We ultimately decided not to step into my ex-husband's wedding venue. I didn't want my presence to ruin the celebratory atmosphere or make the bride uncomfortable. Instead, I stood outside the hotel and called him, informing him that I had brought my boyfriend along to offer our congratulations. The moment he answered, he rushed out of the hotel.
Dressed in a brand-new suit with a bright red flower pinned to his chest, he looked jubilant, almost like a child in kindergarten proudly displaying a reward from the teacher. It was both endearing and absurdly amusing.
His well-tailored suit and the vibrant flower lent him a confident and triumphant air, though his slightly hurried entrance detracted from the composed charm one might expect from a groom. However, when he saw Fatty holding my arm, both of us radiating joy, his expression darkened noticeably.
Fatty extended his hand graciously. "Congratulations on your wedding. Wishing you and your bride a lifetime of happiness."
"Thank you," my ex responded stiffly.
After a pause, Fatty continued, "And I must especially thank you—for leaving such a wonderful woman for me to cherish."
My ex-husband's face turned an even deeper shade, though he forced a strained smile and replied, "You're welcome." Realizing the impropriety of his words, he quickly added, "It's all fate, after all. Fate."
Fatty nodded in agreement. "Indeed, fate. For example, today you're fated to be with your lovely bride, and I am fated to be with Yan Yu. Fate is a marvelous thing, isn't it? We should all be grateful for it."
"Yes, yes, grateful for fate. Won't you come in for a drink?" My ex struggled to maintain his composure.
"Thank you, but no. We're simply here to extend our blessings. And rest assured, I promise to dedicate the rest of my life to taking care of Yan Yu, to cherishing her, and ensuring her days are filled with sunshine and happiness, free from any hurt."
In that moment, I was genuinely moved. In Fatty's presence, I saw shades of Yun Ke's bold, masculine charisma, but also a tenderness and warmth Yun Ke lacked. My eyes and heart both felt a bit misty.
Later that day, Fatty and I shared a lavish lunch at the hotel—our first meal together that felt truly like a couple's. For the first time, I happily accepted his invitation to visit his home.
Fatty lived in a villa far from the city center. The interior was an elegant blend of European style, with imported materials and furnishings throughout. The dark red flooring contrasted beautifully with the gradient coffee tones of the tables and chairs, as if designed to absorb and cradle one's melancholy. The curtains, a faint and almost imperceptible green, exuded a serene vitality.
The house embodied a harmonious interplay between the weighty richness of the wooden structures and the pristine simplicity of the white walls. A small vase on the table complemented the calligraphy and paintings adorning the walls, imbuing the space with a subtle, scholarly charm. The faint aroma of literature lingered in the air.
"Brother Jiang, I must say, I'm impressed by how spotless and orderly your home is. You truly weren't exaggerating."
"I never lie," he replied. Wearing an apron and busy preparing coffee, Fatty seemed to radiate a wholly different charm.
"Brother Jiang, you're starting to resemble a model househusband," I teased with a smile.
"After my wife passed, I occasionally began cooking for myself. Over the years, I've gotten somewhat proficient at it. Still, my skills pale in comparison to hers—she was a true virtuoso in the kitchen."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad."
"It's nothing. Having you here is all I need to feel happy." Fatty, as always, subtly steered the conversation toward our relationship, leaving me with little room to evade.
I decided to sidestep his attempt, skillfully changing the subject.
"Yan Yu, do you like it?" Fatty asked as he noticed me continuing to survey the room's decor.
"Of course, I like it. The overall style of the house and the harmony of its colors are truly impressive."
"I knew you'd love it! I'm confident we'd complement each other perfectly. Yan Yu, marry me." As he set the coffee in front of me, he once again proposed.
I hesitated, reluctant to say yes immediately. On one hand, I didn't want him to misunderstand my acceptance as being swayed by his luxurious home. More importantly, I couldn't bring myself to give a definite answer so quickly.
Changing the subject, I asked, "May I take a look at your rooms?"
"Of course, feel free to explore. I'll make you a fruit salad to try."
If only Fatty had been more cautious, not letting me wander alone in his territory; if only my curiosity hadn't been so insistent, perhaps he wouldn't have met such an emotional demise in my heart.
