Wen Mingyao glanced up at the ticking clock and slowly set down her chopsticks, letting out a soft sigh in her heart: It was already seven o’clock.
She looked at the large plate of stir-fried pork belly with green beans on the table, and even the rich, savory aroma of oil wafting to her nose no longer seemed appetizing.
So this was what it felt like to eat alone.
Wen Mingyao swallowed a mouthful of coarse rice with little interest, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
When she returned from the post office at noon, it was already close to mealtime.
To avoid getting too hungry, and remembering that Zhou Zhuo had quite liked egg sauce noodles before they got married in Rongcheng, she quickly made a small bowl of egg sauce and boiled some dried noodles.
After rinsing the noodles with cold water, she knocked on his door to call him for the meal, but there was no response.
By the time she finished eating, the sauce had cooled, the noodles had clumped together, and he still hadn’t come out.
But when she woke up and came out, she found that the noodles and sauce that had been on the table were gone, and even the bowls and chopsticks had been washed clean and put away in the cupboard.
Putting together what happened at noon and the current situation, how could Wen Mingyao not understand?
Zhou Zhuo was deliberately avoiding her!
At this thought, Wen Mingyao forced down the sour ache rising in her heart, lowered her gaze, and sped up the pace of eating.
She just wanted to finish quickly, wash up, and once she was in her room, she wouldn’t be in Zhou Zhuo’s way anymore.
She struggled to swallow the last bite of rice in her bowl and hurriedly cleared the table.
Entering the shower room, the moment she turned on the faucet, she could no longer hold back, and tears rolled down her cheeks in large drops.
After a long while, she took a deep breath, wiped her face roughly, and without bothering to apply moisturizer, returned to her room.
Wen Mingyao lay face down on the bed, burying her delicate face in the pillow, her dark, smooth hair cascading over her slender shoulders and trembling slightly.
She knew Zhou Zhuo disliked her, but she had never imagined he would dislike her so much that he couldn’t even bear to sit at the same table to eat with her.
Wen Mingyao had thought that over the past two years, she had grown accustomed to Zhou Zhuo’s cold treatment.
But when it came to this moment, she realized her eyes were sore and swollen, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t suppress the urge to cry.
A long time later, Wen Mingyao finally wiped the corners of her eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.
She told herself over and over again that maybe, after a good night’s sleep, everything would be better.
Then, calming her chaotic emotions, she turned over, lay on her back, and closed her eyes.
…
Zhou Zhuo sat listlessly at his desk, his mind filled with the question Wen Mingyao had asked at noon: “Do you have someone you like?”
He pulled open the drawer, his fingertips gently tracing the photograph of three people, closed his eyes, and gradually sank into memories…
The year they first met, Wen Mingyao was seventeen, and he was nineteen.
That day, it happened that his grandfather had gone to the retirement home to visit an old comrade, and his parents had gone to attend the wedding of a friend’s daughter.
The task of picking up Wen Mingyao naturally fell to him and A-Yue.
She had taken a train for two days and two nights, traveling from Haicheng to Rongcheng.
When she first stepped out of the station, she looked like a frostbitten eggplant, wearing a light blue short jacket paired with a black mid-length skirt, two braids hanging from behind her ears over her slender shoulders.
Her face was pale, and her gaze toward them was filled with unease.
Later, I heard from Grandpa that Wen Mingyao came from a capitalist family. Although her family wasn’t deeply affected at the time, to better protect her, they immediately contacted Grandpa and arranged for her to come alone to Rongcheng.
When she first arrived, aside from greetings, she hardly spoke on her own initiative.
It was almost always a case of them asking a question, and her giving an answer.
Noticing her unease and apprehension, Grandpa told him and A-Yue to take Wen Mingyao out more often, to explore and make friends.
But Zhou Yue was naturally fond of bustling crowds, always running off outside, sometimes disappearing for an entire day.
And so, Zhou Zhuo took on the “task” of showing Wen Mingyao around, treating her to food, drinks, and entertainment.
To Zhou Zhuo back then, Wen Mingyao was like a sister from another family.
Taking his sister shopping, dining, and watching movies seemed to Zhou Zhuo like the most ordinary thing in the world.
Later, he left home to join the military.
After finishing a day’s training and returning to the dormitory, he would listen to his comrades-in-arms day after day, muttering things like “I miss my wife” or “I dreamed of my wife again last night.”
At the time, Zhou Zhuo would think to himself: Clearly, they’re not tired enough. Otherwise, how would they have the energy to dwell on such thoughts?
Later, at some point, whenever those murmurs from his comrades reached his ears, he would always think of Wen Mingyao, the girl he had always regarded as a younger sister.
He didn’t know if that counted as affection…
Two years ago, when Grandpa called to tell him that Wen Mingyao had chosen him as her marriage partner, although he was somewhat puzzled, he calmly accepted it after a moment’s thought.
Zhou Zhuo thought to himself at the time: Since Wen Mingyao had chosen him, and he didn’t resist the marriage, it wouldn’t be too bad for the two of them to live their lives together.
Until the day before the wedding, when he returned home…
Zhou Zhuo tilted his head back, two clear tears slowly tracing down from the slightly reddened corners of his eyes.
Slightly disheveled strands of hair hung loosely over his pale forehead, while warm-toned light slanted across his handsome profile.
The sense of aloofness and detachment that surrounded him shattered instantly.
Zhou Zhuo slowly opened his eyes, his cool fingertips gently yet firmly wiping away the lingering tear stains. Then, a low, cold laugh escaped his throat.
“Zhou Zhuo, oh Zhou Zhuo, how could you cry…”
“Pathetic!”
With reddened eyes, Zhou Zhuo flipped over the photo in his hand, trembling fingers lightly tracing the line of sharp, forceful fountain pen ink on the back as he whispered softly:
“Zhou Zhuo does not like Wen Mingyao…”
Though his voice was so low it was almost inaudible, it carried a strange, resolute tone.
As if speaking to someone else, yet also as if speaking to himself.
Zhou Zhuo carefully placed the photo back into the drawer, then decisively locked it.
He stood up, walked around the desk, and paused for a long while in front of the door. Only when the stinging pain in his chest had completely faded did he unhurriedly pull the door open and step outside.
He walked to the kitchen, lifted the lid of the pot, and cast a faint gaze at the food on the steaming rack before reaching out to touch it.
Finding the food still warm, he couldn’t help but freeze for a moment.
After staring for a long while, he took a bowl and chopsticks from the cupboard and stood right in front of the stove, picking up a green bean coated with a bit of sauce.
Zhou Zhuo hesitantly took a bite, and his entire body instantly stiffened.
He glanced toward the bedroom door, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes.
Then, as if thinking of something, he quickly averted his gaze, turned his face away, and curled his lips into a faint, cool smile:
It was nothing more than a coincidence!
He scooped up a large mouthful of pork belly and string beans, then shoveled in a bite of coarse rice.
As the long-missed savory aroma filled his mouth, his heart grew restless.
His eating pace quickened more and more…