I knew Hao Yi was a workaholic, but he had never used work as an excuse to avoid facing me. Yet now, what was I seeing?
My chaotic thoughts brought back that nagging sense of emptiness and loneliness, stronger than before, tightening its grip on me. In this unfamiliar dormitory, it overwhelmed me completely. I no longer had the strength to feign optimism, nor the energy to reply with a simple “Got it.”
I poured myself a glass of red wine and took a sip. As a standalone drink, the wine felt overly rich, but for my current state, it was fitting. I didn’t want to wait for Hao Yi with a clear mind—I'd had enough of clarity.
The clearer my thoughts, the more acutely I felt the gap between what I wanted and what I actually had. Though I repeatedly convinced myself that Hao Yi’s tolerance for me in daily life was proof of his love, how much of his stubborn decisions had I tolerated in return? I endured loneliness, delicately maintained our relationship, resisted Chu Ke Huan’s temptations, brushed off those coincidental encounters orchestrated by fate, and even fled to Shanghai on days when I knew Chu Ke Huan might seek me out—all in the name of loyalty.
And what did I get in return?
Just four walls, imprisoning my solitude.
If coming to Shanghai meant being alone anyway, how was it any different from staying in Taipei?
I drank glass after glass, the empty stomach making the effects of the wine kick in quickly. My senses dulled, and the earlier discomfort started to fade. Picking up the wine bottle, I examined its label. Spain... could that be the destination for Hao Yi’s and my honeymoon? Hard to say—after all, we couldn’t even settle on a wedding date. Such a pity for this fine wine; Hao Yi wouldn’t get to enjoy it tonight. But what kind of emergency could possibly keep him tied up until the middle of the night?
My wandering thoughts yielded no answers. Frustrated, I grabbed my phone and reconnected to Taiwan’s roaming network. The message from Chu Ke Huan earlier popped back into view:
“I want to see you.”
The alcohol clouded my judgment, and before I realized it, I replied:
“I’m in Shanghai.”
Chu Ke Huan read the message almost instantly, sharp enough to catch onto the situation:
“Does that mean you’re free to talk right now?”
“He’s busy,” I replied, refilling my glass halfway.
“Oh—makes sense,” Chu Ke Huan responded, his playful tone tinged with an undertone of something else. “But... is he really working?”
The trope of Taiwanese managers sent to mainland China finding comfort in extramarital affairs out of loneliness was all too common in the corporate world. Before Hao Yi left, I had considered the possibility. But based on what I knew about Hao Yi, the chances of such a thing happening to him seemed incredibly low.
“He’s not that kind of person,” I said.
But a low probability doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I knew nothing about Hao Yi’s relationships in Shanghai. To some extent, Chu Ke Huan had voiced the very fear I’d been avoiding for some time.
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