It is uncertain whether this tale is merely an embellishment by meddlesome listeners, but most who hear it prefer to believe it was born of the originality of Fatty and Xinna (if it were truly original, how would it have spread? No one bothers with this question). Each time someone recounts it, the listeners sigh with heartfelt sympathy.
How was Fatty able to restrain himself at such a critical moment? Truly, can men or women hold back when things reach that point? For this reason, I refuse to believe, even if sworn upon my life, that nothing happened between them.
One may eat carelessly, but words should not be spoken recklessly; if her older lover heard such rumors, wouldn't he stir up a storm across the town?
If it came to that, do you think Fatty is some helpless soul? Spare yourself the needless concern.
Idle chatter like this circulates often, though it never leads to any conclusion, the intensity of discussion is no less than an analysis of international and domestic affairs.
Yet some praise Fatty for his restraint, admiring how, though he walks in a world of indulgence, he remains pure-hearted and devoted to his late wife. They laud him for his loyalty as if he's a rare gem deserving respect.
While honoring Fatty, women also regard Xinna with exasperation.
Apparently, all those years Xinna waited alone in her empty house, it was for Fatty. How difficult it must have been for her to hold on!
Sustaining herself on a faint, illusory hope, she endured all this time—it's practically a miracle, a miracle indeed, worthy of a Guinness World Record.
Love, that's what you call love, do you understand? Love is about guarding one's virtue for the one they cherish. Some women defend Xinna with such words.
But these defenses only draw sneers and disdain, a torrent of scorn. In truth, it's not hard to grasp; this is the 21st century, and love is undergoing a severe test—its lofty pedestal faces the threat of collapse.
Take Fatty, for instance; those who know him well understand that his indifference to physical allure and his restraint wasn't due to longing for his late wife, nor out of any lofty moral principle. In reality, his relationship and marriage with his late wife were rather mundane. The families were old friends, and the union held a hint of intention, a testament to the friendship between their parents rather than the sentiments of the couple themselves. So, if what happened between Fatty and Xinna in the hotel room was real, then I suspect the true reason for his retreat was Xinna's virginity. Virginity is a tempting cheese; whoever takes the first bite must drink it to the last drop—that's just one of Fatty's principles, a principle rooted in the times and values he was raised with.
These words emerged in fragments during later conversations, and I merely helped him piece them together. In doing so, I realized something: Fatty is, at heart, a traditional man. His ingrained traditionalism has led him to a predictable love life, inspiring a faint admiration and respect within me.
Speaking of his marriage, Fatty once told me that he had actually wanted to rebel. Back then, he was secretly infatuated with a female classmate and had even been tempted to write her a love letter. But the woman chosen by his family treated him and his parents so well that he found no reason not to surrender unconditionally.
He gave me an example (in fact, he gave several in a row). He said that even before they were married, she would come over every day after work to clean, cook, and do laundry for his mother. Though an only child, she was neither spoiled nor delicate; she was unpretentious and caring. If one day he said he craved a particular dish, it would appear on the table the next day. She learned to cook everything he loved, and anything he disliked, even if she adored it, never found its way to their table. Believe it or not, half of this weight I carry today is from her feeding me so well. You wouldn't have recognized me back then—I was slim, dashing, catching the eye of every girl on the street. Really, he chuckled with pride, savoring his memories.
I can't quite picture him as a slender, dashing young man, but I can easily imagine the goodness of his wife. Perhaps it's because of how often he shared details of her life with me. In the early days of our encounters, he mostly talked about his wife; he spoke so much that it reminded me of Xiang Lin's wife. At times, I wondered if he liked being with me just because I was a good listener. Back then, my relationship with Yun Ke was ambiguous and strained, torn between knowing it was impossible and feeling helplessly drawn, caught in the throes of a futile struggle. Some say that the best way to forget one love is to begin another. I don't know if, like a drowning person, I sought Fatty as a lifeline. But listening to his stories and immersing myself in a man's memories of his late wife genuinely allowed me to shift my focus, to temporarily escape the pain and turmoil of my own emotions. My attentive listening often moved him; to him, that level of focus was not only a sign of a cultured woman but also one who deeply appreciated him. Perhaps it was for this reason that he would, at times, impulsively take my hand, saying, "Thank you, Yanyu. You're the first person willing to listen quietly to my rambling. Your silence brings me peace, serenity. I cherish this calmness, truly."
Winning over Fatty, in truth, was simple.
