Back in the guest room, He Ling was restless and anxious.
Late at night, he got up and went to the master bedroom, only to see Gong Qin sleeping quietly on the left side of the bed.
He Ling couldn’t sleep all night, but Gong Qin was already fast asleep.
He lay on his own side, not even crossing the invisible line between them.
He Ling spent the whole night smoking out on the balcony. As soon as the sun came up, he regretted it.
His so-called principles meant nothing in front of Gong Qin.
He didn’t want to know the answer anymore, didn’t want to dig any deeper. Fine, he thought, if they could just keep living like before, that would be enough.
You can’t be too greedy. He was the one who chased after Gong Qin in the first place—what more could he ask for?
He’d kept Gong Qin by his side for seven years. If Gong Qin still didn’t love him, what else could he do?
So be it. Gong Qin was used to him, used to this life.
As long as he kept things the same, Gong Qin would too.
What was so bad about that? Their life looked loving enough, even if he was the only one truly feeling it.
It sounded good in theory, but it was so much harder in practice.
In the morning, if He Ling didn’t go in for a kiss, Gong Qin wouldn’t kiss him.
Before leaving the house, if He Ling didn’t cling to him for a goodbye kiss, Gong Qin would just put on his coat and walk out the door.
At lunch, if He Ling didn’t reach out, Gong Qin wouldn’t even call.
At night, if He Ling didn’t go pick him up, Gong Qin would come home by himself.
He kept testing, and the reality was always the same—cold and cruel.
Gong Qin didn’t love him.
What happened at the club today was intentional.
He Ling knew Gong Qin would be there—he met his friends at the same time, same place, every week.
For ten years, never once missing.
For the past seven years, He Ling’s greatest pride was the ring on his finger.
Whenever someone tried to hit on him, he’d practically shove the ring in their face, eager to tell them just how amazing his partner was.
Usually, as soon as he started talking, people would back off, embarrassed.
But this time, for the first time, he didn’t say a word about Gong Qin. He just sat there, listening to someone else talk.
He couldn’t even remember what the person said. He was only thinking about Gong Qin, wondering if he’d care at all.
Even if it wasn’t love, even if it was just fear that He Ling might leave—wouldn’t that be something?
But nothing happened.
Gong Qin didn’t come over. He didn’t call, didn’t text.
He’d seen him—seen that He Ling wasn’t working—but didn’t even bother to ask.
He Ling’s mind was haunted by just three words.
Those three words Gong Qin had said in that cold, indifferent voice: “It doesn’t matter.”
Nothing He Ling did mattered to him.
If He Ling loved him, it didn’t matter; if he didn’t, it mattered even less.
He Ling spent the whole night smoking and drinking, and when he finally came home, he found Gong Qin as calm as ever.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He didn’t want Gong Qin to be so calm, so composed, so indifferent!
He Ling knew Gong Qin hated the smell of smoke and alcohol, so he kissed him on purpose.
Gong Qin punched him, the taste of blood in his mouth snapping He Ling back to reality.
This was all a dream—a dream he’d been desperately clinging to, blocking his ears and shutting his eyes, refusing to wake up no matter how loud the thunder outside.
“Let’s get a divorce,” He Ling said. As the words left his mouth, it felt like his heart was being sliced to pieces.
Gong Qin replied, “Fine. Let’s do it.”
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps