[002 Qian Yi’s Suicide]
“You can go back and eat on your own.”
Zhuang Yiyi pushed Chen Ding aside as he stood blocking the doorway. Yao Mu stood up when he saw her come out; though he was not pleased, the well-mannered Yao Mu still gave him a slight nod.
Chen Ding watched the two of them walk away. Then he went back into the break room.
The meal, shared by the three of them, lasted nearly an hour.
On their way back to the hospital, Han Rong was called away by the head nurse, leaving only Zhuang Yiyi and Yao Mu.
With only the two of them left, Yao Mu walked beside her and spoke the words he’d wanted to say to Zhuang Yiyi the moment he first saw Chen Ding: “Yiyi, you and that man standing in the lounge earlier today…”
Yiyi looked at him, and Yao Mu finished his sentence without pausing, “It would be best to keep your distance.”
“Why?”
“I feel he might have ulterior motives towards you.”
Zhuang Yiyi asked with a smile, “Senior Brother, why are you getting involved in this sort of thing?”
“I’m not usually interested in such matters, but you’re my junior sister, and besides…” Yao Mu glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before whispering, “You’re already married.”
When she got married, Zhuang Yiyi had simply wanted to avoid the gossip at the hospital, so she’d chosen to keep it private. But her senior brother was different from Teacher Jiao, which was why Zhuang Yiyi had told him about it when the three of them were dining alone. She’d also asked him to keep it confidential.
Zhuang Yiyi had already reached the door of the break room. “Senior Brother, please don’t bring this up again. You promised me. I’ll go in first.”
Inside the office, Chen Ding had already left. A sheet of A4 paper had appeared on the desk, bearing the words written in large characters: “I’m going home.”
Chen Ding’s handwriting was indeed beautiful—graceful and flowing, yet firm and structured.
Zhuang Yiyi moved the A4 sheet aside, her gaze falling upon the desk. There, on the desk, lay Chen Ding’s ID photograph: one-inch in size, white background, black shirt. Judging by his demeanour, he looked considerably more composed—it appeared to be a recent photograph. Chen Ding was indeed handsome; Zhuang Yiyi had known that from the very first time she’d laid eyes on him.
She reached out to pick up the photograph, but when she tried to lift it, she found she couldn’t budge it.
Chen Ding seemed to have anticipated her intentions and had already secured it with glue.
Just as she was carefully prying the photograph loose with a small knife, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
It was Yao Mu, delivering a medical file.
Yao Mu was about to leave when Zhang Zhang knocked at the door. “Dr Yao, you’re here too.”
“Mm. Another new patient?”
“Yes.” Zhang Zhang handed the patient’s file to Zhuang Yiyi. “A new transfer from Emergency. Apparently, he couldn’t cope with his divorce and attempted suicide. His lawyer brought him in today. I’ve noted the lawyer’s number in the file. I’ve also included his wife’s number, but I’ve already called her—she doesn’t want to come.”
Zhuang Yiyi opened the file and saw a familiar string of numbers and a name on the green sticky note. Just what she’d been dreading.
She closed the file. “What about his parents?”
“I couldn’t get hold of them. The lawyer doesn’t know, and his wife’s phone isn’t answering.”
“Right, I see. Thank you.”
Zhang Zhang left, and Yao Mu closed the door. He then turned to Zhuang Yiyi and said, “Can you manage? If you’re too busy, hand this patient over to me for now. You focus on the project you’re working on.”
Zhuang Yiyi didn’t speak, as if deep in thought, though it didn’t seem to be about the question he’d asked. She smiled and said, “It’s fine, I’m managing.”
Chen Ding returned home.
He took a shower, changed into a comfortable pyjama set, then settled comfortably on the sofa and rang Zhuang Yiyi.
“Darling.” As soon as the call connected, Chen Ding’s affectionate tone came through the phone.
“What is it?”
“Just letting you know, I’d like to step into your room. To admire that crystal ball. I want to see what sort of earth-shattering, soul-stirring ball it is that my wife loves so much. ”
On the day of their blind date, Zhuang Yiyi had made three requests. One of them was, “I want my own room.”
Chen Ding had obliged her, giving her the master bedroom, and had always respected her wishes, never entering her private space without her permission. Of course, in certain special circumstances, he would turn up uninvited—and you couldn’t even get rid of him.
“The crystal ball’s on the bedside table.”
“Right then.” Chen Ding leapt up from the sofa, only to hear the voice on the other end of the line ask, “Are you at home tonight?”
He smiled meaningfully. “I am.”
Chen Ding pushed open the door. The room was tidy; the neatly folded duvet lay at the head of the bed, with a single pillow placed on top. This was a double bed; there ought to be two pillows.
He glanced at the bedside table, where that eyesore of a crystal ball sat, intact. Crouching down in front of it, he examined it closely but found nothing out of the ordinary. It was an ordinary-looking sphere, glass-like and round, with snowflakes floating inside. The only thing slightly different was the chibi-style figure inside, which bore a resemblance to his wife, complete with two wings and standing on a cloud.
He set the sphere down, took a photo, and was just about to leave when the previously cloudless sky suddenly turned gloomy, as if rain were imminent.
As he went to close the window, he spotted a notebook on the windowsill. Glancing down, he saw it was a record of their expenses.
But it wasn’t merely a record of expenses; it contained every joint expenditure since they’d been married, with most entries marked with the amount to be split evenly.
To be honest, Chen Ding’s mood wasn’t exactly cheerful upon seeing this.
