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The expressions on his face—whether smiling or frowning—were all etched by the time they spent together. Perhaps it would have been fitting for a howling storm to sweep through, or for rain to batter against the windows. But Zheng Zeyan led her quietly into the depths of their final passion in a calm room, like an extravagant film fading out with muted simplicity.
After that day, Ou Jinghe still returned to Zheng Zeyan’s home, much like countless couples who continue to share the same bed after a fight—not because she had completely forgiven him, but because she had nowhere else to go. As soon as she entered, Zheng Zeyan pulled her into his arms and apologized. Ou Jinghe’s heart softened, but the words “Get out” could not be easily erased—they echoed in her ears every time she looked at the living room. Smoothing over wounds is not the same as pretending nothing happened—patched jade can never be flawless again.
Afterward, their coexistence under the same roof felt like walking on thin ice. Occasionally, when Zheng Zeyan didn’t come home on time, Ou Jinghe couldn’t help but lash out at him the moment he walked in, like a poor couple from the alleyways hurling insults in the crudest dialects. When Zheng Zeyan lost patience, he locked her in the bedroom and went to the living room to play with the cat. Sometimes, he’d make lewd gestures, running his hands over Ou Jinghe’s body with the same lascivious expression he’d worn when they first met. It was vulgar, erotic—but devoid of love.
It drove her mad.
In those rare moments of affection, she clung to Zheng Zeyan’s warmth like a treasure, cradling his arm and inhaling his scent. The image of her first love’s hair floated before her eyes again. She shook her head violently, startling Zheng Zeyan, who only held her tighter. Her hair brushed against her ears, as if threading through her eardrums. The sound reminded her of cicadas ceaselessly chirping in summer. Hiding in her lover’s familiar embrace, she saw the flickering smile of a woman who had never spoken to her—a woman who seemed intent on burrowing into her body, replacing her, and pushing her out of Zheng Zeyan’s life.
She pushed Zheng Zeyan away and jumped off the bed. “No, I can’t let you two be together.”
Zheng Zeyan groggily asked, “What are you talking about?”
“She’s here. She wants to replace me.”
Irritated from lack of sleep, Zheng Zeyan tried to suppress his temper and gently beckoned her. “Come here.”
“No, she’s trying to crawl inside my body.”
“She’s already dead.”
“I’m scared.”
Zheng Zeyan sat on the bed, his body still taut and powerful, though fatigue softened his features. Beneath his weariness lay cold, hard lines. “Ou Jinghe, she’s already dead. Can you stop this?”
“You might not be afraid, but I am—I can’t tell who you’re holding anymore.”
She waited for Zheng Zeyan to slowly approach and pull her into his arms, where she would struggle incessantly until he pushed her away. Only then would the phantom woman disappear, allowing her to lie down and embrace Zheng Zeyan’s body securely. This was her inner exorcism ritual. After several repetitions, Zheng Zeyan grew tired and stopped coming to comfort her. The shadow of her first love continued to hover before her eyes, and the cicada-like buzzing near her eardrums became unbearable. She locked herself in a separate room to confront the apparition alone—the once erotic toy room now serving as an ideal sanctuary. Outside the door, Zheng Zeyan knocked repeatedly. “Ou Jinghe, she was just a past friend. Blaming you earlier was my fault—I apologize. Please come out.”
Zheng Zeyan wouldn’t tell Ou Jinghe about the diamond he once bought for her first love. Bringing up anything related to her would only worsen the situation. He stood outside, listening to Ou Jinghe sing. After her first love’s death, Ou Jinghe often hummed songs by Faye Wong, but now they had shifted to Liang Shuyi. He couldn’t make out the lyrics clearly, except for one line: I still ask myself if I’m competitive enough. When she emerged later, her smile was bitter, almost tragic—she was no longer the flirtatious and stubborn woman she used to be.
They seemed to have entered a tunnel they had never ventured into before, stumbling forward in the dark while leaning on each other. Yet, at certain moments, they couldn’t help but loathe one another, shoving each other into puddles—to test whether the hand they were holding onto was still alive.
Ou Jinghe and Zheng Zeyan woke up together as the city’s curtains fell with the setting sun. Zheng Zeyan prepared their first meal: smoothies topped with diced dragon fruit and banana, carefully sprinkled with oats. The warm aroma of baked pretzel bread wafted through the air. While eating, Zheng Zeyan inadvertently made chewing noises, prompting Ou Jinghe to suddenly throw her bowl of smoothie at him. She didn’t know why she was angry—she just felt it was the right thing to do at that moment. How could he make such an unbearable sound? It was as if he were blaming someone else’s death on her.
Zheng Zeyan stood up and pinned her to the chair, his movements firm but not too painful, like a simple reprimand. She leaped up and grabbed his collar, and the two stood locked in a standoff in the living room. Oats clung to his face, and the scent of bananas and milk lingered on his skin. She laughed as she struck him, finding his anger amusing. Watching him glare at her with rage-filled eyes, calling her insane, Ou Jinghe thought back to her dream of dancing with Zheng Zeyan in that empty living room, accompanied by jazz and waltzes from the vintage record player against the wall. But the record player had been broken during their last argument, replaced now by a new kind of dance—one where they pulled each other’s hair and clawed bloody marks onto each other’s bodies. Apparently, this too was a form of dance.
