Chapter 9
Edward Quan ·
It was a bank savings passbook.
Account holder: Zhao Lei.
Balance: Twenty-three thousand yuan.
“You saved this these past months?”
“Yes. Three thousand a month for seven months makes twenty-one thousand. Two thousand from before. Twenty-three thousand altogether.”
“Why show me?”
“To prove something.”
“I know how to live properly now.”
I looked at the passbook without speaking.
“These seven months, I’ve lived alone in the dorm. Eighteen thousand a month in salary. No rent. Fifteen hundred for food, three hundred for transport, a hundred for my phone. Of the sixteen thousand left, three thousand went here, thirteen thousand toward credit cards and old debts.”
“You had debts?”
“Sixty thousand. I’ve paid twenty thousand.”
“Still forty thousand?”
“Yes. I’ll repay it gradually.”
“Are you telling me this to move me?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“To show you I’m really changing.”
White shirt, black suit. His hair was short, his face clean-shaven.
Thinner, but much more alert.
“Zhao Lei.”
“Do you know why I agreed to remarry you?”
“It isn’t how much you’ve changed. It’s that you’re finally willing to tell me you’re changing.”
He looked startled.
“You never told me or discussed anything. Your mother wanted money; you gave it. Your sister needed money; you gave it. Replacing the car, setting Liu Qiang up—you never asked me. As if I were air.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No need.”
I interrupted.
“In these seven months, at least you learned to keep me informed. Every week, you told me what you’d done. I didn’t always answer, but I read everything.”
He looked at me, eyes bright.
“So you’re willing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know if you’ll keep it up. Reporting for a year is easy. For a lifetime, it’s hard.”
“What do we do?”
“Get through a year first.”
“And then?”
“See if you can get through the second.”
“Then?”
“The third.”
He laughed.
“Is this a life sentence?”
“Yes. The term is your whole life.”
“Then I plead guilty.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He handed me the flowers.
Baby’s breath.
A small bouquet.
But fragrant.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“The Civil Affairs Bureau.”
I turned.
“To get the certificate.”
He hurried after me, wanting to take my hand.
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Not even hold it?”
“No.”
“When can I?”
“When you’ve paid your debts.”
“That’ll take ages—”
“Then wait.”
He laughed.
So did I.
The sunshine was lovely.
The roadside leaves had begun to yellow.
Autumn had arrived.
A year later.
Zhao Lei had paid all his debts.
He transferred the last payment to me with a note:
[Final installment.]
[Received.]
Then:
[Can I hold your hand now?]
I thought for a moment and typed:
[Another year’s interest.]
[Interest?]
[Yes. Four percent. Thirty-two thousand.]
[You’re a loan shark.]
[Are you paying?]
[Yes.]
[From my own salary.]
He added:
[Three thousand a month, another year.]
[Can I hold your hand now?]
My phone rang.
Zhao Lei.
“Come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am. Come eat with me.”
“Go yourself.”
“It’s boring alone.”
“Then don’t eat.”
“All right.”
I interrupted.
“Ten minutes.”
I hung up, changed, and went down.
He stood there with flowers.
Baby’s breath again.
“Why do you always buy the same flowers?”
“Because you said I was only fit for a supporting role.”
“You still remember?”
“I remember everything you say.”
The breeze was a little cold.
He took off his coat and put it around me.
“Let’s go.”
“Dinner first,” he said. “Then a movie.”
“What movie?”
“Whatever you want.”
“A horror movie.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“I am,” he said. “But with you beside me, I’m not.”
I rolled my eyes.
But I didn’t give his coat back.
It smelled of him.
Laundry detergent and a faint trace of tobacco.
He said he had quit.
Clearly not completely.
“You’re still smoking?”
His steps faltered.
“Sometimes—”
“How often?”
“One or two a day—”
“From tomorrow, not one.”
“You’re agreeing that easily?”
“Because you said it.”
This man really had changed.
He still had plenty of little faults.
At least he was willing to change for me.
“Dinner.”
“Then a movie.”
“Then home.”
“Your home or mine?”
“Ours.”
He froze.