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墨書 Inktalez
Besides Zhang Yunxin, what else could possibly compel him to weave such elaborate lies about me?
Wait a minute.
I suddenly recalled the chat logs I had seen on Zhang Yunxin's phone. In addition to those few messages, there were also several voice call records.
Approximately once a day, during Xinchuan's working hours, each call lasted around three to five minutes.
The content of the calls wouldn’t be saved like the message records.
What they discussed over the phone remained a mystery to anyone.
And what could these brief call records prove?
My mind was racing, as if two little figures were fighting inside my head.
One little figure insisted that such short call records didn’t mean anything; perhaps they were just discussing work, and I was overthinking it.
The other little figure shouted in my ear, what kind of work requires daily phone calls?
No one knew what they talked about on the phone.
Maybe the chat logs were so clean precisely to cover up the truth, cleared daily to leave only parts that wouldn’t raise suspicion.
The two little figures argued fiercely, almost ready to clash in my mind.
It gave me a headache.
I lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
After all these years of marriage, I had long grown accustomed to having Xinchuan by my side.
Being alone in the empty house made me feel a bit scared.
Especially since it was a typhoon day. The wind howled outside, accompanied by flashes of lightning and thunder.
Even though I had closed the windows tightly and drawn the curtains to block out any light, I could still hear the fierce wind slamming against the windows with a loud thud.
Fear made me curl up under the covers, wrapping myself tightly in the warm blanket.
The blanket still carried Xinchuan's scent.
Tears inexplicably fell again, soaking my pillow before I even realized it.
I knew I was being pathetic.
So much had happened, yet I still couldn't help but think of him.
I remembered the first typhoon night after we got together.
At that time, we hadn't saved enough money to buy a house yet.
On that stormy night, the window of our rented place had a gap that wouldn’t seal properly.
The cunning wind always sneaks in through the cracks, emitting a piercing hiss.
But at that moment, I felt no fear at all.
I remember that day when Xinchuan and I were curled up on the sofa watching a comedy by Kaixin Mahua.
The howling wind was completely drowned out by our fits of laughter.
Later, all that remained in my memory of that typhoon day was Uncle Shen on the television, rolling up his sleeves and saying to me, "Come here!"
Everything is still vivid in my mind.
Every little thing that happened in my nearly seven-year relationship with Xinchuan is still fresh in my memory.
Yet the more I remember, the more aggrieved I feel.
I don't understand what I did wrong, why my marriage ultimately reached such a dead end...
A sudden flash of lightning and thunder outside drowned out my sobs muffled under the blanket.
By the time I heard my phone vibrating incessantly on the bedside table, I had already cried my heart out, my eyes swollen like walnuts.
I picked up the phone.
It was a call from Xinchuan.
There had already been four missed calls; this was his fifth attempt.
I held the phone to my ear and heard his anxious voice: "Anan, why aren't you answering my calls? Are you at home?"
"Where else would I be if not at home?" I replied, irritation creeping into my tone.
But Xinchuan quickly picked up on the hoarseness in my voice that hinted I had been crying. "Anan, have you been crying?"
"No."
"Are you still mad at me?"
"What do you want to say by calling?" I asked, a bit impatiently.
Xinchuan hesitated for a moment. "It's pouring outside, and there's been a lot of thunder. I'm worried you might be scared alone at home."
"…"
"Anan, I can come back and keep you company, okay?"
"You’re overthinking it. I'm not scared, and I definitely don’t need you here with me."
I stubbornly refused to admit my fear, but every light from the room to the kitchen betrayed my cowardice.
Not to mention Xinchuan.
He had been with me for so long that he already knew my courage was no bigger than a fingernail.
But he didn't call me out on it; instead, he said, "Alright, if you don't want me to go back, then I won't."
"Oh."
I was about to hang up when I heard him continue, "But, Anan, I'm a bit scared being alone right now. Can you stay on the line with me for a while?"
"…"
Xinchuan said he was afraid of thunder, and only a fool would believe him.
Someone like him, who would charge into a horror escape room first, could hardly be afraid of a few claps of thunder.
I knew this was another one of his lies.
But this time, I didn’t call him out on it, just as he hadn’t called me out earlier.
I didn’t respond; I simply turned on the speakerphone and gently placed the phone on his pillow.
With my silent consent, Xinchuan didn’t push further.
He understood that I probably didn’t want to hear his voice right now, so he remained quiet on the other end of the line.
After a while, I heard the sound of him typing away on his computer keyboard.
I was familiar with that sound.
Every weekend morning, I could hear it in my dreams.
It was him, sitting beside me, replying to work emails on his laptop.
The sound of the keyboard tapping on the phone brought me a sense of comfort, and before I knew it, I felt drowsy.
I turned over, ready to drift off to sleep.
But after a while, as I listened closely to the sounds on the other end of the line, something felt off.
Mixed in with the rhythmic tapping of Xinchuan's keyboard was the loud sound of raindrops pounding against the glass.
It was also storming heavily on my side; earlier, I hadn’t paid close attention and couldn’t tell if the rain was coming from his end or outside my window.
I strained my ears to listen again.
It was strange.
Xinchuan was clearly in the office; how could there be such heavy rain on his side, as if raindrops were falling right next to him?
Moreover, that sound felt oddly familiar.
It seemed like...
In the car?!
I jumped out of bed and hurried to the window, stealthily pulling back a corner of the curtain.
A row of parking spaces downstairs was filled with cars.
But the pouring rain outside obscured my view.
I couldn't see if Xinchuan's car was among them.
I stared for a while, and then I noticed a faint glow from the car directly facing my window, flickering through the glass in the rain.
It was already two in the morning.
Aside from Xinchuan, I couldn't think of anyone else who would be sitting in a car so late without heading home.
For no reason, my eyes began to well up again.
Looking at that faint light in the car, I felt a sudden pang of compassion and wanted to invite him upstairs.
It was so late, the weather outside was freezing, and the rain was pouring down.
Yet here I was, letting him sit alone in the car, unable to go home. I couldn't help but feel a bit cruel.
But when it came to speaking into the phone, I just couldn't find the words.
My mind was a chaotic mess, constantly recalling that white pill bottle and the conversation I overheard between Xinchuan and Zhang Yunxin at the café that day...
No.
I reminded myself once again that I absolutely could not be soft-hearted.
I gritted my teeth, turned away from him, drew the curtains tightly, and lay back down to continue sleeping.
Perhaps knowing he was downstairs gave me a bit more security, and I fell asleep a little faster...
I had to find out what secret Xinchuan was hiding.
To that end, I hired a private detective online.
In the past, whenever I watched television, I always thought those women who hired people to follow their husbands and gather evidence of infidelity were pitiful.
I never expected that one day I would become one of those sad women myself.
Art truly reflects reality.
Since that conversation at the Western restaurant, Xinchuan hadn’t come home for three days.
Although he called me every day to check in and ask how I was doing, I never once relented.
On the third day, the private detective called me and said he had captured some footage.
I drove to the Detective Agency.
The investigator laid out a pile of photographs in front of me.
"Miss Jiang, your husband has been meeting with the same woman these past few days."
I glanced at the photos.
As expected.
The "woman" the private detective mentioned was Zhang Yunxin.
There were many pictures taken.
Some showed them sitting in the café where they last met, others in Xinchuan's car, and some near Xinchuan Company...
A few of the photos depicted their actions as quite intimate.
Although there was no direct hand-holding or hugging, it was enough to be considered ambiguous.
For instance, this one I’m holding now.
The two of them stood beside Xinchuan's car, with Zhang Yunxin almost leaning entirely against Xinchuan.
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