Chapter 9

The Heartbreaker

He reported the name of the hotel he had reserved, registered his ID number, and had his real-time facial information recorded in the public security system. Finally, he accepted the room key card handed over by the hotel staff with both hands.

As the elevator ascended, Xue Jing stared at his reflection in the mirrored walls, but his mind lingered on what had happened ten minutes earlier.

Funny—truly funny. The Ha Yue who couldn’t even unscrew a bottle cap when she was dating him had just effortlessly carried his over-50-kilogram suitcase with one hand.

Unless she’d undergone extensive strength training over the past four years, it was obvious that her delicate weakness back then had been nothing but an act.

The door beeped as the key card unlocked the suite on the top floor. Without inspecting the room’s layout or condition, Xue Jing pulled his suitcase straight into the bathroom, turned on the showerhead, and began rinsing the suitcase with hot water.

The dried stains from the wind were broken up by the powerful water spray, flowing along the waterproof polycarbonate grooves of the suitcase and pooling on the slanted ceramic tiles.

The water swirled into a vortex, slowly draining through the clogged floor drain.

The six-thousand-yuan all-black Rimowa suitcase regained its pristine exterior, but the air was gradually filled with an indescribable stench. It was a mix of excrement and some kind of acrid acid—an odor Xue Jing wasn’t familiar with, though it was unmistakably the smell of a live pig.

He tossed the showerhead aside, turned on the bathroom’s exhaust fan, and picked up a towel to dust off the grime on his coat.

But after just ten seconds, impatience overwhelmed him. He yanked off the coat and threw it directly into the sink.

He thought, I’ll find a trash can to throw it away later. He couldn’t bear to see the coat that Ha Yue had “taken care of” for even another second.

His sense of self-assurance was gone, and his composure had vanished as well. Now he was engulfed by a dizziness fueled by disgust.

Earlier, in front of Ha Yue, he had summoned every ounce of his willpower to appear calm and collected, exuding a slow, deliberate ease.

But only Xue Jing knew how badly he’d wanted to curse out loud—and not just curse, but laugh coldly.

Running into his ex-girlfriend in a place like this was already melodramatic enough. But the fact that she’d boldly lied in front of a car full of people, claiming to be his “loyal reader,” was beyond absurd.

What a joke. Mr. Xuē, she’d said. Humbly seeking your guidance.

Ha Yue had played many roles in his life: his first love, his muse, the closest he’d ever come to marriage, his personal literary critic, even the romantic executioner who brought his dreams to an end. Yet even on the day she severed their ties and became a stranger to him, she’d never been a fan of his work.

A writer’s work is their extension, the crystallization of their thoughts and intellect.

If she had broken up with him out of disdain for his literary abilities, it was a complete affront to his character. She looked down on him so much—how could she possibly have the initiative to read his books?

His writing might resonate with many like-minded readers, but Ha Yue could never be one of them. His books weren’t bound together with stacks of cash. Ha Yue only liked money—RMB was good; U.S. dollars were even better.

What’s more, his Weibo followers weren’t just in the hundreds of thousands. As of today, he had 2,214,300 followers. Even if 99% of the new followers were ones he had bought, it still proved that Ha Yue wasn’t paying attention to his current life at all.

How Dare She Forget? Making Up Lies Is Her Forte

He closed the glass door to the bathroom. Though the old underfloor heating wasn’t particularly warm, Xuējīng didn’t feel cold. Extreme anger has a peculiar way of heating up the body, making one’s face flush. Looking around the room, he realized there was no air conditioning. He walked to the window, opened four panels in succession to let the cold air flood the space, and only then did the heat in his face begin to subside.

That con artist truly excelled at lying and covering her tracks.

If it weren’t for his vivid memory of the disastrous breakup, he might have believed her when she claimed she was worried about him catching a cold and told him to shut his mouth.

She didn’t want him to speak—she must’ve been afraid he’d expose her lies or demand answers about the past like some stubborn fool.

“Ding-dong.” The phone in his pocket chimed.

It was a text from Hāyuè, the same woman who had exchanged numbers with him downstairs just moments ago.