Fatty is a man deeply entrenched in loneliness. His loneliness is restrained yet profound. Such a man needs not an actor, but an audience. To reach the heart of a lonely man, one must first learn to listen, not to speak; to offer him attention and applause, not to demand it in return.
This discovery left me feeling that Xinna's sacrifice, marrying far away to Singapore, had gone unrecognized, as did the regret I felt for those frivolous admirers of Fatty. In matters of success and failure, it's often as simple as a question of approach; with the right approach, everything aligns naturally. Otherwise, even the deepest passion and boundless patience lead only to dead ends. Yet these approaches are closely tied to personal character, habits, and upbringing, and so between people, there will always be talk of compatibility and shared taste.
Thinking of Yun Ke, I felt myself no better than Xinna or Fatty's misguided admirers. Though my love for Yun Ke was reciprocated, unlike Xinna's unrequited feelings or the blind pursuit of those admirers, the end result was not much different. Moreover, my rival was a woman devoid of any competitive edge, and therein lay the most fearsome challenge. For how can one declare war on someone against whom there is no contest?
These words brought a sadness more profound than any other.
"What are you thinking about, Yanyu?" asked Jiang, pausing in his conversation when he noticed my silence.
I lifted my head, startled, but dared not meet his earnest gaze.
Jiang's eyes grew more intense, as though trying to understand my thoughts.
"I... I was thinking, your wife seemed like such a gentle and considerate woman. Surely, your marriage was a happy one, wasn't it?"
We were dining at the time, and Jiang was working through a drumstick with such gusto that his glossy lips shone. The warm sunset filtered through the yellow curtains, lending our meal an almost sentimental glow. I glanced at his glistening mouth and thought that living this way—simple, even mundane—wasn't such a bad thing.
He looked up, paused in his chewing, and said after a moment, "It was peaceful. Not filled with highs or lows, just a steady contentment—a habit, if you will. I got used to having that home, to seeing her there, to her care and attentions. And once something becomes habit, it is peace—real peace." Jiang reclined in his chair and looked toward the ceiling, as if seeking in it some trace of his late wife's memory. After a brief pause, he resumed his meal, tearing into the drumstick with renewed vigor.
After a few moments, he added, "Perhaps she was too good. Or maybe I was too focused on my work all those years, never questioning the happiness of it all. Life was what it was—like eating; necessary, routine. Only after she was gone did I think more about love and marriage and realize the gaps in my own heart—the desires that remained unfulfilled. Yes, unfulfilled. Living shouldn't be mere calm, nor too bland, or there'll be nothing worth remembering. I couldn't be satisfied with that."
Honestly, I'd hoped Jiang would offer some kind of strength. If he'd told me that love within a marriage was fulfilling and complete, I might have made a different choice. But his response left me more bewildered than ever and strangely reminded me of Yun Ke—of his strength, like a panther, fierce and yet tender. I felt a sudden pang of regret and sighed deeply.
"Yanyu, are you alright?" Jiang asked, noticing my mood.
"Yes, yes. I'm fine." I avoided his concerned gaze, nervous to meet the sympathy in his eyes.
Attempting to pull myself back from my thoughts of Yun Ke, I asked, "What did you mean by 'gaps in your heart'?"
Jiang smiled shyly. "Passion. Yanyu, you must understand the weight of that word within a marriage."
I did. It was my desire for passion that had led me away from a stagnant marriage. After all, the survival of a marriage is closely tied to the vitality of passion.
"Yanyu?" Jiang interrupted my thoughts. I shook my head, smiled, and said nothing.
Jiang returned to his meal, grinning, and I suddenly noticed a stray feather on the chicken skin near his mouth. I was about to warn him, but with a quick "slurp," he'd eaten it up, oblivious to my horror.
"What's wrong?" he asked, obliviously, placing another drumstick in my bowl. The thought of that feather turned my stomach, and I quickly returned it to him, saying, "You enjoy it; I prefer noodles."
"No wonder you're so thin. Women look better with a little more weight."
"But I like it this way. Slenderness is beautiful, don't you think?"
"Isn't a woman's body meant to appeal to men, or to herself?"
"Of course, it's for herself!" I blurted out.
Our ancestors have long said, "A warrior dies for one who understands him, a woman makes herself beautiful for one who delights in her." Doesn't Yanyu agree?"
"Yes, but if a woman doesn't love herself first, how can she hope the man she loves will love her in return?"
"Oh, you're so quick to argue!" Jiang chuckled.
