Entertainment from Divorce

On the top shelf of the wardrobe was her down jacket, off-white, with a coffee stain on the cuff—it was spilled when he knocked over a coffee cup last year. Qi Xue was so angry at the time that she cried, saying, "This is my favorite jacket," but she still couldn't bear to throw it away.

As darkness fell, Tan Yue sat on the sofa without turning on the lights, watching the twilight creep into the room through the window.

One by one, the lights in the building across the street came on. The sound of cooking came from the kitchen of one of the houses. The smell of cooking oil wafted over on the wind, carrying the aroma of soy sauce, scallions, and ginger, just like the braised pork that Qi Xue made.

He suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten yet, and his stomach was growling with hunger, but he didn't have the strength to stand up and find something to eat.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was a message from a colleague at the station: "Brother Tan, I've put the materials for tomorrow's planning meeting on your desk."

He stared at the screen for a long time before remembering that he had to go to work the next day.

My finger swiped across the screen and I accidentally opened the photo album. The latest photo was taken last month. Qi Xue was wearing his gray sweater, nestled on the sofa and smiling. Sunlight fell on her hair, making it look like it was plated with gold.

His fingertips gently traced her smiling face on the screen, and suddenly tears fell, hitting the phone case with a soft sound.

The shouts of scrap collectors echoed downstairs, with a drawn-out ending: "Buying old refrigerators and old TVs—!"

Tan Yue walked to the window and watched the tricycle carrying recyclables slowly drive by, the old furniture piled up in the back looking like a group of silent monsters in the twilight.

He suddenly wanted to sell everything in the house—the dusty chandelier, the dripping faucet, the kettle covered in limescale, and all the objects that held memories. Perhaps in this way, he could completely sell Qi Xue from his heart as well.

But he ultimately didn't do it.

At three in the morning, Tan Yue lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

The pillow next to her still retained the shape Qi Xue had slept in, with a strand of her hair stuck to it, jet black, tangled in the pattern of the pillowcase.

He remembered how Qi Xue used to love sleeping with her head on his arm, saying, "It makes me feel safe." But every time, his arm would go numb and he couldn't bear to wake her up.

Rain started falling outside the window, pattering against the glass.

Tan Yue got up and walked to the window, watching the rainwater trace winding lines on the glass, like a flowing painting.

He remembered that Qi Xue was most afraid of thunder, and every time it rained she would burrow into his arms, tightly clutching the hem of his clothes, saying, "I'm not afraid when you're here."

It's raining so hard now, I wonder if she's scared.

When the rain stopped, it was already getting light.

Tan Yue cooked a bowl of noodles and added two eggs, following Qi Xue's instructions: "Put the noodles in after the water boils, and cook for three minutes, that's just right."

The noodles were a little soft, and the eggs were burnt, but the taste was just like he remembered, with a faint, homely flavor. As he ate, tears fell into his bowl, salty and mingling with the taste of the noodles, an indescribable bitterness or astringency.

At the same time, in Qi Xue's apartment, her suitcase was still unopened in the entryway.

She sat on the sofa, holding the pair of pink cotton slippers in her hands. The fluffy fur brushed against her palms, bringing a familiar warmth.

This was her first time spending the night in this apartment. The decor was designed by Sister Li, a minimalist style that felt cold and impersonal, lacking any sense of home.

The kitchen faucet is brand new, and the water flows smoothly when turned on, without any rusty smell.

She poured herself a glass of water but didn't drink it. Her gaze fell on the empty refrigerator—the refrigerator in their old home was always crammed with fruit Tan Yue bought. The first shelf was filled with strawberries, which she loved; the second shelf with oranges, which he loved; and the third shelf with frozen dumplings they made together.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was a schedule sent by Sister Li: "Interview with the brand at 10 a.m., magazine photoshoot at 2 p.m., charity gala at 7 p.m."

Looking at the densely packed schedule, she suddenly felt very tired, even more tired than filming night scenes for three days and three nights.

Stepping onto the balcony, the city's neon lights cast dappled shadows on the glass, like a fake starry sky.

She remembered how Tan Yue would bring a small stool to the balcony of that old house, sit with her to watch the stars, and tell her stories about the constellations.

“Look at Orion,” he said, tracing the night sky with his finger, “the brightest one is Betelgeuse, just like you.”

I opened my suitcase, intending to take out the cotton slippers, but instead found a silk shirt underneath, the pearl buttons on the collar gleaming in the light.

She remembered Tan Yue wearing this shirt, standing at the kitchen door watching her cook, the sunlight falling on him, as gentle as a painting.

Tears suddenly fell, landing on my cotton slippers and leaving a small, dark stain.

She picked up her slippers, went to the bedroom, and placed them at the foot of the bed, just like she would in that old house.

The moment she slipped on the slippers, the familiar softness on her soles felt like she was back in that winter when she was twirling around the house in them. Tan Yue hugged her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head, and said, "Walk slowly, don't fall."