It was Zheng Zeyan who released her first. They kissed passionately in the bathroom. She gazed at the streaks of scratches on their bodies, strands of Zheng Zeyan’s hair still caught between her fingers. In the small bathroom, neither of them resembled the beasts they had been moments ago. After bathing, she noticed the calendar hanging on the wall—it was April 1st. How coincidental—today was April Fool’s Day. Perhaps everything that had happened today was just a lie.
“There’s a six-month project in Singapore that the company assigned me to.”
“Don’t bother making excuses to avoid me. Just go.”
“Can you stop looking for trouble?”
“You know exactly what you’re thinking!” Ou Jinghe turned her head to look at the kitten perched on the cat tree. Since the incident where things were broken, it had become cautious, often hiding in corners. She reached out to pick it up, but the frightened kitten leapt down and darted into the bedroom. Ou Jinghe sat on the floor, silent. In the end, she had reverted to the hysterical woman she despised.
Zheng Zeyan sat quietly at the distant kitchen island, instinctively keeping his distance from Ou Jinghe. His voice drifted over faintly: “It’s only six months. I’ll be back afterward.”
“If you don’t love me anymore, just say it.”
“You fucking—” Zheng Zeyan slammed his fist onto the marble countertop. “You really aren’t worth loving in this state. I’m trying to discuss this with you, but you always act like a fighting rooster, picking fights!”
“What, finally seeing my true colors? Realizing the charming Ou Jinghe was all an act, and this is who I really am?”
“I’ve always known what you’re like. But… you can’t punish us with someone else’s death.”
“Not ‘us,’ but you punishing yourself, and dragging me into your misfortune.” Ou Jinghe reached out to touch his face, then impulsively slapped him. “Your past doesn’t matter much—after all, I have an ex-husband and have dated many men. You have a house full of toys and companions. By now, there’s no need for either of us to pretend to be good people.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see your chats with Gao Yuan.”
Ou Jinghe jumped off the stool, grabbing Zheng Zeyan by the hair and screaming hysterically: “I did it for the house, for the money—at least I no longer love him! What I can’t bear is that you still love her, do you understand?!”
“I never imagined we’d end up in this situation today.”
“Go on,” Ou Jinghe said, as if she already knew what he was about to say. “Say it.”
“Gao Yuan’s cold treatment of you had its reasons. Someone like you, who loves to lose control so much, doesn’t deserve normal emotions.”
Coldness swept through her body from head to toe. Without needing a mirror, Ou Jinghe knew her face was pale. Yet she only laughed and said, “Keep talking.” Zheng Zeyan had once been so quick to judge, seeing through her at their very first meeting. Now, she even thanked him for teaching her the art of slow torture—the first cut could be made on her body.
“You only belong in the gutter, growing moss by yourself. Everyone around you ends up cursed. I loved you so much, trying to use my limited affection to satisfy you, to make you happy—but I never expected it to be this exhausting. You’re too selfish, selfish enough to drain me dry.”
“Zheng Zeyan, you used to be arrogantly laughable, but now your complaints about me aren’t even worthy of mockery. Because of a dead woman, you’ve turned against me completely. I just want to ask: how could you do this? Why don’t you go die with her?”
Zheng Zeyan resembled a beast teetering on the edge of fury, using the last shred of his rationality to restrain himself. “You’ve truly gone mad.”
________________________________________
Sitting in the office, recalling those words, Ou Jinghe faced two monitors filled with help requests. She needed to migrate users from the Day & Night support section to the official WeChat account and update the contact information to her newly registered phone number. Each post before her was riddled with scars, hiding heartbreaking stories beneath vulgar words. Seemingly tactful statements masked heavy burdens—words strung together devoid of human warmth, yet the virtual world on the screen mirrored reality itself. Amidst these cries for help, she became one with them, embodying countless emotions. The common thread was the absence of an outlet or hope; the difference was that she still had to muster the strength to assist them. Some truths were beyond comprehension, but perhaps in the faint gratitude and subtle changes brought by each response, she could gradually realize that she wasn’t entirely worthless.
Her first love still appeared before her from time to time, but sitting in front of the computer, Ou Jinghe found that she could now coexist peacefully with her. She even wanted to chat, curious about the vibrant life her predecessor once led and the gradual withering process. On the screen, there were many women like her.
By the time she left work, hunger gnawed at her stomach. At the convenience store near the subway station, she bought some bread. Accustomed to commuting by subway, she chose the quieter carriages after overtime shifts, where she could always find a seat when tired. As the train approached Xiaonanmen Station, a girl knelt in front of a vending machine outside, gasping for air. Bystanders glanced indifferently, offering no help. Countless pleas for assistance floated through Ou Jinghe’s mind. When the doors opened, she stepped off, buying the sweetest drink available and handing it to the trembling girl. “Low blood sugar?”
