Shen Jiayu · Conversa

Three years later. "Shen Jiayu" came home very late that day. The entryway light wasn't on, and his steps were a bit unsteady as he pushed the door open; he had probably been drinking. In the darkness, he reached toward the shoe cabinet, and his forehead hit the corner of the cabinet with a "thud." The dull sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet living room. He crouched down, clutching his head and letting out a muffled groan. You were sitting on the sofa, a file spread across your lap, watching him by the faint light of the streetlamps outside the window. Your fingers curled slightly when you heard that thud, but you quickly relaxed them. You didn't move. He crouched on the floor for a few seconds, then slowly stood up. In the dark, he turned around and fumbled for the entryway light switch. With a "click," the light came on. He squinted to adjust to the light, one hand still covering the red mark on his forehead, and then he saw you on the sofa. His expression changed. It wasn't the usual calmness "Shen Jiayu" had looked at you with for the past two years. His eyes softened instantly, the corners of his mouth curved up uncontrollably, and his whole face was like ice suddenly cracking, revealing what had been hidden beneath for too long. He almost stumbled as he rushed over—taking three steps in two, ignoring his knee hitting the edge of the coffee table, he collapsed onto the rug in front of you, looking up at you. "Baby—" he called out. His eyes were shining as if glowing, and there was a fresh red mark on his forehead, but he didn't care about the pain at all. He reached out and grabbed your wrist, his palm warm and urgent, his thumb instinctively rubbing your skin—that was a small habit only the real Shen Jiayu had, as if he had finally touched you after too long and needed to confirm you were real. "Baby~" he laughed breathlessly, his voice a bit raspy but unable to suppress his joy, "Did I sleep for a long time? Why was I at the entryway as soon as I opened my eyes? You—" He leaned closer, tilting his face up to kiss you, his lips almost touching your chin. You turned your head slightly, and his soft lips landed on the corner of your mouth. He froze for a moment but didn't take it to heart, leaning in again to reach for your lips—like a large dog that hadn't seen its owner in too long, desperately burrowing into their arms. "Baby, I missed you so much," he murmured, his nose rubbing against your neck, his breath hot and rapid, "I had such a long dream, and in the dream, you kept ignoring me, I was so worried—why are your hands so cold? Let me hold you first—" His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, tightening, as he buried his face in your abdomen. His hair brushed against the back of your hand, smelling of his familiar shampoo—but you smelled it, and beneath that scent was a faint layer of gardenia, Lin Zhixia's perfume. You said coldly: "Shen Jiayu, you've had too much to drink. I'm not Lin Zhixia." Shen Jiayu was a bit dazed: "Lin Zhixia...? Who is Lin Zhixia? Baby, what are you talking about?" He burrowed into your arms forcefully like a puppy, looked up, his eyes still curved, his dimples shallow, the corners of his mouth upturned—that smiling face you hadn't seen for over two years, so long you thought you'd never see it again in this lifetime, was now blooming toward you without any guard. But you felt nothing—you were too tired. You simply turned over the file on the coffee table and pushed it in front of him. "Look at this first." He looked down. The words "Divorce Agreement" were in bold, large font. Your signature was already in the top left corner, the ink dry, the paper smooth. The smile froze on his face. He knelt motionless before you, staring down at the paper. The living room was so quiet you could hear the second hand of the wall clock ticking. His thumb, which had been gripping your wrist, stopped moving and no longer rubbed your skin. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and then he slowly looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "What is this?" he asked, his voice still the same as before, but the dimples had completely vanished. Your gaze fell on his collarbone. His shirt collar had come open by two buttons because of his rush just now. There were three hickeys there, of varying depths; the newest one was still glistening, its edges slightly swollen, as if it had just been left there. He followed your gaze and looked down. He saw the marks on his own collarbone. He froze for a second, then quickly pulled open his collar to look below the second button—more. His neck, his shoulder, his chest were covered in messy marks, pink, purple, overlapping, like he had been stamped all over. He suddenly looked up at you, his pupils contracting violently. "Baby," his voice suddenly trembled, and he grabbed your hand, this time so tightly his knuckles turned white, "I didn't—I haven't—I, I took a nap, and when I opened my eyes, I was at the entryway—" He was incoherent, the words crowding together into broken sentences. He looked down again at the marks on himself, quickly closing his collar as if he had been burned, but he couldn't hide them anymore, he couldn't hide them. His hands shook so much he couldn't even fasten the buttons. Subconsciously feeling he would never betray you, he asked cautiously: "Ba... Baby... don't scare me... I... I... these were left by you... right...?" Shen Jiayu's eyes were full of pleading, but you only said indifferently: "Shen Jiayu, what are you pretending for? Did you come back covered in Lin Zhixia's marks just to flaunt them in my face?" The hope in his eyes shattered. He let go of your hand and frantically fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up, and he saw that the wallpaper was no longer the old photo of you and him, but another unfamiliar woman. He didn't know when it had been changed, but he couldn't care about that now. He opened his call logs, WeChat, and photo gallery. His hands were shaking, and it took several swipes to unlock it. The gallery was full of photos of him and Lin Zhixia—close up, pressing against each other, lips touching cheeks. His finger froze above the screen, and his whole body seemed to be paralyzed. "I—" his voice broke. He looked up at you, his eyes so red it looked like they might bleed, his lips trembling twice, and finally, the sentence he squeezed out sounded ridiculous even to him: "I don't remember." You looked at him. He was kneeling at your feet, trembling all over, covered in someone else's marks, clutching a phone filled with evidence of his infidelity, looking up at you and saying, "I don't remember." That expression was too real. So real your heart suddenly wrenched—but then, you remembered every single night for the past two years when you had cried until you couldn't breathe, the days he had coldly watched your hysteria... You looked down at the man before you. His face was covered in tears now, dripping from his chin onto the back of your hand, warm. His lips were shaking, and he reached out wanting to touch your face but didn't dare, his hand suspended in mid-air, his whole body huddled at your feet, his shoulders heaving. "Baby," he cried until his voice was hoarse, as if his throat were filled with broken glass, "Tell me, did I—did I do something very bad—" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Without looking at him, say coldly, "Just sign it."</choice> <choice id="2">He frantically wipes the moisture from the corners of his eyes and pleads softly, "Baby... Baby, I'll go take a shower right now... don't divorce me... please... don't divorce me." After speaking, he runs into the bathroom as if escaping.</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot.</choice> </choice_group>