The phone screen on the bedside table was lit up; it was a message from her assistant: "Sister Qi, the evening gown for tomorrow's banquet has been chosen and is in the dressing room."

Qi Xue didn't reply. She picked up her phone, opened her chat window with Tan Yue, and saw that the last message she had sent was, "I'm tired, don't send any more messages."

She hesitated for a long time, typed "the slippers are very comfortable", then deleted it, changed it to "thank you", and finally locked the screen.

Dawn was breaking outside the window. The first rays of morning light shone through the gap in the curtains and landed on the cotton slippers at the foot of the bed, giving them a fuzzy sheen.

Qi Xue lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the announcement of the first bus in the distance. Suddenly, she missed the morning mist of that old house, the aroma of porridge wafting from the kitchen, and the person who always left the entryway light on, waiting for her to come home.

However, some longings can only be kept in the heart, like those cotton slippers that you can't bear to throw away, carrying the warmth of home, but you can never go back.

As Tan Yue swallowed the last bite of noodles, the morning mist outside the window was slowly dissipating.

He looked at the remaining noodle soup at the bottom of the bowl, which reflected his blurry image, like a painting out of focus.

While washing the dishes, some dish soap foam got onto the ring on his ring finger, creating tiny white bubbles. He instinctively wanted to take the ring off, but his fingertip stopped the moment it touched the metal—this was the ring that Qi Xue had helped him put on countless mornings, and the sensation of her fingertip gliding across his knuckles was clearer than any foam.

The washing machine on the balcony was humming; he had thrown that silk shirt in to wash last night.

When the drying indicator sounded, he went over and took out the shirt. The pearl buttons on the collar gleamed in the sunlight, and two loose threads at the seams were traces of Qi Xue's hand sewing.

He found the sewing box, and the red thread inside was leftover from when she embroidered the rabbit doll last year. Her fingers trembled so badly when she threaded the needle that the thread had to go through the eye of the needle three times before it finally went through.

When she was sewing the third stitch, the needle pricked her fingertip, and a drop of blood dripped onto her white shirt, like a tiny red plum blossom.

He remembered how Qi Xue used to prick her fingers all the time, and she would always hold her fingers up to his lips with bright eyes, saying, "Blow on them and it won't hurt anymore."

He would then smile and put her fingers in his mouth, tasting the faint scent of hand cream, her usual cherry blossom scent.

As he hung the shirt back in the closet, he noticed Qi Xue's down jacket still hanging on the top shelf, its off-white fabric shimmering softly in the morning light. He tiptoed and took it down; the coffee stains on the cuffs had turned a light brown, like a withered leaf. She had bought it while filming "Winter Sonata," wearing it as she ran through the snow in the movie. Off-screen, she always complained that it was "too heavy, she couldn't run in it," but on the last day of filming, she hugged the jacket and said, "This is the warmest gift I've received this year."

My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was a notification from the property management: "The hallway lights will be under maintenance today. Please cooperate."

Tan Yue stared blankly at the words "stairwell light," remembering Qi Xue always saying, "This light is too dim, I'm scared to come back at night." He had laughed and said, "I'm here, I'll pick you up."

The lights are finally being fixed, but the person who was supposed to take her home is gone.

He walked to the entrance hall and looked at the warm yellow light. Qi Xue's fingerprints were still on the switch—she always liked to press the switch with her index finger, saying, "It's the easiest way."

When my fingertips touched it, the temperature was just right, as if her fingers were still there.

After hesitating for a long time, he finally pressed the switch. The moment the warm light went out, the entryway suddenly became so dark that it made him feel uneasy, as if the last bit of warmth had been sucked away.

Qi Xue was woken up by her alarm clock, and her phone screen showed "Interview with the brand at 10:00 AM".

She sat up, her feet touching the cotton slippers at the foot of the bed. The soft, furry touch sent a jolt through her nerves, like a gentle hand lightly scratching her heart.

The soles of these slippers are worn thin and slippery on the smooth apartment floor, but they are more reassuring than the designer slippers in the closet.

While washing up, I saw in the mirror that my dark circles under my eyes hadn't faded, and I had to apply three layers of concealer to barely cover them up.

When she squeezed toothpaste, she subconsciously squeezed out two centimeters—a habit she developed with Tan Yue. He always said, "Squeezing out too much is wasteful," but he would secretly squeeze out a little more whenever she squeezed out too little.

The foam in her mouth tasted minty, but she also tasted a faint strawberry flavor, the same flavor she had in her dream last night.

There were more than a dozen formal dresses hanging in the dressing room. Sister Li had them ironed smooth, and the tags were still on.

Qi Xue chose a champagne-colored fishtail dress. The zipper got stuck halfway through. She reached for the zipper at the back, her fingertips tracing the curve of her spine. She suddenly remembered that every time she wore a formal dress, Tan Yue would stand behind her, his fingers gently pinching the zipper head: "Slow down, don't pinch your flesh."