Closing his eyes, Xuējīng took two deep breaths before unlocking his phone to read the message.

“Would it be okay to add you on WeChat? Only if it’s not inconvenient.”

Add her on WeChat? His WeChat number had never changed—wasn’t it still buried in her privacy blocklist until now?

Another message quickly followed on the screen. Hāyuè was talking to herself now.

“By the way, are you free tomorrow afternoon? There’s a music-themed barbecue place downtown that’s pretty good.”

Barbecue at night? Did she still think of him as some naïve boy unaware of the unspoken rules of late-night dinners and drinks between men and women?

What was she even thinking? Times must be tough for her now, and suddenly she finds his newfound success strangely attractive?

Reconcile? Not a chance.

Con artists never stop conning, but shouldn’t the scammed at least have some self-respect? There’s got to be a limit to how much one person can look down on another.

His anger was so intense it felt like his hair might catch fire.

Without even thinking, Xuējīng ignored both messages, tossed his phone onto the bedside table, and picked up the landline to call the front desk.

The top-floor suite was far too hot in late autumn—he needed a standing fan.

At 6:40 p.m., a kilometer away, Hāyuè sneezed several times in front of Lóu Zhìyún.

When she had dropped her ex-boyfriend off at the hotel earlier, the dashboard of her tricycle had already been displaying a low battery warning. Her phone was also running low on power. She had parked by the roadside and sent two quick messages to Xuējīng, then shoved her phone back into her pocket, hoping to save the remaining battery to get to a nearby convenience store to charge.

After walking for ten minutes, just as she approached the large locust tree outside the store, her tricycle ran out of power and rolled backward onto the asphalt road.

Hāyuè sighed, got off the tricycle, and used all her strength to push it uphill. Suddenly, a shadow sitting on a plastic stool in front of the store stretched out and quickly moved toward her.

Startled by the hands gripping her tricycle’s handlebars, Hāyuè initially thought a burly man was trying to rob her under the cover of darkness. But when she saw Lóu Zhìyún’s face under the streetlight, she stifled a scream with a soft “ha,” frowned, and asked in confusion, “What are you doing here?”

“Did you need something urgent? I can open the store for you to grab it.”

“No, it’s just that earlier this afternoon, I bought a bag of chicken legs and didn’t finish paying…” It was true she owed him a few dozen yuan, but mainly, he still hadn’t given her the movie tickets in his pocket.

As he heard this, Lóu Zhìyún blushed and walked around to the back of the tricycle, helping her push the powerless vehicle up the steps.

Hāyuè turned back to thank him. She remembered Lóu Zhìyún as a frequent customer, but with thousands of customers over two years, she hadn’t paid him any special attention. Hearing his explanation, she finally recalled taking his 100-yuan note before closing her shop that afternoon.

Now she matched the name to the face: this was the guy who often bought chicken legs to add to his instant noodles.

“Sorry about that. I had some family issues and left in a hurry. Hold on, I’ll get your change right now.”

With Lóu Zhìyún’s help, she parked the tricycle at the entrance and quickly pulled the keys from her waist pouch to open the store.

The lights inside the convenience store were still on. Hāyuè walked behind the counter, broke the 100-yuan note into smaller denominations, and pulled out 50 yuan from the cash box. She handed it to Lóu Zhìyún, who was standing outside, looking down at the piglets.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll give you the chicken legs at cost—no markup. Next time, if this happens again, just call me. I’ll transfer the money back to you. Don’t waste your time.”

Lóu Zhìyún felt a little giddy receiving the 70 yuan. Businesspeople are naturally profit-driven, and though chicken legs weren’t worth much, he thought Hāyuè giving him a discount was a sign she liked him a bit.

He had noticed before that every time he came to her store, she’d round down his total with a smile.

Sometimes it was just a few cents, but this time was the most generous.

Encouraged by this, Lóu Zhìyún’s confidence in chatting her up grew. Not only did he stay, but he also poked his head into the shop to make small talk with her.

