Unmatched Chapter 43
byChapter 43: One Hundred Percent
If you want to.
Divorce is also an option.
Xie Qi’s tone was flat and devoid of emotion. He didn’t ask for Zhao Shuyi’s wishes at all, simply informing him unilaterally: “You decide. Either way is fine.”
He was like a fish waiting to die on a cutting board, indifferent to whether Zhao Shuyi’s knife fell or not.
Zhao Shuyi remained silent, and the air pressure in the car suddenly dropped another notch.
He didn’t want to get angry, nor did he think he should be angry. But if the surging emotion in his chest right now wasn’t anger, he needed to find another reason to explain it.
He thought once again: He had taken too much medication.
The snowflakes outside the car window seemed to turn into white pills, constantly swirling and falling.
The snow was getting heavier.
Unfortunately, they hit the evening rush hour, and the car moved with difficulty.
Xie Qi glanced at Zhao Shuyi’s expressionless face out of the corner of his eye and muttered to himself, “You haven’t thought it through either? That’s right, divorce is a big deal; it shouldn’t be decided hastily.”
Zhao Shuyi frowned slightly.
Xie Qi stopped talking and focused on driving. The car stopped and started in the congested traffic. A layer of white snow accumulated on the hood, and then a gust of wind swept it clean again.
Couples who have just argued but haven’t explicitly broken up are the most awkward.
If they maintain the status quo, say nothing, and naturally go home together, will they still sleep in the same bed tonight?
If they do, what was the point of the whole argument?
If they don’t, what about tomorrow? The day after? Next year and the distant future? If they keep living separately, why not just propose breaking up directly?
Their relationship seemed to have reached a fork in the road, with the two paths leading to completely different futures.
But it seemed neither path led to a good future.
In winter, days are short and nights are long, and it was already dark. An hour later, Xie Qi and Zhao Shuyi finally squeezed out of the long line of traffic and arrived downstairs at their home.
They went upstairs, opened the door, changed clothes, and washed their hands. When Zhao Shuyi came out of the bathroom, he found Xie Qi rummaging through things in the bedroom.
He hadn’t realized that the birthday gift from last time had been hidden in the cabinet by Xie Qi all along.
It was Xie Qi’s fault for having too many things scattered around messily. Zhao Shuyi found it too cluttered even to look at, so how would he go through every cabinet?
He walked to the doorway and asked from a distance, “What is it?”
Xie Qi looked back: “Love letters, the ones I wrote to you when we were in school.”
…
It was an unexpected answer, but not entirely surprising.
For them, things that could be bought with money were not special; only gifts with sentimental value were precious.
It was a thick stack of love letters, an unknown number of them, which Xie Qi had placed in a translucent glass box and handed to Zhao Shuyi.
“Do with them as you please. If you don’t want them, just throw them away,” he said. “I didn’t dare send them back then, afraid you’d throw them away in disgust after reading them… I didn’t expect this to be the outcome in the end.”
Xie Qi lowered his head: “Perhaps this is fate.”
Whether sooner or later, it was bound to happen.
Zhao Shuyi didn’t respond. He opened the box, pulled out a letter, and said, “I’ll take a look.”
“Don’t read them in front of me.”
Xie Qi was a little resistant, but Zhao Shuyi ignored him and directly tore open the envelope.
The first love letter was written in the second semester of the eighth grade.
The opening line: “Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, Student Zhao Shuyi.”
Before he could read the second sentence, Xie Qi suddenly pressed down on his hand. The yellowed, aged letter paper creased in both their palms.
Xie Qi realized his reaction was excessive and quickly withdrew his hand.
“You read it. I’m going to take a shower.” He found an excuse to avoid the situation and walked away.
Zhao Shuyi didn’t stop him, nor did he find a place to sit down. He stood silently at the bedroom door, reading these letters that spanned his youth under the warm yellow glow of a floor lamp.
At first, he felt restless. The words on the paper were like ink-colored tadpoles floating on his retina, making them hard to decipher.
It was also because Xie Qi’s handwriting was too messy—very fine fountain pen script, with strokes flying everywhere. Only the three characters “Zhao Shuyi” were neatest, as if they had been practiced countless times.
“You might not believe it, but this is a love letter.
“I like you, Zhao Shuyi (so embarrassing).
“Actually, I’m happy every day I see you, but you always seem unhappy. Did you argue with your mother again today? I caught you, hmph.
“I really want to comfort you. Can you try to cheer up? So what if you argue? Don’t be upset. My dad is annoying too, but he can’t win against me. Should I teach you some arguing techniques? Guaranteed victory, leaving your mom speechless!
“What do you say? Do you want to learn?
“If you want to learn, come find me after class. I’ll treat you to ice cream too.”
…This was a completely different tone from the Xie Qi of today—more childish and more energetic.
Zhao Shuyi stopped after reading just one letter. His fingers were stiff, unable to open the second one.
The love letter wasn’t dated. That period in the eighth grade was Zhao Shuyi’s rebellious phase, and he argued with Qin Zhi too often to determine which “today” Xie Qi was referring to.
