Bending down to enter the chess game

Chapter 37 Novelty

Ta-da!

My son ran over.

"What's wrong?"

"Mommy, why are you barefoot?" A warm little hand was placed in her palm. She looked closely and saw an orange-flavored lollipop. "Mommy, have some candy. Eating candy will make you feel less uncomfortable."

"Thank you, son."

Her nails dug deep into her palms as Qiao Yi fought back tears and carried her son back to bed. Back in her bedroom, her hands trembling, she opened her phone. Zhang Zhirong's message from that afternoon still lingered in the WeChat chat: "I've scheduled your visa medical exam. Remember not to eat breakfast tomorrow." She clicked into the class group chat and looked at the pinned woman's profile picture. Two glasses of red wine were reflected in the Kempinski's floor-to-ceiling windows. So, someone else had already been asserting their dominance.

She huddled on the bay window, taking screenshots and photos. Only when the sound of water stopped did she hurriedly stand up and wrap herself in the blankets.

"Asleep?"

Zhang Zhirong heard no reply and didn't care. He shook off the blanket and crawled in from the other side, his still-damp skin trembling as it pressed against her dry skin. A gentle kiss landed on her ear: "Wife, it's so good to have you."

Qiao Yi held her breath, letting her tears and snot soak the pillow. When the breathing behind her became long and even, she sat up.

Under the moonlight, Zhang Zhirong's short hair was visible. At thirty-four, he had lost the fair complexion of his youth, and his lean profile rose and fell with his breath, emitting soft snores. She sent the evidence package to her work email. Sitting in front of the computer like a withered tree, the morning light climbed onto the wedding photo on the bedside table. If it were Xiaohua, she might have stretched and swayed lazily, but she could only follow the light with her eyes. Zhang Zhirong smiled gently and tenderly in the photo frame. She gently unplugged the charging cable.

The following afternoon at four o'clock, under the sycamore trees opposite Chaoyang International Primary School, Qiao Yi wrapped a scarf around her shoulders and half her chin. Children poured out of the school gate like a colorful tide, and she saw her husband's black Mercedes slowly pull into the parents' waiting area. A woman in a beige knitted dress emerged from the passenger seat, her black curly hair billowing in the autumn wind, swaying across her deeply lined cheeks.

As the woman bent over, Zhang Zhirong, who was in the driver's seat, naturally reached out to adjust her scarf.

"Teacher Fang!" Zhang Zhaoxing ran over with his schoolbag on his back. The woman smiled and hugged him.

She heard her teeth chattering.

She didn't know when she got home again.

When did you get together?

Qiao Yi stood at the door of the study with her arms crossed. The setting sun outside the window shone through the gauze curtains, casting dappled light and shadow on the floor. The man in front of the computer had his face shrouded in a kaleidoscope of colors, as if foreshadowing an impending storm.

Zhang Zhirong looked up, a hint of confusion flashing across his face: "What?" he asked, closing his laptop and gesturing for Qiao Yi to sit down beside him.

She spoke with difficulty, as if something was blocking her throat. "When did you get together with that woman?" Zhang Zhirong's face turned pale instantly; he knew what Qiao Yi was referring to. "You...you know everything?" Her stammering voice was filled with fear.

Qiao Yi nodded, even though she had spent the entire afternoon mentally preparing herself. But when the moment arrived, the excruciating pain inflicted on her heart made all the reasons and self-comfort insufficient. "Hmm," she said, her eyes flashing with doubt, confusion, and finally settling on pain, "I want to know why."

Zhang Zhirong stood up and walked to Qiao Yi's side, intending to comfort her, but Qiao Yi pushed him away. "Don't touch me!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You still want to hug me? What right do you have to hug me?"

Zhang Zhirong sighed. "Xiaoyi, I know I was wrong," he whispered, "but believe me, I still love you." Qiao Yi sneered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Love me? Sleeping with other women is loving me?" It was almost a scream from her soul; she wanted to smash everything around her. "Being with other women, betraying me, treating me like this, you call that loving me?"

"Haha." The liquid on her lips tasted salty and made her cry. The temperature in the room spread to her cheeks, making her want to escape. Where was the water? Where were the wet wipes? How ugly did she look crying like this? Why was she crying? How could she cry in front of him? Qiao Yi's heart was filled with anger and pain.

"Say something!" Qiao Yi grabbed the stack of photos she had taken that afternoon and threw them at Zhang Zhirong. The sharp edge of the photos scratched Zhang Zhirong's forehead, leaving a red and swollen mark.

The man opposite him remained silent. What should he say? He didn't know how to answer. He knew he had made an unforgivable mistake, but he truly didn't want to lose Qiao Yi, to lose this family.

"Why?" Qiao Yi was determined to know the answer, her heart churning like boiling water, tormented, churning, and burning. Even knowing it would only bring more pain. "Why choose her? She's older than me, uglier than me, and even less educated than me. What do you see in her!"

Zhang Zhirong lowered his eyes and said, "What's the point of saying all this? You know I won't get a divorce."

"So, am I supposed to be grateful to you? Are you going to tell me or not? If not, I'll go ask her." Qiao Yi wiped her face. "The work location is also very convenient; we can meet up tomorrow morning."

"No." Zhang Zhirong sat back down on the stool. He irritably reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, glanced at her expression, and then put it back. "Xiaoyi, all these years with you, I've always felt very happy. But... I always feel like something's missing between us." He paused, then continued, "We're childhood sweethearts, growing up together. Our families are similar, and our marriage, or rather, our arranged marriage, was the best choice for both families. We've never had passion, or even a sense of novelty. When I'm with Fang Yan, I can feel my own happiness and joy. It has nothing to do with looks, nothing to do with age, and nothing to do with you."

"A choice made by both families? You really dare to say that. Why didn't you say it was your family's choice when you held my hand? Now it's become your excuse for true love?" Qiao Yi sneered. "So, you feel perfectly justified in betraying me and our marriage for the sake of so-called passion and novelty. Have you even considered how much harm this will cause our son?"

Zhang Zhirong lowered his head, not daring to look Qiao Yi in the eye. "I know I was wrong, I'm sorry," he repeated. "Xiao Yi, I'm sorry."

He saw Qiao Yi stand up and panicked: "Xiao Yi, where are you going? Can you forgive me?"

Qiao Yi stood up and looked at Zhang Zhirong. "Forgive you? You think you can make up for everything you've done with just an 'I'm sorry'? Zhang Zhirong, how disgusting are you?"

Qiao Yi left the study like a lost soul. Back in her bedroom, after closing the door, she felt a wave of dizziness. Her right hand gripped the door latch tightly, her knuckles and veins bulging. What to do? She looked up at the wedding photo hanging on the wall. The two people in the photo smiled so brightly and radiantly. Didn't they have passion back then? She continued walking forward to the wardrobe, opened the door, and knew without even pulling it out that in the second drawer were photos of her and Zhang Zhirong from childhood to adulthood, along with some small gifts. There was one of his favorite photos, taken in high school, a snapshot of them holding hands on the playground, taken by a friend—a photo taken when they had just secretly started dating, hiding it from their parents. Smiling so sweetly back then, didn't they feel any novelty?

What exactly are the passion and novelty that men talk about? Where is my passion and novelty? Don't I need them?