“I know,” he replied, sounding a little frustrated. “But it’s a weekday, and I have a lot of work to do. You came so suddenly—I didn’t have time to clear my schedule…” There was a hint of complaint in his tone, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize he might upset me. He quickly backtracked. “I’m not blaming you. I’m really happy you came to see me. It’s just—”
“Enough!” I interrupted him, aware that my emotions were starting to spiral out of control.
I suppressed the anger that was threatening to erupt, clenching my fists and reminding myself—I hadn’t come all the way to Shanghai to argue with Hao Yi. No matter how disappointed I was in his attitude, I couldn’t let it show. If I did, the distance between us would only widen and hasten our relationship’s destruction.
After calming myself, I said evenly, “Go ahead and take care of your work. I’ll wait here for you.”
Hao Yi looked at me with concern, unsure if I truly meant what I said. But just then, his phone buzzed with more messages. He glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing as if caught in a dilemma.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I came all this way to see you, so dinner together is the least we can do. When you get back, we’ll order takeout and eat together, okay?”
Seeing me return to the version of myself he was familiar with, Hao Yi finally relaxed and nodded. “I’ll be quick.”
Before I could even manage a smile, Hao Yi had already thrown on his coat, grabbed his phone, and hurried out the door. The sound of the door slamming shut startled me, the harsh, abrupt noise leaving no room for comfort. What could be so urgent that he’d abandon even the rhythm of our usual interactions? Or was he still bothered by the awkwardness of being pushed away earlier?
A wave of unease washed over me as I looked around. The small dorm room had only a few furnishings, all of which felt unfamiliar, making me wonder if Hao Yi had even chosen them himself. The anxiety lingered until I crawled into his bed and caught the familiar scent of him on the sheets. Only then did I feel some semblance of calm.
Even after three years of dating and discussions about marriage, there were still parts of this man that remained a mystery to me—things I couldn’t grasp or understand.
Trapped in the dorm, with nowhere to go, I aimlessly picked up my phone. While the dorm had Wi-Fi, it didn’t support the social media apps I used back in Taiwan. Taiwanese people living in mainland China often used VPNs to bypass this restriction—a process commonly referred to as “climbing the wall” (a term that, ironically, sounded somewhat like “cheating”).
I enabled roaming on my Taiwanese phone and completed the VPN setup. Notifications started to pour in. I checked my work group chats to confirm there were no urgent issues with the projects I was handling. Then I read through a string of casual complaints from Kafei, who found my absence unbearably boring. Finally, there was only one unread notification left in my inbox—a single red dot that made my heart race.
“I want to see you.”
Four simple words, whispering like the devil in my heart, over and over again.
I want to see you too, Chu Ke Huan.
In the end, the devil reached its conclusion.
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