Yun Ke's car glided up, unhurriedly.
The moment I noticed it trailing us, a surge of exhilaration, almost arrogant elation, overtook me, lifting even the presence of the chubby man beside me, despite his apparent toothache, to an almost endearing charm.
In my happiness, I peeled a piece of gum and, with unexpected tenderness, slipped it into his plump mouth. For a moment, he, too, looked as if he'd been given a shot of adrenaline, driving with a slight dance in his hands. Even the car moved with a newfound lightness.
Noticing the increasing gap between us and Yun Ke's car, I quickly told him to slow down, urging him with playful insistence: "Can you go slower? Slower—don't tell me you plan for us to meet the same fate on the same day, right?"
Even as our pace slowed to a crawl, the car behind still lagged. My heart, at first so buoyant, now deflated like a balloon pricked by a needle. I wished desperately that we could turn around, yet no plausible excuse sprang to mind. Regret filled me, realizing I could have conveniently left something trivial at the old teahouse. But as I inventoried my belongings, nothing seemed disposable—except perhaps the packet of tissues. Yet, I couldn't very well ask him to drive back for mere tissues, could I?
"Got any more gum?" he asked.
Exasperated, I reluctantly peeled another, thrusting it into his trumpet-shaped mouth with barely concealed annoyance. My frustration was too evident—he seemed wounded, his gaze turning sullen, his chewing growing heavy, each bite drumming against my thoughts, stirring a pang of sympathy for him.
To love is always more passive, more pitiful, more lacking in dignity than being loved, I couldn't help but reflect.
Outside, snow continued its quiet descent, blanketing the world in a stark white stillness. The trees stood stoically beneath the weight, braced against the wind. And in my chest, I, too, felt a faint bleeding, leaving me strangely hollow.
Sensing my mood, he turned on the music. Su Rui's Dedication filled the car, and he hummed along with a certain earnestness: Long roads are offered to distant lands, roses to love—what can I give to you, my beloved?
I had to admit, his voice, though slightly husky, carried a certain charm. In other circumstances, perhaps I'd be amused or even moved. But his timing and choice of lyrics felt all too pointed, casting a dizzying shadow over my mood. Yet, not wanting to dampen his enjoyment, I endured it in silence.
When his humming finally ended, he glanced over. "Yan Yu, you know, I really want to dedicate the rest of my life to you."
"Oh, please," I retorted. "You're far too heavy a burden for me to carry."
"So it really is my weight, isn't it? Tomorrow, I'm signing up for the gym. If I lose it all, will you reconsider being with me?"
"Save yourself the trouble," I replied. "Gym? You? With all your dinners and parties, eating and drinking, how would you possibly shed a pound? Gym, weight loss—what a joke." Oddly, his weight had suddenly irritated me, even though I knew it was hardly any of my concern.
His face morphed into a bitter grimace. "In this world, sometimes our hands are tied, Yan Yu. You don't understand the restrictions we face."
"Are you saying someone has a gun to your head?" I glanced at his pitiful expression.
"Sometimes, it's harder than death itself."
"Drama queen!"
"No, really," he sighed, "maybe someday, if you find yourself where I am, you'll understand our struggles. Everything is just a façade. Family, love, friendship, freedom—those are all that truly matter. The rest? All of it is just… nonsense."
I scoffed. "Funny how you seem to complain, yet never give up any of it."
"Yan Yu, you don't believe me. You always see me as some sort of villain."
"No, not 'like' one. You are one!" I couldn't help but laugh.
He sighed, but his gaze softened. "The truth is, you don't hate me. If you truly did, you wouldn't have gone to the teahouse with me."
Yet his words brought Yun Ke back to mind, a wave of loneliness rushing over me. "I want to go home. Why are you still dawdling?"
He fell silent, casting a complex look in my direction, his gaze piercing as if trying to strip away my mask. I instinctively pulled my coat tighter.
"I'm exhausted. Aren't you?"
Seeing my fatigue, he seemed to relinquish whatever question had been forming, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
The car pulled into my apartment complex, and he parked downstairs, looking at me with a certain expectation, as though hoping I'd invite him up, even if only for a short rest. His look reminded me of a child eyeing candy in the teacher's hand, but I am a strict teacher and would rather toss the candy than indulge his hopeful gaze.
"Thanks for driving me home," I said. "Take care. Let's meet again."
In an instant, his eyes dimmed, like a window suddenly shutting out the sun. He sighed, reluctantly getting back into the car, which then slinked away, as if as reluctant to leave as he was.
I stood in the snow, surrounded by an overwhelming sense of abandonment.
Could it be that, without that man, the whole world fades with him?
And just as the question surfaced, a sleek black Mercedes screeched up beside me, stopping with an abrupt jolt. The man I had waited in the cold for two hours emerged, sweeping me up without a word and thrusting me into the car with as much force as I had just used with that piece of gum.
He shut the door, his hands seizing me as though he were famished, his lips finding mine with a fierceness that made me dizzy even in hindsight.
At last, I understood why I loved him. It was his sheer, unyielding possessiveness, his brazen confidence and pride.
A friend once told me, "Yan Yu is the sort who'd want a man to ravage her mind before her body." In that moment, I could not deny it. While I don't know if every woman harbors this latent masochism, I know that, in the realm of love's aesthetic, my own is unashamedly inclined. It's less a sickness than a preference, a personal art.
But here I am, skirting the subject, as if to tame the turmoil within, so I can tell the rest of that night, the rest of that story. Yes, the closeness I'd longed for finally happened that snowy night, in Yun Ke's car, at the very edge of despair.
Faced with his intense, enveloping kiss, how could I not surrender completely? In mere seconds, we moved in perfect unison, as if two souls on the verge of dehydration, and the other's lips were a lifeline. It was a kiss that shattered winter's chill. If my accidental glance at the red streak on his forehead hadn't jolted me, perhaps we would've completed that intimate exchange right there.
"You're bleeding!" I gasped, pulling back to examine him. His hold tightened.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just scraped my forehead avoiding a truck."
"How is that 'nothing'? Let's get you to a hospital."
But he only held my hand tighter, his voice steady. "The moment I hit that tree, I thought of you. Just you. Yan Yu, if I'd never seen you again, I'd regret not embracing you, not making us one. That moment made me realize just how deep my love is—I can't pretend any longer. I'm beyond salvation, Yan Yu."
"What about your wife?" The words slipped out, and instantly, I wanted to slap myself for the betrayal.
He tensed, as if struck, then leaned back, sighing deeply as silence fell. Shadows filled the car, pressing down on us both.
The silence was broken only by the urgent trill of his phone. His wife's worried voice came over the line, asking if he was safe and reminding him that his favorite steak was waiting at home, along with a photo of them that had been featured in last week's magazine.
When the call ended, silence fell again, thick and oppressive. I wanted to fling open the door and escape, to run across the snow, as if that might free me.
He sensed my pain, pulling me close once more. "Wait for me, Yan Yu. When fate has run its course, then we can begin anew, without any reservations, fully."
I knew what he meant. His words only deepened my sorrow, making me feel worse than if we'd simply succumbed. It was as though we were both waiting, both yearning for the moment death would free his wife. The thought filled me with such dread that I could barely breathe, my soul crumbling as I realized: love, however beautiful, was like the stars above—distant, tantalizing, and unreachable.
I could not bring myself to wait, not because of life's uncertainties or love's capricious fate, but because I could not bear to build a castle of love atop a woman's grave.