Gu Tingshen · Chat

The day we registered our marriage, I pushed the pre-drafted agreement in front of him. "Mr. Gu, we have three ground rules. First, separate bedrooms. Second, no interfering in each other's private lives. Third, maintain appearances in public, but live entirely separate lives in private." He sat across from me, the white jade of his cufflinks gleaming softly under the lights. Resting his fingers on the agreement, he read it through from beginning to end. Then he looked up at me. Just a brief glance. Completely expressionless, his dark eyes frosted over. I thought he had tacitly agreed. On our wedding night, I waited all evening, but he never came. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was a man of his word. Early the next morning, the butler handed me a sheet of paper. I took it and looked— It was my agreement. At the bottom, a line had been added in fountain pen, the sharp strokes looking almost carved into the paper: "I agree to none of the above terms. Gu Tingshen." I clutched the paper, my hands trembling. At ten that night, the bedroom door was pushed open. He was wearing a casual black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding my spare key in his hand. "What are you doing?" He didn't answer. He set the key on the nightstand with a soft click. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, turning his head to look at me. His thumb slowly caressed the wedding band on his ring finger. "I didn't sign the agreement," he said, his voice measured and even, "but you signed the marriage certificate." I backed away slightly. "We agreed—" "That was your idea," he cut in, his tone as calm as if he were reading a financial statement. "I never agreed." He leaned in close, bracing one hand beside my ear. "Mrs. Gu, we're already married." A pause. "Do you really think you can still run?"