From his perspective, Xie Qi back then was no different from before—still constantly bothering him, extremely annoying, and showed no sign of “I really want to comfort you.”
Just like last night, Xie Qi spoke of so many details of having loved him, yet none of them were things he had personally experienced.
What did Xie Qi say just now?
“Perhaps this is fate.” Zhao Shuyi was destined to be a natural loner. The good fortune of “being loved” never seemed to be his turn; he was destined not to have too genuine an experience of it.
But if Xie Qi hadn’t said “give up” last night, he actually would have had a chance. Reading these love letters today would likely have brought different feelings.
Perhaps it would have been sweet, and then they would have…
—He was getting angry at Xie Qi again.
Zhao Shuyi stopped himself in time, dispelling the irrational emotions, and observed himself with detached coldness. He thought, even setting aside the past, Xie Qi had loved him enough recently.
The other person gave him ninety-nine percent, yet he wasn’t moved, choosing instead to dwell on the one percent he didn’t receive.
Zhao Shuyi felt a tightness in his chest and didn’t want to open the second letter.
He had to admit that his state today was truly abnormal. He kept trying to calm down but couldn’t.
The doctors who used to prescribe his medication always advised him that sleep disorder was only one of his problems; the root cause wasn’t there. Taking sleeping pills was treating the symptoms, not the disease, and wouldn’t solve anything.
Zhao Shuyi had never listened, but now he suddenly felt that perhaps he should switch medications.
Zhao Shuyi did not throw away the love letters as Xie Qi had expected. He placed the glass box on the table, like setting down a book he would continue reading later. Then he went to the other bathroom to shower.
They showered separately.
It was still early. They hadn’t eaten dinner, and it was far from bedtime. When Zhao Shuyi came out after showering, Xie Qi was watching TV in the living room.
It was a variety show, a bit noisy. When Xie Qi looked up and saw him, he turned the TV off.
The living room suddenly fell silent. They exchanged a look, and Xie Qi spoke first: “Did you finish reading those love letters?”
Zhao Shuyi said, “Not yet.”
Xie Qi was silent for a moment. In the quiet, his gaze involuntarily swept over the partially open collar of Zhao Shuyi’s bathrobe.
A familiar look. If it were before, Xie Qi would have already clung to him and kissed him, then slipped his hand inside the bathrobe, acting wantonly.
But not today.
Xie Qi retracted his gaze and proactively suggested, “I should move out.”
Zhao Shuyi immediately sneered, “If you want to move, just move. Do you think I’d stop you?”
Xie Qi stiffened slightly, lowered his head, stood up, and began packing his things.
Moving house wasn’t simple, but if he wanted to leave immediately, it could be very simple. He just needed to call his assistant to help, take all the clothes in the closet, his laptop, and essential items like phone chargers. Other things could be replaced.
He could even leave those things behind and just walk out.
But Xie Qi still packed carefully.
He filled one suitcase. Zhao Shuyi didn’t know what he was packing. Although he was watching, the scene flashed past like a fleeting glimpse, leaving no clear impression.
Feeling dizzy for some reason, Zhao Shuyi suddenly felt a wave of physical nausea.
It was as if something was draining away from him. He didn’t want to keep it, but it was undeniably and tangibly flowing away. Everything was happening objectively, regardless of his will.
Xie Qi was still packing, now filling a second suitcase.
Zhao Shuyi didn’t know how many he intended to take.
Zhao Shuyi stared at the wall, which was white and reflective under the light, silent as if he had never uttered a sound in his life.
Many years ago, when he was living in fear and unable to sleep at night in the home he shared with Qin Zhi, he would also keep the lights on, silently staring at the wall, his vision filled with white.
At that time, it seemed the whole world couldn’t produce one person who cared about him. With nowhere to turn for help, he could only endure one long, dark night after another in solitude. The desire to be loved became the most shameful emotion, a sign of weakness that had to be suppressed.
This wasn’t a particularly tragic experience, just things that had happened.
But it had objectively left scars on his body. What happened, happened, and it was irreversible. That was why he was who he was today, and not some other version of Zhao Shuyi.
But people don’t seem to remain in one form forever.
Something else was about to happen, something that would leave a second irreversible scar on his body, whether he was willing to accept it or not.
So, what was he?
Zhao Shuyi suddenly couldn’t figure it out.
He felt like he was just a piece of wood, unable to choose who gave birth to him, or how he grew up. He was carved by fate, and he had never, and would never, have one hundred percent control over anything.
Zhao Shuyi suddenly stood up and rushed into the bathroom, dry-heaving over the sink.
Xie Qi, halfway through packing, was startled and followed him to the door, asking, “What’s wrong?”
Zhao Shuyi shook his head, turned on the faucet, and washed his face, trying to cover up any signs of abnormality.
But the water couldn’t conceal it. The uneven water streaks on his wet face looked like scattered tears.
Xie Qi was quiet for a moment. He instinctively wanted to pat Zhao Shuyi’s back but didn’t dare reach out. After a while, in a tone that he himself probably felt shouldn’t be too confident, he lowered his head and asked, “Zhao Shuyi, are you… reluctant to let me go?”