The previously lively group chat suddenly fell silent.

A few seconds later, colleagues began responding with “wow,” mostly women. Some who enjoyed drama even helped by tagging Wu Fu.

Cen Jin smiled with rare satisfaction, and the next second, her phone rang.

It didn’t take a genius to guess who it was. Cen Jin answered.

She felt as if holding a victor’s badge, completely composed.

Wu Fu’s voice sounded in her ear: “What are you trying to do?”

Cen Jin glanced aside: “How can we divorce if I can’t contact you?”

The man’s tone was condescending: “How old are you, still being so childish?”

“Aren’t you the childish one? Almost thirty and playing blocking games—is this what a man your age should do?” Cen Jin let out a contemptuous laugh: “What, do I need to schedule an appointment for the paperwork?”

Wu Fu also found it strange: “Would I have blocked you if you hadn’t deleted me on WeChat first? Is ‘hurt the enemy a thousand while hurting yourself eight hundred’ your approach? Isn’t it embarrassing to make a scene in the group?”

“You look worse,” she didn’t back down: “Anyway, I’m resigning.”

The woman’s stubbornness left Wu Fu speechless; he could only change the subject: “Have you looked at the agreement?”

Cen Jin said coldly: “What difference does it make whether I look at it or not? It’s just a selfish person’s confession.”

“You’re making such a fuss without even knowing what’s in the agreement?” Wu Fu seemed amused by her: “You couldn’t wait to move out, then avoided facing it all these days, and now you’ve thought it through? Started shouting? Even brazenly telling me you haven’t read the agreement. I suggest you read it first, word by word, carefully. Otherwise, I wouldn’t dare divorce you—with your intermittently crazy temper, you might turn around and bite me after signing.”

“So there are things you fear.” Cen Jin’s face was expressionless, her heart as cold as a winter lake.

When had it started? They would argue at the slightest disagreement, ruthlessly opposing each other.

Spouses are the closest of relations, yet also the most distant. They seemed to have stopped considering each other, no longer afraid of being consumed by this antagonism, willingly becoming unrecognizable enemies: “I’m not like you, Wu Fu. I don’t care how much I get, because I have everything you lack, and everything you don’t lack. I wanted nothing from being with you, but you can’t say the same. After reading the agreement, would you agree to leave with nothing?”

Cen Jin didn’t care anymore, even if it meant crushing a man’s pride.

The phone was silent for several seconds, then his tone smoothed out. Like a sky full of dark clouds that ultimately couldn’t produce a single raindrop: “Do you feel it? Your oppressiveness, your superiority, never showing weakness. You’re always making assumptions about me, criticizing me. After that incident, you frequently suspected me of cheating and thought I was prejudiced against you because of the child issue. But why did I get together with you in the first place, and why do I want to separate now—don’t you understand?”

“But why did I get together with you? Back then I fought against my parents’ pressure with all my might to marry you—wasn’t that all for nothing? You brought up divorce first, should I thank you?” Cen Jin’s mouth went dry as she forcefully suppressed her throat: “You’ve made it, but to me, you’re nothing now. Wu Fu, know yourself—you’re not innocent at all, don’t put yourself in the victim’s position.”

Cen Jin paused: “Moreover, I was like this before too. I’ve always been me. You could tolerate it then, but can’t stand it now? Don’t make so many flimsy excuses for your change of heart.”

“Were you like this before?” Wu Fu refuted without hesitation as if he’d completely forgotten what his wife used to be like. But he wasn’t intense; on the contrary, he was particularly calm: “Maybe we’ve both changed. This marriage can’t continue—we both have our reasons.”

Cen Jin gritted her teeth: “Yes, please—stop blaming just me. You’re the one who always insists on the ‘it takes two to tango’ theory.”

The man’s voice showed slight weariness, eager to end it: “Enough. I don’t want to continue this meaningless argument—this mutual blame hasn’t stopped since last year. I’ll add you back on WeChat later, please accept it. I’ll send you the electronic version of the agreement, read it carefully, circle anything you disagree with, and we’ll discuss it. Cen Jin, I’m not as bad as you think. I just hope we can part on good terms.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Wu Fu hung up.

The living room fell instantly silent.

Cen Jin hugged a cushion as if it were a shield that could help her ward off some nonexistent yet chilling invisible attacks. Her eyes slowly welled up—she felt utterly wronged, utterly resentful. Wu Fu was the first to desert, so why in the end was she being condemned, viewed as the executioner who had slaughtered their love?

Cen Jin wiped the moisture from her eyes with her wrist and opened WeChat to accept Wu Fu’s friend request.

The next moment, the divorce agreement transmission notification popped up.

She clicked to receive it and, pressing her lips together began reading page by page.

Wu Fu’s divorce agreement terms were clear and fair, worthy of being framed in a law firm as a model document. Yet this very agreement, impeccable as it was, seemed like a blade honed over time, coming down just to make a complete break with her.

Cen Jin closed the agreement and looked at their chat interface.

The entire screen was empty, without a single word or message. Anything said would be superfluous, like a fuse to dynamite—this was the current state of their marriage.

Yet once upon a time, they had been so in sync, sharing everything. Even during that most difficult period of a long-distance relationship, he would smile while watching her make faces in video calls as if he could watch all night without tiring.

How ironic that all these vivid moments of joy and sorrow, anger and laughter, had ultimately become just a document of several dozen KB.