"Your wife... was she slim or heavy?" I asked, surprising myself with my curiosity about Jiang's late wife.
"Neither heavy nor thin—just right, I suppose. She never bothered much with her appearance, seldom went shopping, and could wear the same clothes for years. Some laughed at her old-fashioned style, but she didn't mind. She just loved tidying the house. Cleaning was a family obsession for them; she's even made me a little obsessed with cleanliness."
"Cleanliness?" I widened my eyes in surprise, remembering that feather from earlier.
"You don't believe me? Someday, come see my place. It's spotless."
"You don't do the cleaning yourself, I'm sure. You must have hired help."
"How could you tell?"
"People like you rarely have time for housework. Your home is probably more like a hotel."
"Well, you're not wrong. My wife never complained, but I knew it must have bothered her at times. But what choice did I have? Do you think I wanted to treat home like a hotel? To spend my days in endless banquets, drowning in wine? But it's work. It's necessary." Jiang grabbed another drumstick. He could really eat, though I wondered whether this appetite had been honed by his late wife. I almost wanted to ask but restrained myself.
"Yanyu."
"Yes?"
"Yanyu."
"Say what you mean," I replied, growing slightly impatient.
"What do you think of me?"
"Oh, you're alright." I absentmindedly stirred my now-cold rice.
"Can you be more specific? Like... about us?" Jiang looked at me eagerly, holding a half-eaten drumstick. His mouth was slightly open as if waiting for me to toss an answer into it like a peanut.
"Us?" I feigned ignorance, taking a sip of water and shifting my gaze around the restaurant.
"Yanyu, I want to tell you earnestly—meeting you made me realize how love stirs the heart. I think I've fallen in love with you. Truly." He said this, still holding that drumstick, his eyes intense. I couldn't help but notice this drumstick was flawlessly clean, and I felt oddly relieved. But I also realized how strange it was to care about him eating a feather. Would it even matter if he ate an entire chicken's worth? Did I... did I truly feel something for him? Had Yun Ke left such a void that I'd turn to Jiang for comfort? The thought sent a chill through me.
"Yanyu, did you hear what I said? Or have I scared you?"
"No, I was just thinking. Go on and eat," I replied, feigning joy.
Jiang finally finished his drumstick, and noticing my silence, asked, "Yanyu, are you okay? Are you not enjoying the food? Should I order something else for you?"
I looked at Jiang, unsure why I'd suddenly called him "Brother Jiang" instead of "Minister." It had felt so natural and surprised even me.
For a moment, he seemed surprised, then broke into a broad smile, his chubby face lighting up. Yun Ke, too, often smiled, his laughter full of vigor, though always tinged with a sadness that once moved me and later, broke my heart.
"I like it when you call me that, Yanyu. Marry me, and I'll take good care of you." He held my hand earnestly. His grip was thick and soft, unlike Yun Ke's strong and slender hands. Thinking of Yun Ke made my heart ache once more.
Jiang looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for a response. But I could only think of him as something unnecessary—difficult to part with yet lacking the spark I longed for. More than anything, some part of me still held hope for Yun Ke. I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't let him go.
Afraid to meet Jiang's hopeful gaze, I lowered my head and took a sip of watermelon juice.
Several seconds passed, and sensing my hesitation, Jiang asked once more, "Yanyu, marry me. We can come here often, eat what you like, drink as much watermelon juice as you want."
I have always despised men who attempt to sway me with material promises, not because I don't value wealth but because I know how essential it is in our world today. I admit, I dream of luxuries myself, yet I believe a man has failed if he must resort to material enticements. Any man who flaunts anything beyond his mind and heart has little left to offer.
Of course, I knew Jiang wasn't showing off. He only wanted to show his affection. But still, his words left me cold. He should have promised more thoughtful things, the kind that would touch a woman with refined taste, like myself. But if I marry Jiang, will I become like him, indulging myself into an inflated shadow of who I am?
I wanted to remain silent, to let him know I had nothing left to say. But Jiang's sincere look made me relent.
"Coming here often would be too extravagant. Do you think you're some wealthy boss?"
Jiang's eyes dimmed for a moment, realizing my response wasn't what he had hoped. But soon, he beamed with excitement, "Yanyu, so does that mean you're willing? Don't worry, I'll give you the best life—the one you truly wish for."
His enthusiasm brought a pang of melancholy. For it wasn't Yun Ke, and this world holds only one Yun Ke, just as it holds only one Yanyu.