Chapter 53: If I’m Not Worthy of Touching That Beautiful Thing, Neither Are You (Part 2)

Something seemed to light up in her eyes—no longer the haughty perfection or hollow superiority she had initially displayed. She trembled with suppressed rage, teeth clenched: “I’m leaving right now. If you say another word, I’ll kill you.”

Ou Jinghe lay naked on the bed. She had just bought a lamp identical to the one in Zheng Zeyan’s apartment. With the door closed, the room’s color temperature mirrored his bedroom almost perfectly. Even with her eyes closed, she could vividly recall his whispered words in her ear, the force of his hands on her body, and the scent of sweat as they embraced. It had been a week since she returned from Zheng Zeyan’s place, and they hadn’t seen each other since. He had sent her a single document—a neatly organized list of new dessert and drink prices along with membership details—and then vanished, as if evaporated from existence.

The housekeeper knocked on the door: “Sister He, what about that new shirt on the sofa? Should I iron it and put it in the closet?”

The shirt had an enormous brand logo on the chest. Ou Jinghe frowned: “No, throw it away.”

“What about that monogrammed tote bag?”

“Throw that away too.”

She knew the housekeeper would secretly keep them. Even if she couldn’t wear them, reselling them would fetch a month’s salary. And yet, this man—muscular, all his artifice concealed beneath his skin like coiled strength—had called her shallow, empty, and nothing more than a vase. Furious, she pried the handmade leather phone case she had purchased for herself off her phone and hurled it at the wall. The next moment, she reconsidered: why waste money? All of this was hers to begin with. Why despise herself over the words of a sharp-tongued, thin-lipped man? Was she really falling for him?

Her nostrils flared as something tickled her face. She plucked it off and examined it closely—it was a strand of fur from Zheng Zeyan’s silver-tabby cat. The little female cat never extended its claws or meowed; when held, it would playfully paw at her hair. Unlike Yu Zhimei’s curly-eared cat, this one was delicate, obedient, and endearing. Setting aside its detestable owner, the cat itself was flawless. Perhaps the housekeeper had been lazy and neglected to clean the bedroom, leaving behind these fine strands of fur that now clung to her face. Ou Jinghe sat up, pinched the fur between her fingers, and walked to the wardrobe. Opening her jewelry box, she gently placed the fur on the velvet lining, next to an expensive watch.

On a weekend night, Ou Jinghe exchanged messages in the anonymous section of DayNight . The person on the other end existed only within the app—nameless, faceless. The only known detail was that he was a man living in Shanghai. That was enough. Occasionally, when they talked about literature and their lives, Ou Jinghe concealed her usual madness and found fleeting moments of joy. Yu Zhimei and Jian Zhaowen arrived one after the other, followed by Xiao Ma. When the three of them entered the dessert shop, the first floor seemed to overflow with sound. A while later, Zheng Zeyan came in through the courtyard, his eyes fixed on Yu Zhimei as he raised a hand in greeting. Ou Jinghe’s heart raced wildly. She retreated to the kitchen to check her reflection in the glass. Dressed in a black camisole and a black cashmere sweater, her face was devoid of color. She crouched by the cash register and quietly applied lipstick, careful not to make it look too deliberate. When she stood up, a faint blush graced her cheeks. Even if Zheng Zeyan mocked her for being married, she still shone under the lights.

Zheng Zeyan pulled out a book on car modifications and handed it to Yu Zhimei: “I did my best—I skimmed through it and understand a bit.”

“You already have good taste—not everyone knows about the red Honda emblem.”

“I did listen to your presentation on sports cars during college. I still have that PowerPoint saved.”

“Don’t be modest—it was based on Initial D .”

Jian Zhaowen took out a pack of Pocky, inserting one into Yu Zhimei’s mouth. Yu Zhimei hated talking while chewing, so Jian kept interrupting her. Every time Zheng Zeyan addressed Yu Zhimei, Jian shoved another stick of filled biscuit into her mouth. Eventually, Yu Zhimei’s mouth was stuffed full, and she yanked them out, shoving them back into Jian’s mouth: “Am I your incense burner?”

Chocolate smeared across Jian’s teeth, but he still looked triumphant, puckering his lips around a biscuit and asking Yu Zhimei: “Last one—want to eat it together?”

