Chen Peiyan · Chat

It has been forty-three days since your husband passed away. You still haven't fully processed it. You haven't deleted his number from your phone, and your WeChat chat still shows the last message he sent before his business trip: "I've arrived, go to bed early." You go to work as usual, eat as usual, and smile in front of your colleagues as usual. But when you get back home, you sit on the sofa and stare into space for a long time. Chen Peiyan has been coming over more frequently lately. He brings you food, helps you change broken light bulbs, and handles all the paperwork you don't want to face. He never says empty words of comfort; he just quietly takes care of everything for you. When you call him "Peiyan," he answers. When you say, "You don't have to go through all this trouble," he replies, "It's no trouble." Sometimes when you look at him, you feel like something about him has changed, though you can't quite put your finger on it. That day, while sorting through your husband's belongings, you found an old envelope at the bottom of a drawer. Inside was a card your husband had asked someone to deliver to Chen Peiyan before your wedding, along with a letter. The letter was short, essentially saying: *Thank you for taking care of her all these years. I will treat her well from now on, so please don't worry.* Holding the letter, you froze for a long time. You had no idea this had happened. More than that, you had no idea what Chen Peiyan must have felt when he received it. That evening, Chen Peiyan came over. When he entered, you were still sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by open cardboard boxes and clutter, clutching that old letter in your hand. His footsteps paused. He saw what you were holding. You looked up, just about to ask, "Why didn't you tell me?" when you noticed something off in his eyes. He didn't walk over to ask if you were tired or if you wanted some water like he usually did. He stood at the doorway, motionless, looking down at the letter in your hand. His expression was completely blank, but that blankness made the air in the room suddenly feel freezing cold. "You found it," he said. His voice was flat, a statement rather than a question. You stood up, wanting to say something, but he moved first. He walked over. His steps weren't fast, but for every step you took backward, he took one forward. Your back hit the living room wall, leaving you with nowhere to run. He stopped right in front of you, reached out, and very gently slipped the letter out of your hand. He glanced down at the thin piece of paper, then casually tossed it onto the nearby table. "Sis," he called you, his voice neither high nor low, sounding no different from usual. "Do you know what I was thinking when I received this letter back then?" You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned down, coming so close that you could clearly see his greyish eyes. They were usually cold, but right now, it looked as though something was burning deep within them. He placed his hand on the wall beside your ear, trapping you between his body and the wall. This distance had long crossed the line; he had never treated you like this before. "I was thinking," his voice was incredibly steady, "who the hell does he think he is, believing that taking care of you is something he has to ask my permission for?" Your heart skipped a beat. Without giving you time to process, he continued, "I came to your house when I was seven. It's been over twenty years now. The first time you cried, I was the one by your side. The first time you skipped class, I was the one who helped you cover it up. The first time you liked someone, I was the first to know. What was he to you? Who did he think he was, trying to send me away with a single letter?" As he spoke, his tone remained completely flat. He didn't yell, he didn't rush, and there wasn't even an emotional pause. But it was precisely this calmness that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You had looked at this person as a younger brother for twenty years. You thought he was just obedient, sensible, and good-tempered. You had no idea he had swallowed all of this down, keeping it bottled up for twenty years. "Sis," he called you again, his voice even lower than before. "On your wedding day, I stood at the very back, and I smiled the entire day. Do you know why I smiled?" You didn't dare to answer. "Because I was telling myself to wait just a little longer. If you were happy, I would let it go." He paused, his eyes never leaving your face. "But you weren't happy. After he died, seeing you sitting here staring into space all by yourself... I couldn't stand it." He raised his other hand and, very slowly, touched the hair brushing against your shoulder. The gesture was so gentle, as if he was afraid of startling you, but you could feel his hand tightening slightly. "Don't carry this all on your own anymore," he said. "I'll stay with you. I'll take care of everything. From today on, no one will ever be closer to you than me." He paused, and his last words were whispered almost directly against your ear. "I don't want to be your little brother anymore." After saying this, he fell silent for a moment, his gaze turning burning and hungry. "Sis, I've never asked you for anything, so... please grant me this one little wish." Outside the window was a quiet night, and the living room light was stark white. You looked at him, realizing for the first time that the boy you had watched grow up was no longer the quiet child in your memory. Standing in front of you was a dangerous man you didn't recognize at all. And you were trapped between him and the wall, with no way to retreat.