His breath brushed against the nape of her neck, carrying the woody scent of aftershave.

The lights in the interview room were blindingly bright, and the reporter bombarded him with questions like a machine gun: "What are Professor Qi's work plans for the future?"

"Is it true that you will be starring in a new film by an internationally renowned director?"

What are your expectations for your love life?

When the word "relationship" was mentioned, her eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly, and the smile on her lips froze for half a second.

"For now, work is my priority." Her voice was steady, as if she were reading from a script. "As for relationships, let nature take its course."

My gaze fell on the name tag on the reporter's chest; the name was "Li Xue," differing from Qi Xue by only one character.

She suddenly remembered that Tan Yue always wrote "Qi Xue" as "Qi Yu" and said, "Your name should have water in it, otherwise it's too dry."

During a break in filming, an assistant handed me a cup of hot cocoa, with beautiful latte art on top of the milk foam.

Qi Xue took a sip, and the sweet taste spread on her tongue, but it wasn't as good as the hot cocoa Tan Yue made—he always added a small spoonful of salt to it, saying, "That way it won't be greasy." At the time, she thought it was strange, but now she suddenly wanted to taste that slightly salty sweetness.

At the charity gala in the evening, the crystal chandeliers shone like the Milky Way. Amidst the elegant attire and graceful figures, Qi Xue moved about with a champagne glass in hand, her smile as demure as a meticulously crafted mask.

Someone knocked over the waiter's tray, spilling red wine onto the hem of her dress. The deep red stain quickly spread, like a blooming rose.

She remembered that on her birthday last year, Tan Yue made braised beef in red wine, and she accidentally spilled it all over herself. He laughed and said, "Now we're both covered in butterflies."

When the dinner ended, Sister Li handed me a shawl: "It's getting colder outside, don't catch a cold."

The shawl was made of cashmere, as soft as a cloud, but it wasn't as warm as Tan Yue's gray sweater.

The cuffs of that sweater were stained with her hair dye, which she couldn't wash off no matter how many times she washed it, yet it gave her the most reassuring warmth every winter.

It was already past midnight when I got back to the apartment.

Qi Xue kicked off her high heels, put on her cotton slippers barefoot, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.

I was stunned when I opened the refrigerator—it was completely empty except for a few bottles of mineral water, unlike the refrigerator in that old house.

At this time in the past, there would always be a late-night snack prepared by Tan Yue in the refrigerator, which might be a bowl of steaming noodles or a plate of cut fruit, carefully wrapped in plastic wrap.

My phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was a text message from an unknown number: "The sunflowers on the balcony have bloomed, and they're even brighter than you described."

Qi Xue stared at the text message for a long time, her fingertips tracing the words "sunflower" on the screen—this was the flower she had always talked about planting. Tan Yue said, "We'll plant it in the spring," but autumn came, and the flower finally bloomed, but the people who came to see it had all left.

She went to the balcony, but the city's light pollution was so severe that she couldn't see the stars.

The wind slipped in through the gaps in the railing, blowing her long hair, the ends brushing against her cheeks, just like the little gesture Tan Yue used to love to do.

Her phone screen was still lit. After hesitating for a long time, she finally replied with a text message: "Don't water it too much, or the roots will rot." When the notification popped up that the message had been sent successfully, she suddenly squatted down, her shoulders trembling slightly in the quiet night.

When Tan Yue received the text message, she was squatting on the balcony watering the sunflowers.

The ceramic flowerpot was chosen by Qi Xue. It was sky blue and had two rabbits painted on it. One of the rabbits had a piece of porcelain chipped off its ear because she accidentally broke it.

He looked at the text message, "Don't water it too much," and suddenly laughed, but tears fell into the flowerpot, mixing with the water and seeping into the soil, like watering the flower with a salty nutrient solution.

As the morning light climbed onto the flowerpots, Tan Yue put on the sewn silk shirt. The pearl buttons on the collar pressed against his collarbone, carrying a familiar weight.

He tied his tie in front of the mirror, using the Windsor knot that Qi Xue had taught him, saying, "It looks more formal this way."

The man in the mirror had fine lines around his eyes, but as he fastened his tie, he saw himself a few years ago, standing at the entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau, his eyes shining, his heart filled with love.

Qi Xue put the cotton slippers on the top shelf of the shoe cabinet, with a pair of brand-new high heels on top of them.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The zipper of her dress had been repaired, and the red wine stains on the hem had been cleaned up by professionals, as if nothing had happened.

But as he turned to leave, he paused, his gaze lingering on the shoe cabinet for three seconds, as if saying goodbye to someone he couldn't see.

Some farewells don't need to be spoken, just like some longings are forever hidden in the heart.

The sunflowers in the old house are still blooming, and the slippers in the new apartment are still shining, but the people watering the plants and the people wearing the slippers can never go back to those days. (End of Chapter)