Zhuang Yiyi had suggested splitting the costs, but he’d felt it unnecessary; moreover, he hadn’t accepted a single penny of the money she’d offered to pay his way.
Yet his wife had kept meticulous records all along. It was all too clearly divided.
After finishing work, Zhuang Yiyi made a special trip to the supermarket to buy some groceries before returning home.
Chen Ding, who had been playing a video game, paused the game the moment he saw her push the door open. He walked over to her side, took the vegetables from her hands, and asked, “Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” Then, looking at the vegetables in his hands, he remarked, “Oh my. What’s the occasion today? You’ve bought so many vegetables.”
Zhuang Yiyi replied, “Your hand is injured, isn’t it?”
Chen Ding smiled, saying nothing.
A light drizzle began to fall outside the window; the whole world seemed to have been washed clean, spotless. Zhuang Yiyi was busy in the kitchen, whilst Chen Ding stood by watching her. He’d just offered to help, but she’d turned him down. Such treatment was rare.
“Go and play your games,” Zhuang Yiyi said, turning to him as she sliced the beef.
“How could I? A family should stick together.” Chen Ding leaned against the side with an air of nonchalance; he didn’t look like someone working in the kitchen, but rather like a model.
Chen Ding’s mother was a model. As a child, he’d appeared in magazines alongside her. She’d hoped he’d pursue a career in modelling when he grew up, but since her son had no such ambitions, she didn’t press the matter—though she did maintain strict standards regarding his physique and posture.
“You’re getting in the way a bit.”
“Then I’ll sing you a song. ’ And he actually started singing: ‘Today’s another fine day, me with my wife, playing the accordion, strumming the guitar—’
Before he could finish, Zhuang Yiyi pushed him out by the back, and the door was shut.
When it was time to serve the food, he came back into the kitchen.
The two of them didn’t eat together very often, and whenever they did, it was always Chen Ding who spoke first. But today, he was unusually quiet. As Zhuang Yiyi still needed a favour from him, she took the initiative and asked, “How’s your hand?”
“It doesn’t hurt.” He paused for two seconds, then pressed his left hand to his chest. “My heart aches.”
“Why don’t you finish that song?”
Chen Ding shot her a sidelong glance. “No one’s clapping, so I can’t go on.”
Zhuang Yiyi put down her chopsticks and clapped mechanically.
Knowing when to stop while he was ahead, Chen Ding cheerfully sang a reworked version of ‘Today Is a Good Day’. ‘What do you think, darling?’
“Very nice.”
Chen Ding picked up a piece of beef and placed it in her bowl. “I’ll sing more for you next time. As long as my wife likes it.”
Zhuang Yiyi asked, “What’s the story with that person you mentioned today who was talking about suicide?”
Chen Ding chuckled. “Darling, that’s a rather abrupt question. You should at least set the scene a bit. Wait until you’ve asked how my hand is before bringing him up.”
Zhuang Yiyi gave him a cool glance and said, “I don’t want to set the scene. You’ve already eaten my food.”
Chen Ding glanced at his bowl and sighed, “My wife is so clever.” Yet there was little regret in his tone.
Qian Yi was Chen Ding’s university roommate; he’d transferred in during the first semester of their first year, citing a falling out with the three boys in his previous dorm. As they weren’t in the same degree programme and had heavy course loads, Chen Ding and Qian Yi didn’t interact much, though they’d occasionally play basketball or video games together. He was a decent sort. A bit of a loner.
Zhuang Yiyi asked, “Didn’t you keep in touch after graduation?”
“Hardly.”
“Why did he come to you? Two of the three law students in your dorm are practising as solicitors.”
“I didn’t ask.” If Qian Yi hadn’t been his dormmate, Chen Ding wouldn’t have taken on the case at all.
“Carry on.”
A month ago, Qian Yi came to him and said his wife wanted a divorce. The reason she gave was that she felt he was too controlling, that he’d changed and had a bad temper. But he believed it was because her salary had gone up, she looked down on his lower earnings, and she’d fallen for another man—that’s why she wanted out. Otherwise, they’d been married for two years and he’d always been the same; why would she suddenly change?
He didn’t want a divorce. That was why he’d come to Chen Ding, hoping for his help; he’d even specifically appointed Chen Ding as his solicitor.
After listening to this, Zhuang Yiyi uttered three words: “How strange.”
“It’s not that strange,” Chen Ding said, recalling the day of the suicide attempt. His wife had thought he’d come to sign the divorce papers, but to her surprise, he’d begged her not to divorce him, just as he’d done before. “So, he wanted to use me to lure his wife out.” ”
Zhuang Yiyi propped her head up with one hand, her legs crossed on the sofa, as if deep in thought. Suddenly, Chen Ding, who had been less than 20 centimetres away from her, leaned in close, his handsome face gazing down at her. Zhuang Yiyi stared back at him. “What are you doing?”
A hand suddenly appeared on her thigh; it was rather warm. A different kind of heat, tinged with intimacy, slowly caressed her leg, gradually moving upwards. A faint scent of perfume wafted from Chen Ding’s body to her nostrils. “Darling, have I been good?”
Zhuang Yiyi didn’t move; her stillness was tacit consent. A smile curved Chen Ding’s lips as his hand climbed to her waist. Their lips were less than two centimetres apart—just a hair’s breadth away, just that tiny bit—
The phone rang.
“Damn!”
Chen Ding, having been pushed away, expressed all his emotions with a single word.
After hanging up, Zhuang Yiyi said to Chen Ding, “Qian Yi has taken his own life.”
Chen Ding furrowed his brow.