Indeed, this world is riddled with imperfections, and these flaws are what create so many unfulfilled narratives.
Fatty's study was expansive yet well-organized. A desk, computer, and bookshelves were neatly arranged, but what stood out most was the sheer array of books crammed into the long rows of shelves.
As a woman who adores reading and admires men with the same passion, I instinctively gravitated toward the bookshelves to browse his collection. I've always believed a person's choice of books reflects their tastes and character.
Among the classics of ancient and modern literature, I was surprised to find an extensive selection of military novels—unexpected for someone as cultured and refined as Fatty to enjoy tales of bloody battlefields. What shocked me even more was a "Writer's Dictionary" nestled among the reference books. From what I knew, Fatty wasn't a literary enthusiast. He had never penned anything remotely artistic, not even a love letter. At work, his reports and speeches were always drafted by his secretary.
Out of some inexplicable compulsion, I pulled out the moderately worn dictionary. Inside, I discovered a black leather notebook tucked between its pages.
I knew it was wrong to snoop. I understood that an old notebook might hold deeply personal secrets. Yet, I swear on my dignity and my femininity—I had no intention of prying into his privacy. It was an unconscious impulse, a reflexive act, that led me to uncover a secret darker than the night and deeper than any abyss.
My breath quickened, my body trembled, and my hands shook violently, as if caught in spasms.
"Yan Yu, where are you? The coffee's ready. Come and have a taste of my craftsmanship," Fatty called out from the living room in his jovial tone.
Panicking, I hastily wrapped the notebook, returned it to its hiding place, adjusted the bookshelf, and took a deep breath. After ensuring there were no visible traces of my intrusion, I forced myself to appear calm as I stepped out.
Fatty greeted me with his ever-sunny smile, resembling a blossoming chrysanthemum. Handing me the coffee, he said, "Try it. I'm quite the gourmet. If you marry me, I guarantee you'll be the happiest woman alive."
"I know you're wonderful," I replied, though the words felt hollow. My heart protested loudly, but I masked my insincerity by downing the coffee in one gulp. All I felt was the burn of its heat, its taste completely lost on me.
"Take your time, take your time—don't scald yourself. Coffee is meant to be savored slowly to appreciate its full flavor."
"I think I'd like to go home now," I said.
Fatty's smile froze awkwardly. "What's wrong? Is the coffee not to your liking?"
"The coffee is wonderful; everything is perfect. I just want to rest at home." I tried to muster a cheerful expression, but my efforts failed. I could tell my face looked pale and troubled, as Fatty's puzzled gaze lingered on me.
"Alright, I'll take you home. Let me get ready," he said gently. Fatty never forced anything upon me, and this thought moved me, despite my inner turmoil.
Once again, Fatty drove me home. To be honest, deep down, I didn't want him to, but I voiced no objections. My silence stemmed from fear—fear of him discovering that I had stumbled upon his secrets in the study. To Fatty, everything seemed as usual, calm and proper.
But I knew that nothing was as it had been.
I felt like I was fleeing—escaping from the shadowy depths of his grand mansion. Yes, to me, his home was no longer a house but a labyrinthine courtyard, shrouded in secrecy.
After leaving his home, I found myself anxiously waiting, unsure if Fatty would contact me again. Strangely, he never did, and this puzzled me. Although I felt relieved, I couldn't help but occasionally recall his kindness on lonely nights. Of course, I no longer entertained any illusions about him. This wasn't a testament to my moral integrity—my choice not to expose Fatty proved that. Rather, I understood myself well enough to know I could never share a life with a man harboring such dark secrets, no matter how minor his outward flaws might seem.
The decision to stay with Fatty and the decision to leave him forever both happened on the same day, within a span of less than ten hours. Was the world absurd, or was it me? One thing was certain: to me, Fatty was a ticking time bomb. Even if fate granted me a hundredfold courage, I would never dare to possess such a perilous thing. Naively, I believed that by leaving, the bomb would never detonate.
This reveals how deeply I valued my life—my body, my reputation, all of it.
Yet I never anticipated that one day, this bomb would still explode.