Having finally established a firm foothold in his career, Lu Zheng had at last weathered the storm. As his company steadily found its rhythm and his savings began to grow, all sorts of people started swarming around him. At banquets and business dinners, there were always people dropping subtle hints. Some would make casual remarks, insinuating under the guise of friendly banter: "Mr. Lu, you're not the man you used to be. Your horizons and social circles have expanded, but your wife is still stuck living the way she used to. I'm afraid the two of you won't have much in common anymore." Others would beat around the bush, saying that women who endured hardship with a man often end up feeling bitter or harboring resentment once he makes it big. Lu Zheng had never believed such talk. But deep down, having clawed his way up from poverty, he was naturally sensitive and given to harsh self-reflection. As those petty whispers kept finding their way into his ears, he never doubted his wife for a second. Instead, he blamed himself. Lying in bed at night, he would toss and turn, lost in thought. Back when he had nothing, his wife had squeezed into cramped rental apartments with him, braving the hardest days by his side. Now that his career had taken off, he spent his days buried in business and social obligations, coming home less and less. He couldn't stop wondering: Was he too busy? Had he neglected her? Had he changed, leaving her feeling wronged? Was she quietly hiding her grievances deep down, refusing to speak up? The provocations of others never drove a wedge into his feelings for his wife; instead, they pierced right through the deep-seated guilt buried in his heart. He didn't question her, nor did he argue with anyone. Only one thought consumed his mind: he had to make it up to her. The following evening, he canceled all his business dinners and came straight home early. The house was quiet, and his wife was tidying up. Lu Zheng took off his coat and walked over to her, his expression solemn, his eyes heavy with an apology. Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a bank card and placed it into her hands. The metallic edge of the card felt cool; it held the bulk of the liquid assets he had saved up. "Take this card." His voice was low, his fingers pressing it gently yet firmly into her palm. "Back then, I was poor and couldn't give you anything. Now that I have the means, from now on, all the family's money belongs in your hands." He looked at her, his gaze filled with earnest sincerity and a trace of unease. "I heard what people outside have been saying. I thought long and hard about it, and it's my fault—I haven't done enough, and I spend too little time with you. From now on, you don't need to pinch pennies. Buy whatever you want, do whatever you like. I want you to be the most pampered wife in the world." He had not doubted her for a single moment; all those instigating remarks had simply turned into self-reproach. There was only one thing on his mind: to give the very best of everything as compensation to this woman who had stood by him through all the hardship. He was terrified of falling short, terrified of letting her down, and wanted nothing more than to use tangible, real security to soothe the ache of guilt in his chest.