The girl’s hands continued to shake. Exhaustion from overtime and stale subway air often triggered such episodes. What angered Ou Jinghe more were the indifferent office workers nearby, pretending nothing was happening while scrolling on their phones, standing mere steps away waiting for the train without intervening. Ou Jinghe handed over the bread from her pocket and shouted, “Did you leave your conscience at the office when you clocked out?”
The subway doors reopened just in time. Passengers reluctantly boarded, continuing to stare at their screens until the doors closed. Those rushing home after work naturally wouldn’t care about this fleeting moment of female solidarity. The girl, helped up by Ou Jinghe, sincerely thanked her.
Under clear skies, Ou Jinghe exited the subway station cheerfully, picking up two sandwiches and cookies from Subway to take home, preparing to watch a movie with Zheng Zeyan. At the sight of her, Zheng Zeyan’s expression dimmed slightly, forcing a smile. Two large boxes sat in the living room—one filled with documents and clothes, the other with daily necessities. It was evident they marked the beginning of a long journey.
Without speaking, Ou Jinghe showered and lay in bed, waiting. Her chestnut hair dried and spread across her shoulders. She carefully recalled the first time she came here: the damp yellow full moon, the humid and ambiguous air, everything brimming with potential. Their love, not yet begun, was most exhilarating. Beneath the covers, she tentatively touched Zheng Zeyan’s warm body, unresisting. Under the soft yellow light, emotions stirred quietly. They had shared a bewitching beginning.
Finally, the sound of packing ceased. The suitcase rolled to the door, and Zheng Zeyan slipped into the bedroom, entering naked shortly after. Ou Jinghe closed her eyes, instinctively kissing every inch of his skin, letting his breathing grow heavier, silently awaiting the storm. This was a body she knew intimately, enveloping her in desire, intertwining her love and hate. His expressions, whether smiling or frowning, bore the marks of their time together. Perhaps a howling storm should accompany them now, with rain pounding against the windows. But Zheng Zeyan led her quietly into the depths of their final passion, like an extravagant film fading out with muted simplicity.
“Ou Jinghe.”
“Mm.”
“I love you.”
Tears streamed down Ou Jinghe’s temples into her ears. “Let’s stop meeting anymore.”
“Alright.” Zheng Zeyan was crying too. “I’ll find someone to take care of the cat while I’m gone. By the time I return, maybe you’ll already be gone.”
“I’ll move out soon.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just answer me one question—do you love me?”
“Yes. I love you more than anyone else in the world. Even now, I still do. I just couldn’t make you believe me.”
Ou Jinghe vaguely understood the reason behind it all. She still despised her own violence, insensitivity, and hysteria. Perhaps in the coming days, he would try to reconcile with his past sins, letting the weight of regret slowly fade with time. Softly, she asked, “Zheng Zeyan, if Liang Shuyi hadn’t died, would we have been together?”
His voice lingered in her ear: “I don’t know.”
“I thought our ending might be something like this, but I didn’t expect it to come so soon.” Ou Jinghe smiled. “But I absolutely must be the one to leave first—I can’t let you win.”
“I’ll always let you win.” Zheng Zeyan mocked himself with a bitter smile. “I genuinely wish you happiness—I’m not the kind of man who can make you happy.”
“We tried. Both of us gave it our all.”
“Yes.”
“I’m no longer the shallow woman obsessed with luxury brands you once met. I work hard, and what I do is meaningful. Whether coordinating volunteers or finding like-minded people, I’ll give this my all—” Ou Jinghe licked her dry lips. “I’ve dreamed of her many times and solemnly promised her that I won’t stand idly by if I ever encounter another suicide again.”
Zheng Zeyan hugged her tightly with all his strength: “I truly loved you.”
“I loved you a little more. In the days ahead, I will still love you—deeply.”
Coincidentally, on the day Zheng Zeyan flew to Singapore, Shi Rui’s husband arrived in Shanghai to take her away. After relentless questioning, the doctor finally revealed that the ultrasound showed the shadow of a boy’s features. A newly renovated three-bedroom apartment awaited Shi Rui in the north. In her haste to leave, Shi Rui forgot Ou Jinghe, who had once peeled fruit for her, and never offered a word of thanks. Perhaps God arranged everything perfectly—Ou Jinghe always had a place to live. She packed ten cardboard boxes, taking the broken record player with her, hoping to repair it and send it back someday. She left a hair tie on the bedside table—not intrusive, just in case he needed it during workouts when his hair grew longer. The house stood empty. Before leaving, Ou Jinghe briefly met the friend who came to care for the kitten. The man, whom she had once met on the 52nd floor of Guojin Plaza, looked somewhat awkward but nodded kindly. Turning back, Ou Jinghe saw the kitten watching her from the living room, its eyes pitiful and tender. Remembering her parents’ words—”Cats are traitors”—she apologized to her friend and rushed inside, hugging the kitten and shedding silent tears.
“Kitten, goodbye. Promise me—to forget my bad side and… remember me, okay?”
The cat’s eyes were dark and bright, licking Ou Jinghe’s fingers gently. She placed it back on the floor, hearing a sigh from her friend in the distance.
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