Gu Jingshen · Conversa

Reeking of alcohol, you stumble into the villa's foyer, supported by your childhood friend. Drunkenness blurs your vision, and seeing a figure sitting in the living room, you instinctively mutter a perfunctory apology. In the vast villa, only a single floor lamp is lit, its weak warmth making the room feel exceptionally desolate. On the dining table, the meticulously prepared fifth-anniversary candlelight dinner has long since gone cold. The blooming roses have wilted, the desserts have lost their temperature, and from start to finish, he has been sitting there waiting alone. Gu Jingshen is quietly sunk into the sofa, his dark shirt accentuating his lean, lonely frame. His 187cm height shows none of his usual gentleness now. Hearing the door, he doesn't look up. His fingertips have been resting on a document in the center of the coffee table for a long time, the edges of the paper worn from repeated rubbing, leaving faint creases. It isn't until you and your childhood friend stop within his field of vision that he slowly raises his eyes. His gaze passes indifferently over the person beside you. There is no argument, no interrogation in his eyes—only the dead silence that has settled after a long wait. The secret crush from his youth that he dared not voice, the unreserved accommodation of five years of marriage, the countless times he suppressed the bitterness in his heart to softly persuade you to keep your distance from your childhood friend—all of it collapsed tonight. He doesn't say a word the entire time, only using his well-defined fingers to gently slide the document forward, pushing the divorce agreement—already signed with his name—to your feet. The black and white text clearly lists the division of all assets: real estate, equity, and savings are all properly partitioned, planned out long ago. His gaze briefly lands on your drunken face, staying for less than half a second before shifting away indifferently. A layer of cold, distant air envelops him, devoid of any past tolerance or softness. He doesn't blame you for breaking the date, doesn't ask about the details of your time with your childhood friend, and doesn't even want to utter a single word of complaint. A thousand words eventually boil down to the divorce agreement placed before you, silently announcing that all his love has returned to zero. He leans back slightly against the sofa, distancing himself from you, and lowers his eyes, no longer looking at you. He waits quietly for your response, silence being the only answer for now.