Cen Jin let out a light breath, closed the agreement page, and then, as if completely exhausted, fell sideways onto the sofa.

—

Li Wu had set an alarm for 15:50, reminding himself to pack up early so they could leave promptly at four to return to school, not wasting Cen Jin’s time.

But after nearly fifteen minutes, the woman still hadn’t called him.

Li Wu left the desk and quietly opened the study door.

Walking back to the living room, the first thing he saw was Cen Jin sleeping with closed eyes on the sofa. Her posture wasn’t relaxed—on the contrary, somewhat guarded—with a cushion loosely held in her hands. Part of the blanket had slipped to the floor, like spilled coffee.

Her sleeping state was very similar to that night in the car, with an inviolable paleness and ethereality.

Li Wu watched silently for a while, then went over, picked up the blanket from the floor, and carefully laid it over her.

Unfortunately, Cen Jin wasn’t sleeping deeply. She awoke at the slight touch, lifting her eyelids the next moment.

She met the youth’s gaze, and he straightened up quickly as if caught in the act, his throat bobbing with unease.

Cen Jin’s eyes focused as she set aside the cushion and asked: “What time is it?” She hadn’t noticed the extra blanket covering her at all.

“Four fifteen.” Li Wu said.

“Ah?” The woman blanked for a moment before belatedly grabbing her hair and springing up from the sofa. Their distance narrowed—she was suddenly very close to him. Li Wu’s eyelashes fluttered twice as he instinctively stepped back half a step. His gaze avoided her, only his ears catching her yawn and self-muttering: “Still need to go to school, almost forgot…”

Cen Jin intended to go around him to wash her face, and Li Wu moved to let her pass. The two thought in the same direction, and Cen Jin was directly blocked.

Cen Jin immediately switched sides, and he hurriedly changed too, with the same result—history often repeats itself.

Cen Jin stopped, staring at the human wall before her, asking coldly: “What are you doing?”

“…” Li Wu quickly stepped aside, making way: “Not intentional.”

Cen Jin said nothing, quickly walking back to the bedroom. Her mood was poor.

Li Wu let out a long breath, but his heart quickly constricted again. He also wanted to ask himself what exactly he was doing.

—

On the way to school, Cen Jin drove with an icy expression, not saying a word. Li Wu was naturally reserved, even less likely to speak first.

Passing a street food alley, rich spicy aromas wafted into the car. Cen Jin glanced out briefly, finally speaking: “Want to buy some food to take back to the dorm?”

Li Wu immediately responded: “No need.”

“Will you have time to go to the cafeteria before evening study?” she asked.

Li Wu said: “Definitely enough time.”

She curved her lips coolly: “You boys are confident.”

“…?”

The woman’s words seemed to carry a hidden meaning. Li Wu was completely puzzled and could only explain: “If there’s not enough time, I can buy something during the break.”

“Oh.” Cen Jin responded neutrally.

At this moment, Li Wu realized he was being subjected to displaced anger.

While in the study that afternoon, he had vaguely heard Cen Jin talking on the phone in the living room, her tone unhappy, probably arguing with someone. But her home’s soundproofing was too good—the woman’s voice was like it came through deep water. He didn’t have a habit of eavesdropping; everyone should have their secrets.

Not knowing the whole story, Li Wu became completely withdrawn, not wanting to trouble Cen Jin further.

The pressure beside him suddenly dropped, and Cen Jin felt it.

Because of her bad mood, she had already hurt this boy several times. He was the most innocent victim in this marriage.

Cen Jin’s heart twinged, and she quickly composed herself, casually making conversation: “I haven’t asked how the cafeteria food is.”

“Much better than the previous school.” Li Wu answered honestly. Yi Zhong’s cafeteria had rich variety, everything you could want, unlike his previous county high school where students often had to bring their rice and vegetables, then set up an iron pot for a rough stew, making do to fill their stomachs.

Cen Jin asked further: “What do you eat every day?”

Li Wu thought for a moment, unable to give a specific answer: “Rice… dishes.” After speaking, he was embarrassed by his response and fell silent.

Cen Jin was equally speechless.

Cen Jin glanced at his jawline, sharp enough to catch the eye: “Come back every week to weigh in.”

“Weight?” Li Wu couldn’t keep up with these sudden demands of hers.

“Mm,” Cen Jin’s tone was like giving instructions: “Record your weight data. I want to see you gain flesh.”

“Mm.” Li Wu responded absently, his mind already carried away by the words “come back every week,” unconsciously excited, not even realizing he was being described like a pig being fattened.

He smiled looking out the window, afraid Cen Jin would notice.

At a red light, Cen Jin caught sight of his slightly puffed left cheek: “What are you smiling about?”

That youthful fullness instantly smoothed out, showing no further movement.

Cen Jin had just asked casually, not sure if Li Wu was smiling or tensing his lips in disagreement. She remembered Wu Fu’s description of her and looked again at the back of the youth’s head: “Li Wu, do I make you feel oppressed?”

In her view, the boy’s shoulders froze for a moment, but he quickly denied: “No.”

“There must be some,” this slight movement was unmistakable, she couldn’t ignore it: “Tell me the truth.”

Li Wu turned back, his tone particularly certain: “It is the truth.” His dark eyes didn’t look like they were lying at all.

In her peripheral vision, the light turned green.

Cen Jin faced forward again, curving her lips, her voice much more relaxed: “Alright, I’ll pretend to believe you for now.”