Chapter Twenty-Five

After taking a shower, Yi Xiaoyu entered the bedroom. At this moment, Old Yu was lying on the bed with his back to the door, the quilt pulled up to his chin, silent and motionless—it was impossible to tell if he was asleep.

Yi Xiaoyu finished the milk on the table, lifted the quilt, and slipped in beside him. He reached out and poked Old Yu’s back, his voice deep, “Fatty, turn around. We need to talk.”

Old Yu remained still, refusing to turn, continuing his act of feigned sleep. Yi Xiaoyu exhaled and spoke softly, “Fatty, are you sure you want to keep up this silent treatment over this?”

Without a word, Old Yu tugged the quilt over his head, cutting off all contact with Yi Xiaoyu.

Yi Xiaoyu’s expression darkened. He slid his hand under the covers, pinching Old Yu’s waist sharply. Old Yu gasped in pain, his body jolting like a fish in a hot pan, and in the next instant, he swatted away Yi Xiaoyu’s hand and quickly shifted himself further towards the inside of the bed.

Yi Xiaoyu was both angry and amused. He rolled over, pinning Old Yu beneath him, cupping the two soft mounds of flesh on his cheeks. Squinting his eyes, he asked, “Are you really not going to listen to what I have to say?”

Old Yu snorted and turned his gaze aside. Yi Xiaoyu squeezed his cheeks harder, until Old Yu couldn’t take it anymore and finally looked back at him. Yi Xiaoyu said, “Fatty, listen to me. Two years ago, I married you to get back at Wen Ming. But now, my feelings for you are real. I could never leave you to go back to Wen Ming, understand?”

Old Yu stared up at him, half believing, his face still stern. “You made me believe in a love that never existed for two years. I always thought we truly loved each other.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Maybe it wasn’t true before—but now it is. Got it?”

Old Yu was silent for a few seconds, then said, “You and Wen Ming have seven years of history. How can I know you don’t still have feelings for him? He comes from a good family, has manners, a respectable job. And me? In your eyes, I’m uncultured, sleazy, lecherous—a thug.”

“You—”

“Didn’t you describe me exactly that way to that pretty boy two years ago?” Old Yu grew more agitated with every word. The things Wen Ming had said to him during the day were like a thorn in his heart, impossible to remove with a few comforting words from Yi Xiaoyu. “In your mind, I’m nothing compared to that pretty boy. These past two years, you never really cared for me, did you? I’m just someone for you to vent on, aren’t I? I—”

“Shut up!”

Before he could finish, Yi Xiaoyu slapped him.

It wasn’t hard, but it left Old Yu stunned, the rest of his words stuck in his throat. He looked at Yi Xiaoyu, whose face was flushed with anger, and suddenly regretted—no, desperately regretted—what he’d just said.

Learning the truth behind their marriage so abruptly was hard to accept. The anger and sense of defeat gnawed at him, the thought that Yi Xiaoyu’s feelings had been disdain and dismissal rather than love when they first met made everything from the past two years feel false, not worth believing in anymore.

But—

But seeing the rage in Yi Xiaoyu’s face now, he couldn’t help but feel anxious.

For two years, it had been like this: no matter who was right or wrong, whenever Yi Xiaoyu got angry, regardless of the cause, Old Yu had to bow his head, admit fault, and then rack his brains to beg for forgiveness.

“I…” Only a single word escaped before Old Yu fell silent, turning his head away as if enduring something.

Yi Xiaoyu’s chest heaved. After a long moment, he closed his eyes, then opened them again, his voice quiet and expressionless, “Is that really how you see me?”

Old Yu knew that beneath Yi Xiaoyu’s calm face, anger simmered. He dared not say another word, afraid that one careless remark would make things worse.

“Fine.” Yi Xiaoyu’s face grew somber. He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, speaking softly, “I know you don’t want to see me right now. I’ll stay at a hotel for a while.”

With his back to Old Yu, Yi Xiaoyu began to get dressed. Old Yu watched as Yi Xiaoyu put on his clothes one by one, anxiety rising in his heart.

He wouldn’t really go to a hotel, would he?

What would he do then? Was he supposed to spend his nights alone?

The thought made Old Yu regretful to the extreme. Why had he been so stubborn? If only he’d said a few soft words, things wouldn’t have escalated like this.

Xiaoyu! Don’t go!

Old Yu stared at Yi Xiaoyu’s back so hard his teeth nearly ground together, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to keep him.

Yi Xiaoyu paused at the door. Old Yu, seeing him about to turn around, quickly rolled over, giving him a cold shoulder.

But then, he regretted it. So this was what it meant to lose control—acting out, unable to stop himself.

Yi Xiaoyu looked at Old Yu’s back, mouth open as if to say something, but all that came out was a sigh. Finally, he left a single sentence: “Don’t forget to feed Scallion and Tangyuan tomorrow.”

Yi Xiaoyu left. Hearing the apartment door close, Old Yu sat up in bed, stunned for ten seconds before rushing out to the living room.

“Xiaoyu…”

Staring at the empty room, Old Yu felt a pain in his chest, inch by inch, so sharp it made it hard to breathe.

With a loud slap, he struck his own face.

---

Yi Xiaoyu arrived at a hotel. While checking in at the front desk, his phone rang.

It was Wen Ming.

“Sorry, Xiaoyu, it’s so late and I couldn’t help but worry. Are you… home yet?” Wen Ming asked softly. “Have you already gone to bed?”

Before Yi Xiaoyu could answer, the receptionist handed him the room card with a smile. “Sir, here’s your room card.”

“Xiaoyu, are you staying at a hotel?” Wen Ming sounded surprised. “You… left my place so long ago, you shouldn’t be just arriving at a hotel now.”

Yi Xiaoyu took the room card and headed toward the elevator, replying honestly, “I went home first, then came to the hotel.”

After a pause, Wen Ming asked, “Is it because you had a fight with him?”

“Wen Ming,” Yi Xiaoyu’s voice was a bit stiff. “You should know what your words today have done—how much misunderstanding you’ve caused between us.”

“I’m sorry, Xiaoyu. If I’d known, I never would have…”

“Forget it. What’s done is done.”

“Should I talk to him again?”

“Absolutely not. If you’re truly sorry, it’s best not to have any contact with him from now on. He’s not as clever as you, his mind doesn’t turn corners when dealing with people.”

“…Alright.”

“Wen Ming, about the partnership you proposed last time—I think… let’s drop it.”

When he said this, Yi Xiaoyu felt much lighter. If he wanted to protect this relationship, he had to make sacrifices—it couldn’t always be up to Old Yu to compromise and give.

If this collaboration would only drive a wedge between him and his lover, then persisting seemed pointless.

After all, that fatty was more important.

(Ha Qian: Amitabha, no interruptions~)