It was humiliating enough abroad to be trailed by a world-famous idol who behaved like a lost puppy. Once Yu Sen realized I could hear his thoughts, the flood never stopped.
"Is Xu Yunting around? Please say no I’m not sharing a bed with him."
"Xing, today you’re with me. Tomorrow you can see him. Fine. Fair division, right?"
"But why not share a bed like before? Fifty years together I can’t sleep without you by my side."
"Does she still own that black silk slip? God, it looked amazing on her."
My jaw clenched as his monologue droned on inside my mind. Finally, I snapped under my breath, "Shut up, Yu Sen."
He blinked, wide and innocent. "I am shut. I didn’t say anything"
Hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Out loud, I muttered at last, "No, Yunting isn’t here. And no I don’t even own that black nightgown anymore."
At once his hand latched onto mine, lips stretching in a ridiculous grin. "Perfect! Let’s go home."
My rented apartment abroad was small but close to the clinic perfect for one person. The lock clicked open, and Yu Sen barged in ahead of me, flipping the light switch.
The broken bulb sputtered and flickered. I stiffened. I always hurried home before dark because I hated the shadows.
He frowned and quickly turned it off. "It’s broken why live like this?"
"It’s fine. I use the living room light." I clicked it on, flooding the room.
Without asking, he rolled up his sleeves. "I’ll cook."
"No need. Instant noodles are enough."
"You have stomach ulcers. Did you forget the gastroscopy? That time you cried from the pain you think I’ll let you eat junk again?"
Into the kitchen he marched, banging open cabinets and chopping, still bossy after all these years.
It was true. In our first life, neither of us really cooked. His idol schedules meant skipping meals; later the gossip wore him down, and he compared my cooking to our neighbor Aunt Hui Fen’s homemade buns. Out of irritation, he learned himself.
Years ago, after I vomited blood from his greasy pork, we spent the night in the hospital. He paced, eyes bloodshot, whispering, "She can’t even enjoy good food. What have I done?"
Now, younger by decades, he chopped vegetables with care, plating stir-fried greens and soothing soups, dishes I adored.
I whispered half to myself, "I do take care of myself now. No pain. Healthy."
He stuffed rice hurriedly into his mouth, grinning. "Good. As long as you’re well, that’s all that matters. We got to live life again, didn’t we?"
There was only one bathroom.
While he showered, water rushing, I tried to concentrate on my notes. But when he stepped out hair damp, towel at his waist, chest broader and younger I swallowed hard.
Body older in spirit, but flesh younger, treacherous.
Late that night, I drifted half-asleep beneath my blanket until I felt the mattress dip beside me.
Hot skin pressed into my bed, a hand curled around my wrist, and laughter buzzed near my ear.
"Wife, just once love me again," he whispered like a boy begging for candy.
My anger sparked. I shoved at him, but his arms only trembled, his voice pitiful. "Please, Xing. Please."
My hand brushed a scar along his arm. Shock softened me.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
His lips wobbled, eyes wet. "Hurts like hell. But you hurt more."
At that, every dam inside me collapsed. I buried my face against his chest, years of resentment spilling out as grief.
He panicked, wiping at my tears. "Don’t cry. You’re not hurt, right? Did I?"
Then his thoughts hammered at me again:
"Maybe I’ve lost practice, didn’t watch my strength was I too rough?"
I bit back laughter, my anger melting. He pressed closer, murmuring near my ear, "Xing, our children are waiting in the future. Let’s meet them again."
The next year blurred with therapies and performances. Abroad, I invested in e-commerce rather than chasing streaming fads, building something lasting. Back in China, I earned acceptance into the National Theater Dance Troupe finally sharing the stage with world-class dancers. Exhausting, but free.
Yu Sen kept his word. Every performance, he came. Rain or shine, hidden in back rows or disguised in caps, he was always there.
And, inevitably, so was Xu Yunting. His presence always made Yu Sen bristle.
During the Peach & Plum Cup competition, Xu sent me white roses backstage, prompting general teasing. Later, I saw a rival bouquet of perfect peonies left on my table.
I had only told one person I liked peonies years ago in the neighborhood, to Yu Sen. He hadn’t responded then, but he had remembered.
Meanwhile, Yu Sen’s career soared. He stunned critics with a breakout role as an old man who belittled his wife and lost her, a story of rebirth and failure even after trying again. Audiences were shaken.
"The wife shouldn’t forgive him," argued netizens online. "It’s just his fantasy."
"But decades of love can’t be erased," others replied. "The ache is real."
Controversial, but undeniable Yu Sen had become an actor.
Managers advised silence: keep our relationship private. I agreed. "Better for both careers."
Yu Sen, however, could not resist.
During a drama livestream, a host teased, "So, who’s your type?"
He smiled, "Someone like Yan Xing."
Shock swept the studio.
"So, you admire dancers? And personality....?" the host pressed.
He cut them off, shrugging. "You ask too much. Same question, again and again."
When they asked outright, "Are you two together?" Yu Sen shook his head. "Wait. When the day comes, you’ll be the first to know."
Epilogue
Even abroad, Xu Yunting still called, sometimes visiting, laughing over the leek pancakes I made for him. "Best in the world. I came back for more."
That day, he stepped into my home only to find Yu Sen on a ladder, fixing the broken lamp.
Tension crackled.
Xu cleared his throat. "Honestly, Xing, I’m just here for the pancakes."
Inside Yu Sen’s head:
"Freeloader. Useless."
Xu continued, "I’ve been craving ever since."
Yu Sen sneered inside:
"Eat. Eat until your mouth stinks. She’ll never kiss you back."
"Add garlic, tofu, crawfish, pancakes.......eat until you reek."
A smirk tugged his lips, victory glinting. I jabbed him with my elbow. "He’s a guest. Behave."
His grin widened. "Yes, ma’am. But remember I’m the host here."
With that, he bounded forward, apron tied, ladling congee like a proud husband ,delighted, unashamed, eternally impossible.
Chapter 06
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