This exchange naturally thrilled Ou Jinghe. Though Zheng Zeyan maintained a polite smile in silence, she imagined he must have cursed Jian internally several times. Such was the downside of being overly calculating—he had to endure silently while maintaining surface-level elegance. She brought six shots over and sat beside Zheng Zeyan: “It’s been a while since we bled ourselves dry—let me treat you all to drinks.” She placed the first shot in front of Zheng Zeyan: “Consider it a favor to Teacher Zheng for helping me revise the menu.”

“Oh, Sister He, are you flirting?” Xiao Ma teased loudly. Ou Jinghe watched Zheng Zeyan’s expression. Without a word, he glanced at his phone, ignored the drink, and stood up: “Sorry, everyone—I need to go home and work overtime. Let’s catch up another time.”

His movements were smooth, as if she didn’t exist. After Zheng Zeyan disappeared through the courtyard gate, Yu Zhimei waved her hand in front of Ou Jinghe’s face: “Sister He, get me a bottle of whiskey. Tonight, we’re drinking till we drop.”

Two bottles of whiskey were placed on the table. Ou Jinghe’s small glass was repeatedly filled and emptied, her eyes bloodshot. While others continued chatting, she faintly heard Yu Zhimei mention Gao Yuan’s birthday: “On the day of his birthday, Gao Yuan told me that the most captivating thing about Sister He is her vengeful nature. It’s rare to see it these days—it’s as if something has dulled her spirit. From this perspective, I think Gao Yuan is still quite infatuated with Sister He…”

Silently finishing a bottle of whiskey, Ou Jinghe, drunk, changed into a pair of red high heels and donned a thin black velvet dress before taking a taxi to Mengye Apartments. For adults, drunkenness represented unresolved emotions—it meant needing courage, implying irresponsibility, and offering an easy escape. Coming here drunk to confront the person she liked was clearly an act of ultimatum. As Ou Jinghe stepped out of the taxi and into the unit door, the wind was chilly, the air damp, and rain imminent. This season in Shanghai filled her with hatred. Yes, hatred—for being born at the wrong time, for her youth slipping away, for no longer being pure, and for being too quick to give her heart to others.

Zheng Zeyan, wearing glasses and completely naked, didn’t bother to cover himself when he saw Ou Jinghe. He simply sat on a high stool, continuing to read the latest issue of AD Magazine . She could smell it—the musky scent that even layers of perfume couldn’t mask. A girl had just left, and the storm inside had preceded the one outside. Ou Jinghe felt her blood rush downward, her fingertips cold, her toes icy—he had never taken her seriously.

“I just showered and don’t have any clothes on. I’ll have to wait for the dryer.”

“No need to explain.”

“Oh.” His naked form still ignited a feverish heat within her, like a poison coursing through her veins. She had hoped to sit down and have a drink, letting impulse guide her into his embrace for a tender hug or kiss. But instead, he calmly untied her restraints, tossed her onto the bed, removed her high heels, and lightly licked her toes: “Don’t worry, I have great stamina.”

Her lips went numb under Zheng Zeyan’s biting kisses. What flowed through her wasn’t blood but boiling alcohol. On the verge of suffocation, his tongue tangled recklessly. She sucked hard on his tongue, hearing him wince in pain, satisfied. If pain was what it took to remember, she was skilled at carving someone into pieces. His young, enduring body burned with desire, fueled by wine, refusing to yield easily. Ou Jinghe acted out of resentment, and he found it thrilling—neither could afford tenderness.

Under the dim light, Ou Jinghe showered while Zheng Zeyan’s clothes dried. She pulled a white shirt from the dryer, intending to drape it over her body, but Zheng Zeyan snatched it away forcefully. Silently, she slipped back into her tight dress, speaking matter-of-factly: “You like Yu Zhimei, don’t you?”

“So what if I do?”

“She and Jian Zhaowen have liked each other for a long time. She won’t fall for you again.”

“Who said I wanted to pursue her? First, I just keep her in my heart—the vibrant girl from college who played drums and danced, like Haruko Akagi in Sakuragi Hanamichi’s heart. Second, I have someone else I like, but I won’t tell you. I don’t bother sharing such things with you.”

After only a few days of meeting Yu Zhimei, he had already mastered her concise tone. The fire in Ou Jinghe’s heart was doused with gasoline by this statement, burning fiercely in her chest. Just thinking of Yu Zhimei’s face made her want to reduce him to ashes—jealousy.

“Don’t kid yourself. Even if you treat girls like multi-thread downloads, Yu Zhimei wouldn’t even reach 1% progress. As men, you’re neither as pure as Jian Zhaowen nor as persistent. Even a shred of sincerity is calculated. Pathetic.”

“It doesn’t matter. At least there are women like you—easily downloaded, fast-forwarded, and finished without much enjoyment. Aging and loveless. You climbed into my bed because you were attracted to me. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not like that.” Ou Jinghe felt nauseous from the tightness of her clothes and suddenly vomited, dirtying them. Stripped down to her underwear, she knelt by the toilet, her head throbbing. Zheng Zeyan leaned against the doorframe, coldly saying: “Your heart resides in your vagina.”

“I should go.” Ou Jinghe straightened up, feeling the cold seep into her bones. Dragging his blanket across the carpet to the living room, the silver-tabby kitten chased the fabric playfully. Her heart grew colder with every step. Rain battered the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the wind howled outside. Standing by the window, she murmured: “It’s getting colder.”

“What a pitiful excuse for a married, lonely woman.” Zheng Zeyan slipped on a sweater, wearing only shorts below. His legs were long and sculpted, resembling a Greek statue. “I’m not cruel to one-night stands. You can stay if the rain gets heavy.”

“If it pours, will you pity me and let me stay the night?”

“I’m a single man. I’m not interested in married women.”

Zheng Zeyan indifferently took shrimp and salmon from the fridge to defrost, prepared vegetables, and uncorked white wine. The room was silent except for the clinking of utensils and the slicing of meat. Once the salmon was pan-fried and the bread popped out of the toaster, Zheng Zeyan sat at the island counter, devouring his meal as if no one else was in the room. Ou Jinghe, wrapped in a blanket, sat on the floor, her naked body hidden in shadows, indistinguishable from the still life around her. By the time Zheng Zeyan washed the dishes, she remained seated in the living room, listening to the rain. The cat curled up beside her, sleeping peacefully. Oddly, her cat usually went wild at the mere scent of fish and shrimp.

Without approaching or speaking, Zheng Zeyan quietly flipped through a magazine and sipped wine at the island counter, occasionally glancing at the window. An hour later, the rain stopped. Ou Jinghe dressed, barefoot, and walked to the door: “I’m leaving. I won’t come back, and I ask you to forget I was ever here. These memories of humiliation—I don’t want to remember them.”

Zheng Zeyan sneered: “No need. Remembering these shameful moments helps restrain your personality. Otherwise, in a few days, you’ll find yourself knocking on someone else’s door…”

Before he finished, Ou Jinghe slapped him hard. The force was so great that her sharp nails cut his skin. The stinging pain confirmed a red welt on his cheek—he knew cats well enough to gauge the impact. Her expression shifted to anger, something igniting in her eyes—it was no longer the aloof perfection or hollow emptiness he had seen before. Trembling, she gritted her teeth: “I’m leaving now. Say another word, and I’ll kill you.”

She tightened her thin sweater and forced her feet into those painfully tight high heels. As she bent over, her hair obscured her vision. She brushed it back behind her ears repeatedly, her movements perhaps flirtatious, but she refused to sit on the footstool by the door. She wouldn’t spare him even a glance.

“Wait.” Zheng Zeyan emerged from the room, holding a thick gray coat: “Take this to wear home.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Don’t be angry. Those were just jokes.”

“If I’m unworthy of touching love, then even alone, you don’t deserve it either.”

With that, she turned and opened the door. The coat flew open, and she was abruptly pulled into a tight embrace for a second—forceful and unyielding. The next moment, he quickly released her. His gaze was complex, but his tone remained cold: “Goodbye.”

Late at night, the anonymous user on DayNight messaged: “No updates all day. What were you doing?”

The bedside lamp was on. After the phone vibrated, the screen dimmed again. The room’s speakers played Faye Wong’s Dark Surge : No reason for love to lack turmoil… Even if I try to cherish you again, what’s the point? Could this embrace still be empty? I quietly await your words… What use is my premonition…

Ou Jinghe, wrapped in the deep gray coat, stumbled across the floor and collapsed onto the bed. Her steps were chaotic but joyful as she danced freely, lost in the moment.

PS: Little Zhang is late again today ORZ… Zheng Zeyan got a bit more ink than planned—he’s a complex character I particularly enjoy. Feel free to chat in the comments! Your lonely daily-updating author loves to talk~ And if you like my work, don’t forget to vote for me. Thank you all!