“Is this number on the shop sign your phone number? I thought it was your mom’s. Someone told me this store used to be run by your mother, Chun Ní, right?”

Hāyuè was busy tugging at a power cord near the shelves. She rarely charged her tricycle at the storefront to avoid the risk of pedestrians tripping over the cord, so the spare outlet in the shop had always been tucked away in the corner.

Preoccupied, she didn’t notice the little nuance in how Lóu Zhìyún addressed her.

She pulled the cord out and headed for the door, but Lóu Zhìyún was blocking the small space. To step out of the metal structure, she’d have to brush against him, something she was unwilling to do with a stranger.

Standing at the door, she measured the distance with the charger, ensuring the cord would reach the tricycle’s power port. She nodded toward Lóu Zhìyún and said, “Step back a bit. Don’t get electrocuted.”

“Oh, okay. Let me jot down your number,” Lóu Zhìyún said as he stepped aside, clearing the way.

Only then did Hāyuè walk to the tree, plug in the charger, and start charging the tricycle. Once the charging indicator lit up, she patted the two piglets that hadn’t eaten dinner yet, wondering how long she’d need to charge before she could finally head home.

“Hey, why didn’t your phone ring? I just called it. You should save my number too.”

The man in front of her was starting to talk too much. Hāyuè began to regret her earlier politeness.

She took out her phone, and sure enough, it had shut off. She waved the darkened screen at Lóu Zhìyún and casually asked, “Aren’t you going back to work? Waiting here all this time—haven’t you had dinner yet?”

Her attempt to usher him away didn’t work. Lóu Zhìyún glanced at her and started thinking about dinner.

He slipped his right hand into his pocket, feeling the two movie tickets he’d prepared in advance. He was debating whether to invite Hāyuè to dinner first. At this hour, if they ate, they might miss the movie’s start time.

The tickets cost 45 yuan each—losing 90 yuan would be a pity. Maybe the two of them could just share some popcorn to fill their stomachs instead.

As Lóu Zhìyún wrestled with his thoughts, Hāyuè began to feel wary. She noticed that his right hand had stayed in his pocket the entire time and started imagining worst-case scenarios. What if he pulled out a weapon? Raising her voice, she said loudly, “I’ll be closing up in about ten minutes. My mom’s waiting for me at home, and before my phone shut off, she told me to bring the piglets back early. She must be getting anxious by now.”

Her loud voice successfully drew the attention of passersby. One little girl, a regular at the shop who loved playing on the coin-operated rides out front, happened to be out for a walk nearby with her grandmother. Hearing Hāyuè speak, the girl excitedly yelled, “Sister Moon!” and dragged her grandmother toward the convenience store.

As she ran, she complained about her grandmother’s slow pace. “Grandma, see! I told you her shop would be open. Yesterday, we agreed she’d wait for me after dinner so I could ride the rocking horse!”

“Wow, Sister, there’s a dog in your tricycle!”

“Huh? Grandma, why don’t these two little dogs have fur? Wow, their noses are so long!”

The grandmother grabbed her granddaughter’s hand before she could continue petting the animals. “Didn’t you want to ride the rocking horse? Come on now! Those aren’t dogs in the tricycle; they’re pigs! Stop touching them!”

Hāyuè started up the coin-operated ride, and the little girl climbed onto a My Little Pony ride, rocking back and forth happily.

The shrill melody of the ride’s nursery rhyme echoed around the shop entrance. Leaving Lóu Zhìyún behind, Hāyuè walked into the store to chat with the grandmother about piglet care techniques.

Lóu Zhìyún waited for a while but couldn’t find a way to join the conversation. Frustrated, he silently walked back to his motorcycle, glancing back at the shop with every step.

Great, no dinner, and the movie was probably a lost cause too. A major loss all around that afternoon.

Before leaving, Lóu Zhìyún rode his motorcycle back around to the front of Hāyuè’s shop. Summoning his courage, he shouted toward her, “Hey! Your WeChat ID is your phone number, right? I just added you—accept it when your phone turns on.”

“I, uh… I’m leaving now! Remember to add me on WeChat! My profile picture is a photo of me!”